"You are a member of the Five Hundred of Barbarikon," Hamsa said.
"Yes, Yuvraj. I am a member. Though we have lost our influence significantly over the years," Ratnavathi replied.
Hamsa listened and remained silent, allowing her to continue.
"My great-grandfather was the guild head in his time. But my grandfather lost the next election… to your grandfather. After that, our position began to decline, and by the time of my father, things had worsened enough that he had to marry me into my current family just so we could survive,..."
Hamsa already knew most of this.
The moment he had taken Padmavathi as his student, he had looked into her family, and Ranapala's as well. What he found had been… useful. Reason being—
He was not unaware of his own position.
He was smart—there was no doubt about that—but that intelligence,... It came from the knowledge and experience he carried over from his past life. If the people of this world had access to the same exposure, the same information, he knew very well where he would stand.
Not on the throne. But behind it. The one who builds the road… and the rails the one in the seat must follow.
But there were other factors beyond his control.
His blood, for one.
Being of Rana descent through his biological mother's side, made a section of the nobility uneasy with him as Yuvraj.
Then there was the Mahadevi.
The woman he had, on some level, accepted as his mother—though consciously, he refused to acknowledge it for himself.
She came from a powerful family, with a merchant lineage, deeply tied to the kingdom's economic structure, and naturally, her faction, even if she didn't wish for such, would prefer her own biological son—Hamsa's younger brother—Rajkumar Garuda—to sit on the throne.
Under different circumstances, Hamsa might have allowed it. He would have preferred it, even. To stand behind the throne and move things from the shadows.
But he did not have that luxury.
What he intended to build required authority. Direct authority.
And that brought him here.
Ratnavathi finished speaking, then Hamsa spoke.
"I am aware of your situation," Hamsa said. "Though this is not the primary reason for my visit, I would rather address this now. I want your support in the upcoming discussions I will be holding with the guilds."
Ratnavathi's expression shifted slightly, her eyes widening, just enough to show she understood the weight of what he was asking.
"It would please me to be of use to you, Yuvraj. Though I do not know how much this will accomplish. The guilds—" she began.
"I understand," Hamsa said, cutting her off, though his tone remained calm. "Your family's influence has waned, and the guilds are pragmatic. They follow advantage, not sentiment. But that does not mean they ignore signals. If you are seen to stand with me, they will at least consider what I have to say in a more favorable light. Even if only two generations ago, your voice still holds weight."
Ratnavathi listened and thought for a moment.
What the Yuvraj said did make sense. Her voice still carried some weight—especially among the newer families, and a few of the older ones who still remembered what her house once was.
"We will do as you ask of me, Yuvraj. Though… may I know what you plan to do?" Ratnavathi said.
Hamsa looked at her for a moment before replying.
"I do not ask for support without giving reason," he said. Though his tone was calm, there was something in the way he said it that made it feel less like a reassurance and more like a statement of procedure.
"But before that," he continued, "there is another matter I came here for."
He leaned back slightly.
"I would like to offer you a contract. A military contract—for the production of armor, and the procurement of related materials, among other things."
A brief pause.
"Depending on your performance, more contracts will follow. And something akin to a Royal Posting, if everything goes as planned."
__________________________________
Royal District; Palace.
Mahadevi Bhadra's Office.
While Hamsa remained in the Upper District, steadily laying down the first stones in a new path along the road he intended to build, within the palace, his stepmother moved through her own schedule.
Even amidst her duties, she had taken the time to speak with certain people.
Padmavathi—whom she had just finished meeting in person—and Naga, who, by chance, was not attending the Yuvraj that day.
Sigh.
The Mahadevi let out a quiet breath, leaning back slightly.
"It seems she is just his student after all," she said, her tone flat. Then a small pause.
"And both of them… loyal," she added.
Lata, who had followed her in, was pouring refreshments as she spoke.
"It was somewhat surprising," she said, stepping forward and handing the drink over, "that even Sir Naga—one of the oldest in the Royal Guard—remains so firmly loyal to the Yuvraj."
The Mahadevi took the cup and sipped.
"Well… it simply means he is doing something right," she said. "Though it still concerns me that he remains rather… anti-social."
What the Mahadevi said was not entirely wrong.
Hamsa was not opposed to being social. In fact, in a distant sense, he would have preferred it. But he found such interactions draining, especially with people he did not already know. Unless a conversation had purpose—work, planning, something tangible, his interests—his engagement was minimal.
That, however, was not her primary concern.
What troubled her more was his apparent indifference toward building relationships—even with his own faction, one that existed largely due to the influence of his grandfather from his biological mother's side.
It was not that he ignored them entirely.
He did meet them.
But he never pursued them.
Only invested in place not the person it was under.
Never built any meaningful connections.
Combined with the already strained perception of him among sections of the nobility and the merchant class, this made the situation fragile. Even his recent actions had begun to stir unease within the temples and universities.
Hamsa, however, had his own reasons.
His social ability was… lacking. Calling it poor would have been generous. Outside of work or matters directly tied to his goals, he had little interest in prolonged interaction.
He was straightforward by nature, and more often than not, he took words at face value—even when he knew better.
Then there was his mana.
Even when suppressed, it was difficult to ignore. Anyone sensitive enough to perceive it would instinctively grow wary—if not outright uneasy.
Its density alone was unnatural.
Though even if he had wished to improve on these aspects, he did not.
Because, in his view, it was unnecessary.
He knew that once his plans began to unfold, most would stand against him—or worse, stand beside him only long enough to betray him.
This last part, however, was unknown to the Mahadevi—and it slowly became the root of her concern.Like a missing piece in a puzzle she could not complete.
The Mahadevi finished her drink and turned her attention to the day's work, beginning to go through the pile of documents laid out before her.
As she moved through them one by one, a particular scroll caught her eye.
It was nothing unusual at first glance—a regular parchment scroll.
But the seal upon it was not.
The insignia of the Parthian Royal Family.
Her expression tightened slightly as she picked it up and broke the seal, unfolding it carefully before reading.
By the time she reached the end, the immediate concern had eased—but the tension on her face did not disappear entirely.
Lata, noticing the shift, stepped closer.
"Mahadevi… is something the matter?"
The Mahadevi folded the scroll slowly.
"Well… fortunately, it is nothing of immediate concern," she said.
A brief pause followed.
"Though it seems," she added, her tone measured, "my son will be meeting one of his brides-to-be much earlier than expected."
____________________________________________
A Few Days Later
It was morning.
The sun had risen well above the horizon, though it had yet to reach its peak.
The Royal District was already alive.
Across the training grounds, the usual rhythm carried on—steel clashing, boots striking the ground, voices calling out commands. It was no different from any other day.
At the center of it, Hamsa moved through the drills.
He was going through regular drills with new equipment that he made from his old world along with usual mana usage training.
Along with this he was doing his daily routine as well.
After some time, he raised his hand.
The drills came to a halt.
"Dismissed," he said.
Most of the men dispersed immediately, returning to their duties.
Only two remained.
Rajkumar Garuda.
And Ranapala.
"Well," Hamsa said, turning toward them, "now that the routine is out of the way, we can begin your training."
He looked at Ranapala first.
"Do what I taught you yesterday," he said. "By this evening, I want you to reach a level where you can bring out your mana and maintain it while actively using it."
Ranapala straightened.
"Yes, sir."
Without wasting time, he moved off toward one of the practice ranges—an area usually used for archery and mana control exercises.
Hamsa then turned to his brother.
"And you…"
He paused for a brief moment, thinking.
"Garuda. Show me what you can do. We'll spar." A small shift in tone.
"No weapons. Hand-to-hand. I want to see how your senses and reactions have developed."
Garuda's expression sharpened.
"As you command, Elder Brother."
The two moved toward one of the sparring arenas.
Once they were there, word of this spread quickly.
Though the crowd that gathered was not large, it was decent enough—off-duty guards, a few attendants, and even some women from the palace and temple quarters paused to watch.
At the center of the arena, the two brothers stood facing each other, a few feet apart.
Garuda moved first.
Mana began to gather around him, spreading outward and forming a thin covering around in a sphere—up to the bounds of their spar.
Hamsa responded differently.
Instead of extending his mana outward, he drew it inward, letting it settle tightly across his body. A controlled layer, dense and precise.
Reason being, if he released it fully, like his younger brother had, the match would lose its purpose.
Both took their stances, and for a brief moment, silence settled over the arena as the air seemed to tighten around them.
Then—
Garuda moved.
He burst forward with speed and precision, his footwork light and controlled as he closed the distance almost instantly, his body flowing from one motion into the next without pause.
The first strike came clean—a sharp, straight punch—but before Hamsa could fully respond, it shifted into a feint, the real attack coming from the side a fraction of a second later.
Hamsa adjusted just in time, taking the impact on his forearm instead of his face, but Garuda was already continuing, chaining strike into strike with a natural rhythm that showed no hesitation.
Hands, elbows, knees, and low kicks followed in seamless succession, each movement connecting into the next as if it had always been meant to.
Hamsa gave ground—not much, but enough—his defense holding through tight, economical movements as he absorbed and redirected the attacks, though he was clearly reacting rather than controlling.
Garuda pressed harder, shifting his stance as a low kick came in, immediately followed by a high strike that slipped past Hamsa's guard just enough to land lightly against his shoulder.
The impact wasn't clean, but it was enough to draw a subtle reaction from the crowd, and Garuda caught it, pushing forward with more intent.
He stepped in deeper this time, committing fully as his shoulder drove forward and a knee followed, but Hamsa didn't retreat—instead, he shifted just slightly, enough to throw off the center of the attack.
The knee missed its mark by inches, and in that small imbalance, Hamsa stepped in, delivering a short, precise strike to the ribs before Garuda could fully recover.
Garuda pulled back immediately, resetting his stance as the two circled again, this time with a noticeable change in his pace.
When he attacked again, it was sharper, more deliberate—a feint high followed by a low sweep—but Hamsa moved to avoid it, only for Garuda to transition mid-motion into a spinning strike that came in fast and clean.
Hamsa raised his guard, but even then, it grazed him.
Garuda's lips curved slightly.
Then—
Hamsa moved.
He didn't move faster, nor did he strike harder, but this time, he moved earlier, stepping in before Garuda's next motion had fully formed.
Garuda tried to continue the exchange, but Hamsa was already inside his range, one hand catching his wrist while the other pressed against his shoulder—not forcefully, but exactly where it needed to be.
Garuda's movement collapsed, his balance shifting forward as Hamsa turned it just enough to force him off-line.
He stumbled, caught himself, and reset almost immediately, though the change in his expression was clear.
He attacked again—faster, sharper—but now something was off, as each strike fell just slightly short and every opening seemed to disappear before he could take it.
Hamsa didn't overpower him, didn't outpace him—he simply arrived first.
Garuda tried to break the rhythm, forcing the engagement and closing the distance aggressively, but Hamsa stepped in once more, delivering a palm strike to the chest—light, but perfectly placed.
----------------
As the two brothers continued their spar, the number of spectators grew slightly, with a few more from the court and the Royal Guards gathering along the edges of the arena.
Among them was Ranapala—who, despite being assigned to train, had somehow found his way here as well, standing with the others as he watched the bout unfold.
"Can you tell what's happening?" a voice came from beside him.
Ranapala turned and saw a man in his mid to late twenties, dressed in the manner of a temple scholar from the Royal District. He studied him for a brief moment, then turned his gaze back to the spar before answering.
"For the most part, yeah," he said.
"Then tell me," the man continued, his eyes still fixed on the arena. "All I can make out is that Rajkumar Garuda is using a wide but less dense field, while the Yuvraj is keeping his… close. Tight. I don't quite understand why."
Ranapala nodded slightly.
"You've got the first part right," he said. "They're fighting hand-to-hand, and from the looks of it, the Rajkumar has the upper hand… a bit more than he should, if you ask me."
The man hummed faintly at that, considering it.
"And their fighting style?" he asked. "It's not something I've seen before. Beyond that, I can't make sense of it."
"Oh, that," Ranapala said, exhaling lightly. "It's something the Yuvraj came up with. On its own, it doesn't look like much, but when you mix it with what we already know—and factor in that no one's used to it—it becomes very effective."
They fell silent after that, watching the fight for a few more moments as the exchanges continued in the arena.
After a while, Ranapala spoke again, his gaze still fixed ahead.
"What's your name?"
"Nanda," the man replied. "I left my home some time ago… and now I teach at the temple here."
Ranapala glanced at him briefly, a hint of surprise crossing his face. The man didn't look much older than himself, though his earlier observation about the fight made more sense now.
"And you?" Nanda asked.
"Ranapala," he said. "Just Ranapala."
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Notice.
I have a lot going on. Studying and classes for 8-12hrs and physical re-habilitation and all have taken their toll.
So I will be not uploading new CH for the next two months, by the 4th week of may I will come back with regular CHs.
Though until then I might upload one CH here or there though nothing consistent.
By the time I come back, I will also have a map ready as well, so there is that too look forward to.
Thanks for reading.