A finely crafted carriage made of polished Burma teak rolled steadily along a dusty road, returning from the royal palace. Inside sat two men—one, a powerful zamindar named Surya Singha Chowdhury, and the other, his trusted nayeb, Prabin Chandra Roy. Their faces reflected a mix of frustration and thoughtfulness, the air thick with tension.
Surya Singha was still reeling from the reports he'd just heard—news that struck a direct blow to his pride. He turned sharply to Prabin.
"Is all of this true? Or has gossip twisted the tale?"
Prabin Chandra, grizzled and wise from years of service, answered with solemn certainty. "It's all confirmed, my lord. My informants verified every detail."
"Summarize it. I want to hear it plainly."
Prabin obliged. "He killed four of our soldiers, stripped Madan Mohan, and seized the uncollected tax. Thankfully, Madan hadn't yet completed the full collection—else we'd have lost much more."
Surya Singha's face darkened. "Then?"
"Your younger son, Pralay, with Madan Mohan's urging, sent eight of our elite soldiers to eliminate him. Seven of them are now dead. One returned injured… and resigned from service, my lord. Out of fear."
Surya Singha set down his hookah, staring out at the forested landscape. The rhythmic sound of the carriage wheels blurred into the background as the weight of the report sank in.
"What kind of man makes a battle-hardened soldier resign?" he muttered.
Prabin hesitated. "He's not ordinary. According to our surviving man, the carnage was... unspeakable. He also carried a message: if we send more soldiers, he'll come for you personally—and then, my lord, it won't just be blood. It'll be hell."
There was a long pause before Surya Singha finally spoke again. "This is an insult. I should send fifty men, crush him, and try him under imperial law."
Prabin shook his head. "With due respect, my lord… this man cannot be subdued by sheer numbers. My instincts say we haven't even seen his full potential."
"You sound like you admire him," Surya Singha snapped.
"I respect the strength of those who don't misuse it," Prabin said calmly. "Allow me to share two observations. First, he is Indian—one of us. And though he's powerful, he hasn't initiated conflict. Second, he chose to stay with a widow from the Onga tribe. That suggests he's discreet, strategic, and oddly... compassionate."
Surya Singha raised an eyebrow. "A man of caste, staying with an untouchable? Why would he risk such scandal?"
"I can't answer that, my lord. But perhaps it's worth finding out—face to face. And if he's as reasonable as I believe, he may yet become an ally."
Surya Singha leaned back, his fingers drumming thoughtfully. "And if he refuses?"
"Then we deal with him… with strength."
A smirk played at Surya Singha's lips. "You're a crafty one, Prabin. Who do you suggest we send to meet him?"
"I'll go myself, my lord. I know how to speak the language of men like him."
"Take gifts, valuables, and gold coins," Surya Singha said. "Entice him with what he cannot ignore."
The plan was set. The carriage neared its destination as the wind picked up, rustling through the trees—echoing like whispers of fate.
And somewhere far ahead, a man unaware of the storm brewing behind him stood on a shifting battlefield where power, survival, and alliances would soon collide.
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🔮 Next Up – Chapter 11: The Price of Respect
A seat at the front row. A sloth bear's remains. A bid that draws more than just gold.As Rahul steps into the auction house spotlight, whispers turn to offers—and a mysterious man extends an invitation that could change everything. But with new respect comes new rules... and a steep price.
Will he rise to meet the expectations of power, or discover that every coin of status is etched with hidden cost?
🔥 Secrets unfold. Alliances form. And Revati's gaze might just reveal more than affection…
Don't miss Chapter 11—where rising in rank means gambling your soul.
👉 Enjoying the journey? Drop a power stone or a comment and help Rahul reach his destiny faster!