Arya stepped into the meeting chamber of Yamsabha, his heartbeat going through the roof as the heavy doors shut behind him. The vast chamber was lined with towering pillars, casting long shadows over the polished stone floor. At the center, a grand table stood, around which sat the seven remaining warlords of Yamsabha. They were the true masters of this domain, men and women who had built their power through years of bloodshed and cunning. And now, they were staring at him.
Silence reigned as Arya advanced. Every gaze bore into him—some with curiosity, some with disdain. He knew why. He was an outsider, an upstart who had slain Upendra and seized his seat. They had all been present in the audience that fateful day, watching with impassive expressions as Upendra fell, his lifeless body sprawled on the pit's bloodstained sand. None had intervened, none had spoken. But now, their scrutiny was piercing.
Servants stepped forward, their movements precise and rehearsed. They held out their hands for his robes and his sword. Arya hesitated but complied, unbuckling his weapon and handing it over. Behind him, Rudra and Raghav attempted to step forward, only to be stopped by guards at the threshold. They were not permitted inside. This was a meeting for warlords. Arya was alone.
Ashvapati and Yatnish stood beside him, their presence his only support. Yatnish remained composed, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. Ashvapati was a silent giant, his massive form exuding quiet menace. The warlords watched Arya with a mix of amusement and expectation. Upendra had not been the most powerful among them, but he had been valuable—his influence spanning trade, slavery, and weapons. His absence left a void, and they were here to determine whether Arya was fit to fill it.
Sharvas, the leader of Yamsabha, finally rose from his seat. He was an aging warrior, his graying hair doing nothing to diminish the sharpness in his eyes. A scar ran down his cheek, a testament to countless battles.
"Welcome, Arya," he said, his voice smooth but firm. "The new master of the pit."
The politeness was a formality. Arya knew none of them welcomed him in truth. He offered a stiff nod in response.
"We extend our condolences to Yatnish and Ashvapati for Upendra's passing," Sharvas continued, glancing at the two men. "A loss to us all."
A brief silence followed. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes—one that measured, weighed, and judged.
Then, Sharvas clapped his hands together. "Let's discuss business. We have much to talk about. Young Arya should feel welcome here. We will begin with the matters of slaves and weapons. Tell me, Arya, how do you intend to meet our demands?" His gaze was piercing. "There is a lack of slaves. The weapons Upendra provided are dwindling. Our cities must be protected. What is your plan?"
Arya had no answer. He could feel the weight of the room pressing down on him. He had barely had time to understand the depths of Upendra's dealings, let alone formulate a response. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Yatnish stepped forward smoothly.
"We have a new stock of weapons that will be rolled out soon," he announced. "That should be enough to meet your demands for at least six months. As for the slaves… that is a more complex issue. It is not as if they have all perished within the year. Patience, my lords. Young Lord Arya will do everything in his power to match the great Upendra."
Sharvas nodded at the answer, but before the conversation could move forward, another warlord stood up—Dhanudanda. He was a burly man, his arms thick with muscle, his eyes filled with open disdain. He scoffed, shaking his head.
"Yatnish, do you expect us to place our trust in this boy? A mere soldier?" His voice was laced with mockery. "Upendra built his empire over two decades. Now, a child sits in his chair, and we are expected to collaborate with him? What does he even know?"
Before Arya could react, Dhanudanda's hand moved swiftly. A dagger flashed in the dim light, its tip aimed at Arya's chest. "The one you killed was a great warrior, but he was old. How about you prove yourself to me, boy? Let's see if you can wield that borrowed sword of yours."
The room tensed. Arya's fingers twitched at his side, but before he could move, Ashvapati took a step forward. It was a slow, deliberate movement, but it carried the weight of a boulder rolling into place. The sheer force of his presence filled the space between Arya and Dhanudanda like an unspoken threat.
Sharvas raised a hand, stopping Dhanudanda before he could take another step. "Enough," he commanded. "This is not a place for such… demonstrations."
Dhanudanda sneered but sheathed his dagger. The room returned to its tense silence.
Yatnish, ever the diplomat, smoothed over the moment with practiced ease. "We must remain patient. There is much to rebuild, and young Arya will learn quickly. He understands what is at stake."
The discussion moved forward, covering the responsibilities of each warlord:
Dhanudanda was to finance water projects near the cities.Sharvas would oversee the evacuation of villagers to seize their lands.Raktapasu would provide trained soldiers to the warlords.Savignya and Parashar were responsible for managing food and supplies in Bhuva Mandal.Eknandini would control the taxation of the region.Kritipal to oversee clothing and tools and machinery
Arya listened but remained silent. He felt like an intruder in a den of wolves, each of them eyeing him as prey. He understood one thing clearly—this was not a gathering of equals. This was a battlefield, and he was unarmed.
The meeting concluded. One by one, the warlords departed, their gazes lingering on Arya as they left. He had not spoken a word beyond his initial greeting. He had not needed to. His presence alone had set the tone—he was the weakest among them, an easy target.
As Arya stepped out of Sharvas' fortress, the cold reality settled in. He had no allies here. No one to trust. If he did not act quickly, his newfound territory would be carved up and devoured by the others.
He had survived the pit. He had survived Upendra.
But this was an entirely different game. One where hesitation meant death.
And if Arya wanted to survive, he would have to become something more than just a fighter.
He would have to become a ruler.