Chapter 32: The Traitor's Trap
Year 1565, January, County Deoyakhand, Near the border of the Mughal Empire, Flashback, Two days ago
The deep winter mist of January hung heavily over the dense forests of Deoyakhand County. Moving under the cover of absolute secrecy, an advanced Mughal military contingent had successfully breached the frontiers of the Khurda Kingdom. This multi-arms force, consisting of heavy field cannons, disciplined infantry, swift cavalry, and specialized archers, also included a select platoon of men equipped with Toradar—the iconic matchlock muskets of the Mughal Empire. To avoid diplomatic fallout and maintain complete deniability, the entire force was masterfully disguised as a band of roaming mercenaries. Believing their presence undetected, they set up a massive fortified camp near the border to rest for the night.
However, the shadows of the forest belonged to the Crown. Vetted scouts operating under General Harish had tracked the enemy's movements from the moment they crossed the border. Returning swiftly to the royal command outpost, the scouts delivered the precise coordinates of the Mughal army. Recognizing a flawless tactical opportunity to strike the invaders while they were completely unprepared, General Harish ordered his modernized battalions to prepare for a night assault.
As the night darkened into an absolute, pitch-black shroud, the royal army silently exited the forest line, advancing toward the unsuspecting Mughal camp. The Mughals had neglected deep reconnaissance, falsely assuming absolute safety within Deoyakhand. After all, their high command shared a secret treaty of alliance with the treacherous Count Shamsher Choudhry, and their own scouts had reported no major royal formations in the vicinity.
The illusion of safety shattered with terrifying violence. The moment General Harish's artillery units came within operational range, they rapidly deployed the crown's industrial secret weapons: the Vajrastra arrow batteries and Varshastra rocket systems. The Varshastra was unleashed first. With a shrill, deafening whistle that tore through the midnight air, the pressurized iron rockets soared into the sky in a blinding arc before descending directly onto the crowded camp.
The scene that unfolded was a heart-wrenching theater of absolute destruction. Dozens of rockets burst prematurely in mid-air, showering the camp with a rain of chemical fire that ignited the canvas tents instantly. Other iron combustion tubes struck the earth, bounced, and tore along the ground in a serpentine, erratic motion until their kinetic and explosive force was spent. As the inferno spread uncontrollably, the localized fire breached the main Mughal gunpowder magazine—the central repository intended for their field pieces and Toradar muskets.
The resulting secondary explosion was catastrophic. A seismic shockwave tore through the camp, tearing bodies apart and obliterating defenses. Compounding this nightmare was a relentless, continuous hail of Vajrastra arrows, leaving hundreds dead or dying in their beds. Amidst this raging hellscape, a structural collapse occurred at the main command tent; burning embers and heavy beams collapsed inward, trapping and killing the Mughal commander before he could even mount his horse.
Completely leaderless and in absolute disarray, the surviving Mughal soldiers panicked, fleeing the burning perimeter in every direction. In the distance, a large contingent spotted the familiar standard and banners of Count Shamsher Choudhry's territorial army. Believing their allies had arrived to reinforce them, the fleeing Mughals ran toward the lines for sanctuary. To their utter horror, they were met with a disciplined, cold-blooded volley of musket fire from the very army they sought help from.
The absolute shock paralyzed them briefly before the grim reality dawned upon their minds: Count Shamsher had seemingly betrayed them. Blinded by terror, the remaining Mughal forces turned and fled toward their own borders. General Harish's regular infantry and cavalry gave a relentless, scorched-earth chase, systematically hunting down the retreating forces. The bloody pursuit did not cease until the final remnants of the invading force were driven entirely back across the frontier into Mughal territory.
Present Day, Subapur Barony
Barely two hours had passed since the total annihilation of Baron Himchandra's rebel forces, yet the royal army under Crown Prince Vikramaditya Deva was already on the march. Intelligence reports from the Tritiya Netra indicated that Count Shamsher Choudhry's main army was rapidly approaching, a mere three to four hours'march away. To maintain maximum operational velocity, the prince left behind the wounded, the dead, and the few shivering prisoners under the strict guard of a single platoon of one hundred line infantry.
Reaching a tactically viable plain, the royal forces quickly took up a defensive posture. To neutralize the count's numerical superiority in shock cavalry and war elephants, the vanguard deployed thousands of iron caltrops across the grass. Major General Virendra engineered a brilliant flanking trap, concealing several 6-pounder field cannons within a large, dense grove on the left flank, completely shielded by a company of musketeers and a company of mobile cavalrymen.
In the center, the main line infantry musketeer battalions formed their standard, imposing ranks, with mobile cannons placed precisely within the strategic gaps of their ranks to deliver devastating canister shots. The primary cavalry force was split and held in the rear, ready to intercept any enveloping maneuvers against the flanks. A formidable reserve was established, consisting of a battalion of elite musketeers and nearly four hundred elite Royal Guards under Prince Vikramaditya. Finally, the rocket artillery units and long-range missile troops occupied the high ground in the rear to rain down fire.
Across the field, Count Shamsher's army deployed in traditional medieval fashion: standard feudal infantry formed the vanguard, heavily supported by dense blocks of archers, with shock cavalry protecting both flanks, and twenty massive war elephants alongside obsolete bronze cannons anchoring the rear. Surveying the field, the Crown Prince's mind went back to the war council held an hour prior. He had authorized a high-stakes flanking brigade—comprising a battalion of elite musketeers, five hundred Royal Guards, and a company of cavalry—to execute a wide, sweeping arc around the terrain. Their objective was singular and absolute: bypass the main battle and capture Count Shamsher alive.
Count Shamsher looked out across the plains, an exhilarated, arrogant smile plastered across his face. His combined forces outnumbered the prince's army by an estimated seven to eight thousand men. Though a flicker of anxiety crossed his mind regarding the lack of news from Baron Himchandra, he easily dismissed it, assuming the baron's forces were simply delayed and would join the slaughter sooner or later.
The opening artillery duel commenced, and the count's exhilaration quickly curdled into a deep frown. While his own bronze cannons caused sporadic casualties among the royal lines, the return bombardment from the prince's side was catastrophic. Massive gaps were ripped into his ranks before his archers could even march into their effective firing range. What truly shocked the count were the rockets screaming through the air; they bore an uncanny resemblance to the weapon systems used exclusively by the Mughal Empire—a technology the Mughals guarded with absolute secrecy and never shared with localized regional lords.
As columns of his infantry shattered under the explosive rain, morale began to plummet rapidly. Desperate to regain the initiative, Count Shamsher ordered an all-out, en-masse infantry assault on the prince's vanguard, backed closely by his archers.
The response from the royal army was a display of industrial slaughter. The front row of the modernized vanguard leveled their muskets and fired a synchronized, thunderous volley that mowed down the entire leading wave of the count's infantry. Before the survivors could exploit the reload time, the prince's four-rank deep cyclic infantry formation went into motion. As the first rank emptied their weapons, they seamlessly moved to the rear to reload, while the freshly loaded second rank stepped forward to deliver another wall of lead. This continuous, mechanical cycle, combined with the devastating canister shots from the interstitial cannons, decimated the count's infantry before they could even clash swords in melee combat.
In a frantic attempt to break the deadlock, Shamsher committed his ultimate assets: he ordered his twenty massive war elephants to trample the royal vanguard, while unleashing his entire cavalry force to crush the prince's flanks.
The maneuver failed instantly. The rampaging war elephants struck the hidden fields of iron caltrops, roaring in agony as the spikes pierced their feet. Capitalizing on their immobility, the vanguard musketeers and canister cannons focused their fire, bringing the gargantuan beasts crashing down into the dirt. Simultaneously, the flanking cavalry charge was met with absolute resistance, countered flawlessly by the prince's fresh, professional cavalry reserves.
With the count's entire army fully committed and trapped in the meat-grinder, the trap closed. Count Shamsher was hit with two catastrophic surprises simultaneously. On his left flank, the hidden 6-pounder cannons emerged from the grove, unleashing enfilade fire, while a fresh company of cavalry and musketeers charged the rear of his engaged infantry.
Worse still, the prince's flanking brigade materialized directly in the count's rear. A company of royal cavalry alongside the elite Royal Guards completely severed Shamsher's escape routes, encircling his personal command pavilion and systematically neutralizing his personal guard. Concurrently, a battalion of elite musketeers assaulted his exposed archers from behind. Within minutes, a ring of steel tightened around Count Shamsher Choudhry. Dragged from his mount, the count was bound in heavy irons. Seeing their lord captured and their ranks utterly broken, the remaining rebel forces fractured into a chaotic, routing mass.
Few Days Later, Deoyakhand County
The grand central hall of Deoyakhand Castle inside the regional fort was silent. Count Shamsher Choudhry, thoroughly defeated but with eyes burning with unyielding defiance and rage, was forced to his knees in front of Prince Vikramaditya. The capture of the count had triggered an immediate domino effect; the skeleton garrison left to man the formidable Deoyakhand Fort had surrendered the entire castle without firing a single shot the moment they saw their lord dragged forward in chains.
Sitting upon the high seat of the hall, Prince Vikramaditya looked down at the bound conspirator. "Well, the master schemer still has some fight left in him," the prince noted, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips. "No matter. Let me take it out of you. These are my terms." He turned his gaze toward Major General Virendra, signaling him to read the royal decree.
General Virendra stepped forward, unrolling a heavy parchment. "You shall remain a count in name only," Virendra thundered. "The entirety of Deoyakhand's administration will henceforth be run by the newly formed Public Administration Office—a core centralization reform applied by the Crown. A governor appointed directly by the royal family will oversee the territory, backed by a full brigade of the regular Royal Army permanently stationed here for security. You will be placed under strict house arrest, signing exactly what you are commanded to sign, and when the temporal fabric is ready, you will officially renounce your titles. Furthermore, you will immediately draft a correspondence to the Vijayanagar Empire, stating how the Mughals coerced you into letting their armies breach our borders. Simultaneously, you will write to the Mughal court, declaring that you have aligned with Vijayanagar, since they are an Indu power just like you, and that you will utilize Vijayanagar's military might to block any future Mughal incursions into your county or the kingdom."
Hearing this macro-strategic entrapment, Count Shamsher snarled, leaning forward and spitting directly at the prince's feet. The disrespect was short-lived; a heavy royal guard delivered a crushing smack to his shoulder with the heavy butt of a musket, forcing him back down.
Prince Vikramaditya merely laughed softly. "You seem to harbor the foolish illusion that someone is coming to save you, Count. Every single loyalist noble within your faction has already been systematically exterminated, and their ancestral estates have been seized by my decree. This includes the radical slamic followers who entered your county and committed horrific atrocities against the common Indu people in the name of their rigid faith. As for your allies, the Mughals? They already believe you are a double-crossing traitor, given that I used your personal banners to utterly rout their invading vanguard two days ago. So, I ask you one final time: do you accept my terms?"
Seeing the residual defiance etched into the old man's face, the prince let out a deep, tired sigh. "I guess you leave me no choice," he murmured, snapping his fingers sharply.
The massive oak doors of the central hall creaked open. Escorted tightly by a contingent of armed royal guards, the count's entire direct family was marched into the room. The moment Shamsher looked upon his wife and children, the defiance vanished from his eyes, replaced by an absolute, paralyzing fear. He looked at the prince, his voice trembling: "You... you cannot do this. You are a royal! Bound by noble code!"
Vikramaditya's expression hardened into pure, terrifying ice as he leaned forward. "I can, and I will go to any length, break any code, and burn any enemy to ensure the safety of the common Indu people in my kingdom! Do you understand me? Now, sign the terms, or I will systematically exterminate your entire bloodline from the face of this earth, just as I did your co-conspirators!"
A profound silence descended upon the hall. Looking at the unyielding prince, General Virendra and the ranks of modernized soldiers lining the walls felt a wave of fierce, reverent pride. They realized that they finally served a true Kshatriya sovereign—a leader who didn't care for empty noble chivalry, but rather possessed the absolute ruthlessness needed to shield the common folk from annihilation.
Broken in spirit and left with absolute zero options, Count Shamsher Choudhry dropped his head and agreed to every condition. The proud lord of Deoyakhand was reduced to a mere figurehead, a golden-caged puppet to be systematically utilized by the Crown.
A Week Later, The Mughal Imperial Court
Deep within the fortified capital of the Mughal Empire, the atmosphere inside the imperial court was suffocating. The Emperor sat upon his gilded throne, reading the official correspondence bearing the seal of the "Khafir Count" Shamsher. His face contorted into an expression of absolute, furious rage.
Yet, beneath the fury lay a bitter administrative paralysis. The intelligence reports attached to the letter confirmed the worst: the massive southern Indu empire of Vijayanagar had somehow caught wind of the secret border machinations and stepped into the fray. If the Mughal forces launched an immediate retaliatory campaign to crush the treasonous count or invade the Khurda buffer kingdom, it would instantly trigger a full-fledged, continental war against Vijayanagar.
It was a geopolitical checkmate that the empire could not afford. Imperial armies were already stretched to their absolute limits, desperately fighting draining conflicts on multiple regional fronts against the Marathas, the British, and the Bengal-Portuguese coalition. Suppressing his wrath, the Emperor tossed the parchment aside and turned to his Wazir.
"Keep all offensive designs against Deoyakhand on indefinite hold," the Emperor commanded, his voice cold and venomous. "We shall deal with this traitorous count and the small kingdom when the time is ripe. For now, let them celebrate."