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Chapter 13
The Weight of First Blood
The battlefield burned under a sky turning blood-red as the sun bled into the horizon.
Flames devoured what remained of the village houses, crackling hungrily through wooden beams and thatched roofs. Thick black smoke rolled across the streets like a living fog, choking the air and stinging the eyes.
The metallic scent of blood mixed with scorched earth and burning crops created a stench that clawed deep into the lungs.
Screams of the wounded—both human and asura—echoed through the chaos, raw and desperate.
In the heart of the inferno stood Suyodhana.
Across from him loomed Krodhakar, the asura warlord, a towering nightmare of muscle, horn, and shadow.
Black blood oozed from the glowing cuts the Veer Astra Blade had carved into his chest and shoulders.
The monster's massive chest heaved with ragged, furious breaths, dark energy slithering across his skin like venomous serpents.
"You dare wound me… you pathetic human whelp?" Krodhakar snarled, voice like grinding boulders.
His enormous axe slammed into the ground, splitting the earth with a thunderous crack.
The shockwave nearly knocked several nearby Kaurava princes off their feet.
Suyodhana wiped the blood trickling from his forehead with the back of his hand.
His ribs burned with every breath, but his eyes remained cold and steady.
"You talk too much for someone who's already bleeding."
The asura roared—an ear-splitting sound that made the younger princes flinch—and charged like a living avalanche.
The ground trembled beneath his heavy steps.
The giant axe swung down with crushing, bone-breaking force.
CLANG!
The Veer Astra Blade met the axe head-on.
Golden light exploded against dark metal.
The violent shockwave blasted dust and debris outward in a choking cloud.
Suyodhana's arms screamed from the impact, but he held his ground.
Krodhakar attacked again and again—each swing faster, heavier, more savage.
The air whistled with deadly force.
One missed strike shattered a nearby cart into splinters.
Another grazed Suyodhana's shoulder, tearing through armor and drawing fresh blood.
Yet Suyodhana moved with terrifying calm.
Step.
Turn.
Slash.
Every motion was precise, almost graceful, as if he were dancing with death itself.
The celestial blade carved deep, glowing wounds across the asura's thick hide.
Black blood sprayed hot across the ground, hissing where it landed.
Krodhakar howled in pure rage.
"You insignificant insect!"
Dark energy erupted from his body like a storm unleashed.
The violent wave slammed into Suyodhana head-on, hurling him backward through the air.
He crashed hard into the dirt, rolling painfully across broken stones and shattered pottery.
Pain exploded through his ribs and back.
For a terrifying second, the world spun.
His brothers cried out in raw panic.
"Brother!"
" Bharata!"
Suyodhana lay still for a moment, chest heaving.
The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
His body screamed for him to stay down.
But he pushed himself up slowly, muscles trembling.
Blood ran freely down his arm and side now.
His cracked armor hung in pieces.
Yet his grip on the Veer Astra Blade never wavered.
The blade's golden glow seemed to pulse in response to his will.
Krodhakar laughed cruelly, the sound dripping with mockery.
"Look at you. Weak. Broken. Kneel before me, little prince, and I might grant you a quick death."
Suyodhana straightened to his full height.
His eyes burned with quiet, unshakable resolve.
"You misunderstand something important."
He lifted the glowing blade once more, voice carrying clearly across the burning battlefield so every brother could hear.
"This village… these people… are under the protection of Hastinapura."
Krodhakar bellowed and rushed forward for the killing blow, axe raised high like a falling mountain.
But this time Suyodhana moved first.
He stepped inside the monstrous arc of the axe—dangerously close—and drove the Veer Astra Blade forward with everything he had.
SLASH!
The celestial sword cut clean and deep across the asura's chest in a brilliant arc of golden light.
For one frozen heartbeat, the entire battlefield fell deathly silent.
Krodhakar staggered backward, eyes wide with disbelief.
His massive axe slipped from suddenly limp fingers and crashed to the ground.
A glowing wound split his torso wide open, black blood pouring like a river.
"You… how… impossible…" the warlord gasped.
Then the giant collapsed.
The ground shook violently as Krodhakar's enormous body slammed into the earth, sending a final cloud of dust billowing outward.
The commander of the western asura clans was dead.
Suyodhana stood over the fallen monster, breathing hard, blood dripping from his chin.
Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave, but a strange warmth bloomed in his chest.
Then a familiar voice echoed inside his mind.
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[KARMA SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
Achievement Unlocked: First Asura Kill
Reward: +1000 Karma Points
Additional Reward:
Technique Obtained — "Vajra Edge Sword Art"
Description: A beginner-level celestial sword technique that greatly enhances speed and cutting power. When practiced, your blade strikes with the force and precision of lightning.
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A faint golden energy flowed through Suyodhana's body, soothing some of the burning pain in his ribs and easing the heavy fatigue.
He felt stronger.
Sharper.
But there was no time to celebrate.
Seeing their leader slain, the remaining asuras broke.
Their morale shattered completely.
The monsters turned and fled into the darkening hills with panicked roars.
The Kaurava princes gave chase with fierce, adrenaline-fueled shouts, driving the last of the creatures away from the village.
The battle was finally over.
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Night had fully claimed the sky by the time the fires were brought under control.
The young Kaurava princes sat together on the blood-stained ground, exhausted beyond words.
Their armor was dented and torn.
Fresh cuts and bruises marked their arms, faces, and legs.
Some winced with every small movement.
The terror of the fight still lingered in their eyes—the moment they had frozen, the nearness of death, the overwhelming power of real monsters.
No one spoke at first.
The silence was heavy, broken only by the crackling of dying embers and distant groans of the wounded.
Then came small, hesitant footsteps.
A group of village children approached slowly, their thin bodies trembling.
Their faces were streaked with soot and tears, eyes still wide with the trauma of the attack.
Yet each child carried a small clay cup of water with both hands, as if offering the most precious treasure in the world.
One little boy, no older than six, walked up to Vikarna and held out the cup, voice shaking.
"Thank you… prince… you saved us…"
Another girl, barely standing, approached Duhshasana.
"You… you protected my mother when the monster grabbed her…"
One by one, the children offered water to the princes.
Their tiny hands shook, but their smiles—small, sincere, grateful—cut deeper than any blade.
The Kaurava princes could only stare in stunned silence.
They had never received gratitude like this.
Not in the palace, where servants bowed out of duty.
Not from nobles, who smiled for favor.
This was raw.
Honest.
Born from survival.
Farmers, mothers, and elders soon gathered around them too.
Many bore fresh bandages or carried injured loved ones.
Every single one bowed deeply, voices thick with emotion.
"Thank you, young princes…"
"Hastinapur protected us when we had no one…"
"You fought for us… simple villagers…"
Vikarna looked down at his bloodied sword, fingers trembling slightly.
Duhshasana rubbed a cut on his cheek, eyes glistening.
Many of the boys lowered their heads, shoulders shaking not from pain, but from something deeper.
The arrogance they had carried since birth—the belief that the world existed to serve them—had been burned away in the fires of this night.
In its place grew a quiet, heavy understanding.
Being a prince wasn't about golden plates or bowing servants.
It was about this:
Blood.
Fear.
Pain.
And the responsibility to stand between monsters and the innocent.
Nearby, Bhishma watched the scene in silence.
A rare, genuine smile softened the old warrior's stern face.
These boys had tasted real terror tonight.
They had bled.
They had nearly broken.
But they had also begun to become true warriors of Hastinapur.
And in the center of them all, Suyodhana stared toward the dark horizon, the new sword technique humming faintly in his veins.
This was only the beginning.
The world was far larger—and far more dangerous—than any of them had imagined.
But for the first time, the lions of Hastinapur were ready to roar.
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