Chapter 209: Chapter 207: Amba Tejas Killing Spree... Revelation Before Royal Family...

(A/N):

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The assassin’s confidence vanished in an instant.

"...."

He gritted his teeth and tried to wrench the dagger free.

It didn’t budge.

Devara’s bare hand remained clamped around the blade as though it had been forged into the steel itself.

The assassin pulled again with all his strength.

Veins bulged across his neck.

His face turned crimson from the effort.

Nothing.

The weapon remained imprisoned within Devara’s bloodstained grasp.

"W-What..."

His voice trembled.

"What are you...?"

Before anyone could recover from the shock, another assassin saw an opening.

Devara’s back was completely exposed.

His entire attention appeared to be focused on the man before him.

Without hesitation, the assassin lunged forward.

"You should’ve watched your back!"

The short sword shot toward Devara’s spine with murderous precision.

Clang!

A metallic sound echoed throughout the tent.

The assassin’s triumphant expression froze.

The sword had pierced through Devara’s robes...

But no farther.

It had stopped against his back as though it had struck an invisible suit of armor.

No matter how hard he pushed, the blade refused to sink even a fraction deeper.

"W-What...?"

The assassin stared in disbelief.

"Impossible..."

Then...

Something changed.

A faint golden ripple spread across the air behind Devara.

It was subtle at first.

Almost imperceptible.

Yet the very atmosphere inside the tent seemed to grow heavier.

Everyone instinctively felt it.

A presence.

Ancient. Regal. Watching.

Near Devara’s waist, empty space suddenly distorted.

Two radiant swords materialized out of thin air.

They were identical in shape, yet each possessed its own unique brilliance.

The twin blades hovered silently beside Devara, humming with a low, resonant sound.

King Padmanabha Varma’s eyes widened.

The royal physician stumbled backward.

Even Queen Devaki forgot the enemy before her for a heartbeat.

No one had seen Devara summon them.

They had simply...

Appeared.

Within the blades rested a consciousness.

The divine will of Amba Tejas.

The moment she perceived her master surrounded by enemies while protecting an unconscious woman, she did not wait for a command.

To her...

There was no need.

The twin swords moved.

Not with the rigid motions of weapons wielded by human hands...

But like living beings.

Whoosh!

The first blade streaked across the tent like a beam of light.

An assassin raised his shield.

The sword sliced cleanly through shield, armor, and body without losing even a hint of its momentum.

Before the corpse struck the ground...

The second blade had already reached another target.

It twisted gracefully through the air, changing direction with impossible precision before severing the attacker’s weapon arm.

A heartbeat later...

It reversed its course.

The man’s head followed.

Screams erupted throughout the tent.

The assassins tried to flee.

Some swung wildly at the floating blades.

Others dropped their weapons entirely.

It made no difference.

The twin swords danced through the battlefield with terrifying elegance.

One moment they were near the entrance.

The next they appeared behind their prey.

Every swing was flawless.

Every strike was fatal.

Within moments...

The tent fell silent.

"...."

"...."

"...."

The crimson canvas walls became stained with fresh blood.

Bodies lay scattered across the torn floor.

Only one assassin remained alive.

The very first man.

The one whose dagger was still trapped within Devara’s grasp.

His breathing became ragged.

Cold sweat poured from his face.

His mind could no longer comprehend what he was witnessing.

"T-This..."

"This isn’t possible..."

In blind panic, he abandoned the dagger altogether and tried to pry Devara’s fingers apart with his free hand.

He kicked.

Twisted.

Struggled desperately.

Yet Devara’s grip never loosened.

Slowly...

Almost lazily...

Devara lifted his head.

Long strands of dark hair still concealed most of his face.

Only a single emerald-green eye became visible through the curtain of hair.

It was calm. Utterly calm.

"...."

There was no anger.

No excitement. No satisfaction.

That tranquil gaze was far more frightening than any expression of rage.

The assassin felt his entire body go cold.

An instinct buried deep within his soul screamed at him.

’Run.’

But he couldn’t.

His hand remained imprisoned.

Without taking his eyes off the trembling assassin, Devara gently shifted Princess Indhumati.

Supporting her with one arm, he carefully leaned her against one of the sturdy wooden poles supporting the tent.

Even unconscious, she remained secure, her breathing steadier than before beneath the lingering blessing of Mother Ganga.

Only after ensuring she would not fall did Devara release his support.

He rose to his full height.

The difference between them became immediately apparent.

The assassin, who moments earlier had charged with murderous intent, now looked painfully small.

Without the slightest strain...

Devara lifted him off the ground using only the hand that held him.

The assassin’s feet dangled helplessly in the air.

His fingers clawed frantically at Devara’s wrist as he struggled to breathe.

"...."

Around them, an eerie silence settled over the ruined tent.

King Padmanabha Varma, Queen Devaki, the Crown Prince, the royal physician, and every surviving guard stared speechlessly at the man they had believed to be nothing more than a traveling merchant.

Except Shakuni who was smirking.

"...."

"...."

"...."

No one spoke. No one dared.

For the first time since meeting Devara...

They realized that the calm, unassuming traveler standing before them had been concealing a power far beyond anything they had imagined.

The assassin hanging helplessly in Devaratha’s grasp had long since abandoned all thoughts of resistance.

His eyes were fixed upon the floating twin swords that hovered silently around their master like loyal guardians awaiting their next command.

Every instinct within him screamed that he had stepped into the presence of something beyond human understanding.

Just then...

A panicked cry rang out from outside the ruined tent.

"What’s happening in there?!"

Another guard burst through the torn entrance.

Unlike the others, he wasn’t carrying a sword.

Instead, a burning torch rested firmly in his hand.

The order given to him had been simple.

If the assassination failed...

Burn the Queen’s tent.

Reduce everyone inside to ashes.

But the moment he crossed the entrance...

He froze.

His pupils shrank.

"...."

The ground was soaked in blood.

Bodies lay scattered across the torn canvas.

The air carried the suffocating scent of iron.

Standing amidst that crimson sea was a lone figure.

One assassin dangled helplessly from his hand.

Two divine swords floated around him as though they possessed lives of their own.

The newcomer stood rooted to the spot, his mind refusing to accept the horrifying scene before him.

Before he could even think of raising the torch...

One of the Amba Tejas twin swords moved.

It did not slash.

It simply accelerated.

Like a streak of golden lightning.

Thud!

The blade pierced straight through the guard’s chest before emerging from his back.

His body remained suspended for a heartbeat, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

The burning torch slipped from his weakening fingers.

It spun several times through the air before falling directly onto Devaratha’s chest.

The flames instantly spread across his upper garments.

For a brief moment, everyone inside the tent watched in alarm.

"Merchant Deva!"

Queen Devaki instinctively cried out.

Yet the fire never had the chance to consume him.

A deep golden radiance erupted from beneath the burning cloth.

The flames were swallowed almost instantly.

A magnificent suit of shimmering golden armor manifested over Devaratha’s body as though it had always existed beneath his skin.

The burning fabric crumbled into ashes and drifted to the bloodstained ground.

Not even a scorch mark remained upon him.

The armor gleamed with a sacred brilliance, its intricate engravings resembling flowing rivers and ancient celestial symbols.

It radiated an authority that made even seasoned warriors instinctively lower their gazes.

The entire tent fell silent.

"...."

"...."

"...."

King Padmanabha Varma, Queen Devaki, the Crown Prince, the royal physician, and every surviving guard stared speechlessly.

Their eyes slowly shifted toward the only person in the tent who didn’t appear surprised.

Shakuni.

He stood there with his sword resting casually upon his shoulder.

A grin stretched across his face.

The King narrowed his eyes.

"...Who are you people?"

Queen Devaki’s gaze never left the radiant figure standing amidst the fallen assassins.

"You are certainly not ordinary merchants."

The Crown Prince spoke in a low voice.

"Tell us..."

"...who is he?"

Shakuni chuckled.

There wasn’t the slightest attempt to hide the pride in his expression.

"I suppose there’s no point hiding it anymore."

He looked toward the silent figure still holding the assassin in one hand.

"The man standing before you..."

"...is the ruler of Trivenivrata."

Every person inside the tent stiffened.

Shakuni continued, his voice carrying unmistakable admiration.

"The king who marched into Madhura and slew the tyrant Kamsa with his own hands."

"The man who ended the reign of the undefeated king whom countless rulers feared to challenge."

"The child who, at the age of eight, beheaded not one..."

"...but two Rakshasas that had terrorized entire region."

"The disciple personally trained by Lord Parashurama."

"The disciple blessed by Sage Durvasa."

"The son of Goddess Ganga."

"The son of Goddess Bhudevi."

He raised his sword slightly before declaring with unmistakable pride,

"The one before you is none other than ...King Devaratha."

Silence. Utter silence.

"...."

"...."

"...."

The words echoed inside the ruined tent.

No one expected those strong words and the identity of the person before them is this powerful.

King Padmanabha Varma’s eyes widened.

Queen Devaki’s lips parted in disbelief.

Even the Crown Prince found himself unable to speak.

King Devaratha...

Although none of them had met the ruler of Trivenivrata before today...

His name had spread across lands like a legend.

Stories of his victories had reached every royal court.

Kings spoke of him.

Sages praised him.

Warriors dreamed of matching his feats.

And yet...

Only a few hours earlier...

The very same man had stood before them dressed as an ordinary travelling merchant, speaking with humility and sharing laughter as though he were no different from any other traveler.

The realization struck all three of them at once.

King Padmanabha Varma slowly lowered his sword.

His gaze remained fixed upon the man before him.

Not with suspicion.

But with profound awe.

At that very moment...

The trembling assassin finally found the courage to scream.

"Please...!"

He never finished.

Without changing his calm expression, Devaratha swung his arm downward.

BOOM!

The assassin’s body crashed into the ground with enough force to crack the earth beneath him.

Before the man could even cry out in pain...

Devaratha lifted him again.

BOOM!

The second impact shook the entire tent.

Again.

BOOM!

Again.

BOOM!

Each collision echoed like a war drum across the encampment.

Only after the assassin had completely lost consciousness did Devaratha release him.

The limp body flew across the tent before crashing into a broken wooden support.

Not once during the entire exchange did Devaratha’s expression change.

His emerald-green eyes remained as calm as the surface of a still river.

The only thing that had changed...

...was that every person present now understood exactly why the name King Devaratha of Trivenivrata had become a legend across the land.

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(Author note:)

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