Empire Ascension: The Rise of the Fated One-Chapter 254: Battle of Ladakh part -12

Prince Tsewang sat on his bed, the dull haze of wine still clinging to his mind when instinct took over. His hand shot up, fingers closing around an incoming arrow just inches from his face.

A dozen figures draped in black robes emerged from the shadows, slipping through the tent’s entrance like wraiths. One of them stepped forward: the archer who had fired the shot. He pulled down his mask, revealing a familiar, sharp-featured face.

"No one is coming to save you, Prince," the man sneered. "We are here to claim your head. Now, die obediently."

Tsewang’s jaw clenched as recognition dawned. It was Rigzin Gyalpo, the ruthless Ladakhi field commander renowned for assassinations. He had never been known to fail a mission.

Outside, a commotion erupted as explosions, shouts, the rush of men dousing flames. Tsewang’s mind alarmed ’A diversion... A well-planned one... These bastards wanted to ensure no one would hear the fight to interrupt. It’s going to be tough.’

Tsewang steadied himself, his stance shifting.

His sword was too far away, and the assassins encircled him, their twin daggers glinting under the flickering torchlight. He assessed their movements as his muscles coiled, waiting for the first strike.

A shadow lunged forward with a flash of steel from the right.

Tsewang twisted, the dagger narrowly missing his ribs.

He seized the attacker’s wrist mid-strike, wrenched it backward with a sickening snap, and drove the stolen blade into the man’s throat. Blood gurgled as the body slumped onto the bed.

The leader’s eyes narrowed. "Careful. This is the War God. Even with severed limbs, he could still rip your throats out with his teeth. Attack only when there’s an opening."

Tsewang smirked. A compliment, even in death threats.

An arrow streaked toward him. He ducked, rolling just as another assassin came from behind.

Tsewang hurled a wine glass into the attacker’s face to knock him out while flinging a plate at the archer. The ceramic smashed into the bow, snapping its string.

The leader cursed, discarding the useless weapon.

But the danger was far from over. The leader, unfazed, drew a special dagger and stepped back, issuing quiet orders while waiting for an opening. His voice was cold and commanding.

"Encircle him. Strike from his blind spot."

However, one of the assassins hesitated, his voice a low murmur. "You have no authority over me and my men. We are of the same rank."

Tsewang’s eyes narrowed. Two field commanders? Why would both personally lead an assassination attempt? The unusual coordination, or lack thereof, puzzled him.

His momentary distraction didn’t go unnoticed. Seizing the chance, another assassin lunged with his blade slashing in a deadly arc, followed by a swift, stabbing thrust.

There was not much space to maneuver.

He yanked the first corpse from the bed, using it as a shield as the enemy’s blade plunged into lifeless flesh.

Before the assassin could react, Tsewang drove his dagger into his chest.

As the bodies fell, Tsewang gripped the short sword still embedded in the corpse, pulling it free like a pillar standing firm amidst the carnage.

Silence prevailed. The remaining men tensed.

"Are we still arguing over authority?" Rigzin hissed.

The second masked figure, brandished his short sword. "Whoever takes his head claims the victory. The team with the kill gets the credit."

An assassin with a short sword aimed for his blind spot and Tsewang caught the movement too late.

Fortunately, the tent’s side was slashed open and Jigmet burst through, his sword cutting through the air and find the tsewang under attack.

Without wasting a moment, he unfurled his weapon. The attacker barely had time to react before Jigmet’s thrown weapon impaled him. Blood sprayed across the canvas walls.

"Tsewang!" Jigmet tossed him his sword kept near him, while he retrieved another from the fallen corpse.

Tsewang caught it, exhaling sharply "Finally armed with my favorite."

The second leader snarled, his voice low but laced with urgency. "We end this now. Attack together. Failure means death."

The assassins struck as one.

Blades clashed, the tent erupting into a deadly dance of steel. Tsewang wielded both swords, parrying, countering, striking with ruthless precision. Jigmet fought beside him, slashing through enemies with swift, calculated movements.

The air thickened with the scent of blood. In the chaos, Tsewang took out two more opponents, his blade carving through flesh, while Jigmet finished another. The numbers dwindled with only five left.

Both of them faced two each. while Rigzin, took a moment to slip in shadows for chance attack.

Tsewang barely saw the glint of steel before deflecting it with ease while getting offguard for sneak attack, he tried to side step but still it was bit late.

Rigzin had finally struck, his blade carving a shallow wound across Tsewang’s ribs and he was slow to retrieve and follow up another attack .

Tsewang without wasting a moment, drove his sword into the Rigzin chest upfront desperately. The assassin leader staggered, but exclaimed in joy before choking on blood. "You are doomed to..." and crumbled down.

His vision blurred momentarily from the poison. The pain was immense, but for survival, it was insignificant.

Jigmet cut down another—but before he could finish the last one, his instincts screamed.

Tsewang reacted too late as his movements dulled.

The remaining assassin struck toward Tsewang’s exposed back.

Jigmet moved faster than thought. He intercepted the attack while catching the attack with his bare hand, but the secondary attack tore through his chest and blood poured out. With his other hand, he drove his own weapon into the enemy’s throat as payback.

Tsewang’s breath caught. "JIGMET!!"

His friend swayed down with knees buckling. Tsewang caught him just as the life began to fade from his eyes.

"WHY? WHY? WHY?" Tsewang choked, holding him close with his bloodied hands.

Jigmet’s lips curled into a weak smile as he struggled to speak his last words "Be..Because Ladakh needs a true king. If you fail... we fail. you must be the .."

Then he dropped dead, the color fading from his eyes.

The last remaining assassin was the another leader. he stood waryly and did not step forward. He merely laughed, sensing Tsewang’s exhaustion, "Just few moments and then I will claim my your head."

Tsewang, drenched in blood forced himself to stand. His sword dragged at his side but he loosened his strength.

He tried to move, but his limbs refused. He was at his limit.

The enemy smirked. "You are poisoned, Prince. There is no escape. Surrender to your fate." He stepped closer to deliver the final blow.

Then, steel flashed.

A blade tore through that assassin’s torso from behind, blood bursting from his mouth in a strangled gasp. His lifeless body crumpled.

Tsewang’s vision swam, but through the haze, he saw a tall figure step into the tent, sword in hand, eyes cold.

It was Rudra.

He surveyed the carnage, then his eyes fall to Jigmet’s corpse. His expression unreadable before letting out a quiet sigh.

"What a mess."

Then, darkness swallowed Tsewang whole.

Meanwhile on bheem’s camp, (Ayush POV)

The air smelled of blood and gunpowder.

Captain Ayush was walking toward his tent after taking a piss, his left arm still heavily bandaged. He wore a loose, thick white shirt and loose trousers as his nightdress, with a robe wrapped around his neck to shield himself from the chilling wind.

His breath fogged in the cold air when he caught sight of a naked dead body, its throat sliced open.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted, and chaos ensued. He followed the source and rushed to the location along with other soldiers.

He was shocked to find soldiers in the same uniforms fighting among themselves. A few bodies lay sprawled on the ground, blood pooling around them.

Panic filled the air as men he personally knew fired shots at fleeing figures in the same uniform or butchered them with bayonets and daggers.

One of them shouted, "Kill that bastard! We need to avenge Mahesh!"

Some tried to capture the targets alive, but the culprit bit down on poison and died instantly.

A figure lunged at Ayush before he could react, aiming a dagger at his throat. A nearby soldier caught the assailant’s arm and stabbed him with his own dagger. "Careful, sir! These are imposters who have infiltrated our camp, ambushing us and setting our tents on fire."

Realization dawned on Ayush, and he was shocked by the enemy’s sheer audacity. It was war, and in war, anything was possible. He thanked the soldier and grabbed a bucket to help douse the flames. Chaos spread throughout the camp, with skirmishes breaking out everywhere.

Suddenly, his sharp eyes caught sight of a unit of three Royal Guards moving toward the supply depot.

Something felt wrong. The Royal Guards, armed with weapons, were assigned to guard the frontier, yet here they were, venturing inside the camp. While everyone else was rushing to contain the situation, they remained eerily calm.

There could be many reasons, but his instincts gnawed at him to investigate further.

"Hey! You guys there! Stop!" Ayush called out.

They ignored him, walking forward in silence, their movements determined and unshaken.

His gut screamed a warning. He wanted to call for reinforcements, but he remembered Bheem’s words—stay grounded and follow orders, no matter what. However, logic defied that command now. The situation was urgent.

"If nobody knows, then no order is disobeyed," he thought.

Steeling himself, he wrapped his robe around his waist like a belt. He took a pistol, loaded it, and tucked it under his makeshift belt. He also grabbed a sword from a nearby tent and followed them.

The supposed Royal Guards noticed him and turned sharply into the maze of empty tents, vanishing into the darkness.

Ayush dashed after them and turned the corner—

A dagger whistled through the air.

He barely moved his head in time as the blade sliced his cheek, blood dripping onto his shirt.

The tent fabric behind him tore open as two figures lunged from the shadows.

Ayush was ready. He raised his sword, blocking one attack with his right hand. His injured left arm trembled under the pressure.

A second assailant thrust his dagger toward Ayush’s gut. Without missing a beat, he kicked a wooden crate, knocking the attacker off balance.

He didn’t even get a chance to glance at the fallen enemy before steel flashed before his eyes, and pain exploded in his ribs.

He had been slashed. His uniform tore, and warmth spread as blood seeped through. He gritted his teeth, his breath ragged.

He ducked low and drove his sword forward, piercing the first assassin’s throat. Blood splashed onto his face as the man gurgled, clutching his neck before collapsing.

From the darkness, a slow clap echoed.

Ladakhi field commander Gyatso appeared, clad in a stolen Royal Guard’s uniform.

His dark eyes glimmered with amusement. "Good fight. Just when I wanted to take revenge, you came offering yourself. Shall we start?"

Ayush frowned not understanding a thing. "What nonsense are you speaking? Can you speak in Devanagari?"

Gyatso said nothing and instead resumed his stance, ready to fight.

Ayush chuckled. "Yes, more like it."

Gyatso lunged forward.

Ayush twisted his body, sidestepping the first attack and parrying the next strike. His stability wavered due to his bandaged arm, and Gyatso took the chance to slash his thigh.

Ayush gritted his teeth and stumbled back.

Gyatso smirked. "Don’t worry, I will torture you thoroughly. You won’t die an easy death." His eyes gleamed with madness, but Ayush was unfazed.

Gyatso moved like lightning, his sword arcing toward Ayush’s side. Ayush barely parried, but the force sent him staggering backward. Pain flared in his ribs, his vision blurred.

He fought like a cornered wolf, but the more they exchanged blows, the more wounds he suffered. His white robe was nearly painted red with his own blood. His movements dulled.

Gyatso teased, "Oh boy, don’t stop the dance."

He was faster, sharper, more ruthless.

Gyatso suddenly delivered a brutal kick straight to Ayush’s injured ribs.

Ayush choked, blood spilling from his lips as his body crashed against an empty crate. His sword slipped from his grip.

Gyatso approached, slow and deliberate, savoring the moment. He raised his blade.

"Time to end this, my friend. I need to return."

Ayush grabbed a handful of sand and flung it into Gyatso’s eyes.

Gyatso caught offguard. He tried to wipe his eyes frantically, but it was too late.

A sharp gunshot rang out.

A hole pierced through Gyatso’s chest. He fell to his knees, his face twisted in shock as he watched Ayush struggle to stand.

Gyatso coughed, blood dribbling from his lips. "Th-That wasn’t honorable."

Ayush, who did not understand Ladakhi, guessed what he meant. He took his fallen sword, stepped forward, and drove it through Gyatso’s neck.

"Yes, I know. Life is not fair."

He twisted the blade.

"Now just die.!!"

Gyatso’s body slumped.

The battle was over.