Bahadur Veeren Thapa stood atop the highest ridge on the southern periter of the Ladakhi establishnt. His rank, Bahadur, was equivalent to a captain’s rank. He was on his way with his squad of five elite Gurkhas near the very site where the enemy citadel had been obliterated just hours ago. The destruction had left an open area to cross over to the main enemy base camp.
From his vantage point, his sharp eyes scanned the Ladakhi encampnt in the distance. The sight before him left him montarily speechless—the aftermath of the second rocket barrage had turned the enemy’s position into a charred ruin.
n ran frantically, dousing burning tents with water, while others scrambled to carry the wounded or the dead away from the field. Thick columns of smoke billowed into the frozen air, obscuring the once-proud fortifications that had now been reduced to rubble. Almost half of the enemy base camp has been impacted.
The sheer devastation wrought by those bamboo-like rockets was unfathomable. How could such primitive-looking weapons unleash such destruction from a distance? Yet, there was no ti to dwell on the mystery—he had a mission to fulfill.
Entrusted by his king, Bahadur had been tasked with making point of contact with the allied imperial forces trapped at the western front. To aid their mission, one of his n, who was a pet master, actually carried a caged ssenger pigeon. Its fragile form was wrapped in a white cloth over the cage, shielding it from the cold and prying eyes.
The rest of the squad was ard with ropes, grenades, khurpis, bows, and arrows, each weapon chosen for both stealth and survival. For infiltration, they wore the sa leather military attire of the Ladakhis that they had looted from dead corpses.
He had expected so form of barricade or resistance along the way, yet the imdiate area was eerily deserted. The only logical conclusion was that the enemy leadership had abandoned the southern sector, retreating north and west to consolidate their forces behind stronger fortifications.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Bahadur motioned for his n to keep their heads low as they advanced toward the western blockade. Their stolen leather armour from enemy corpses was quite comfortable in the harsh environnt as they moved in coordinated silence.
The blockade ahead was a formidable obstacle, a zigzagging patchwork of palisade walls reinforced with wooden barricades. Watchtowers lood above, their occupants scanning the terrain, while deep trenches and stockades lined both sides of the pass.
To cross it, they had two options: either scale the mountains at the edges, avoiding the fortifications on the ridges, or attempt a daring passage through the center, using the scattered debris and natural ridges for cover. One prioritized safety, while the other favored speed.
After careful deliberation, Bahadur chose to scale the mountain edges at the corners to avoid the fortifications on the ridges. They just needed to cross only a few areas inside the enemy military base, as most of the mountains outside the pass were unscalable.
Moreover, the remnants of earlier fortifications, combined with shallow ridges and abandoned ditches, provided the best chance of slipping through undetected.
With a final signal, he rallied his squad, leading them to the boundary of the first barricade. As one, the team took cover behind a massive, ice-covered boulder, the freezing wind howling around them.
He turned to his squad, his voice low yet firm. "So far, we’ve been lucky, but now cos the real challenge. We need to stick to the corners and pass those watchtowers without being seen." He pointed ahead, tracing their intended route. "If not for this damn cage, moving through would be easy, but we can’t afford to abandon it."
Then, shifting his gaze to the eldest mber of the squad, he added, "But before that, it would be a waste to ignore an opportunity like this. We need soone to stay behind, infiltrate the enemy base, gather intelligence, and pass it to our main forces. If possible, he should also create a distraction to help us slip through."
At his words, the squad mbers exchanged glances, their eyes settling on one man, it was Shivraj.
Shivraj staggered slightly under their collective gaze. "Why the hell is everyone looking at ?" he blurted. "Just because I used to steal food doesn’t an I can steal intelligence from an enemy camp."
The bald man beside him smirked. "Didn’t you once boast that there’s nothing you can’t do?"
The youngest of the squad, barely past his teens, chid in. "Besides, you’re the only one here who speaks Tibetan and Ladakhi. If any of us go, we’d get caught the mont we open our mouths."
Bahadur Veeren raised an eyebrow. "Is that true?"
Shivraj was known for his playful antics, a notorious troublemaker in their unit, but also one of the most seasoned mbers. His missing front teeth gave him a perpetually mischievous grin, but now, the weight of the mission settled on his shoulders. He wiped the sweat forming on his brow.
"Saeb (sir)... I know the language, but I’m not exactly fluent. This is risky."
Veeren smirked. "Well, if you’re scared, we won’t force you."
A sharp silence followed. Among the Gurkhas, fear was not sothing to be admitted. To be labeled a coward was a fate worse than death. Years of ingrained tradition and warrior pride steeled Shivraj’s resolve. His stance straightened, and his voice carried new conviction.
"Worry not, Bahadur Saeb. If you believe I am the right man for this, then I will lay down my life for it."
The squad chuckled softly at his sudden shift in deanor, a few clapping him on the shoulder in quiet camaraderie. There was no need for further words—they all understood the gravity of the situation.
Veeren handed him a pouch containing grenades, poison, and a rough map for his return. "Take these. Try to locate their supply cache if you can. These grenades have a slow fuse—use them wisely."
Shivraj accepted the items and tucked them securely into his waistband. Before departing, he unsheathed his khurpi, a short curved blade, and handed it to Veeren.
"Bahadur Saeb, keep this with you. If I don’t return... see that it makes its way back to my wife."
The Gurkhas exchanged solemn nods. The khurpi was more than a weapon—it was a part of their soul, a companion in life and death. His gesture spoke volus.
With quiet determination, Shivraj stepped out from behind the boulder, picking up a broken bucket as if he were just another errand boy. Casually, he strolled toward the enemy encampnt, disappearing into the smoke and chaos.
Veeren sighed, gripping the khurpi tightly. "Fool... we’re in more danger than he is. Now who will carry our daggers if we don’t make it?"
Shaking his head, he turned to the rest of his squad and said in low voice. "Move out."
Like shadows, they slipped toward the nearest watchtower, ready to take the next step in their mission.
Shivraj POV
Shivraj moved through the Ladakhi encampnt, carrying a broken bucket and wearing the guise of a fool. His eyes, however, keenly noted every detail of the area. Most of the key settlents had been relocated to sturdy stockades which looked like fortified, two-story garrison-like wooden structures, large enough to house hallways and serve as barracks for soldiers.
Watchtowers bristled with sentries, their gazes sweeping the camp. Every few monts, soldiers moved in and out of these stockades, keeping the place in constant motion.
Unlike the southern periter, where defenses were thinner, the number of soldiers here was overwhelming.
Thousands of tents sprawled across the open ground, so newly constructed beyond the range of rocket bombardnt. With a force nearing ten thousand, it was impossible to shelter them all within fortifications.
Many remained in the open, busy juggling supplies, running errands, or carrying buckets of water. The sheer chaos of the camp worked in Shivraj’s favor as no one spared him a second glance, allowing him to navigate freely and take note of key locations.
He spotted several supply tents, guarded by soldiers who seed relaxed, likely because they were stationed deep within the camp. They barely paid attention to anyone unless soone approached the entrance.
What caught his interest, however, was the presence of makeshift trade centers—an effective system where soldiers could barter for goods, ensuring resource distribution.
As he passed groups of soldiers, he kept his ears open for gossip. He picked up news of a failed Bhargavian attempt to break the blockade, curses aid at his n for the relentless rocket barrages, and murmurs of key figures being injured. Fear and bravado mixed in equal asure among the rank-and-file troops.
Then, a sharp voice shattered his thoughts.
"YOU FOOL! What are you doing here?"
Shivraj froze. A squad leader, his eyes filled with suspicion, stepped into his path. Instinctively, Shivraj lowered his gaze and lifted the broken bucket in a panicked show of submission.
The soldier clicked his tongue in irritation. "Ah, here for an exchange? Fine, hurry up and get out of here."
Bowing slightly, Shivraj hurried toward the trading center. He handed over the bucket to an exchange vendor, who sat lazily behind his stall, barely looking up as he addressed him in his native tongue.
"What are you looking for?"
Shivraj swallowed hard. "dicine," he blurted, imdiately regretting his nervous tone.
The vendor’s brows furrowed briefly before recognition dawned. "Ah, so you’re the errand boy for the royal dic."
Shivraj quickly nodded to avoid suspicion. Just as he received a military-issued bag filled with dicines, a dic’s servant rushed over.
"Are the dicines ready?" the servant asked breathlessly.
The vendor gestured at Shivraj. "That fool has them. Take him with you."
Before Shivraj could react, the dic’s servant grabbed his arm and hurried him toward the central stockade—the most fortified structure in the entire camp.
As they walked, the servant rambled about his burdens, complaining about overwork and the importance of their task. Amid his grumbling, one detail stood out to Shivraj:
The Tibetan prince was gravely injured and awaiting urgent treatnt.
Before entering the stockade, the servant stopped near a soldier’s tent, which appeared to be a makeshift kitchen for the area, and ordered a soldier to boil water.
As the water was prepared, Shivraj’s mind raced. He was heading straight into the lion’s den. The prince’s chambers would be heavily guarded, increasing the risk of discovery. But then, an idea struck him.
Poisoning the dicine directly was too risky. However, if he tainted the boiling water, the contamination would spread undetected. Thankfully the poison was transparent and lethal, even if prince miraculously survives he will be crippled for certain.
Spotting an opportune mont, he discreetly retrieved a vial of poison from his inventory pouch. With a swift flick of his wrist, he flung the vial into the pot of boiling water, ensuring it went unnoticed.
As they neared the stockade, Shivraj realized the risk of delivering the dicine himself. He needed an excuse to stay behind.
In Tibetan, he muttered, "Wait."
The dic’s servant, impatient, turned to him.
"I need to relieve myself. I can’t help it. You go on ahead."
The servant scowled, cursing under his breath. But given the formal decorum required when serving royalty, he had no choice but to let Shivraj be. With a huff, he took the dicine and pointed toward the designated latrine area, choosing to wait instead of completing the task himself.
Shivraj felt a surge of frustration. The fool was supposed to deliver the dicine, but his laziness threatened to unravel the entire plan. Thinking quickly, Shivraj feigned hesitation before reluctantly conceding. "I suppose we should finish this first and hurry later. It wouldn’t be appropriate to keep the higher-ups waiting."
His response earned him an unimpressed glance but also slight approval. "At least you’re not a complete waste. Follow , then."
Thanks to the dic’s personal token, they easily bypassed the security guards and entered the prince’s rooftop chamber. Inside, the royal dic was already waiting, his patience wearing thin.
As soon as they stepped in, the dic began preparing the treatnt under the scrutinizing gazes of the guards. Shivraj, trying to appear inconspicuous, couldn’t fully mask his nerves.
The royal dic narrowed his eyes. "What’s the matter?"
The servant whispered sothing to him, prompting an irritated sigh. "Just leave quickly and take care of your business."
Shivraj suppressed a sigh of relief. The order gave him the perfect excuse to exit in front of the guards without raising suspicion.
As he descended the steps, Shivraj’s sharp gaze landed on a storeroom tucked away in the basent. Strangely, no guards were stationed there—perhaps due to urgency, a manpower shortage, or sheer overconfidence that no one would dare breach the stockade. Whatever the reason, it presented a perfect opportunity.
Glancing around, he carefully scanned the corridor and staircases for any patrols. The path was clear. Without hesitation, he slipped inside, swiftly planted a long-fuse grenade, and made his way out, ensuring no sign of his presence remained.
Stepping outside, he muttered under his breath with a smirk, "Saeb, I finally got a worthy distraction."
But just as he turned, he collided with a patrolling guard. The next mont, he froze upon recognizing the familiar figure.
It was the sa squad leader who had reprimanded him earlier. The man gave him a brief glance before snapping, "Watch where you’re going!"
Then, as their eyes t, the squad leader’s expression darkened. Gripping Shivraj’s shoulder tightly, he muttered coldly, "You weren’t planning to run, were you?"
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