After a month of sunburnt camel butts, dust-choked trails, and dodging bandits with aim like drunk pigeons, Rudra D. Raja Wyllt, Chandragupta Maurya, and Gurudev Vishnugupta arrived at the famed Takshashila University— The university attracts students from various regions, including areas beyond the Indian subcontinent, like Babylonia, Greece, Arabia, and China.
Raja, currently masquerading as an 8-year-old with enough attitude to arm-wrestle gravity, and Chandragupta, future emperor and current mop-headed teen, enrolled as students. Vishnugupta, ever the bearded intellectual with murder in his eyes, landed a teaching gig.
"Time to soak up Ancient Bharat's brains," Raja muttered, cracking his knuckles like a mobster about to beat up a library. "MAYA, log everything. This place is a nerd's wet dream."
MAYA's voice buzzed through his brain like a sassy AI cricket.
"Goldmine? This is forbidden knowledge nuked by invaders in every universe. Let's see what those ancient Bharatiya geniuses tucked away in dusty scrolls. Good luck, Master. Try not to blow up the syllabus."
By day, Raja roamed the knowledge vaults like a hungry scholar with ADHD on steroids. His eyes devoured texts on Ayurveda, metallurgy, chemical sciences, surgery, and architecture with the speed of a demon scanning a cheat sheet before the apocalypse.
His SSS+ intellect, enhanced by quantum neuro-fusion, catalogued every scroll like a divine Google Drive. "MAYA," he muttered while sketching an anatomical diagram of a pancreas holding a scalpel, "remind me to copyright magical stitches. And maybe flying forceps."
Meanwhile, Vishnugupta—old, wise, and grumpy enough to scare off snakes—noticed that Chandragupta had started lifting logs like matchsticks and drop-kicking boulders. This wasn't your average puberty.
That's because, one moonless night, Raja had quietly knocked Chandra into a peaceful coma using brainwave telepathy. Then, like a mad scientist in a child's body, he pulled out a glowing syringe filled with Chromosome-24-Wyllt—the human upgrade pack: strength, immunity, regeneration, and a longer life span that made tortoises jealous.
"Grow strong, bro," Raja whispered, patting his sleeping brother's forehead like Simba. "You're gonna need it when history tries to kneecap us."
As Chandra trained under Gurudev in warfare, tactics, and swordplay, Raja pretended to be the clueless scholar. He'd trip over spears, misidentify swords as large spoons, and dramatically cry, "Gurudev, I'm a lover, not a fighter!"
Vishnugupta bought none of it.
One night, the wise sage decided to test his disciples' alertness. He crept toward their dorm, only to see Raja slipping out, wrapped in shadows like a bedtime horror story. Curious and mildly terrified, he followed.
Raja led him into a jungle so dark and spooky even owls wore night-vision goggles. He marched straight into a tiger-infested cave like it was his summer home.
Vishnugupta gawked as Raja emerged from the cave shirtless, wearing nothing but a crimson langot, a glowing Trishul in one hand, a bow in the other, and a Bengal tiger trailing behind him like an oversized housecat.
The tiger licked its paw. Raja flexed.
"What in Maa Bhavani's flaming name…?" Vishnugupta whispered, nearly wetting his dhoti.
Raja began firing arrows with supernatural grace, hitting tree bull's-eyes in rapid succession. Then came the divine Shiva dance with his Trishul, spinning, twirling, slicing through the air like a cyclone on espresso. He was less "warrior in training" and more "ancient Indian John Wick meets Lord Shiva."
For a solid hour.
The tiger yawned, bored.
Then—snap.
Vishnugupta's sandal cracked a twig. In less than a heartbeat, a dagger zipped past his head and thunked into a tree behind him. He nearly screamed.
"Gurudev," Raja said coolly, without turning, "you can stop hiding. Jungle's no place for geriatrics. Tigers eat old men, y'know."
Vishnugupta stormed out, heart pounding. "You ungrateful little assassin! Throwing knives at your teacher? Thank the gods your aim's garbage!"
Raja grinned. "Garbage? That was a calculated miss. If I wanted to pierce your bun, you'd be bald."
"You cheeky—what is this game?" Vishnugupta fumed. "Scholar by day, demigod warrior by night? Are you secretly auditioning for a Mahabharata reboot?"
Raja's grin dimmed. He stepped closer. "Why are you training Chandra to be an emperor?"
Vishnugupta paused, then sighed. "Because Dhana Nanda of the Nanda dynasty humiliated me in court. Judged my rags, not my wisdom. I vowed to tear his empire down through my disciple."
Raja nodded solemnly. "Valid. Now, my turn."
He leaned in, eyes dark as prophecy. "I want Akhand Bharat. One united motherland. No Greeks, Persians, or Alexanders should ever again conquer us while our kings argue over who gets the bigger throne. No more fragmented kingdoms. I'll end division, even if I have to become the monster under the throne."
Vishnugupta's eyes widened. "So what—you'll share the empire with Chandra? Half-half?"
"No," Raja said coldly. "One Bharat. One king—Chandra. He'll be the golden crown. I'll be the dirty hands. The silent blade. The Shadow Monarch."
Vishnugupta stared, then burst into laughter that sounded like a villain monologue. "You'll be the Dark Hand? What happens when human greed returns in 500 years?"
Raja smirked. "Then I'll build an education system so strict and a military so savage that even thinking of rebellion will get your ancestors haunted."
Vishnugupta clasped his shoulder. "How long?"
"Twenty-five years," Raja replied. "You'll see it, Gurudev. My word."
From that day, Vishnugupta trained Chandra with double the fire. Years passed. Chandra became an 18-year-old titan—6'5", muscles so defined they had zip codes. Raja, now 6 feet, remained the comic-relief genius, forever "accidentally" stabbing himself with practice swords.
But everyone knew not to underestimate the nerd.
Especially after one academic mocked Vishnugupta's tattered robes in public—and was found the next morning mauled to bits, "clearly by a wild animal," according to official reports.
Only Raja and Vishnugupta exchanged deadpan glances.
Later, Vishnugupta cornered Raja. "You devious imp, did you seriously feed that man to your tiger?"
Raja gasped, clutched his chest. "Gurudev! I'm shocked. I'm hurt. Accused of animal-assisted homicide? Me?"
"Cut the drama, Shakuni-in-training," Vishnugupta barked. "Why?"
Raja's eyes darkened. "Insult you? In front of me? He's lucky I didn't flay his ego with lemon juice. But hey, accidents happen. Maybe the tiger had allergies." And left the room in a hurry.
"You insufferable menace," Vishnugupta muttered, right before noticing Chandragupta awkwardly lurking behind a pillar.
"Chandra," he snapped. "Get your royal ears out of my walls."
Chandra stepped out sheepishly. "Sorry, Gurudev. I... heard everything."
"Good," Vishnugupta said, sighing. "Then listen carefully. Never cross Raja. His wrath makes gods weep. After I'm gone, follow his lead. You'll be emperor, yes—but he is your sword in the shadows. Betray him, and Bharat will burn."
Chandra nodded slowly, his spine shivering.
After graduation, they returned home. Mura, their mother, squealed and cried as she hugged her two impossibly huge sons. "My babies! Look at you—one's a demigod, and the other's a nerdy scholar!"
That night, Raja telepathically lulled Mura and Chandra to sleep, then summoned his Chaos Rider spacecraft like a high-tech magic chariot. He placed Mura inside, and Elysium-grade tech rejuvenated her organs with a hum.
"Stay strong, Ma," he whispered, returning her to bed like nothing happened.
Next morning, Chandra stood tall. "Ma, we're heading to Pataliputra. Gurudev is waiting. It's time to conquer the Nanda Dynasty."
And with that, the Shadow Monarch and his golden brother took their first step toward rewriting history.