320 CE—Saffron Dynasty, baby! Virat's armies, tens of thousands strong, rocked rifled muskets and bronze cannons. In the Second Battle of Kalinga, they steamrolled Bhima's forces, Kushan mercs running for their lives. Virat spared the civilians, offering them a spot in his empire—loyalty through mercy, not fear. Malwa's raja bent the knee, begging for tech in exchange. Virat's steam-dhow navy ruled the Arabian Sea, guarding trade from Malabar to Alexandria.
Chandrapur was a mega-city—stupa universities, water looms, hospitals saving thousands with Ayurveda and surgery. Gurukuls taught women too, stirring drama but birthing geniuses. Free trade mandis, stone highways, canals—Virat's empire was filthy rich. Caravans from China and Rome flooded markets with silk, glass, gold.
Brahmins still whined, sparking eastern rebellions. Virat crushed them with public debates—his tech helped people, so it was dharma. Done. Persia and Rome got jealous, sending assassins. Virat's spies caught them, sending them back with saffron and a warning. Lakshmi's diplomats sealed peace with trade fleets. She also rolled out micro-loans, lifting weavers and farmers, and built a massive library—science, philosophy, poetry, all of it.
Virat, pushing 60, prepped Lakshmi II to take over. She was a Saffron Blood prodigy, designing mirror signal towers for instant empire-wide messages. The Saffron Dynasty was at its peak, but Vikram's memories warned him—empires fall if you get cocky. He tightened his grip, ready for whatever came next.