Early morning, the pit was alive with murmurs and anticipation. Word had spread quickly—Ashvapati was training Arya today. No, not training. Challenging. The difference was crucial, and everyone knew it. This was not just another sparring session; it was a test. A brutal, unforgiving test.
Ganak and his men were already in the pit, drilling relentlessly. As Arya stepped in, they paused, turning to watch. Ganak himself said nothing, but the way he crossed his arms and observed in silence spoke volumes. The crowd thickened around the pit's edge. No one wanted to miss this.
Ashvapati was already waiting. He stood in a far corner, gripping his massive hammer casually, as if it were a mere stick. The moment Arya entered, Ashvapati strode to the center. A hush spread through the spectators. This was it.
Arya squared his shoulders and walked to meet him, ignoring the tightness in his chest. He was nervous—he knew it, and so did everyone else. But he refused to let it show.
"Pick any weapon of your choice and get ready," Ashvapati commanded, his voice steady.
Arya stepped toward the weapon rack. He scanned the selection—axes, spears, clubs. He settled on a sword and a shield, gripping them firmly. Taking position, he raised the shield before him, the sword poised just above it, aiming at Ashvapati's chest. It was a standard stance, defensive yet ready to strike.
Ashvapati, in contrast, stood relaxed, his hammer resting against the ground. No stance, no preparation. He was completely at ease.
Arya lunged forward, slashing fast and hard. He pressed his attack, moving quickly, searching for an opening. But Ashvapati didn't strike back. He only dodged. Effortlessly. Each attack that Arya threw was evaded with the slightest movement. He was fast—far too fast for a man his size.
Arya grit his teeth, frustration creeping in. He leaped back, taking a deep breath. He's testing me. Stay calm.
He watched carefully, studying Ashvapati's movements. A pattern. There had to be a pattern.
This time, Arya moved slower but more deliberately, waiting for the right moment. He feinted left, then cut right, thrusting his shield forward with all his strength. The moment Ashvapati shifted to counter, Arya struck.
A loud clang echoed in the pit. Ashvapati's hammer blocked the attack, effortlessly absorbing the force. But Arya noticed something—Ashvapati had actually moved. For the first time in this fight, he had reacted. The crowd roared at the sight. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
A slow smile crept onto Ashvapati's face. So, the boy has some fire.
With a swift swing, he pushed Arya back several steps. "That's better," he said. "But still not enough."
Arya attacked again, this time measured and relentless. He forced Ashvapati to use his hammer to block more often. He wasn't winning, but he was making progress.
Then the fatigue hit.
His breath turned heavy. His arms burned. Ashvapati, by contrast, was completely unfazed.
And then came the taunts.
"I thought you wanted to live in Suryagadh," Ashvapati mocked, his tone casual. "Do you really think they would let this inside their walls? You can't even scratch me, and you dream of walking among them?"
Arya gritted his teeth. Ignore him.
"You went to war against people far superior to you in strength, strategy, and power," Ashvapati continued. "What was going through your little brain?"
The anger ignited. Arya roared and charged.
His movements were sharper, fiercer. The crowd felt the shift. The fight was no longer about skill—it was about proving himself. About proving that he was more than what Ashvapati claimed.
For a moment, Arya thought he saw an opening. He took it. With lightning speed, he latched onto Ashvapati's hammer for leverage and swung himself forward, landing a solid kick to Ashvapati's chest.
The crowd exploded.
Ashvapati stumbled back—just one step. But that step was everything. Arya had touched him.
Ashvapati's smile widened. Then, without warning, he swung his hammer.
Arya barely dodged. The force of the swing alone sent dust flying. Had it landed, his ribs would have been crushed. Ashvapati planted the hammer in the dirt, stepping forward.
Now, it was his fists.
The first punch slammed into Arya's shield. The metal caved in instantly. His arm went numb. The second punch shattered the shield completely and sent Arya tumbling back.
Before Arya could even gather his thoughts, Ashvapati was upon him. He leaped—an enormous shadow looming over him. He's going to crush me!
Arya rolled aside just in time. The ground where he had been cracked beneath Ashvapati's landing. He barely had a moment to breathe before a powerful fist crashed into his face. His world spun.
He staggered, barely keeping himself upright. Blood dripped from his nose, his vision blurred, but he refused to fall. He picked up his sword again, forcing himself into a stance.
Ashvapati watched him. "You don't know when to quit," he murmured.
And then, with a single leap, he closed the distance.
A brutal uppercut caught Arya's chin. The force lifted him off the ground. He barely felt himself hit the dirt before everything went black.
The crowd erupted in deafening cheers. The match was over.
Ganak turned away, smirking. His men followed suit. The lesson had been taught.
Ashvapati rolled his shoulders and walked away, his work done.
Arya lay motionless in the mud. The roars of the crowd faded as darkness took him.