Empire of India: Rise of the Ruthless Prince

As he walked, the shopkeepers greeted him with friendly waves and cheerful smiles. Conversations were punctuated with laughter and light-hearted chatter.

"Young master, are you heading home now?" one shopkeeper called out, a friendly grin on his face. "We've got some new pottery you might like."

The young man paused, clasping his hands together in a gesture of polite refusal. " I have to head back soon, Uncle. Sorry, no time."

The shopkeeper's wife stepped in, gently pinching her husband's cheek as she spoke. "Oh, come on, don't bother the young master. Just visit us if you can. Don't listen to this one," she said with a playful nudge.

The young man chuckled, giving a nod of appreciation. "I'll try to come by if I get a chance. Thank you for understanding." He continued on his way, the warmth of the people accompanying him as he made his way to the mansion.

The man was the only son of the Patriarch of Nayakas, Bhima Nayaka. He entered the grand mansion, a contented smile on his face.

He spotted the old butler slowly making his way down the corridor. Bhima approached him with a friendly demeanour, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Where is Father?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

The butler, lifting his gaze from the floor, acknowledged Bhima with a slight bow. "Ah, Young Master! The Patriarch is with the Prince."

Bhima's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Eh? Again? He's been with the Prince ever since he arrived."

The butler nodded slowly, adjusting his back slightly. "Young Master, the Prince is of royal lineage. The Patriarch needs to honour his duties and uphold the family's honour."

Bhima sighed, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Well! I'll go and greet Father then." He reached out and gently took the stack of documents from the butler's hands. "I'll deliver these myself. Next time, let someone else handle this. You shouldn't overwork yourself," he said with a concerned expression, glancing at the butler's weary face.

The butler's face softened, and he managed a small smile. "Young Master doesn't need to worry about this old man. Hahaha."

Bhima released a long, drawn-out sigh as he turned to head towards his father's quarters. "I'll go meet Father then," he said, waving casually before continuing down the hallway, the documents tucked under his arm.

Bhima Nayaka encountered the youngest prince for the first time during his visit to the mansion. He had heard numerous rumours about the prince—stories of troublemaking and a lack of talent. However, his initial impressions shifted as soon as he laid eyes on the prince.

The prince stood tall with an air of undeniable authority, his demeanour radiating a commanding presence. The way he carried himself spoke volumes, far exceeding the whispered tales Bhima had heard.

Bhima thought to himself, 'The prince is so different from what I expected. Perhaps that's why Father extended the invitation to him.'

Bhima reached his father's study and knocked on the door. When there was no response, he knocked again, a bit louder this time.

' I guess he fell asleep,' he thought.

He turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping inside and closing it gently behind him.

"Father, are you asl—"

His voice faltered as he took in the scene before him. His father lay sprawled on the floor, a dagger protruding from his chest. Blood pooled around him, soaking into the marble floor. Bhima's eyes widened in shock, and he dropped the documents he was holding. His gaze shifted to the young man standing nearby, wiping his hands on his father's bloodied upper robe.

"Tsk, shitty old bastard got blood on my clothes," the young man muttered, his expression full of disdain.

"Oh, look who's here," the young man chuckled, glancing up at Bhima with a cold, mocking smile.

Bhima's face turned pale as he stumbled back, his voice trembling with disbelief. "Why? Why did you kill Father, Prince?!" His eyes welled up with tears, and his heart pounded with rage as he looked down at his father's lifeless body.

The young prince shrugged nonchalantly, his smile widening. "Does it matter? Your father was begging to spare his incompetent son even on his last breath. It was so funny, HAHAHA."

"YOU SCUM!" Bhima's voice erupted in fury, his entire body shaking.

"Sad, you couldn't see your father for the last time," Harsha said, a wide grin stretching across his face as he observed Bhima's anguished reaction.

"YOU MONSTER! STOP RUNNING YOUR MOUTH!!" Bhima shouted, his voice trembling with rage. He lunged at Harsha, but the prince deftly sidestepped, causing Bhima to stumble and crash onto the floor.

Harsha laughed, his gaze fixed on Bhima with a look of contempt. "Hahaha, you can't even fight properly, and yet you think you can avenge your worthless father?" he mocked.

"I WILL KILL YOU!" Bhima shouted as he staggered to his feet, his face contorted with rage.

"Doesn't hurt to try. Here," Harsha said coldly, tossing a dagger that landed at Bhima's feet. "I'll give you a chance to avenge your worthless father."

With a roar of frustration, Bhima picked up the dagger and charged straight at Harsha. The prince smoothly dodged the attack, moving his neck aside with a casual flick. Harsha then swept Bhima off his feet and slammed his heel into Bhima's stomach.

Bhima gasped, coughing and struggling to catch his breath as he tried to rise from the blow. "Try harder, HAHAHA," Harsha taunted, his expression a mask of cold amusement. "I won't even use my hands."

Bhima lunged at Harsha repeatedly, each attempt with the dagger proving futile.

"Haa! This is so boring! Like father, like son—both are worthless," Harsha remarked with a yawn, clearly unimpressed.

"DON'T CALL FATHER WORTHLESS!" Bhima roared, charging again with labored breaths and poor form.

"Stop shouting every time you charge," Harsha said, delivering a heavy kick to Bhima's torso. The force sent Bhima crashing to the ground, his dagger skidding away across the floor.

Harsha strode over, grabbing Bhima by the hair and dragging him to the nearby table. With a brutal shove, he slammed Bhima's face onto the wooden surface.

"So, why do you think your father invited me here?" Harsha asked, his voice cold and steady.

Bhima, fueled by rage and adrenaline, roared, "I WILL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD!"

Harsha responded by smashing Bhima's face into the table again. "He wanted to make a deal because of you," he said, his tone unyielding.

Another brutal slam to the table followed. "Due to you, he begged me to take care of his family if I ascended to the throne."

Blood trickled from Bhima's forehead, obscuring his once-handsome features. His vision swayed, each wave of dizziness hitting harder than the last.

'What? Father did that?' Bhima thought to himself, stunned by the revelation.

"Why did he beg, though?" Harsha slammed his face into the table once more.

"Because his only failure of a son was busy doing idiotic things."

Another forceful impact followed. "I killed him because your father was annoying, and what can you even do?"

"You can't do anything," Harsha continued, "You don't have the authority or the strength to stand up for your family."

He slammed Bhima's face into the table again. "You couldn't even protect your only remaining family."

Bhima's mind raced with shock and regret. 'What the hell, Father died because of me,' he thought, memories of happier times with his father flashing through his mind. 'Father, please forgive your incompetent son. If only I had been strong,' he lamented as tears streamed down his face, mingling with the crimson blood.

With a final, defiant roar, "YOU BASTARD! I WILL FOLLOW YOU TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL AND KILL YOU! MARK MY WORDS!"

Exhausted and overwhelmed, Bhima slumped forward, collapsing onto the table, unconscious. Contrary to his demeanor, Bhima had inherited his father's prowess. He was talented, but instilling the drive to work doesn't come from just being talented. This will make Bhima realize how quickly his family would crumble in front of his eyes and he won't be able to do anything without power.

"Weren't you too violent with my son?" the old man asked, standing up and removing the dagger from his thick vest. He wiped the fake blood from his hands with a sigh.

"You agreed to this, old man," Harsha replied coolly.

After some time, Bhima regained consciousness in the mansion's clinic. He jolted upright, his eyes darting around as he mumbled, "Where am I? Am I dead?"

The sharp pain in his head and face, the result of the one-sided beating from the prince, made it difficult for him to think clearly.

The doctor rushed in upon seeing Bhima awake. "Young master, are you okay?" he asked with concern.

"Where is Father?" Bhima tried to get up but was held back by the pain.

"Patri—"

"I'm here!" The patriarch entered the room, with Harsha by his side.

"Father? You're alive," Bhima said, sitting back on the bed, his face a mask of disbelief.

The patriarch gestured for the doctor to leave. "Give us privacy," he said firmly.

"I am alive and well, as you can see! It was a test by the prince. He wanted to see how much you are prepared for uncertainty if I am not there for you," the patriarch said, glancing at Harsha, who stood with his arms crossed.

"Take this opportunity to better yourself," he added coldly.

Bhima's eyes filled with tears. He threw his arms around his father, saying, "Thank God! I thought you were dead. Father, I will do my best not to bring shame to the family as the heir." He sobbed into his father's shoulder.

The patriarch gently patted his son's back, his face softened by relief and a hint of pride.

" I will protect you, father," Bhima sniffed.

With a newfound resolve, Bhima was ready to embrace his role as the heir of the Nayaka family. This was a new chapter for the family, marked by a fresh sense of purpose.

Author Notes

Another Chapter coming up today, This chapter is courtesy of the Gift by Its_Praveen