Empire Ascension: The Rise of the Fated One-Chapter 255: Battle of Ladakh part -13

Next day Morning, Southern Frontier of the Pass

Bheem and his men arrived on horseback at the vantage point, overlooking the charred ruins of the once-formidable citadel. It was the first stronghold his forces had conquered, granting them passage to infiltrate the enemy base.

They had already received intelligence from their scouts that the enemy had evacuated the entire site during the night. Now, they had come to verify it for themselves.

Smoke still billowed from the countless enemy tents reduced to ash, stretching far into the horizon. The acrid scent of burnt wood and fabric lingered in the air.

Behind him, Colonel Manish and two Faujdars from the cavalry unit of the royal guards followed in re lmeasured steps. Alongside them rode King Dravya and his elite warriors, their presence reinforcing the growing strength of the allied forces.

Bheem scanned the battlefield, his sharp eyes tracing the remnants of the enemy’s hasty retreat. Though this was his first time witnessing the aftermath of such an operation, even he could tell how well-entrenched the enemy had been just a night before. Now, only smoldering remains whispered the story of a battle that never came to be.

He cursed under his breath. "Damn. They used those suicidal assaults to blind us while they slipped away right under our noses."

"More like a forced sabotage operation, "King Dravya, joined in as he watched the same scene with a calculating gaze.

After a while he continued with quiet chuckle. "Isn’t it for the best? We’ve taken control of this pass without further bloodshed. Now, we can regroup with our allies and plan our next move."

Bheem exhaled sharply. He could understand the logic in Dravya’s words, but the outcome left him unsatisfied. He had meticulously planned for this assault and was eager for the rush of battle, only to be robbed of the opportunity.

The enemy’s sabotage had only served as a distraction—a deception he should have anticipated. Instead, they had used the chaos as a cover to withdraw, slipping through the darkness like ghosts. A hidden sense of failure gnawed at him.

He turned to Colonel Manish, the seasoned veteran whose experience far surpassed his own. "What do you think, Colonel? Why would they abandon such a strategic position in haste? And more importantly, is this outcome good or bad for us?"

King Dravya observed the exchange without surprise. By now, he had grown accustomed to Bheem’s leadership style—consulting his subordinates, weighing their insights, and making calculated decisions. At first, Dravya had found this practice unorthodox, even unnecessary. A leader, in his experience, commanded from above. But time had humbled him, and now he recognized the efficiency of Bheem’s methods.

Colonel Manish stroked his beard thoughtfully before answering. "Sir, I believe the enemy commander anticipated heavy losses if they engaged us here. Rather than suffer a decisive defeat, they chose to preserve their forces and retreat to more defensible ground. While it might seem like we’ve won easily, we lost the chance to strike where it would hurt them most. If we had captured their key officers, we could have leveraged them for intelligence or as hostages. Now, they regroup elsewhere, and we must chase them on their terms."

Bheem nodded slowly. The knot of frustration in his chest loosened as he processed the Colonel’s perspective. The battlefield was not just about brute force but also about strategy. He had missed a vital opportunity, but now, he had clarity on the next course of action.

Just then, a voice rang out.

"Saheb! Look there—our scouts have returned!"

One of Dravya’s elite guards pointed toward the horizon. A small band of cavalrymen, their saffron flags fluttering in the breeze, rode toward them. Among them, Bheem recognized Shivraj—the lone Gurkha in their ranks —leading the group alongside the other allied scouts.

Bheem wasted no time. He commanded his men to mount up and galloped down to meet them. As they neared, Amrinder Singh reined in his horse and saluted sharply. "Faujdar Amrindar Singh from General Rudra’s camp. Reporting allegiance and bringing word."

Bheem exchanged a glance with his officers before nodding. "Go on."

"We request an immediate meeting. General Rudra wishes to discuss our next course of action at his encampment."

Bheem considered the request, then made his decision. "Very well, lead the way."

Before they could depart, King Dravya called out to Shivraj. "Wait." He retrieved a small token from his belt and handed it to the Gurkha. "Return to base. Gather hundred men from our ranks and secure this site. Comb through the enemy remains, see if anything valuable was left behind, and report back. You were promoted to Bahadur after the last mission—this time, you carry my seal."

Shivraj bowed deeply, accepting the order without hesitation. Then, as he turned back, Bheem and his group followed the scouts westward, riding toward the next stage of their campaign.

After a while at an infirmary tent , Rudra’s camp

Tsewang awoke to the sharp glow of morning light in the infirmary tent. His mind still hazy with pain and remnants of the previous night’s wine.

For a brief moment, he wanted to believe it had all been a dream—that the attack, the struggle, and the loss had not been real. But the sharp sting in his ribs shattered that illusion which was still a fresh reminder of his near brush with death.

His body felt heavy, weighed down not just by the bandages wrapped around his torso but by the burden of unfinished vengeance. He tried to push himself up, but a dull throbbing in his head warned him of his limits.

Then, familiar voices concerned with his well being fell on his ears.

"Your Highness, you are awake."

"At ease, Your Highness."

"General, please take it easy."

He turned his head to find Tsering, Jamwal, and Akhtar seated nearby, their expressions lined with worry.

Tsering and Jamwal were his loyal followers below Jiggemt rank, had served under him since their rebellion against Ladakh’s rule.

Akhtar, the personal guard of Princess Zara, had been by his side even before the fall of Kashmir. The five thousand disbanded forces of Kashmir still listened to his call and were waiting for further orders.

Once skeptical of Tsewang, Akhtar had witnessed his sacrifices and devotion firsthand. Now, after learning of the assassination attempt, he had rushed to see him.

The grief in their eyes was unmistakable.

"How long have I been unconscious?" Tsewang asked in rough voice.

"Only a few hours since dawn," Tsering answered. "We feared the worst after what happened last night."

Jamwal clenched his fists. "They killed Jigmet and tried to take you from us, Your highness. This time the dam of our patience has broken. We shall not let them get away with it."

Akhtar’s voice was quiet but firm. "You must know, my lord... after last night’s attack, the Kashmiri soldiers are restless. They want vengeance. And they want you to lead them."

Tsewang exhaled, leaning his head back against the pillow. The weight of expectation was familiar, yet heavier than before. These men had fought for him, bled for him. Jigmet had died for him. Could he still afford to hesitate?

He thought back to Zara—to her final moments in his arms. The blood, the pain, the last desperate plea in her eyes.

’Protect Kashmir.’

For too long, he had fought in the shadows, refusing to claim what was rightfully his. But the attack had made one thing clear—so long as he remained without a title, without legitimacy, he would always be vulnerable.

But now not any more.

He sat up, ignoring the dull ache in his ribs. His men tensed, waiting for his words.

"Last night, Jigmet gave his life to save me. His final words... he told me to become King." Tsewang’s voice was steady, his resolve like steel. "And I have decided. I will take the throne of Ladakh and Kashmir and unify it. Not just to avenge him, but to ensure our people’s future."

A stunned silence filled the tent. Then, one by one, their expressions changed—from shock to understanding, and finally, to grim determination.

Tsering’s eyes burned with conviction. "I was going to persuade you to do the same, General. There is no one else fit to rule Ladakh."

Akhtar nodded solemnly. "I knew you once chose love over power, and you were cast aside for it. But this... this is different. This is about survival. Princess Zara believed in you. I believe in you. Our people believe in you. And we will follow you to the end."

Jamwal bowed his head. "Then we will make it happen."

A soldier stepped into the tent, informing urgently. "Prince , the commanders request your presence in the war council now. Please follow me."

Tsewang exhaled. "I will go."

His subordinates moved to follow, but he raised a hand. "No. I must do this alone."

after a while in War Council Meeting

The central command tent was already full when Tsewang arrived.

The air inside was tense and filled with the weight of unspoken calculations and political maneuvering. Seated in a circle were commanders and strategists—some faces were familiar, while others new.

At the head of the gathering sat an unexpected figure—Bheem, a burly yet confident young leader clad in ceremonial armor. To his right, General Rudra observed Tsewang intently, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

Tsewang studied the new leader for a brief moment—the man held a position of high authority, yet his eyes reflected innocence and curiosity. His body language lacked the poise of a seasoned warrior, yet he remained remarkably composed as he led the situation.

Bheem, however, looked surprised as he took in Tsewang’s youthful face. He had expected the legendary Kashmiri general to be at least bit more older, hardened by years of experience. But here stood a man his own age, one who had survived an assassination attempt by ten elites and emerged with an even deadlier resolve.

Rudra introduced Tsewang to the gathering before presenting each member to him one by one. With a slight gesture toward an empty chair, he said, "Please, take your seat."

As he did, Bheem cleared his throat. "I heard about your loss last night. I am sorry for your men."

Tsewang remained silent, waiting.

Bheem continued, "As you know, we are willing to support your claim to the throne of Ladakh. But in return, we require certain conditions. Before we move forward—"

"I accept."

The entire tent fell into stunned silence.

Bheem blinked. "You... what?"

Tsewang continued, his expression did not waver. "but I will claim the thrones of both Ladakh and Kashmir as the rightful heir and husband of my late wife, the queen. In return I would accept all your conditions."

His voice was steady, firm—leaving no room for doubt or negotiation. He had made his condition along with his wish and agreed to listen to all other requests with this one line.

For the first time, Rudra, Bheem, and the other commanders exchanged glances. Until now, Tsewang had always evaded the topic of his claim to Ladakh’s throne. He had fought, strategized, and aided the war effort, but never once had he demanded power in return.

They had expected resistance—negotiations, hesitation, conditions of his own.

But now, here he was, offering his full cooperation without even asking what the conditions were.

A deep silence settled in the tent, before Rudra finally leaned back, a rare smirk playing on his lips. "Well... that certainly makes things easier. "

The weight of a decision long delayed had been lifted. Tsewang had made his choice. Now, there was no turning back.

And for the first time, the path to the throne was truly in sight.