** Somewhere near Ravi river border **

  By the peaceful banks of the Ravi River, a procession of 500 Mughal royal guards, led by Badshah Afzal, camped alongside 3,000 cavalry from the Bhargav Empire. Among them, Jeetendar, a loyal commander and Aditya’s trainer, exchanged farewells before their departure.

  "It has been an honor serving by your side, Badshah," Jeetendar said, his voice filled with respect. "May our paths cross again under peaceful skies."

  Afzal nodded, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Indeed, Jeetendar. Let us hope for peace between our nds."

  Before parting, Afzal entrusted Jeetendar with a message for Aditya and Amira. "Tell them I will miss their company. I hope to see them soon on the other side."

  With their farewells exchanged, Jeetendar wished Afzal and his men a safe journey. As the Mughal army crossed the makeshift bridge, a tense anticipation filled the air. Soldiers moved swiftly yet cautiously under the moon’s glow. After hours of steady progress, the army successfully reached the opposite bank.

  Surveying the surroundings, the brigade commander approached Afzal regarding setting up camp. However, eager to reunite with his mother in Lahore Fort, Afzal dismissed the idea.

  "No time for rest," he decred. "We press on. Lahore awaits, and I shall reward each of you there."

  The commander bowed and reyed the orders. With renewed vigor, the army hastened through the wooded terrain.

  Suddenly, their march was halted by a fallen tree blocking the path. Suspicion gripped Afzal as he studied the scene. He immediately ordered torches to illuminate the area.

  As the flickering fmes revealed deliberate sabotage, tension rippled through the ranks. Afzal exchanged sharp gnces with his commander. Without a word, the officer reyed an urgent signal.

  The commander's voice rang out. "Shields up front! Prepare for the ambush!"

  The soldiers sprang into action, forming a tight square formation with shields raised. A heavy silence followed, filled only by the pounding of their own hearts.

  Distant voices broke the stillness, growing louder. Soon, an enraged crowd of armed locals emerged, surrounding them. Nearly 3,000 men closed in, their torches casting eerie shadows. Sweat beaded on the soldiers' brows as they braced for the inevitable csh.

  Commander Shoeb Ali's firm voice cut through the chaos. "Remember your training. They are nothing but untrained men. Not a single one should breach our defenses. We shall emerge victorious."

  His words steadied the soldiers, reinforcing their resolve. With weapons drawn and shields locked, they stood ready to face the impending battle.

  As the rebels charged toward the surrounded Mughal forces, their ck of discipline became evident. Fueled by sheer numbers and blind fury, they rushed in without formation, hoping to overwhelm through brute force. But against the disciplined ranks of the Mughals, their reckless approach proved futile.

  They crashed against the Mughal shields, only to be repelled with brutal efficiency. Yet, undeterred by their initial failure, they pressed on, their faces twisted in rage and desperation. However, against trained soldiers, raw anger alone was not enough.

  From the narrow gaps between the shields, spears shot forward like striking vipers, halting the rebels' advance with deadly precision. Again and again, the sharp steel found its mark, piercing through flesh and bone. Soon, the battlefield was littered with bodies, which was a grim testament to the futility of their assault.

  Despite mounting casualties, the rebels continued their frenzied attack, driven by desperation and vengeance. Like moths to a fme, they hurled themselves at the unyielding Mughal formation, heedless of the sughter before them.

  But as more fell and the reality of their losses set in, panic began to spread.

  "It's useless! We need to fall back! Our brothers are dying!"

  The cry of arm rippled through the ranks, forcing them to reassess.

  "Keep your distance! Attack from afar!"

  Following the command, some rebels resorted to throwing stones, while others hurled whatever weapons they could find. But the Mughal shields held firm, deflecting the makeshift projectiles with ease.

  In response, the Mughals unched a counterattack. Spears flew from within their formation, each one striking true, cutting down rebels in waves. The ground turned crimson with blood.

  As the rebels’ desperation grew and their attacks waned, the Mughal soldiers rhythmically smmed their swords against their shields.

  Tan! Tan! Tan! Tan!

  The resounding metallic cngs echoed through the battlefield—a taunt, a challenge.

  Amid the chaos, a rebel’s voice rang out, thick with despair.

  "It's impossible! We cannot defeat them! Retreat!"

  Panic surged through the rebel ranks. One by one, they turned and fled, abandoning their fallen comrades in terror.

  Seizing the moment, Shoeb Ali, the Mughal commander, raised his voice above the battlefield.

  "Inner squad, hold your ground! Outer line... Advance! Scatter the rebels! Take as many prisoners as you can!"

  With unwavering discipline, the 200 Mughal royal guards at the front surged forward, their movements precise and ruthless. They closed in on the retreating rebels, cutting off their escape.

  The csh of steel filled the air once more—bdes meeting flesh, cries of agony and defiance merging into the night as the disciplined Mughals pressed forward, sealing the fate of their broken foes.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

  As the battle raged, two phanx units in Hemu's uniforms emerged, their arrival marked by the beat of war drums and cheers from the crowd. Cd in armor, they formed an imposing sight.

  Leading the phanx was Istafa, a seasoned archer in leather armor, carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows. His pointed beard made him easily recognizable. Behind him, another soldier oversaw the formation, his face obscured by a mask, wearing a distinctive turban. Both units were fully armed with spears, swords, and saffron uniforms bearing Hemu's fgs.

  One unit advanced from the rear, cutting off the Mughal forces' escape, while the second positioned itself for a fnking attack. The Mughals, already engaged in combat, faced an unexpected and dire situation.

  Afzal's expression darkened upon seeing Hemu's forces. Turning to his commander, he demanded, "Why? I don’t understand."

  The commander’s response was grim. "Perhaps they pnned to bury us here at the border, erasing any doubts about their intent."

  Afzal clenched his fists, his voice firm. "No matter what, we must survive."

  The arrival of reinforcements made the Mughal royal guards hesitate, momentarily halting their attack. Commander Shoeb Ali quickly assessed the situation and issued urgent orders.

  "Assault groups, fall back! Split into squads. Form a tortoise formation with eight warhead units upfront. Protect your allies’ backs!"

  The Mughal soldiers adjusted their formation, creating a defensive circle three rows deep, their shields interlocked. The 200-strong assault group divided into eight smaller units, each positioned at the front, resembling a tortoise shell's warheads.

  The turbaned commander leading Hemu’s forces raised his voice. "It’s time to cim our freedom! Take revenge! Charge!"

  The Mughal royal guards, without horses or spears but disciplined, braced for impact. Hemu’s forces unched a pincer attack, but the Mughals held firm, their defenses nearly impenetrable. Despite repeated spear thrusts, the attackers struggled to break through.

  Though outnumbered, the Mughals stood resilient, their formation holding under relentless pressure. They fiercely protected Badshah Afzal, their movements coordinated and unwavering. Yet, without spears and facing a rger force, gaps in their defenses began to form. Istafa took advantage of every opening, his arrows striking with deadly precision. Under the relentless assault, the Mughal lines started to shrink.

  Istafa's heart pounded as victory seemed within reach. But then, a dust cloud rose from the pins. His hope surged. "Don't panic! They are allies!" he shouted, believing reinforcements had arrived.

  That hope shattered when the cavalry—2,000 strong—charged directly at his forces. Disguised as Hemu’s soldiers, they struck with devastating force. Panic spread through Istafa’s ranks.

  Leading the charge, Abdulh Khan Azbak roared, "No mercy! Kill them all!"

  The Mughal soldiers cheered at the arrival of reinforcements, while fear gripped the rebels. Attempts to halt the cavalry failed as the mounted royal guards and infantry overwhelmed them.

  Istafa turned to the masked commander beside him, his voice desperate. "They won’t let me escape. Go to Hindustan. Find Prince Aditya. Tell him what we've suffered. Bairam Khan is responsible. He must help us get revenge."

  Yet, Abdulh Khan was prepared, deflecting the arrow with expert precision. With a silent signal, the royal guards surrounding him swiftly closed in on Istafa, thwarting his attempt to flee after his failed assassination. The weight of betrayal and defeat hung heavy in the air as Istafa's fate was sealed, his dreams of vengeance shattered amidst the chaos of battle.

  In a secluded area of woods, Abdulh Khan Azbek prepared to deliver the final blow to Istafa, his sword poised for the fatal strike. However, before he could enact his vengeance, an arrow streaked through the air, finding its mark in Abdulh's neck with deadly precision. Caught off guard, Abdulh faltered, unable to deflect the sudden attack.

  Seizing the opportunity, Istafa swiftly drew a concealed dagger from beneath his cloak, driving it into Abdulh Khan's heart with lethal intent. Shock and disbelief washed over Abdulh as blood gushed from his wounds, his strength waning with each passing moment. Yet, even in the face of death, Istafa remained defiant, a maniacal grin spreading across his blood-stained lips.

  "If I can't cim victory, neither will you," Istafa's voice echoed with eerie resolve as he faced his imminent demise. With a final breath, he uttered his chilling decration, "Let us descend into hell togeth..."

  Before he could savor his final act of defiance, Abdulh’s guards struck him down with their spears, ending his life. Even in death, Istafa remained unbroken, his spirit defiant to the end.