Chapter 4: Shadows of Bahadurgad

The trees began to thin, giving way to rocky outcrops and scrubby bushes as he approached the outskirts of Bahadurgad Fort. His legs ached from the long trek, and his mind was still reeling from the confrontation with the Mughal soldier. Every few steps, he would glance at his hands, now dry but still stained in his mind with the blood of his first kill.

It was him or me. The thought repeated over and over, like a mantra meant to justify the cold truth: he had taken a life. The soldier hadn't been a faceless enemy on a screen. He was a living, breathing person with a history, with family. And now, because of him, that man's life was over.

But there was no time to dwell on it. The cold, hard reality of his situation demanded he keep moving forward. Sambhaji Raje was still a prisoner, and if he didn't act fast, history would unfold just as he remembered. The torture. The execution. The fall of the Maratha morale. He couldn't let that happen.

Ahead, the fort of Bahadurgad loomed over the horizon, its thick stone walls rising like a fortress of despair. It wasn't the grandest of forts, not like Raigad or Sinhagad, but it was formidable enough. With its strategic location, Bahadurgad was a key stronghold for the Mughal Empire in the Deccan region. Its imposing structure sat on a hill, offering a vantage point over the surrounding countryside.

The sun was beginning to set, casting an orange glow over the landscape. Shadows stretched long and eerie, adding to the sense of foreboding that settled deep in his gut. This is it, he thought. No turning back now.

The system map in his vision flickered, updating as he approached the fort. He could see several red dots—Mughal soldiers—patrolling the perimeter, their movements precise and well-coordinated. It wouldn't be easy to sneak in, especially with no backup and only a stolen dagger as his weapon.

"System," he whispered, mentally tapping into the interface. "Any chance you can help me out here? Maybe give me a tip on how to get in without getting killed?"

The cold, robotic voice responded immediately.

"Stealth mode activated. Analyzing entry points."

The map zoomed in on the fort, highlighting weak spots in the walls and gaps in the patrols. A small gate on the eastern side of the fort glowed green, marked as an unsecured entry. He studied the map, mentally tracing the route he would need to take. If I can get to that gate, I might be able to sneak in unnoticed.

Might. It wasn't exactly a guarantee, but it was the best shot he had.

With his plan in mind, he crouched low and moved toward the eastern side of the fort, staying close to the bushes and rocks that lined the path. The darkness was creeping in, working in his favor, and the guards weren't as sharp as they might've been during the day. Still, his heart pounded in his chest, each step bringing him closer to potential death.

As he approached the fort's wall, he could hear the distant murmurs of soldiers, their voices carried by the evening wind. He kept his body low to the ground, careful not to disturb the gravel beneath his feet. Every sound felt amplified in the silence, and his nerves were on edge. One wrong move and he'd be discovered.

He reached the small gate the system had identified—more of a servant's entrance, unguarded but rusted shut. His hands trembled as he gripped the iron bars, testing the weight. It barely budged. The hinges were stiff with rust, and the thought of forcing it open felt like a death sentence. What now?

The system's voice chimed in again.

"Nearby resource detected: lubricant oil."

He blinked, confused for a second. Lubricant oil? Where?

He looked around and spotted a small crate tucked behind some crates near the wall. Mughal supply depot. Of course, they would have materials for weapons and armor maintenance. Carefully, he pried open the crate, finding a small jar of oil. It wasn't much, but it was enough to loosen the hinges on the gate.

"Thanks," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn't sure if the system understood gratitude.

He applied the oil to the rusted hinges, working it in as best as he could. After a few tense moments, he tried the gate again. This time, it moved with a soft groan, just enough for him to slip through. He squeezed his way into the dark corridor, holding his breath as he listened for any signs of movement.

Nothing. Just the faint crackle of torches burning somewhere further inside.

The interior of the fort was as imposing as its exterior. The stone walls were thick, the halls dark and foreboding. The smell of damp earth and old stone filled the air. This was a place of imprisonment, not grandeur. Somewhere within these walls, Sambhaji Raje was being held, chained and blindfolded, awaiting his inevitable fate.

He moved quickly but cautiously, keeping to the shadows as he navigated the narrow corridors. The system map guided him, showing him where the guards were stationed and when to avoid them. Every step felt like walking a tightrope, one wrong move could lead to disaster.

At one point, he heard voices—a conversation between two soldiers near a corner up ahead. He froze, pressing himself flat against the wall, heart racing. He didn't understand everything they said, but he caught a few key phrases. "Bahadurgad. Sambhaji. Aurangzeb's orders."

They were discussing the prisoner. Sambhaji Raje.

His pulse quickened. He was getting closer.

The soldiers eventually moved on, their footsteps fading into the distance. The MC let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. But there was no time to waste. He checked the map again. Sambhaji's icon was close. Very close.

He turned another corner and came to a small courtyard. At the far end, a large iron door stood, guarded by two soldiers. He didn't need the system to tell him what was behind that door. Sambhaji Raje was there. The Raje. The King.

He crouched low behind a stack of crates, his mind racing. There were two guards—armed and alert. His makeshift spear wouldn't cut it this time, and while he had the dagger, taking on two trained soldiers felt like suicide. He needed a plan, something quick, something clever.

"System," he whispered urgently. "Options?"

The system responded, offering a brief but clear solution.

"Nearby resource detected: sleeping powder. Distraction technique recommended."

He blinked, scanning the area as the map highlighted a small storage room off to the side of the courtyard. Inside, he found a burlap sack filled with powder—likely used by the guards to maintain alertness over long shifts, but in large doses, it could knock someone out cold.

A sleeping powder bomb. It wasn't ideal, but it was something.

With shaking hands, he grabbed a handful of the powder and wrapped it in a piece of cloth he found nearby, creating a crude, makeshift pouch. He peered around the corner again, eyeing the guards. If he could throw the powder close enough, the wind might carry it toward them, knocking them out without a fight.

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. Okay. Here goes nothing.

He tossed the pouch toward the guards, praying his aim was true. It landed with a soft thud, the powder spilling into the air. For a moment, nothing happened. The guards glanced at each other, confused, before one of them sniffed the air. Then, slowly, their eyelids began to droop, their bodies swaying.

Within moments, they collapsed to the ground, fast asleep.

"Yes!" he whispered triumphantly, a wave of relief washing over him.

He didn't waste a second. Rushing forward, he pulled the heavy iron door open, slipping inside the dimly lit room. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

And there, chained to the wall, blindfolded and battered, was Sambhaji Maharaj.

The sight of him—this legendary figure, this warrior king—brought a lump to his throat. Even in his weakened state, Raje exuded a presence, a quiet strength that filled the room. This was no ordinary man. This was a man who had fought for his people, for his father's legacy, and for the survival of the Maratha Empire.

The MC felt a surge of emotion. This was Sambhaji Raje, the son of Shivaji Maharaj. The man he had grown up admiring from history books, the king who had fought so valiantly against the Mughals, even in the face of betrayal.

He dropped to his knees before Sambhaji, bowing his head in respect.

"Raje," he whispered, his voice trembling with reverence. "I'm here to free you."