Chapter 10: The Hidden Temple

The path to the old temple was rough, the forest growing denser with every step they took. Twisted roots snaked across the trail, and the underbrush seemed to close in on them, making their progress slow and grueling. Sambhaji Raje walked steadily despite his injuries, his blind eyes fixed ahead, his mind focused on the task.

The MC, following closely, couldn't help but admire the king's resilience. Despite everything—the betrayal, the torture, the escape—Sambhaji hadn't once faltered. The Maratha warrior spirit lived in him, and that spirit was the only thing keeping them alive in these dangerous hills.

The system map flickered again in the MC's vision, and he checked it once more. The temple was close—just beyond the next ridge. But there were red dots scattered along the edges of the map, moving slowly. Mughal patrols. The closer they got to Raigad, the more they would have to deal with.

"We're almost there," the MC said quietly, his eyes scanning the surrounding trees. "But we're not alone. Mughal soldiers are patrolling the area. We'll need to be careful."

Sambhaji nodded, his expression grim. "The Mughals won't stop until they are certain of my death. We must stay ahead of them."

They moved carefully, stepping lightly to avoid making noise as they neared the ridge. The forest was eerily quiet now, as if it was holding its breath. The faintest sound—the rustle of a leaf, the snap of a twig—seemed amplified in the stillness.

As they crested the ridge, the MC saw it. Tucked away in the dense forest was a small stone temple, half-hidden by overgrown vines and moss. The structure was old, its stone walls weathered by time, but it had a certain power to it—a sense of history and importance.

"There it is," the MC whispered, pointing toward the temple. "Let's hope your men are still loyal, Raje."

Sambhaji's face remained impassive, but the MC knew the king was just as anxious as he was. Loyalty was fragile, and in times of war, fear could turn even the most trusted allies into traitors.

They descended the ridge slowly, keeping to the cover of the trees. The temple was close now, its stone walls rising out of the forest like a monument to a time long past. The MC's heart raced. This was it. If they could find loyal men here, they would have a chance to rebuild the Maratha resistance. If not…

He didn't let himself think about that.

As they approached the temple, the MC felt a shift in the air. The silence of the forest deepened, and there was a tension that hadn't been there before. His hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of the dagger at his waist. He glanced at the map again—no red dots in the immediate area, but that didn't mean they were safe.

They reached the entrance to the temple—a small archway carved into the stone, its surface covered in faded engravings. The door was slightly ajar, as if someone had been there recently.

"Wait here," the MC whispered to Sambhaji, his voice barely audible. "I'll check inside first."

Sambhaji didn't argue, simply nodding as he leaned against the stone wall, conserving his strength. The MC carefully pushed the door open, stepping inside.

The interior of the temple was dimly lit, the faint light filtering through cracks in the stone ceiling. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and old stone. The temple was small, with only a few statues lining the walls, their features worn by time. But in the center of the room stood a group of men—five in total, dressed in simple but sturdy clothing, their faces stern and alert.

The MC's heart leaped into his throat. Were these the scouts? Or were they Mughal spies?

One of the men stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword strapped to his waist. His eyes were sharp, his expression unreadable.

"Who are you?" the man asked, his voice low but commanding. "And why have you come here?"

The MC hesitated for a split second. These men could be friend or foe, and revealing Sambhaji's presence too early could get them both killed. He had to be careful.

"I'm looking for men loyal to the Maratha throne," the MC said cautiously, watching the men's reactions closely. "Men who are still willing to fight for Sambhaji Maharaj."

At the mention of Sambhaji's name, a murmur rippled through the group, but the man at the front remained calm, his eyes narrowing as he studied the MC.

"Sambhaji Maharaj is dead," the man said bluntly, his voice filled with skepticism. "Aurangzeb has already declared it. Why should we trust you?"

The MC's pulse quickened. He had expected this—news of Sambhaji's capture and supposed execution had spread quickly. Convincing them that the Raje was still alive would not be easy, but it was their only option.

"Sambhaji Maharaj lives," the MC said firmly, stepping forward. "I helped him escape from Bahadurgad. He is here, outside, but we need your help. The Mughals are still searching for him, and if we don't act now, it will only be a matter of time before they find him."

The man's eyes flickered with doubt, but before he could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed through the temple. The MC turned, his heart skipping a beat as Sambhaji Raje stepped through the doorway, his blind eyes staring straight ahead, his presence commanding the room without a single word.

For a moment, the temple was silent. The men stared at Sambhaji in shock, disbelief etched across their faces. The man who had spoken earlier took a step back, his hand falling away from the hilt of his sword.

"Raje?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Sambhaji stood tall, his chin raised, his voice steady. "I live," he said simply. "And I need your loyalty. The Maratha throne needs your loyalty."

The MC watched as the weight of Sambhaji's words sank in. The men exchanged glances, their faces filled with awe and confusion. For them, seeing Sambhaji alive was like witnessing a ghost—proof that the spirit of the Maratha resistance had not been crushed.

The leader of the group stepped forward again, this time dropping to one knee before Sambhaji, his head bowed. "I… I am Narayanrao, son of Chitnis," he said quietly, his voice trembling with emotion. "My father served your father, Shivaji Maharaj. I have waited for this moment—to serve you, Raje."

Sambhaji nodded solemnly. "Then rise, Narayanrao. And know that the fight for the Maratha throne is far from over. We will need every loyal man to stand with us."

The other men followed Narayanrao's lead, dropping to their knees in a gesture of deep respect. For the first time since their escape from Bahadurgad, the MC felt a flicker of hope. These men were loyal. They would fight.

As the men rose to their feet, Narayanrao turned to Sambhaji, his expression serious. "There are others," he said quietly. "Men who have scattered, hiding in the hills and forests. They are waiting for a sign. If we call them, they will come."

Sambhaji's face hardened. "Then call them," he said. "We will not hide any longer. The time has come to fight back."

The MC felt a surge of determination. They weren't alone anymore. With Narayanrao and his scouts, and with Santaji and Dhanaji waiting at Raigad, they could rebuild. They could fight.

But the fight wouldn't be easy.

"We'll need more than men," the MC said, his mind already racing with plans. "We need supplies—food, weapons, armor. The Mughals control the major roads. If we're going to survive, we need to find a way to outsmart them."

Narayanrao nodded. "There are old trade routes through the hills. Smugglers use them to avoid the Mughals. We can gather what we need through those routes."

Sambhaji's expression remained stoic, but the fire in his eyes told the MC everything he needed to know. This was the beginning of something bigger. The first step in a long and bloody fight for the Maratha Empire.

"Then let's get started," the MC said, his voice filled with purpose. "We have a war to win."