---
Stepping carefully over the blood-soaked, stone-still body of the fallen guard, Prince Ritupriyan moved forward without a sound.
Standing beside him, his trusted commander Jyotishman understood instantly—no matter what happened next, the prince would reach the princess's bedchamber.
Passing through the silent antechamber of the infirmary, they advanced slowly toward the deepest inner levels of the palace. The stillness seemed to suffocate even the air itself. As they walked, Ritupriyan spoke in a low voice—
Ritupriyan:
"As the priest said, this palace has twelve layers of night patrol. Our objective is to bypass every guard unit and reach the princess's secluded chamber."
Jyotishman (nodding):
"Understood, Prince."
---
Turning a corner, they spotted guards stationed at the edge of a stone corridor. Gleaming swords rested in their hands. Though sleep weighed on their eyes, their bodies remained alert—trained into mechanical vigilance. Their indifferent gazes wandered, yet suspicion never stirred.
Ritupriyan silently produced a small glass vial. Inside was a liquid anesthetic—sweet-smelling, deceptively alluring, yet capable of pulling consciousness into deep slumber once vaporized.
He dripped a single drop onto a piece of cotton and tossed it into the darkness of the corridor's corner.
Moments later, smoke spread gently through the air. Drawn by the scent, the guards stepped forward.
Guards (sharply):
"Who's there?"
In that instant, Jyotishman lunged from behind like a shadow. A strong rope coiled in his hands. Without allowing even a breath, he looped it around their necks one by one. Within moments, their bodies went limp, collapsing silently.
---
Tearing a strip from his bloodstained clothing, Ritupriyan fashioned a complex garrote—silent, lethal. In the next corridor, two guards wandered through the haze, their eyes dull with fatigue. From the shadows, Ritupriyan snapped the garrote around the first man's throat.
Before the second could turn, a slender blade flew from Jyotishman's hand—piercing his chest with flawless precision.
They advanced again.
---
Beyond the first guard post, the prince drew another thin glass vial from beneath his shoulder armor. It contained an odorless yet deadly sedative gas. His deep medical knowledge had allowed him to identify and collect these vials, needles, and chemicals from the infirmary—tools of precise annihilation.
Ritupriyan observed the guards ahead—sluggish, some yawning.
He hurled the vial above a lantern's flame.
Instantly, a strange bluish mist filled the air—burning the eyes, then gripping the lungs like an invisible hand. No one could scream.
Moving like shadows, Ritupriyan and Jyotishman twisted each guard's neck, snapping spinal cords cleanly.
Jyotishman slammed another guard to the ground, pinning him with a knee and striking relentlessly.
---
Ahead lay a staircase. Two guards stood on either side, bows in hand, eyes heavy with fatigue.
Ritupriyan's gaze sharpened.
Ritupriyan (whispering):
"Their focus is on each other. The center path is unguarded."
From the darkness below, prince and commander emerged soundlessly—footsteps absent, breaths held, as though time itself had frozen.
One guard yawned—
Sss—thk!
Ritupriyan's needle and Jyotishman's concealed blade struck simultaneously, piercing both chests. The bodies collapsed without a sound, as if they had never existed.
They continued forward, silently, toward an uncertain and dark future.
---
On the third level stood guards tasked with sounding alarms—wooden drum-like instruments. One strike would awaken armed soldiers throughout the palace.
Ritupriyan murmured,
"If we don't reach them first, it's over. The drum means our death."
They merged with the shadows. Avoiding the guards' gaze, Ritupriyan hurled a stone into a distant metal crate. A sharp clang shattered the air.
The guards spun around, confusion flickering in their eyes.
"Now!" Jyotishman hissed.
They struck like a storm. Jyotishman rammed into one guard, covering his mouth and slamming him down. At the same time, Ritupriyan locked another in his arms—lifeless in seconds.
The rest fell, one by one, trapped in confusion.
---
At the next gate stood four guards—sharp-eyed, battle-trained. Strategy was essential.
Hidden in shadow, Ritupriyan dropped a dead guard's blood-soaked armor onto the ground.
The guards rushed forward, alarmed.
Jyotishman sprang out, slicing the tendon beneath one guard's waist. Before the body hit the ground, Ritupriyan crushed another guard's skull against a stone arch—thud—and the body dropped motionless.
The remaining two tried to flee. Before they could speak—
one had a blade buried in his throat; the other was seized from behind and ended in a soundless, suffocating embrace.
---
Step by step, they entered the palace's inner corridors. Each wall seemed wrapped in hidden history; each shadow felt ready to become a blade.
Four guards ahead—talking at one end, one pacing in slow circles.
Ritupriyan met Jyotishman's eyes. Decision made without words.
As the lone guard turned the corner, they were already behind him.
Ritupriyan clamped a hand over his mouth. Jyotishman struck—silent collapse.
Together, they stripped the guard's armor and donned it. Another guard was subdued just as quietly.
Faces hidden behind helms, they advanced toward the next gate.
Two guards challenged them.
"Where are you going?"
Ritupriyan altered his voice, replying,
"Commander's orders. We're being reassigned to the north gate. Nothing's happened at the south. New directive—just arrived."
One guard frowned.
"We received no such message."
Jyotishman replied gravely,
"The messenger has already gone toward the western courtyard. You'll hear soon. You can run and check if you want—but if this gate remains closed, the responsibility will fall on you."
The guards exchanged looks—then slowly opened the gate.
Heads bowed, Ritupriyan and Jyotishman passed through, as if this had been their duty for years.
---
Night had sunk into an ocean of darkness. The sky looming over the palace was ash-gray, like burned fire. The silence was so deep that even a breath echoed off stone walls.
Prince Ritupriyan and Commander Jyotishman moved steadily toward the inner quarters—where behind every door and at every bend of the corridor, danger waited as surely as death itself.
Yet their eyes did not waver.
Within them burned a silent fire—one that consumed everything, even fear.
---
Seventh Level
The moment they crossed the threshold into the seventh level, the change in atmosphere was immediate and unmistakable. This was no ordinary section of the fortress—it breathed vigilance. The air itself seemed tighter, heavier, as though every stone in the corridor was alert to intrusion.
To be continued…