(Advit's Perspective)
The walls of the Vellore fort were as damp and freezing as the base-level archives of the British Library in London, but these stones held a much bloodier, buried history. It was raining outside. The rhythmic sound of the downpour kept dragging my mind back to the horrific crash on the Jewar expressway, but my brain had compartmentalized that trauma into a locked box, forcing my 'Survival Mode' on.
In the dead of night, during the third watch, the heavy wooden door of my chamber creaked open without a whisper. Damrala Venkatadri—the most powerful Nayak of the Vijayanagara Empire and my would-be assassin—stepped in stealthily. A devilish smirk played on his lips. He walked toward my bed, fully expecting to find my corpse rotting there.
But the bed was empty.
"Who are you looking for, Minister?"
My voice echoed in the dark chamber like a gunshot. Damrala flinched violently. He spun around. I was seated on an elevated royal chair, safely out of the torchlight's reach. Right behind me stood Yachama Nayaka and five of his most loyal, silent guards, their swords drawn and gleaming.
Damrala's face drained of all color. His eyes bulged in absolute disbelief. "Prince... you... how are you alive?"
"System failure, Damrala," I said, my voice low and piercing. "Your protocol failed."
Before he could even process the shock, Yachama's guards lunged, subduing him and forcing him to his knees. He was panting heavily, his royal arrogance shattered into dust in an instant. I stepped forward and pulled the heavy signet ring from his trembling fingers. This wasn't just a piece of jewelry; it was the master key to the empire's highest administrative orders.
I turned to Yachama. "Yachama, use this ring immediately. Seal Damrala's private chambers. I want every single dispatch, drafted map, and secret document he has concealed while conspiring with the Portuguese, Dutch, and English agents. We need to know exactly how much of our land and how many of our state secrets he has sold to foreigners."
Yachama took the ring, but a deep frown lined his forehead. "My Prince, we will secure his chambers, but a massive threat still looms outside. Damrala's brother, Ayyappa, is stationed at Poonamallee with a large garrison. He possesses ten heavy cannons. If he catches wind of Damrala's arrest, those cannons will be turned toward Vellore."
Ten cannons. In 17th-century warfare, heavy artillery meant game over. But the IFS officer inside me, who had studied and planned numerous covert operations and hostage negotiations, was rapidly running the calculations. Stealing or quietly moving heavy cannons was physically impossible. However, a weapon is useless if the man pulling the trigger isn't on your side.
"Forget the cannons, Yachama. If we try to move even five of them, Ayyappa will notice immediately," I said calmly. "We need the man operating them. Where is the family of the Master Gunner?"
"They reside within Vellore itself, Prince. But they are heavily guarded by Damrala's men to ensure the gunner never betrays Ayyappa."
Asset secured, I thought with a grim smile. This was the most basic rule of diplomatic leverage. "Yachama, send your best men to 'liberate' the gunner's family from Damrala's guards and bring them under our secure protection. Then, send a covert missive to the gunner. Tell him Damrala is in our dungeon, and his family is now under our sanctuary, completely safe."
I leaned down, staring directly into Damrala's terrified eyes. "Tell the gunner that if he mutinies against Ayyappa, turns the cannons toward Ayyappa's own tents, and agrees to train our soldiers in artillery mechanics, I will personally grant his family royal patronage. If not... the fate of his friends will mirror the fate of this traitor here."
Damrala writhed on the floor in sheer panic. "You... you cannot be Sriranga! Sriranga was a coward, a frightened child! Who are you?"
"I am the future you failed to prevent," I replied coldly, bending to pick up the bribe documents that had fallen near his knees. One of the parchments bore a distinct signature: 'Francis Day'. The agent of the East India Company.
"Yachama," I said, my eyes fixed on the parchment. "If I present all this evidence—Damrala's treason and his secret pacts with the English—before Emperor Venkata III, what will be his reaction?"
Yachama considered this carefully. "Emperor Venkata is a man of peace, but he is also heavily influenced by the Nayaks. If he realizes Damrala was dealing away the lands of Madrasapatnam behind his back, he will undoubtedly be furious. But the Emperor is hesitant; he does not take swift action."
"Exactly," I said, slamming the parchment onto the table. I remembered my history perfectly. Venkata III was a weak ruler; he needed a push to act. "We will not go to the Emperor with a problem; we will go to him with a solution. We need to remind Francis Day of his actual place. He thinks he can buy our royal court."
A map from the London archives began to project itself in my mind's eye. "Listen closely, Yachama. Francis Day is currently begging for that sandy strip of land in Madrasapatnam to build a fort. We will give him the land. But not on Damrala's terms. On my terms."
Yachama looked bewildered. "You will allow the English to settle here?"
"We will enslave them, without them even realizing it," I said, laying out my strategy. "We must make Francis Day realize that London is thousands of miles away, and the absolute sovereign of these waters is us. In exchange for the land, we will demand a transfer of modern weaponry technology and gunpowder. And the moment his fort is built, in the name of his 'protection,' I will station one hundred of my royal guards and a hundred of your sharpest spies permanently inside it."
I pointed at Damrala, whose face was now a portrait of absolute horror. "Francis Day will believe he has secured a stronghold in Vijayanagara, but in reality, his entire operation will be in the palm of my hand. And anyone who breaks the rules of this game... will be wiped entirely from the pages of history."