Empire of India: Rise of the Ruthless Prince

When Viswa was six years old, at such a young age he noticed the disdain in his parents' eyes. They always looked at him as if he were a burden, though young Viswa didn't understand why. Despite their coldness, he longed for their love and affection, which he never received.

Viswa was thirteen when he and his parents moved to the outskirts of the town where he was currently staying. His life hadn't been easy, but he found solace in being close to his parents, even though they didn't seem to care for him.

Despite their indifference, he felt content just being with them. That fragile contentment shattered when, one day, his parents suddenly left him. Viswa had gone to the nearby forest to pick fruits, and when he returned, the house was empty. His parents were gone, leaving no trace.

For days, Viswa waited in front of his small, empty house, surviving on the fruits he had picked, hoping against hope that his parents would return. Days turned into weeks, and despite knowing deep down that he had been abandoned, he couldn't bring himself to leave the place he had once called home.

'What did I do wrong?! Was I not a good kid? Why did Mom and Dad leave me?! ' Millions of thoughts flooded Viswa's mind as tears streamed down his cheeks.

The pain of abandonment was overwhelming, but somehow, he managed to grow apart from these thoughts. Determined to better himself, he held onto the hope that someone might one day recognize and treasure him.

Four years had passed since that fateful day, and now Viswa was seventeen. The town he lived near had expanded into the area where he used to hunt and gather fruits, forcing him to seek sustenance elsewhere.

Unfortunately, his luck had run out; there were few fruits or animals nearby. To gather anything, he had to venture deep into the forest, a terrifying and dangerous prospect.

With no other choice, Viswa began gathering herbs close to his house to sell to the local doctor. He knew he was being paid far less than the herbs were worth, but the doctor was his only customer.

Day in and day out, he faced discrimination from the townsfolk due to the fact that his parents were known lower caste in the town, yet he persevered, doing whatever it took to survive with the little he had.

One day, Viswa went to buy some food from his usual place, only to find it closed. Hungry and desperate, he decided to try a different store. He handed the store owner a pouch of coins, the usual amount he paid for food. The store owner scoffed at him.

"For scum like you, I charge more than that," the owner sneered.

"What? I usually pay this much at the other shop," Viswa replied, confused.

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"I don't care. Just get lost," the store owner retorted.

When Viswa reached to take his pouch back, the owner suddenly kicked him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground. The store owner smirked down at him.

"Why should I give you this back?" he taunted.

"You didn't give me food. Why are you keeping the money?" Viswa gasped, clutching his stomach in pain.

A crowd began to gather, drawn by the commotion. No one asked Viswa for his side of the story. They blindly believed the store owner's accusations that Viswa had tried to rob him. What followed was a brutal act of mob justice. Viswa curled up on the ground, trying to protect himself from the kicks and blows raining down on him.

Every day was painful to live. He felt a burning sense of injustice as rage filled him. Why was he treated this way just because he was of a lower caste? Viswa cursed the gods. 'Are these so-called gods responsible for this unfair system?' The beatings continued to fall upon him, and he slowly started losing hope that he would survive.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air, and the crowd dispersed, leaving Viswa lying there with wounds and bruises all over his body. Dizzy from the hits and blood loss, he saw a blurred image of a soldier with a royal crest. Fear gripped his soul, draining the color from his face. Royals would likely have him executed without listening to his side because of his lower caste.

Through his blurred vision, he saw a man in luxurious clothes walking toward him.

What ensued after the young man arrived was entirely unexpected for Viswa. For the first time in his life, someone believed his words. Instead of looking at him like a lower-caste burden, the young man regarded him with a gaze that was different—cruelly indifferent, but not dismissive. There was no sympathy, no compassion, just a piercing look that seemed to see right through the false accusations.

Viswa's heart pounded as he heard the man issue a command. The commanding voice sliced through the chaos, and the store owner was forcibly dragged away. The crowd, which had moments before been a menacing mob, now fell silent and parted like a tide before the man's presence.

As the relief washed over him, His body began to succumb to the pain and exhaustion. He felt the weight of the injustice lifts ever so slightly.

The hard ground beneath him seemed less cold and harsh as his vision blurred. His last conscious thought was not of the beatings or the unfairness of his life, but of the strange, emotionless young man who, with a few words, had altered the course of his cruel fate.

The world around him faded, and he passed out.

Viswa woke up with pain throbbing in his head and body from the brutal beating he had endured. Groggy and disoriented, he heard voices nearby. Turning his head, he saw a tall, fully armoured man with a royal crest speaking to another individual seated comfortably. This man was dressed luxuriously with minimal jewellery, and he was calmly sipping tea, not even sparing him a glance.

Mustering the courage, Viswa pointed at the man and demanded, "Who are you? Why am I here in the forest?"

The armoured man's demeanour instantly changed, his face contorting with anger. "Hey!! How dare you address the Royal Prince in that disrespectful tone of yours?" he barked, his voice like thunder.

Viswa's heart raced. He had assumed the man might be of high nobility, but realizing he was in the presence of the Prince of the Empire filled him with fear. He felt the gravity of his words and actions.

The prince, still sipping his tea with an air of indifference, finally shifted his gaze to look at Viswa. His eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth. "Sit down," he said, his voice calm.

Viswa obeyed, his mind racing with questions and fears. The prince's indifferent gaze seemed to pierce through him, making it clear that this encounter was not out of kindness but rather a matter of curiosity or perhaps a test.

The Prince's question caught Viswa off guard. He asked if Viswa wanted to escape the hellish situation he was currently facing. Viswa had always yearned to escape but had never known how.

The fear that he might face similar discrimination in any new town had kept him trapped in the hellish cycle. Tears welled up in his eyes as he expressed his desire to flee this life of misery and prove his worth to someone, anyone, in the future.

For the first time in his life, He saw a glimmer of hope. It was a small flicker, but it ignited a spark in his otherwise dark existence. The Prince extended his hand, offering him the position of his subordinate.

Though a barrage of questions flooded his mind, Viswa seized this opportunity. It was the only lifeline he had to escape the abyss of his current life.

Later, he understood that the path to escape wasn't that easy. The support of the Prince wouldn't magically end the discrimination he faced. But Viswa was determined. For the first time, someone had given him a purpose and a chance to advance his life.

He clung to this chance, resolved to meet the Prince's expectations.

Observing the Prince, Viswa saw a person unlike any he had encountered before. The calmness and coldness the Prince radiated were visible, and his deep black eyes seemed to pierce Viswa's soul, looking down on him as if he were an ant that he could squash in a heartbeat.

Internally, Viswa vowed never to give up. He was determined to change his wretched life and the system that had destroyed so many lives like his. He decided to formally vow his life to the prince the day he proved his worth to the prince.

He swore to take revenge on everyone who had looked down on him.

He would climb to the top, using this chance he had been given, perhaps on a whim of the Prince. He would stand on top and look down on those who had called him trash or worthless.

He swore to destroy the unjust systematic practice of birth-based discrimination with his very own hands, whether the path would be bloody or not.

As they continued their journey, Viswa's resolve only hardened. He would not fail. He would not be cast aside. He would become someone who mattered, an integral piece for the prince, someone who could change the world. And it all started with this chance, this spark ignited by the Prince's indifferent hand.