"Swing your sword if you want, or fire the arrow you have on your bow. But know that there are hundreds of men marching behind me, and it would take them seconds to turn this place to dust," Vidyut spoke to the crowd, his calm voice softening his menacing words. "You will die today protecting a coward and a tyrant that never stood by your side. The king you fight for snatched away your coins so he could buy his comfort, took away your bread so he could throw grand feasts. And today, when the time came to protect you from the enemy, he is hiding in the safety of his palace chamber with his despot son."
Vidyut saw the doubt moving in people's eyes. He knew these northern men were neither paid nor fed, the commoners and the soldiers alike. They had little loyalty to the throne; they only took up their arms out of fear for Prince Drishti. The fuel of resentment was always piled in their hearts. All it needed was an ember, and they would ignite into a violent flame.
