As the afternoon sun filtered through the trees surrounding the hidden temple, the MC stood just outside, scanning the terrain for any signs of movement. The Mughals had intensified their search efforts in the valley, but for now, the temple remained undetected. Inside, Sambhaji Raje and Narayanrao discussed their next steps, planning the rebellion that would begin the fight to reclaim the Maratha throne.
The MC's thoughts, however, were a swirl of excitement and fear. They had men now, a small force, but the real challenge was still ahead. How do we gather more men? How do we move without alerting the Mughal army?
Narayanrao emerged from the temple, his expression serious but determined. "We've sent word to the other loyal men hiding in the hills. They will come once they know Sambhaji Raje is alive."
The MC nodded, relieved that they had made some progress. "How many do you think will join us?"
Narayanrao sighed. "A few dozen, perhaps. Maybe more. But it won't be enough for a full-scale assault on the Mughals. Not yet."
"We don't need to fight them head-on," the MC said, his voice lowering as his mind whirred with strategy. "Not now, at least. We need to hit them where they least expect it. Small strikes, quick attacks—cripple their supply lines, weaken their hold on the region."
Narayanrao studied him for a moment. "You speak like a man who's fought many battles."
The MC felt a pang of imposter syndrome, knowing he was no warrior. I'm just a guy from the future who's played too many strategy games, he thought bitterly. But he kept his expression calm. "I've studied wars. The key isn't always brute force—it's about using your resources wisely, outthinking your enemy."
Narayanrao seemed to accept this, nodding in agreement. "We'll start by cutting off Mughal supply lines. We know the hills well. There are traders and smugglers who are sympathetic to our cause."
The MC's heart quickened with a mix of excitement and fear. This was their first real step toward building a resistance. If they could disrupt the Mughal army's supplies, it would buy them time to gather more men, strengthen their forces, and plan a larger assault.
"We'll need to coordinate," the MC said, his mind racing with possibilities. "If we hit them in different locations at once, the Mughals won't be able to respond fast enough."
Narayanrao's eyes narrowed as he considered the plan. "You're suggesting we use small groups, spread out over the region?"
The MC nodded. "Exactly. We don't have the numbers for a direct fight. But if we split into smaller units, we can strike quickly, disappear before the Mughals even realize what's happened, and hit them again somewhere else."
Sambhaji Raje stepped out of the temple, his blind eyes unseeing but his presence still commanding. "This is what we must do," he said, his voice filled with resolve. "We will not face the Mughals in open battle, not yet. We will make them bleed from a thousand small cuts until they are too weak to fight back."
The MC nodded, feeling a surge of pride in Sambhaji's leadership. This was the way forward, and the king was ready to lead his people once more.
"Then we begin tonight," Narayanrao said, turning to the men gathered in the temple. "I will gather the scouts. We'll plan our first strike."
Nightfall in the Hills
The moon was high in the sky by the time the first group of scouts had been gathered. They were a small but determined group—hardened men who had fought under Shivaji Maharaj and now sought to reclaim the Maratha legacy under Sambhaji. The air was thick with tension, the quiet of the night broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees.
The MC stood at the edge of the clearing, watching as Narayanrao and the scouts prepared their gear. Swords, daggers, and bows—all the weapons they had, though they paled in comparison to the firepower of the Mughal army. But what they lacked in numbers and weapons, they made up for in their knowledge of the land. These men knew the hills and forests like the back of their hands, and that gave them a crucial advantage.
Narayanrao approached the MC, his expression hard and determined. "We'll be hitting a Mughal supply caravan near the eastern trail. It's lightly guarded, but we must move quickly before more patrols arrive."
The MC nodded, feeling the weight of the moment. This was their first strike, the first blow they would deliver to the Mughals. If it went well, it would embolden the men, rallying more to their cause. But if it failed… the consequences could be catastrophic.
"I'll go with you," the MC said suddenly, surprising even himself.
Narayanrao looked at him in surprise. "You're sure? This won't be easy."
"I know," the MC replied, his heart pounding. "But if we're going to build this resistance, I need to understand how these operations work firsthand. And besides, I might be able to help."
Narayanrao gave him a long look before nodding. "Very well. But stay close. If something goes wrong, we retreat. No heroics."
The MC nodded, feeling a mixture of anxiety and determination. This wasn't a game. There were no respawns, no save points. If he made a mistake, it could cost him his life—or worse, it could cost the rebellion its momentum.
Sambhaji, who had been listening quietly, turned toward the MC, his face unreadable. "Be careful," he said simply. "Our fight has only just begun."
The MC nodded, swallowing his fear. "I'll be back soon, Raje. This is only the start."
The First Strike
They moved through the forest in near silence, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth and the cover of night. The MC stayed close to Narayanrao, his senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves set his heart racing, but he forced himself to stay calm.
The system map in his vision flickered occasionally, showing the positions of the Mughal patrols. They were close, but not close enough to spot them. Yet.
Ahead, Narayanrao signaled for the group to stop. He crouched low, peering through the trees at the narrow trail just beyond the tree line. The MC followed his gaze, his pulse quickening.
There, on the trail, was a small Mughal caravan—two ox-drawn carts filled with supplies, guarded by a handful of soldiers. It was a modest force, but it was enough to make their attack risky.
"We strike when they reach that bend in the trail," Narayanrao whispered, pointing to a curve in the path where the trees grew thick, providing natural cover. "We'll catch them by surprise. No one survives to report back."
The MC nodded, his hand tightening around the dagger at his waist. His palms were slick with sweat, and his stomach churned with nerves. He had never been in a real fight before—let alone an ambush. But there was no turning back now.
As the caravan neared the bend in the trail, Narayanrao gave the signal.
In a flurry of motion, the scouts moved. Arrows flew from the trees, striking two of the Mughal soldiers before they even had a chance to react. The rest of the men rushed forward, blades drawn, as the guards scrambled to defend themselves.
The MC's heart raced as he followed, his body moving on instinct. He didn't have the experience or the training of the others, but he had surprise on his side. The first Mughal soldier barely saw him coming before the MC plunged his dagger into the man's side, the sensation sending a jolt of adrenaline through him.
The fight was brief but brutal. The Mughals, though caught off guard, fought fiercely, but they were outnumbered and outmatched in their unfamiliar terrain. Within minutes, the last of the guards had fallen, and the caravan was theirs.
The MC stood in the aftermath, his breath ragged, his hands trembling from the rush of battle. Around him, the scouts moved quickly, gathering the supplies from the carts and covering the bodies of the fallen soldiers. It was a small victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.
Narayanrao approached the MC, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You did well," he said, his voice gruff but approving. "This is only the first of many strikes."
The MC nodded, still processing the events of the past few minutes. "We need to keep moving," he said, his mind already shifting to the next step. "The Mughals will notice the missing supplies soon."
Narayanrao nodded in agreement. "We'll head back to the temple. From there, we can plan our next move."
As they began their journey back through the forest, the MC couldn't help but feel a strange mix of relief and resolve. This was the beginning. The rebellion had started, and with each small victory, they would grow stronger.
But the fight for the Maratha throne was far from over.