The dawn of the attack on Fort Panhala was approaching. Inside the fortified walls of Raigad, the Maratha camp buzzed with quiet intensity. Every man prepared in his own way—sharpening swords, inspecting bows, or whispering silent prayers. The MC, standing beside Narayanrao, surveyed the preparations with a mixture of excitement and dread. They were about to embark on one of the boldest missions yet.
The speech Sambhaji Maharaj had given the previous evening had rallied the men. They believed in the cause, in their leader, and in the possibility of victory. Yet, there was still tension in the air. Fort Panhala, perched on its plateau and heavily fortified by the Mughals, would not be an easy target. Success would require not just courage, but precision and timing.
The MC stood apart for a moment, reflecting on how far he had come. He had once been an ordinary young man living a peaceful, modern life. Now, he was part of a rebellion, navigating strategies and battles in a world where one wrong move could cost him his life. The technology system that had been his lifeline in this strange past had helped, but each new reward had come with greater responsibility. He wasn't just an observer anymore—he was a part of this fight.
"You ready?" Narayanrao's voice broke through his thoughts.
The MC glanced at his companion and nodded, though a part of him still felt the weight of uncertainty. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Narayanrao smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. Santaji's already scouting ahead. We'll need to move fast once we reach the base of the fort. Remember, stealth first. We can't afford to trigger an alarm."
The plan was simple, yet dangerous. The Maratha forces would split into two groups—one to scale the fort's walls under cover of darkness and infiltrate the Mughal stronghold from within, and the other to wait outside, ready to storm the gates once the signal was given. The MC would be part of the infiltration team, alongside Narayanrao, Santaji, and a select group of skilled fighters.
The goal was to capture the fort with as little bloodshed as possible. If they succeeded, they would control one of the most strategic locations in the region, and Aurangzeb's forces would be crippled. If they failed… the consequences were too dire to imagine.
As night fell, the Maratha forces quietly slipped out of Raigad, moving swiftly and silently through the rugged terrain. The MC, dressed in the same simple attire as the rest of the soldiers, moved in step with Narayanrao, his mind focused on the mission ahead. The journey to Fort Panhala was a treacherous one, with narrow mountain paths and hidden valleys providing both cover and danger.
The tension among the men was palpable. Every rustle of the wind through the trees, every distant animal call, seemed to put them on edge. The MC felt it too—the weight of knowing that one wrong step, one slip in the plan, could lead to disaster. But he also knew that this was their moment. The Mughals wouldn't be expecting such a daring strike.
As they neared the fort, Santaji emerged from the shadows, his face serious. He had been scouting ahead with a few of the best trackers, ensuring that no Mughal patrols were nearby. His report was quick but encouraging.
"They've let their guard down," Santaji whispered. "The Mughals are not expecting an attack this deep into their territory. The fort is well-guarded, but the night shift is light. This is our best chance."
Narayanrao nodded, his expression tight. "Then we move now. No sound. No mistakes."
The MC took a deep breath, steadying himself. His heart pounded in his chest as they began their final approach to Panhala. The fort loomed in the distance, its high walls dark and imposing against the night sky. This was it—the moment they had been preparing for.
The infiltration team moved with silent precision, their movements synchronized and deliberate. The MC followed closely behind Narayanrao, keeping low as they approached the base of the fort. The walls of Panhala were tall and steep, but the Marathas were used to such challenges. They had trained for this, and now their lives depended on it.
Using ropes and grappling hooks, the team began their ascent. The MC's palms were slick with sweat as he grabbed hold of the rope, pulling himself up inch by inch. His muscles strained under the effort, but he kept his focus sharp, refusing to look down. Behind him, Santaji and the others followed, their movements as quiet as the wind.
As they climbed, the MC's mind raced. This was a mission of life and death—if they were spotted, there would be no turning back. The Mughals would swarm them, and escape would be nearly impossible. But if they made it to the top without being seen, they had a real chance of taking the fort from the inside.
When the MC reached the top of the wall, he paused, listening for any sign of nearby guards. The night was still, and the faint light from the Mughal patrols was far enough away that they had gone unnoticed. He hoisted himself over the edge, crouching low against the stone wall.
Narayanrao signaled for the rest of the team to follow, and within minutes, the Marathas were all safely on top of the fort's walls. The MC's heart pounded in his chest as they moved silently along the battlements, staying out of sight. Below, the Mughal soldiers went about their duties, unaware of the danger looming above them.
"Wait for my signal," Santaji whispered, his eyes scanning the courtyard below.
The MC gripped the hilt of his dagger tightly, waiting for the moment when the battle would begin. His mind was racing, but his body was calm, focused on the task ahead. He knew his role was not to fight on the front lines but to support the mission by ensuring that the plan stayed on track.
Suddenly, Santaji gave the signal.
In an instant, the quiet night turned into a whirlwind of motion. The Maratha forces moved with lightning speed, descending from the walls and into the courtyard with deadly precision. The guards, caught off guard by the sudden attack, barely had time to draw their weapons before they were overwhelmed.
The MC stayed close to Narayanrao, following the carefully planned route through the fort. Their goal was to reach the main gate and open it for the second wave of Maratha forces waiting outside. As they moved through the narrow corridors, they encountered small pockets of resistance—Mughal soldiers who had been alerted to the commotion.
But the Marathas were prepared. Narayanrao and his men quickly dispatched any resistance they encountered, their movements quick and decisive. The MC, though not a fighter, played his part by keeping an eye on their surroundings, ensuring that they weren't walking into any traps.
As they reached the main gate, Santaji's men, already positioned, sprang into action, disabling the guards stationed there and unbarring the heavy wooden doors. The signal was sent, and moments later, the second wave of Maratha soldiers poured into the fort.
The Mughals, now fully aware of the attack, scrambled to mount a defense. The clash of steel rang through the air as the Marathas and Mughals engaged in fierce combat. The MC, staying out of the fray, watched as Santaji led his men with ruthless efficiency, cutting down the Mughal soldiers with precision.
But the battle wasn't over yet.
As the fighting intensified, the MC and Narayanrao reached the heart of the fort, where the Mughal commander was stationed. If they could capture him, the rest of the Mughal forces would be thrown into disarray, and the fort would be theirs.
"Stay close," Narayanrao whispered, his eyes locked on the large wooden doors ahead. Behind those doors lay the Mughal commander and his elite guards.
The MC felt a surge of fear, but also determination. This was the final push. If they succeeded, they would have control of Fort Panhala and a decisive victory over the Mughals. If they failed, it could mean the end of their rebellion.
Narayanrao kicked open the door, and they charged inside.