The Pandavas led Aryan deeper into the camp, where warriors sparred under torchlight. The rhythmic clang of steel against steel filled the air, along with the grunts of men pushing their limits.
Bhima stopped in an open space and turned, cracking his knuckles. "If the gods have blessed you, let's see it."
Aryan's stomach tightened. He knew Bhima's strength was legendary—a man who could lift an elephant if he willed it. But this wasn't just about fighting—it was a test. If he refused, he'd look weak. If he fought back too well, they'd suspect him.
A warrior stepped forward, placing a massive mace in Aryan's hands. The cold metal sent a shiver through his arms. It was heavier than he expected, but as he adjusted his grip, something clicked. His muscles remembered.
Not books.
Not research.
Instinct.
He took a slow breath. Kalaripayattu had trained him in movement, in the art of adapting, in using an opponent's strength against them. But this wasn't a practice duel. This was Bhima.
The son of Vayu.
The mightiest Pandava.
Bhima wasted no time. He charged.
His first swing was brutal, the air itself seeming to shudder under the force. Aryan barely twisted away in time, the mace crashing into the ground where he had stood, sending dust flying.
I can't match him in power. But that wasn't the goal.
Aryan moved—fast. He dodged, sidestepped, staying just outside Bhima's reach. The gathered warriors muttered, surprised.
Bhima grinned. "You run well. But can you strike?"
Aryan lunged. He swung—not for a direct hit, but to bait Bhima's reaction. The moment Bhima shifted to block, Aryan twisted his body, changing the direction of his strike at the last second.
The head of his mace clipped Bhima's arm.
It wasn't enough to harm, but it was enough to make Bhima stop. Silence filled the air.
I hit him.
A slow grin spread across Bhima's face. "Clever."
The fight wasn't over. Bhima came again, faster, stronger. Aryan dodged. Countered. Evaded. But each block sent shocks of pain through his arms, each dodge took more effort. Bhima wasn't just testing him now—he was enjoying this.
And then—Aryan slipped.
His foot skidded on loose dirt. Bhima's mace was already mid-swing.
Too fast.
Too strong.
Too late.
CRACK!
The impact sent Aryan flying. Pain tore through his ribs. He hit the ground, coughing, the world spinning.
When the dust settled, Bhima stood over him, offering a hand. "You lasted longer than I expected."
Aryan took it, wincing. He had lost.
But he hadn't been humiliated.
Yudhishthira nodded. "You are no ordinary man, Aryan."
Aryan met his gaze, heart still pounding. What had he just revealed? And how much longer could he hide the truth?
The trial was over. But his real test had just begun.