Location: Solapur Fortress, The Royal Spire
Time: May 1639 (The Morning after the Fall of Solapur)
Within the massive, impenetrable stone walls of Solapur, the euphoria of the bloodless conquest had barely begun to settle. Following the arrest of Subedar Rustam Baig and the staggering discovery of two million gold coins in the royal vault, the Vijayanagara soldiers and the local citizens were experiencing an unfamiliar, profound peace. But high atop the royal spire, standing against the biting morning wind, Advit (Sriranga) had not slept a single second. His eyes, devoid of any fatigue, were firmly locked on the north-eastern horizon, where the faint, distant silhouette of Naldurg lay obscured by the morning mist.
Just behind him, under the open, pale sky, the War Council had been abruptly reconvened. Standing in attendance were Tirumala Nayaka of Madurai, the Nayaka of Tanjore, Commander Ayyappa, and the British merchant Francis Day.
Tirumala Nayaka's POV:
Tirumala Nayaka was physically and mentally exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot. In his decades of warfare, he had never witnessed a fortress captured entirely through psychological terror and deception, without shedding a single drop of blood. Deep down, he was beginning to harbor a profound, terrifying fear of this twenty-one-year-old Prince. 'Two million gold coins,' Tirumala thought, gripping the hilt of his sword. 'Any ordinary king would be holding a grand banquet right now. Why is this boy still staring at that dead horizon?' His experience and his ego screamed that the army needed rest, but reading the violent storm brewing behind Sriranga's eyes was impossible.
"Gentlemen," Advit spoke without turning around, feeling the chill of the wind against his face. His voice was so unnervingly calm that even the pigeons resting on the spire did not scatter. "Solapur is ours. But the true price of this victory was not paid from my treasury. It was paid by the two thousand brothers-in-arms who are currently staring death in the face at Naldurg. They staked their very lives on the line for our success."
Advit turned slowly. The glacial, unyielding intensity in his eyes instantly dropped the temperature of the entire spire.
"A king who uses his soldiers to achieve an objective and then leaves them to die in the mud is not a sovereign. He is merely a well-dressed scavenger. We march on Naldurg."
Tirumala Nayaka's exhaustion morphed instantly into indignant rage. This went against every established doctrine of medieval warfare. 'You are just a boy playing politics,' Tirumala thought, taking an aggressive step forward.
"Prince," Tirumala spoke, raising his voice slightly, letting the arrogance of a seasoned warlord bleed into his tone. "They are merely peasant levies and pawns! Such sacrifices are the standard currency of war. We have secured Solapur! For the loss of those two thousand peasants, your new treasury can purchase twenty thousand fresh, professional mercenaries. Risking our exhausted Strike Force by marching toward a heavily defended ruin is absolute military foolishness!"
Advit's Rebuttal (The Philosophy of a Modern Commander):
A deathly silence fell over the spire. In a 17th-century court, a vassal calling the Crown Prince a fool was an instant death sentence. But Advit did not draw his sword. He smiled—a cold, predatory smile completely devoid of mercy.
"Lord Tirumala," Advit said, taking slow, deliberate steps until he was standing mere inches from the older man. "You have spent your entire life purchasing the loyalty of your armies with gold. That is precisely why your men abandon the battlefield the moment they stare death in the face. When a simple pawn stands firmly in the line of fire to protect his king... he ceases to be a pawn. He becomes the absolute pillar of the empire."
Advit walked to the edge of the spire, pointing down toward the bustling market where Vijayanagara soldiers were treating wounded Bijapuri citizens.
"When my soldier knows in the absolute depths of his soul that his Prince will march through hellfire to bring him home, that soldier will stand smiling in the face of death. That specific breed of loyalty cannot be purchased with two million gold coins. I will forge these 'peasants' into an army that will make the professional soldiers of Europe beg for mercy."
Commander Ayyappa's POV:
Standing a few feet away, Commander Ayyappa Nayaka felt his chest swell with an overwhelming, suffocating pride. His eyes glossed over with unshed tears. He had served under multiple kings in his lifetime, and every single one of them had treated infantrymen like disposable cattle. For the first time in his life, a royal Prince was valuing peasant blood over royal gold. 'This boy... he is not just my King. He is a god among men. I would gladly let my own head be severed from my neck for him,' Ayyappa thought, gripping the hilt of his blade tightly with both hands.
"Commander Ayyappa," Advit's voice shattered his thoughts. "Are your Riflemen ready?"
"Always, my Prince!" Ayyappa roared, beating his armored chest, his voice carrying the ferocity of a starving wolf. "After witnessing the silent genius of Solapur, my men are ready to march straight into the jaws of hell. You simply need to name the soil you wish us to paint red."
Francis Day's POV:
Standing quietly in the corner, Francis Day observed the entire exchange in a state of profound, calculated shock. His mercantile mind was processing the catastrophic implications. 'This is impossible. This Prince operates outside the bounds of both European monarchy and Indian feudalism. He isn't buying an army; he is radicalizing them with pure emotion and loyalty. If his soldiers begin fighting with this level of fanaticism, it will cost the East India Company ten times the capital to defeat them in the field. He isn't building an empire... he's building a Cult.'
Advit's sharp voice broke through the Englishman's internal panic.
"Mr. Day," Advit said, turning to lock eyes with the pale European merchant. "You inspected the powder vault last night. I need you to extract the absolute highest quality saltpeter and heavy iron munitions immediately."
Francis Day blinked, entirely bewildered. "Y-Your Highness? Gunpowder? But transporting heavy cast-iron cannons all the way to Naldurg... it is logistically impossible for our exhausted men. The Bijapuri cavalry will slaughter us in the open plains."
"We are not transporting cannons, Mr. Day," Advit said, looking back at the horizon where the sun was now fully rising. "We will not breach the walls of Naldurg with swords. We will turn our transport carts into sheep, and inside those sheep will be a wolf made of gunpowder. I want you to use your 'Engineering' to convert our bullock carts into Mobile Batteries."
A cold shiver ran down the spines of both Tirumala Nayaka and Francis Day. This was no longer just about loyalty; this was the genesis of a military revolution that would change warfare forever. Operation Thunder-Run was about to begin.