Rohak came running through the dimly lit corridors, his breath heavy with urgency. He did not knock—he simply pushed open the door to the twins' chamber. "Come. Now."
Rudra and Raghav were instantly alert. "What is it?" Raghav asked, already reaching for his weapons.
"Men at the factory. Carrying the same swords you described. They just arrived. Marketu is escorting them inside."
The twins exchanged a glance. Marketu had not informed them. He had kept this hidden. Raghav clenched his fists. That Marketu betrayed us! It had been over two months since anyone had come for the boxes. And now, suddenly, they were here. Why?
They did not waste time. The three slipped into the night, moving quickly but silently toward the factory. Keeping to the shadows, they watched as the familiar sequence played out again. The mystery men entered, stayed inside for a few minutes, then emerged with carts stacked with boxes. But this time, something was different—ten slaves followed behind them, shackled and silent.
Raghav whispered, "They're moving the weapons and taking slaves along."
"We follow," Rudra said. "We cannot let them vanish again."
Rohak sent word to the Chorpatta, who moved ahead, scouting for traps. The report came back: no signs of an ambush. The three pressed on, tracking the group as they left the city and entered the jungle.
The slaves moved quickly, setting up tents and lighting a fire for their captors. The mystery men gathered around the flames, speaking in hushed tones. The twins and Rohak watched from a distance, calculating their next move.
"We strike now," Rudra murmured.
Fifteen Chorpatta Whisperers spread into position. Five would take down the mystery men, while the rest would subdue the slaves. The signal was given. Shadows moved.
The attack was swift. Five whisperers stood and lunged, catching the mystery men off guard. Before they could reach their weapons, blades pressed against their throats. Their swords were snatched away, and they were forced to their knees. The other whisperers secured the slaves, who surrendered without resistance.
Raghav stepped forward. "Who are you? Who sent you?"
Rudra reached down and yanked away the cloth covering the captives' faces. His eyes widened. "We've seen them before."
A rustle in the trees. A snap of a twig. A presence—many of them.
Before the whisperers could react, over fifty armed men emerged from the darkness, spears and swords gleaming in the firelight. The ambush had been turned against them. The whisperers were outnumbered. The slaves were pushed away, ordered to flee toward the city under the escort of a few guards. The rest of the armed men tightened their formation, weapons drawn.
And then, from the shadows, he stepped forward.
He smirked, extending his hands toward the flames as if merely warming them. "See? I told you. You are not old enough to handle such business. You should have listened to me."
Rudra's jaw tightened. Rohak's hands curled into fists. The whisperers stood still, waiting.
His eyes gleamed in the firelight. "Do you want to check the quality of the weapons now?"