Next day Veer make a plan that will disturbed and even cause the economic collapse in the kingdom of the so called Prince who is waging war for his princess.
As Veer have sent his people in the kingdom of the prince and he was making plan by sitting in his home.
Veer pushed his chair back and stood up from the clutter of documents and sketches strewn across his desk. He took a moment to brush off the fine layer of dust that had settled on his clay tablet—a testament to the countless hours spent planning his next move. With a light tap of his fingers against his cup of chilled miracle drink—a refreshing lemonade delight—he steeled himself for the journey ahead.
"Time for round two. But this time... I bring coins instead of arrows," he declared with a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.
Dressed in the unassuming garb of a traveling merchant, Veer cut a far cry from the renowned drink-seller of Malwa. He was a humble trader, his cracked sandals dusty from the roads, and his demeanor gentle yet resolute. His attire—a simple tunic frayed around the edges—spoke of a man who yielded humility like a cloak, concealing the strength and cleverness that lay within.
Accompanying him were eight allies, each a master in their own right, cloaked in disguises that masked their true identities:
- A potter, with hands calloused from shaping clay into breathtaking forms
- A mason, whose strength lay in the ability to weave stones together into robust structures
- A weaver, adept at creating intricate patterns that told stories of their own
- A spice dealer, skilled in the art of blending flavors that could awaken the senses
- A grain merchant, knowledgeable about the subtleties of agriculture
- Two scribes, whose careful penmanship could capture the essence of every tale
- And an old warrior, seasoned and shrewd, bringing years of wisdom with him
Together, this eclectic group embarked on their mission, crossing borders with a stealth befitting a band of specters. In Aramsha, their faces remained unrecognized—at least for now. Veer was operating with surgical precision, each step meticulously planned.
**Phase 1: Bulk Buying**
With a collective purpose, Veer and his allies engaged in a strategic buying spree. They approached local weavers, offering to purchase every roll of raw fabric they had on hand, under the guise of a "temple project" that required a significant amount of material. The weavers, astounded by their unexpected fortune, couldn't believe their luck.
"This man has emptied half my stock!" the weaver laughed heartily. "He said he was starting a grand festival."
Next, they turned their attention to the grain markets, paying exorbitant rates for grains, lentils, and cooking oil. Every transaction felt like a small victory, a step closer to their goal.
The grain merchant chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "He paid double! I'd gladly deal with more fools like him."
They also scoured the market for cooling herbs, pitchers, and essential flavoring agents crucial for summer drinks, leaving the locals bewildered by their strange yet generous behavior.
Yet, what began as an act of goodwill would soon spiral into chaos.
**Phase 2: Disruption**
In just a matter of days, the markets began to tremble. Prices skyrocketed, tripling overnight as panic set in. Other traders, sensing the shifting tides, began hoarding their stock, unwilling to let their precious goods slip away. Even Prince Kaivar's own palace found itself facing the harsh reality of inflated prices for what used to be basic necessities.
Whispers crept through the town like wildfire:
"Why is everything so expensive?"
"Where's all the lemon and jaggery gone?"
On the fourth day, Veer set up a humble stall at the periphery of the vibrant Aramsha market. This stall, adorned with colorful fabrics and fragrant herbs, offered his icy summer drink—the only affordable refreshment in the now bewildering heat. Sweetened with jaggery and infused with refreshing mint and tulsi, it was a drink that seemed to call out to the thirsty souls wandering the marketplace.
As if drawn by the siren's call, a crowd soon gathered, desperate for a taste of relief. Even the prince's nobles, sweating profusely under the glaring sun, found themselves wandering from vendor to vendor only to leave disappointed; the stalls stood empty, their goods scooped up and hoarded away.
"Who runs this place?" one nobleman exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. "I've been to five vendors—they're all shut!"
The guard replied, shaking his head. "They say a foreigner bought out the entire lemon market."
Veer stood resolute behind the counter of his stall, casually pouring drinks from a terracotta pot, an unassuming smile gracing his lips. The atmosphere was electric, a blend of desperation and anticipation.
Meanwhile, within the cold, lavish walls of Aramsha's royal court, Prince Kaivar was seething. He slammed his chalice down, the sound echoing ominously across the marble floor.
"Why is my kitchen rationing? Why must my palace resort to dealing with street vendors?" he roared, his frustration simmering just below the surface.
His steward, shifting uncomfortably under the prince's intense gaze, hesitated before speaking up, "Sire… there is a merchant from Malwa. They say… he controls the market."
"His name?" Kaivar's voice was laced with a growl.
"He says he's called 'No One,'" the steward replied, barely above a whisper.
That very evening, with fury driving him, Kaivar rode out personally to the market. As he approached, the crowd parted like the sea, and there it stood—a humble drink stall radiating warmth in the orange dusk. Veer, impeccably calm and confident, stood behind the counter, a single flickering oil lamp illuminating his face.
"So… you return," Kaivar spat, his eyes narrowed in accusation.
Veer met his gaze unflinchingly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I never left. My drink was already in your hands the day you threatened my kingdom."
He leaned forward slightly, the words dripping with conviction. "You tried to win my love by fear. So I conquered your kingdom by thirst."
With a flourish, he added, "Next time, Kaivar… send poets, not threats."
Kaivar, momentarily stunned into silence, turned in frustration and rode away, fury emanating from him like heat from a forge.