The first phase lasted hours.
The arena rang with steel and cheers. Arrows split targets with frightening precision. Maces cracked stone pillars meant for practice. Spears spun through the air like lightning. The princes moved like trained beasts, each trying to prove he was more than royal blood.
And the people were amazed.
They had expected skilled princes.
But what they witnessed was terrifying.
It felt like Hastinapura had raised not boys, but weapons.
Duryodhana's mace strikes shook the ground so hard that dust rose from the stone floor.
Bhima's brute force was like a mountain moving, his roars stirring fear and pride at the same time.
Arjuna's archery made the crowd hold their breath, because his arrows did not merely hit targets, they seemed to command the air itself.
Yudhishthira, though less flashy, displayed control, balance, and restraint, his swordsmanship clean and disciplined, like a man who fought with mind before muscle.
Other Princes including Vikarna, Yuyutsu, Dushassana, Nakula, and Sahadeva, all of them also performed excellently, but when the time came to choose the top four, the judges conferred briefly.
The decision was almost inevitable.
In the end, the names declared were exactly the ones the crowd expected, yet hearing them spoken aloud still made the arena erupt in cheers.
Prince Duryodhana.
Prince Bhima.
Prince Arjuna.
Prince Yudhishthira.
Four names were being selected, three princes of Pandu lineage and only one from Dritarashtra's lineage.
Yet, King Dhritarashtra smiled proudly, his chest rising as if he could already hear the crown being placed upon his son's head. Bhishma remained silent, but his eyes were sharp because he was worried about the battle phase.
And soon, the second phase began. The Battle Phase.
The air itself changed. The excitement became sharper. The cheering became louder, but beneath it ran something else. Tension. Hunger. Rivalry.
And Shakuni rose from his seat and reached the King with a smile on his face.
"Maharaj," Shakuni said smoothly, addressing Dhritarashtra. "Since this is now a true competition, it would be best if the matches are arranged fairly."
Dhritarashtra nodded, already pleased by Shakuni's tone. "Speak," the king said.
Shakuni's eyes gleamed as he said. "It will only be proper that two mace warriors fight each other. It will be balanced. It will be fair. And it will please the public."
Bhishma's gaze narrowed slightly, already sensing the direction of the suggestion.
Shakuni continued as if he were offering harmless logic.
"Prince Duryodhana should face Prince Bhima."
Then he turned his palm slightly, as if placing another piece on a board.
"And Prince Arjuna should face Prince Yudhishthira."
The moment those words were spoken, Bhishma's frown deepened.
He expected Shakuni to advise a match between Duryodhana and Yudhisthira. Based on the displayed skills so far, he could fairly conclude that if such a match happens, there is a high chance that Duryodhana would win the battle. His physical strength cannot be matched by Yudhisthira.
But to his surprise, Shakuni advised a match between Bhima and Duryodhana.
Why?
Bhishma wondered.
Meanwhile, Shakuni returned to his seat after his suggestion was accepted. He was grinning in his head. "Now, my nephew's win is almost guaranteed as long as he wins this battle. After all, he will fight Yudhisthira next."
Truly, he did not want Duryodhana to fight Yudhisthira. Because even if he wins the battle, the next one he most likely has to face will be Arjuna.
And Arjuna can easily best him in the battle. With his incredible archery skills, Arjuna wouldn't even let Duryodhana get closer to him. Shakuni was sure about that.
But if Arjuna battles Yudhisthira?
Arjuna would never raise his bow against his eldest brother, Shakuni believed. Arjuna would hesitate. He would yield. And Yudhishthira would enter the finals without bloodshed.
Then all Shakuni needed was for Duryodhana to defeat Bhima, or at least provoke Bhima into losing control. Bhima's anger was easy to ignite. If Bhima showed killing intent, if he broke Bhishma's rules, the match could be stopped, and Duryodhana could be declared the winner.
It was a simple plan.
A dirty plan.
A plan made by a man who did not fight with weapons, but with minds.
And so the matches were declared.
The first match began.
Arjuna stood with his bow, calm and focused. Yudhishthira stood opposite him, sword in hand, his expression composed. The crowd expected Arjuna to dominate.
But surprisingly, and as Shakuni expected, Arjuna didn't make his move. He refused to raise his bow to fight with Yudhisthira.
Yudhisthira isn't just an elder brother to the Pandavas. Since their childhood, he has been like their father, always guiding them, always being there to listen to their problems, and always standing in front of them to lead them in the right direction.
None of the Pandava brothers would even dare in their dreams to injure their dear eldest brother.
And just as Shakuni thought his plan was going to work soon, Prince Yudhishthira did something unexpected.
He spoke to Arjuna.
Not loudly, not dramatically, but firmly enough that Arjuna's face shifted slightly.
No one in the stands could hear the exact words, but everyone saw the change. Arjuna's jaw tightened. His fingers curled around the bowstring. His eyes sharpened as if he had been slapped awake.
And then Arjuna raised his bow, and the match ended in under a minute.
Not because Yudhishthira was weak, but because Yudhishthira did not allow Arjuna to hold back.
He forced him to fight properly, to stop treating him like a brother in a friendly spar.
In the end, Arjuna defeated him.
The arena erupted.
Shakuni's smile faltered for the first time.
Bhishma's eyes glistened for the first time. He was happy to see Arjuna's win. However, that happiness only lasted for a short while as the second match began.
Duryodhana stepped into the arena holding his mace, his shoulders broad, his eyes burning. Bhima stepped forward with his own mace, and the moment their eyes met, it felt less like a tournament and more like a battlefield.
The crowd cheered at first.
But soon the cheering became quieter.
Because the match was not normal.
It was savage.
The maces struck with such force that sparks flew. The sound of impact echoed like thunder, and each time the weapons collided, the ground trembled. Bhima's rage showed openly. Duryodhana's hatred answered it equally.
They did not fight like brothers.
They fought as men who wished the other had never been born.
The Kuru elders stiffened.
The soldiers around the arena tightened their formation.
Even the citizens began to tremble, their excitement turning into fear.
At some point, the maces dropped and both of them began to fight with their fists like thugs.
Bhima grabbed Duryodhana's arm and threw him down. Duryodhana rose like a beast and slammed his fist into Bhima's jaw. Bhima roared and tackled him again. They rolled across the arena floor like wild animals, fists striking, elbows smashing, nails clawing at skin.
Watching those two muscled princes trying to tear apart one another in pure hatred, Bhishma's face turned dark, and he clenched the armrest.
Drona rose slightly from his seat, alarmed, and shouted, "Stop this!"
However, neither seemed to have listened. As they continued to wrestle with their hands locked with one another and baring their teeth, Bhishma leaned forward, ready to intervene.
But before any elder could step down into the arena, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
An arrow struck the ground between Bhima and Duryodhana with a violent thud.
The next instant, both princes stiffened.
Their bodies locked mid-motion as if invisible chains had wrapped around their limbs. Bhima's fist remained raised. Duryodhana's fingers remained twisted into Bhima's hair. Their eyes widened, but their bodies refused to obey.
They were paralyzed.
The entire arena fell silent at once.
Bhishma stood up abruptly. "This..."
Drona also rose fully. "Who?"
Shakuni's eyes widened. "What?"
Arjuna stepped forward instinctively, his hand already reaching for an arrow.
Yudhishthira stared in disbelief.
Dhritarashtra's voice then rang out from the throne. "What happened?!"
"Someone used Stambhana Astra, Maharaj," Drona answered sharply. "They have paralyzed Duryodhana and Bhima."
His voice then rose as he turned toward the arena entrances. "Who dared to intrude on our tournament?"
The crowd murmured fearfully.
The soldiers began to shout, spears lifting.
Drona's voice thundered like a storm once again as he roared. "Who dared to attack our princes? Come out, this instant."
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then in the next second, someone jumped down from the barricade near the stands, landing lightly on the arena floor. The soldiers immediately raised their weapons, surrounding him in an instant, but the stranger did not panic.
He walked forward calmly through the crowd, as if he were strolling through a market.
The stranger wore a mask.
A dark hood covered his head, hiding his hair. A black robe hung over his body like the cloak of a bandit or an assassin. A dagger rested at his waist, and in his hand was a bow, held with the ease of someone who knew exactly what it meant.
As the masked intruder walked in, Drona shouted, "Who are you?"