On the battle platform, the masked stranger continued his calm assault. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as if he were merely sparring for amusement.
But every arrow he loosed carried precision, and every counter forced Arjuna to react harder, draw stronger, think faster. Arjuna's pride burned hotter with every passing moment, and that fire was slowly turning into frustration.
At first, Arjuna did not notice how far he had been pushed back.
His mind was locked into the exchange, his focus narrowed to the bowstring and the enemy's movements.
But when his heel brushed dangerously close to the edge of the platform, his eyes widened slightly. His breath hitched, not from fear, but from insult.
He was being cornered.
Arjuna's jaw tightened.
He suddenly changed his strategy, aiming his next arrow upward at a steep angle. The moment he released it, the arrow rose high into the air, spinning toward the skies. Then, as it began to fall, it split into more than five arrows at once, descending on the opponent.
The crowd roared in awe.
But the masked warrior did not even flinch at that.
He simply lifted his bow and released the exact number of arrows required.
Each one struck its twin in midair, shattering Arjuna's technique as neatly as if it had never existed. The broken shafts rained down harmlessly around them.
Arjuna's eyes narrowed further. He leaped sideways, creating distance, refusing to allow himself to be pushed again. His fingers moved quickly, forming the next mantra, his voice harsh with determination.
"Andhakastra!"
The arrow shot forward and exploded into thick, terrifying dark smoke. It spread across the platform like a living shadow, swallowing both warriors in blackness.
The crowd gasped as the battle stage vanished from sight, leaving only a cloud of darkness rolling like storm fog.
For a moment, even the elders leaned forward.
Then a sharp streak of light tore through the smoke.
The masked warrior had fired a Jyothikastra, a bright arrow of illumination.
It was not the full power of the Suryastra, but it carried enough radiance to tear through the Andhakastra's darkness like sunrise cutting open night. The smoke dissolved instantly, retreating in wisps until the platform was visible again.
Arjuna's chest rose and fell heavily now. Sweat rolled down his temples, and his grip on bow tightened as his arms began to feel the strain. Yet his opponent stood the same as before, shoulders steady, breathing even, the bow held as effortlessly as if he could continue all day.
Eventually, an entire hour passed.
A battle of astras, one after another.
Whatever Arjuna unleashed, the masked warrior countered it.
Whatever trick Arjuna attempted, it was met with a response so smooth and calculated that it felt less like a fight and more like a lesson being delivered.
This only made Arjuna's frustration turn into anger.
Not at the stranger alone, but at himself.
His pride could not accept it.
His heart could not accept it.
He was Arjuna, disciple of Drona, the pride of the Pandavas, the one whom his eldest brother depended on to climb to the throne of Hastinapura, the one who was supposed to give his brothers the confidence to fight for their right against Duryodhana and his 99 brothers. He was not meant to be pushed back by some unknown masked man.
Atleast… not in front of everyone...
Finally, with clenched teeth and blazing eyes, Arjuna drew another arrow and spoke with fury.
"Nagastra!"
The arrow transformed mid-flight, becoming a living serpent, scales gleaming darkly as it hissed through the air. Its fangs dripped with deadly poison, the kind that could end even a great warrior in moments if it pierced the skin.
The crowd erupted in panic, many standing up at once.
But the masked warrior remained calm. His bow rose again, his chant short and precise.
"Samhara Astra."
His arrow shot forward like a quiet judgment. The moment it struck, the serpent-form collapsed, dissolving into harmless smoke and dust, as if its life had been extinguished before it ever existed. The Nagastra vanished completely.
Arjuna froze for half a heartbeat, stunned.
His face tightened, and something dangerous entered his eyes. It was no longer just competition. It was humiliation. It was rage.
His breathing became harsher. His shoulders tensed.
Taking a deep breath, he began to chant the mantra of a divyastra, the strongest in his arsenal. A divine weapon that carried the authority of the heavens.
He lifted the bow again, chanting with fierce intensity. "Now let's see how you counter this!"
"Indrastra!"
When it formed, the arrow was seen as made of a lightning bolt.
The arrow was released from his bow and then multiplied into hundreds in an instant. The sky above the arena seemed to darken under the sheer number of arrows, all aimed toward the masked warrior, each and every single arrow looked like a lightning bolt descended from the heavens.
The masked warrior did not move.
The Indrastra rained down like the wrath of heaven itself.
Hundreds of lightning arrows screamed through the air, filling the arena with sharp whistling sounds, the kind that made even hardened warriors flinch.
The spectators who had been cheering only moments ago now recoiled in fear.
Some covered their heads. Some stood frozen, mouths open, unable to believe what they were witnessing.
Even the soldiers around the arena instinctively raised their shields, as if those divine arrows might spill beyond the platform and tear through the crowd.
Arjuna's chest heaved as he held his stance, his eyes locked on the stranger. His face was twisted with determination, but behind that determination was something darker. A desperation that had crept in slowly, unnoticed, until it ruled him.
However, to his surprise, the masked warrior still did not even lift his bow this time.
The first wave of Indrastra arrows struck.
And nothing happened.
The arrows collided with his body, but instead of piercing flesh, they dissolved into sparks, breaking apart as though they were made of fragile glass.
The divine lightning that should have shattered bones and burned skin simply vanished, swallowed by an invisible force.
Then the air itself changed.
A blinding golden light then erupted from the stranger's body.
It was not a weapon, not an astra, not even a shield.
It was radiance, pure and overwhelming, as if the sun had descended into the arena. The crowd screamed and shielded their eyes.
The platform was drowned in brilliance. The air trembled with power so ancient that even the stones beneath the arena seemed to vibrate.
And within that light, armor became visible.
A divine golden armor appeared over his clothes, wrapping his torso like living metal. The radiance intensified, surging outward like a solar wave, and the force of it pushed away the stranger's hood and mask.
The cloth tore free and flew across the platform.
The face beneath was revealed.
Sharp features. Calm eyes. A gaze that did not flicker under pressure. And at his ears, the unmistakable kundalas, glowing faintly, as if they were forged from the sun's own fire.
A hush fell over the arena, not from command, but from instinct.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Right then… above, on the royal balcony, Kunti's breath caught in her throat.
Her fingers tightened around the railing until her nails dug into the wood. Her face drained of color.
In that single flash of golden armor, memory struck her like an arrow, dragging her mind backward into a past she had buried deep beneath silence and shame.
The kavacha.
The kundalas.
That radiance.
The face of Surya himself.
Her lips trembled.
"No…" she whispered, barely audible, as though saying the word might undo what her eyes had already recognized. "It can't be..."
*
Meanwhile, back on the platform, Arjuna stood frozen.
His Indrastra had failed. Not because it had been countered, but because it had been erased. And worse than that, it had been erased effortlessly. The realization was so heavy it crushed the air in his lungs. His grip on the bow tightened, but his fingers had begun to shake.
Karna lowered his bow slowly, not with arrogance, but with calm certainty, as if this battle had never truly been a battle in his eyes.
He smiled faintly.
"Prince Arjuna," Karna said, his voice steady, carrying across the arena without strain, "you are strong. Your archery is truly incredible."
The praise did not soothe Arjuna. It burned.
Karna's eyes remained fixed on him, sharp but not cruel.
"But you are still young and inexperienced," Karna continued, " You are too emotional for your own good. A warrior may battle with emotions, but he cannot fall into emotions in the middle of war. The moment you lose your calmness, the moment frustration enters your mind, you begin to exhaust yourself before your enemy even touches you."
Arjuna's jaw clenched. His breathing was heavy now, sweat running down his neck, his chest rising and falling as if he had been fighting for hours against a mountain.
He glared at Karna, but the glare lacked strength. It was the glare of someone trying to hold on to pride while the ground beneath it was collapsing.
Karna lifted his bow again.
His fingers moved smoothly, and an arrow formed in his grasp as though the air itself obeyed his will. He nocked it and drew the string back, farther and farther, until it reached its maximum stretch. The bow creaked softly, not in strain, but in anticipation.
Karna's eyes narrowed.
"At this moment," he said quietly, "you are not ready to battle me yet."
He released.
The arrow shot forward like lightning. No sound followed. It moved so fast that it was barely visible, just a streak of gold cutting through the air. Arjuna's eyes widened. Instinct screamed at him to respond. He hurried to conjure an arrow, his fingers moving with desperate speed, but before he could even release it, Karna's arrow struck.
It hit the bow.
And the bow snapped cleanly in two.
The crack echoed through the arena like thunder.
The force of the strike deflected slightly, scraping Arjuna's arm as it passed. Blood appeared instantly, thin but bright. Arjuna staggered back, staring at the broken halves of his divine bow as if his mind could not accept what his eyes were showing him.
The crowd erupted in chaos.
Some gasped. Some screamed. Some fell silent in disbelief. Even warriors who had lived through wars stared with pale faces, because they understood what this meant. An archer whose bow was broken is the same as losing, atleast in a formal competition like this.
Karna then casually dismissed the bow he had created using his Diyva Sankalpa Siddhi. It vanished in a flicker of divine light, as though it had never existed.
He looked at Arjuna with a calm gaze and spoke again, his voice clear and firm.
"Let me introduce myself."
His words carried weight, pressing into the hearts of every person listening.
"The mortal son of Suryanarayana. The King of Dakshina Kalinga. The disciple of Lord Parashurama."
He paused, letting the silence stretch, letting the name settle like a final blow.
"Karna."
Arjuna's eyes widened. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. His pride, his anger, his disbelief, all tangled together in his chest like a knot he could not loosen.