Empire Ascension: The Rise of the Fated One-Chapter 243: Battle of Ladakh part -1

Ladakh, zojilla pass, morning of 28th April 1557

A faint breeze blew through the valley, carrying with it the crispness of dawn. The morning sun cast its golden brilliance over the jagged peaks of the Zoji La Valley. It illuminated the soldiers and their encampments spread across the rugged terrain.

Armored figures filled the camp as Ladakhi soldiers helped their Tibetan comrades settle into the tented areas. Almost every tent entrance had a small campfire burning, where soldiers gathered to socialize and exchange intel, seeking warmth in the bone-chilling atmosphere.

Chenje, a havildar from the Tibetan contingent sent as reinforcements by the Guge Kingdom, sat close to one such fire, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Beside him sat two Ladakhi soldiers, comrades he had befriended shortly after their meeting.

Wangmo, his new Ladakhi friend, handed him a bowl of soup with a casual grin. "Here, take it," he said, sipping his own meal with exaggerated relish. "Morning meals are the best."

Chenje eyed the bowl of millet soup with hesitation. Taking a tentative sip, he gagged and spat it out, his face contorting in displeasure. The taste brought back memories of the third-rate food he had eaten before joining the royal army. He never thought he’d encounter it again, but hunger left him with little choice. Swallowing his frustration, he complained, "I thought our army had brought sufficient supplies. Why are we being served beggar’s food?"

The second Ladakhi soldier, Jamwal, chuckled, revealing a broken front tooth as he tore a piece of bread and offered it to Chenje. "Ah, brother, this is all we have for now. The better rations are likely being saved for lunch. Take this—I saved it from last night’s share."

With a resigned sigh, Chenje reached into the pouch tied at his waist, pulling out three strips of chicken jerky. He offered one to Jamwal. "Here, take it. No need to make that face." He handed the second strip to Wangmo.

Jamwal’s eyes lit up at the sight of meat, his grin widening. "Good brother, I won’t treat you poorly for this." He set his bowl down, stretched his arms, and stood up. "Let me bring out something special I’ve been saving. It’ll be more fun to include with this." With that, he disappeared into the tent.

Chenje raised an eyebrow, while Wangmo chuckled softly. "Pfft... this guy is a real hoarder. At least he’s in good spirits now."

Chewing on the jerky, Chenje turned to Wangmo. "So, how’s the war going? Tell me some details."

Wangmo sighed, his expression growing serious. "I’m just a foot soldier summoned from Demchok. By the time I arrived here, the fighting had already started. The plain-dwellers were trying to break the blockade and storm the pass. It was the bloodiest battle I’ve ever seen. They we’re maniacs—fearless and relentless, charging ahead like moths to flames. I shot down thirty of those crazy bastards myself before they finally retreated. But their eyes..." He shuddered. "They were full of bloodlust. I can’t forget that sight. If they’d broken the blockade then, we’d have been overrun—our forces weren’t even fully assembled yet."

After a brief pause, he straightened, a note of pride in his voice. "Their commander must have been out of his mind to pull back earlier. The second time they attacked, we were more than prepared. They took heavy losses and haven’t dared to try again. Now, they’re just camping outside, hoping for a miracle."

Chenje sipped his soup thoughtfully. "I heard they had better cannons. Why couldn’t they break through?"

Wangmo dipped his jerky into the soup, letting it soak before taking a bite. "The height gave us the advantage. Plus, we’ve got two layers of gates in the blockade. I’ll show you around later if you want." He glanced at Chenje. "By the way, how much ration have you brought with your group?"

"I’m not privy to high-level logistics, but rumors say enough to last us a month," Chenje replied, glancing around. "How many soldiers are here altogether? We brought three thousand reinforcements with us."

"I heard it’s about seven thousand in total," Wangmo began, but his words faltered as his eyes locked on the bowl Jamwal brought back. "Oh, good brother! You saved the eggs!"

Jamwal grinned, showing his broken tooth as he held up the bowl containing just two eggs. "Should we boil them or fry them?" he asked, settling beside Chenje.

Before anyone could respond, Wangmo pointed to the sky as they heard a piercing sound. "Whoa! What’s that?"

All three turned to look, their eyes widening as they saw blazing objects streaking through the sky coming from the southern direction, leaving smoky trails behind.

In mere seconds, one struck the nearby ground with a thunderous impact.

’Boom!’

The first rocket struck with a deafening explosion, shaking the ground beneath their feet. A geyser of dirt and debris erupted into the air, scattering nearby soldiers. The camp erupted into chaos as men shouted and scrambled for cover.

Another rocket followed, then another, even though it was random, but due to the crowd, each hit with terrifying devastation. One slammed into a supply cart, igniting it in a fiery burst that sent shards of wood and metal flying. A tent near the central command collapsed in flames, its occupants screaming as they tried to escape.

Chenje’s heart raced as the jerky he was chewing fell from his mouth, his mind struggling to process the sudden onslaught. All around him, soldiers darted frantically, some clutching weapons, others dragging the wounded to safety.

"Get down!" Wangmo roared, tackling Chenje to the ground just as a blade whistled overhead. The deadly projectile struck Jamwal, who was caught unprepared, severing his head in an instant. His lifeless hand still clutched the bowl, while a crimson fountain erupted from his neck, painting the ground in horrifying detail.

Beads of sweat trickled down Chenje’s face as the reality of what had just happened sank in. His heart pounded against his chest, knowing how narrowly he had escaped. If Wangmo had been even a second slower, it could have been his life lost instead.

Around him, similar scenes of horror unfolded wherever the rockets landed. The bladed projectiles tore through the air in unpredictable zigzag patterns, slicing through anything or anyone in their path. Each impact left a trail of destruction, with blood and chaos marking their wake.

The acrid stench of burning wood and flesh filled the air, choking his senses. One of the fire camps was now an inferno, its flames leaping skyward and consuming everything in their reach.

"Stay low! Keep your heads down, or you’ll lose them!"

"Are those demons fighting for them? This isn’t natural!"

"Medic! We need a medic over here!"

"How do we fight something we can’t even see?"

Screams of the wounded and dying rose above the crackling flames, creating a cacophony of despair that would haunt him long after the battle.

As the final echoes of the bombardment faded, the encampment lay in a grim tableau of fire and ruin.

Tents smoldered, reduced to charred husks, and cries of pain and panic filled the air. Soldiers ran in all directions, some dragging the wounded, others frantically trying to extinguish the spreading flames with buckets of sand or water. The once-orderly camp was now a chaotic battlefield of survival.

Through the chaos, a commanding voice cut through like a blade. Chenje turned to see a Ladakhi commander, a tall figure with a soot-streaked face and unyielding resolve, emerging from the central command tent.

"Assemble! Everyone, to me!" the commander bellowed, his voice a rallying call amidst the disorder. Chenje scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding, and joined the growing crowd of soldiers gathering around their leader.

"Look, it’s Commander Chewang!" Wangmo replied as he helped him to get up.

"Put out those fires! Help the injured! Move, now!" the commander barked, his orders sending men rushing to organize efforts.

Chenje found himself gripping a bucket, rushing toward the nearest blaze with several others. The acrid smoke stung his eyes, but he worked with grim determination, pouring water over the flames and helping a wounded soldier stumble to safety.

Moments later, a scout dashed toward the commander, his face drained of color but determined. "Sir, enemy soldiers in blue uniforms spotted to the southern ridge," he panted, his voice strained with urgency. "They’re armed with strange siege weapons and are forming tight defensive positions. They’re scattered in small groups, but seem well-coordinated."

The commander’s face darkened, his jaw tightening in visible fury. "So, they dare!"

Soon, another figure appeared—burly in build, though of average height. He was a well-known commander from the Guge Kingdom: Commander Lobsang. After exchanging a brief conversation with the Ladakhi commander, he turned to face the crowd.

"Everyone, gather your arms and prepare to confront them!" he roared, the authority in his tone igniting a collective resolve among the soldiers.

Weapons were retrieved, and the clamor of preparations filled the air.

As Chenje moved toward the rallying forces, his gaze fell on the command tent. The wind lifted its tattered curtains, revealing a grim scene within. High-ranking officers, bloodied and pale, lay on makeshift beds, their injuries severe. Even their Prince Drepung was among them.

A chill ran down Chenje’s spine as he realized the gravity of their situation. If the enemy could inflict such devastation from afar, striking without warning, how would they withstand a direct confrontation? The thought left a knot of unease in his chest, but there was no time to dwell.

"I need two thousand men. Everyone, follow me!"

commander Lobsang’s voice rose again, rallying them to face the unseen foe. Chenje tightened his grip on his weapon and steeled himself for the inevitable clash ahead.

Borders of kashmir, near the zozilla pass, moments before the rocket barrage.

Inside one of the military tents in bhargavian side near the pass, two figures discussed things on the table that would shape the finale of war.

Rudra slammed his fist onto the rough-hewn wooden table, "You can’t back out now, Tsewang," he said with the weight of authority. "Your merits won’t be enough to help you get back the throne if you don’t fight with us to the end."

Tsewang sneered, reclining in his chair"I think you have it all wrong, general. I never agreed to fight for the throne. I fought to free the people of Kashmir from my foolish king. And that’s done." His words were calm, almost dismissive, as if the throne held little value to him now.

Rudra’s eyes narrowed. Technically, Tsewang was right, but Rudra knew for future battles he needed Tsewang’s men, his influence, his expertise. So, he chose his words carefully. "Don’t you want revenge? It would be a pity to miss the chance, wouldn’t it?"

Tsewang replied with unwavering gaze. "I am more than happy to see you take action on my behalf. I’m certain the empire is not incapable if they don’t take my aid." His words carried the weight of a man who had seen the true cost of conflict and now only cared for the strategic advantages at hand.

Rudra, frustrated but maintaining his composure, pushed further. "At least tell us some route to bypass. The reinforcements are taking too much time."

Tsewang’s tone shifted to a cold finality as he answered. "There is no other route. If you can’t break through the blockade yourself, I don’t think you’ll do much better even once you get close to the capital. It would be a waste."

The words hit Rudra like a slap. His patience thinned. If not for Tsewang’s contribution to freeing the Kashmiris and winning over the capital fort, he would have considered harsher measures, but anything bold now could tarnish the reputation of the Bhargavian Empire. Despite the rising frustration in his chest, he steadied his nerves, gave a clipped nod. "I’ll be outside."

As Rudra exited the tent, he found his subordinates lined up in waiting, having been instructed to remain outside during the private conversation. He dismissed the others and approached his trusted faujdar, Harish.

"This bastard is complicated," Rudra muttered with frustration.

Harish raised an eyebrow. "Is there really no other path?"

Before Rudra could respond, a sudden heard from eastern side. The sound was deafening, followed by the rising smoke visible from the enemy side of the blockade.

Rudra’s heart skipped a beat as he turned towards the source of the commotion. "Let’s take another chance in our god’s name."

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//A/N: Thanks to KB1387 for your warm support by donating 3 new GT tickets. Your immense support is deeply appreciated. :)