The dusty streets of the border town lay quiet under the dim glow of the evening sun. A crowd had gathered in the town square, murmuring amongst themselves, their faces a mix of curiosity and fear. In the middle of the square stood Anshuman, leaning casually against the wooden railing of the central platform, a smirk playing on his lips. He was dressed in simple yet well-tailored clothes, a sharp contrast to the modest attire of the villagers around him. His presence alone was enough to send a chill through the spines of the crowd.

  Before him stood Meera, a girl of eighteen, her fists clenched, her chin defiantly raised. Her fiery eyes locked with Anshuman’s, refusing to back down despite the tension in the air. She was from a family of Tier 2 farmers, not wealthy but respected for their hard work.

  “You think you can intimidate everyone in this town just because of your grandfather’s name?” Meera’s voice rang out, steady and sharp. The crowd gasped, horrified by her audacity.

  Anshuman’s smirk widened. “Intimidate? Meera, I don’t need to intimidate anyone. They respect me... willingly.” His voice was calm, almost playful, but there was an edge to it that sent shivers down Meera’s spine.

  “Respect?” Meera laughed bitterly. “You call this respect? These people bow to you because they’re scared of your grandfather. You’re nothing without him. Just a spoiled brat hiding behind his shadow!”

  The crowd shifted uneasily, some daring to glance at Anshuman to see his reaction. His smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a flicker of cold anger, but he quickly recovered.

  “You have a sharp tongue, Meera,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped forward, the crowd parting instinctively to make way for him. “Let me remind you of something. Your family owes their farm to my grandfather’s generosity. Without him, you wouldn’t even have a roof over your head.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Meera’s face turned pale, but she didn’t waver. “That doesn’t give you the right to treat people like dirt. You’re nothing more than a coward who can’t stand on his own two feet!”

  The crowd went silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Anshuman’s eyes darkened, his smirk disappearing entirely. He closed the distance between them, his towering frame casting a shadow over Meera.

  “You’ve made your point,” he said softly, dangerously. “But let me make mine.” He turned to the crowd, his voice booming. “This is what happens when people forget their place. They bite the hand that feeds them.”

  He gestured toward Meera. “Her family’s debts? Consider them public knowledge now. Her father begged my grandfather to save their land from ruin. And we did. And this is how she repays us?”

  Meera’s eyes widened, and her composure cracked. “You... you’re lying!” she stammered, but her voice lacked its earlier conviction.

  Anshuman chuckled darkly. “Am I? Ask your father.” He stepped back, letting his words sink in.

  The crowd began murmuring, their eyes darting between Meera and Anshuman. Meera’s shoulders slumped, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his words.

  “You win,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  Anshuman leaned in close, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “This isn’t about winning, Meera. It’s about survival. And in this world, only power matters.”

  He straightened, turning his back on her. “Apologize,” he commanded, his voice cold.

  Meera hesitated, tears welling in her eyes, but she forced herself to bow her head. “I’m... sorry,” she said, her voice trembling.

  Anshuman nodded, satisfied. He walked away, the crowd parting for him like the sea. “Let this be a lesson to all of you,” he called out over his shoulder. “Know your place, and you’ll live a peaceful life.”

  As he disappeared into the shadows, the crowd dispersed, leaving Meera standing alone in the square. She wiped her tears, her eyes burning with a mixture of humiliation and anger.

  Meanwhile, Anshuman returned to his home, a grand mansion at the edge of town. He poured himself a drink, staring out at the horizon. “Weaklings,” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. But deep down, a tiny voice whispered in his mind, reminding him of his own powerlessness.

  For now, he silenced that voice, drowning it in the false confidence he projected to the world.

  End of Chapter 1