Weeks went by.
Hari learned to fight, feeling:
dead tired
full of dust
tasting blood
He practiced with swords, spears, and shields, even fighting without weapons. He learned how to fall safely, get up fast, and strike without thinking twice.
When he messed up, he trained more.
When he did well, he trained even harder.
At night, hurt and bleeding, he'd whisper his dad's name like a promise.
THE FIRST ORDER
One day, Desa Singh tried something different.
He split the guys into small groups and said one thing:
Get across the dry ditch. Grab the flag. Come back without losing anyone.
It was a mess.
Groups fought.
Leaders yelled.
Everything fell apart.
Hari didn't say anything.
He looked at the land.
The angles.
The loose rocks.
The hidden spots.
Then he spoke, sounding calm and clear.
You go left. Go slow. You watch the back. No yelling.
The others paused, then did what he said.
They got across quietly, stayed away from the loose rocks, went around the ditch, grabbed the flag, and came back safe.
Desa Singh kept an eye on things.
When the group got back, he asked just one thing:
"Who was in charge?"
Everyone looked at Hari.
Desa Singh didn't say anything.
But that night, Hari got moved to the front row where they put future leaders.
THE ORPHAN FINDS HIS PLACE
Things changed after that day.
New soldiers started to watch him closely.
They followed what he did.
They copied how he fought.
When people got angry, Hari calmed them down.
When people got scared, Hari moved forward.
He didn't ask for people to follow him.
He just earned their respect.
One night, as they cleaned their swords, an older soldier whispered:
"If we fight tomorrow… I want him with me."
A WATCHFUL EYE
On the fort wall, where almost no one could see him, Maharaja Ranjit Singh watched the training.
He saw one small person moving through the mess with amazing focus—
not the strongest one there,
not the loudest,
but the one who noticed everything.
He turned to Desa Singh.
"That boy," he said softly. "What drives him?"
Desa Singh answered right away.
"He wants to be in charge, your Highness. And he has something you can't teach."
Ranjit Singh nodded.
"He has a reason to fight."
That night, Hari Singh looked up at the stars as he lay outside.
He wasn't just trying to live another day.
He was becoming someone new.
The orphan's spirit—once wild and untamed—had found its place.
And the Sikh Empire had started to make a weapon, but they didn't know what it would become.
THE CALL TO ACTION Blooded for the First Time
The call came before sunrise.
A messenger rushed into camp, face dusty and voice tight with alarm.
"Raiders near the Ravi River! Afghan soldiers who deserted are torching towns, stealing livestock, and killing everyone."
The camp woke up at once.
People grabbed armor.
They got weapons.
Horses kicked and huffed.
Hari Singh tightened his wrist-guard, the one from his dad. He was calm.
Desa Singh walked over to him.
"This isn't practice," the officer said. "It's real."
Hari looked right at him.
"I get it."
Desa Singh took a good look at him, then nodded.
"Stick close. Pay attention. Only attack when I say so."
Hari nodded. "Yes, Sardar."
But what's going to happen rarely goes as planned.
THE RUSH TO BATTLE
The Sikh troops hauled it, riding hard for the Ravi's shore. Smoke billowed up ahead, black streaks in the sky.
Villagers ran toward them, shouting warnings.
"There are too many of them!"
"They came out of nowhere!"
"They're heartless!"
Hari took it all in.
Lots of baddies.
Not well trained.
Quick attacks, then they run.
Not a real army.
Just killers.
SEEING THE ENEMY
They found the raiders near a town that was half-burned.
Guys with Afghan swords and random armor laughed as they put stolen grain on animals. A dead person was on the ground.
Hari's jaw tightened.
Desa Singh raised his fist.
"Surround them. Don't let them run."
The Sikh fighters closed in.
The signal horn blasted.
All hell broke loose.
WHEN TRAINING GETS REAL
Hari ran with the others, heart pounding, but he wasn't scared. He felt clear-headed.
The first raider screamed as he charged at Hari.
Hari dodged, hit the guy's wrist, twisted, and stabbed forward. It was quick and clean.
The man went down.
No time to celebrate, no time to stop.
Another guy came at him from the side.
Hari blocked, stumbled, caught himself, and slashed upward. His shoulder burned as a blade scraped past, but he stayed standing.
Desa Singh yelled, "Keep the line!"
Hari heard him, adjusted right away, and pulled another fighter back into place.
Blood covered the ground.
The sound of metal clashing never stopped.
Smoke stung his eyes.
Hari's moves were calm and controlled. He struck with purpose, not just anger.
THE MOMENT
Then, it happened.
A wounded Sikh fell off his horse and got stuck underneath. Two raiders moved in, ready to strike.
Hari saw it.
Desa Singh was too far away, and orders would take too long.
Hari left the line and ran.
He stabbed the first raider, then blocked the second guy's attack. He yelled as he struck again.
Both fell.
The Sikh soldier was alive, gasping for air.
Desa Singh showed up seconds later.
"You ignored my order!" he snapped.
Hari stood his ground, breathing hard.
"Yes, I did."
A long silence followed.
Desa Singh looked at the rescued soldier and then back at Hari.
He spoke quietly.
"You did the right thing."
THE BATTLE IS OVER
The raiders turned and ran.
Some were cut down.
Others disappeared into the hills.
The village was safe.
As the Sikhs got back together, Desa Singh walked over to Hari again.
"You've been in battle before," he said.
Hari nodded. "Once."
Desa Singh looked at him differently.
"Most guys freak out the first time. You didn't."
He put a hand on Hari's shoulder.
"You've seen blood now."
That night, around the campfire, the fighters talked quietly.
"The kid didn't panic."
"He saved a life."
"He fought like he'd been doing it for years."
Someone said it again, almost with respect:
"Nalwa."
Hari stared into the fire.
He didn't feel any better than before.
Just determined.
When the news got to Maharaja Ranjit Singh, he listened without saying a word.
"A kid who keeps the line," he said softly.
"A kid who only breaks it to save someone."
He smiled a little.
"He's found his path."
THE ORPHAN'S SPIRIT BURNS STRONG
As the group rode back to Gujranwala, tired but victorious, Hari stayed quiet among them.
He wasn't just training anymore.
He was fighting.
The road ahead was long and hard, leading toward leadership, toward becoming a legend, toward a name that would scare empires one day.