King Vikramaditya wiped the sweat running down his brows. The air was thick with a rotten stench, but he didn’t veer from the path. He avoided the dying embers of fires here and there and walked on towards the Peepal tree. Once again, he swung the corpse with the vampire onto his shoulder, and once again, he began to walk back to camp.
And once again, the Betaal broke the silence around him. “O Vikrama, what makes you leave the comforts of your palace and trudge along the desolate graveyard on this hot, sultry night? You give your all to this task. I wonder, though, if you can maintain your enthusiasm until you achieve your goal? Or will you give up soon? I am curious to know how your adventures will end because not everyone finishes what they set out to do. Let me tell you a story about Shekar the artist.”
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