Duryodhana's voice quickened. His hands moved as he spoke, cutting the air in sharp gestures, pointing across the field toward the Pandava lines. Drona had not moved. The old teacher sat in his chariot with his bow across his knees, watching Duryodhana the way a doctor watches a patient who does not yet know he is sick.

"Satyaki is there," Duryodhana said. He spat the name like a seed. "You remember Satyaki — trained by Arjuna himself, fought beside him in the Khandava forest. They say he has never retreated from a battle. Not once." He paused, waiting for Drona to react. Drona did not.

Duryodhana pressed on. "And Virata — the king who hid the Pandavas in his own palace for an entire year, right under our noses. His army is fresh. His horses are the best in the south." His voice climbed half a note higher. The morning wind carried the smell of trampled grass and oiled leather from the Pandava side, and somewhere in their ranks a war elephant trumpeted — a deep, rolling sound that shivered through the dust.

"And Drupada." Duryodhana said the name slowly, letting each syllable land. "A maharatha. A great chariot warrior. His grudge against you is old, Acharya. You took half his kingdom once. Do you think he has forgotten?" He searched Drona's face for a flicker — anger, worry, anything. Drona's expression did not change.

What Duryodhana was doing, without realizing it, was painting a picture of his own fear. A confident general does not stand before his commander and list every reason the enemy is terrifying. A confident general talks about his own plan. But Duryodhana had no plan — only a growing dread that the army across the field was stronger than his own, and a desperate need for someone else to share that dread.

He called it a military briefing. It was not. It was a boy standing in the dark, naming every shadow on the wall and hoping that saying their names out loud would make them smaller. It did not work. It never does. The more names Duryodhana spoke, the larger the shadows grew — not because the Pandava warriors had changed, but because his own courage was leaking away with every word.

Drona listened. He heard the names. But what he heard beneath the names was something Duryodhana could not admit aloud: I am afraid, Teacher. Tell me I will win.