The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 76 - Smoke and Shadows

The horses approached like thunder in slow motion. Hooves struck stone with a heavy rhythm, stirring dust and apprehension as they passed. Khisa rode at the front, his eyes unreadable beneath the hood, the Shadow Guard flanking him like a living wall of silent death.

They followed Tesfaye through the winding streets of Shewa, where the air stank of sweat and suspicion.

Children peered from behind cracked doors. Market traders fell silent. Soldiers gripped their spears a little tighter.

"Who are they?"

"Spies?"

"Assassins from Adal?"

"There are women among them. How can they be warriors?"

Fear moved faster than flames in a dry season. Villagers from the border had already begun trickling into Shewa, their clothes torn, their eyes wild. The sight of these strangers—too calm, too disciplined—only fed the fear.

Tesfaye raised a hand. "These warriors are not your enemies!" he called to the crowd. "They’ve killed dozens of Adal soldiers! Burned their camps to ash! From here to the border all the Adal have been wiped out! They ride with us now!"

The words helped. A little. But like all rumors, the truth twisted with every telling. By nightfall, the taverns were full of stories: that Khisa once turned invisible to slit a man’s throat, that one woman could bend arrows in flight, that the scarred warrior with the long beard never blinked once in battle.

And far below Shewa, hidden in a cellar beneath a merchant’s storehouse, the right ears listened.

Twenty men sat around a battered table, their cloaks damp with sweat. They stank of unwashed skin, qat leaves, and sour ale. Some were dressed as beggars. Others as pious men, or harmless traders. But beneath their disguises, they were Adal’s eyes and ears—sentinels in the dark.

"You heard the rumors?" one asked, voice low.

Another spat on the floor. "Lies. Tesfaye’s trying to scare us. He is only trying to draw us out."

"We almost have Shewa, he is getting desperate. We only have to hold out until the weapons have been delivered. Then Abyssinia will fall."

"Then why haven’t we heard from the border patrols in three weeks?"

That question silenced the room.

"We need confirmation," the leader said. "Three of you. Go. If the camps are gone, we inform the commander immediately."

"And the newcomers?"

"We watch them. Two of you, make contact with the commander in the hills. We must not underestimate these... guests."

"And if they get in the way?" a younger spy asked.

"We kill them," the leader said flatly. "Quietly. No drama."

Laughter followed. Rough, sharp laughter.

"And the women?" one asked.

One scoffed, " Women in armor, playing warriors, I will show them where they belong."

"I saw one in red—sharp eyes. Might be fun to break her spirit."

"Maybe we share," another added with a grin. "Treat them like spoils."

Their laughter echoed in the stone cellar like rats gnawing at the bones of a corpse.

Inside the Command Post

Tesfaye poured two cups of honey-wine, his hand tense on the jug. Across from him, Khisa sat like a carved idol—still, watchful. The Shadow Guard stood behind him, unreadable in their silence.

The wind drifted through the high window, carrying the scent of dust and smoldering cedar from the fires below.

"I should kill you," Tesfaye said plainly.

Khisa arched a brow. "Why haven’t you?"

Tesfaye narrowed his eyes. "Because every report says you’ve done the impossible. Adal camps destroyed. Supply lines shattered. You’re either a savior or the greatest con man alive."

Khisa took the wine, sipped once. "What does your instinct say?"

"That you’re dangerous."

"I am," Khisa replied.

Tesfaye’s hand hovered over the map between them. "I’ve bled for this land. Buried brothers. Seen children roasted inside churches. And here you are, speaking like you already own the place."

"I don’t want your land."

"You want something."

"I want them to stop burning your churches. I want your daughters to grow up without collars on their necks. I want your people to know what it means to build, not just survive."

"You speak like a prophet."

"No," Khisa said, his voice low. "I speak like a man who’s seen too much and refuses to see it again."

Tesfaye studied him. Behind Khisa’s composure, there was heat. A quiet fury. Not ambition—but memory.

"And what’s this new kingdom of yours?" Tesfaye asked. "Nuri?"

"A sanctuary for the broken. A sword for the silenced. A beacon of hope for the hopeless."

Tesfaye drank deeply. The wine stung his throat. "You know how many have said those same words before you?"

"I’m not them."

"I don’t trust you." freewebnoveℓ.com

"I’m not asking you to," Khisa said, rising. "My actions will speak for me. But trust this—Adal is closer than you think. Their spies sleep in your homes. Drink in your taverns. Speak your language better than your own sons. And when they strike, it will be swift."

Tesfaye stood too. "And you? What do you offer besides doom and maps?"

Khisa looked at Tesfaye. "I offer you and your people freedom of choice. For years, your people have been pushed back and cannot even sleep in their own homes. I offer you the knowledge and strength to stand back up and fight. I offer you the freedom to cut those chains these foreigners have used to control you."

"That sounds like a dreamer’s talk," Tesfaye said in disbelief. "And dreams don’t survive here."

"My kingdom will be all the proof you need. The name Nuri will reach all corners of the world. They will come to our lands and shiver in fear when they hear its name."

Tesfaye stared at him. The resolve in his voice sent a shiver down his spine.

He reminded Tesfaye of someone. Of legends he no longer believed in. Of what he used to dream of before the war chewed his hope to scraps.

’This is a king,’ the thought came unbidden.

"And if I say yes to your help?"

Khisa met his gaze. "Then we fight together. We liberate every inch of this land until no foreigner dares set foot on it again."

"And if I say no?"

Khisa turned, his cloak catching the firelight like shadow on flame.

"Then we’ll do it without you."

Tesfaye stood alone, the token heavy in his palm, the wind whispering through the stones like a warning.