The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 103 - Ashes in the Wind

Night fell over Gondar like a silk veil soaked in blood. The great city, so vibrant by day, now whispered in secrets. Beneath its golden domes and ancient towers, darkness moved with purpose. frёewebnoѵēl.com

In the wine-scented halls of a noble estate on the city’s edge, cloaked men and veiled women gathered. No guards announced this meeting. No royal decree sanctioned it. This was a council of shadows—the traitors.

At its center stood the Emperor’s brother, his expression hard, jaw tight with mounting frustration.

"The Emperor has allied with the south," he snapped, slamming his goblet down. "He’s shifting the tide. The army is mobilized. The people believe in him again."

A noblewoman in crimson leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "And whose fault is that? You promised he would falter. You said his rule was too fragile to survive this war."

"He was fragile!" the brother barked. "Until he found that phantom prince! Now he struts around like some divine warrior."

"So what now?" an older nobleman muttered bitterly. "Wait for this southern ’hero’ to ride into Gondar with our people’s cheers echoing around him—while we are tossed aside like rotting grain?"

"No," the brother said, eyes burning. "We strike now—while his attention is divided between Adal and this alliance. Our messengers must ride tonight."

"Strike?" another noble asked cautiously. "You speak of civil war."

The Emperor’s brother’s voice dropped to a whisper, hard as iron. "Call it what you will. But mark my words: if we do not cut off the Emperor’s wings now, he will never fall. We need to find that prince, the Emperor neglected to mention his location. Get me some scouts, find that prince and kill him."

"Killing him is a bit premature, don’t you think? We should at least take his kingdom for what its worth."

Some nodded in agreement. Profit was the only thing they cared about and a country that can supply weapons this massive must be wealthy. Greedy grins spread across their faces.

Scrolls were drawn, ink flowed like oil on water, and names were written—cryptic and deadly. One missive would head west, toward Adal territory, where old allies in blood and coin waited. Another would pass into the hands of smugglers connected to Ottoman agents.

Each message was coded with offers: open the eastern front, provide weapons, gold, mercenaries—anything. In return? A new emperor. One who would be more... pliable.

"We’ll dismantle his support piece by piece," the brother said, pacing. "This Nuri prince? We’ll paint him as a foreign invader, a snake who slithered in under false friendship. The people will turn. Once they turn, with support from the Ottomans, we will take this Nuri as well."

"And if they don’t?" asked a noble, his fingers nervously tapping his wine cup.

"Then we force them," the brother growled. "Set fire to a few food stores. Blame the Nuri. Let rumor be the torch. Raid some villages, kill off some people. They will believe anything we say, we are their rulers after all."

Outside, in the cover of clouds, horsemen rode out—treason stitched in silk beneath their cloaks.

Elsewhere, in the poorer quarters of Gondar, whispers flew faster than any courier. The spies of Adal and Ottoman were not idle.

In back alleys, shadowy taverns, and forgotten prayer rooms, coded signals passed between fingers and glances. The march of General Mekonnen had not gone unnoticed.

A man with a false merchant’s badge slipped through a hidden door beneath a rug shop. There, in a candlelit cellar, others waited—scribes, thieves, and spies sworn to the Sultan.

"They move to the valley," the merchant reported. "A full force, led by Mekonnen. The Emperor speaks of vengeance."

"They must be slowed. Delayed," a hooded woman replied. "If they take the valley, Adal will lose its foothold in the highlands."

"Then we poison the roads. Burn the bridges they plan to use," said a third. "We send the message tonight."

A phrase was carved into a strip of leather, then stitched into the sole of a sandal—a message that would walk its way to Adal.

But the Emperor was not blind.

Within the palace, beneath the throne room, lay chambers unknown to most of Gondar’s nobility. There, soldiers of a hidden order—loyal only to the Emperor—sat sharpening their blades in silence.

The Emperor stood before them, cloaked not in silk but in hardened leather and steel. His voice was low, clear, and full of calculation.

"Our enemies believe we are distracted," he said. "Let them. Tonight, they move against us. Let them."

He turned to a large, detailed map marked with noble estates, smuggler hideouts, and underground spy dens. Red circles surrounded the key locations.

"By sunrise," he said, "this city will be clean. Not by fire. By silence. I want them to disappear like dreams at dawn. Any messages and messangers going out tonight, shoot them down."

His captain stepped forward. "Do we strike at all targets tonight?"

"No," the Emperor said. "We let some breathe. We let some traitors panic—then we watch who they run to. One snake reveals the nest."

He turned to another soldier. "The estate on the eastern hill—do not burn it. Leave their letters intact. Replace the messengers. Let them deliver our lies."

The Emperor’s Fang moved like ghosts. Steel slid into sheaths. Torches were doused. The wind carried their departure.

Back in the palace, the Emperor removed his cloak and stood before his mirror, studying the lines in his face. His steward entered quietly.

"Sire, your brother grows bold."

"I know," Gelawdewos said calmly. "He will move tonight."

"Should we detain him?"

"No," the Emperor murmured. "We let him fall. Let the nobles see who he really is—let them feel his betrayal when the blood begins to flow. Then they will crawl back to the throne... or die beside him."

He turned, eyes steeled.

"The Nuri prince had given me a chance to save my people, I will not waste even a second. When he finishes his job in Assab, we will be one step closer to victory, the path is clear. Abyssinia will not be split when he takes back the ports."

"And if the brother acts too soon?"

Gelawdewos smiled faintly.

"Then I’ll kill him myself."