The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 128 - Whispers Across the Water

The hull groaned as the merchant vessel sliced through the swell, heading south, toward the Nuri coastline. Musyoka stood at the bow, arms crossed, cloak flapping in the salty wind. The sea had become a second home to him—a place of observation, of gathering truths too dangerous to speak aloud.

He remembered the first time they docked at the Red Sea port now bustling behind him. A small place nestled in the arid coastline of what modern men called Egypt. The air was thick with incense and cruelty.

The market was nestled behind the harbor wall, concealed from the front-facing docks by high sandstone buildings. But once inside, the rot hit your nose.

Men and women stood in lines, necks bound with iron or rope, eyes sunken from thirst and fear. The heat of the desert sun seared their backs, but no one cried out anymore. They had cried long ago. The ones from Nubia were the most recent—tall, proud-boned people, covered in dust. They spoke a language sharp and rhythmic, foreign to Musyoka’s ears.

"Khisa would probably know it," he thought bitterly.

There were others too—Amazigh from the west, some from the mountains of Algeria, even a few pale-skinned captives from the Balkans. Men with money walked slowly through the rows, prodding, inspecting. A boy no older than ten was forced to show his teeth, then struck when he flinched.

Musyoka turned away.

----

Naparye, a young girl from Nubia.

The sand got everywhere. In her eyes, her nose, her mouth. She had not tasted water in two days. The man beside her had tried to run. They made her watch as they cut off his fingers one by one. She whispered prayers in her grandmother’s tongue—words even she didn’t fully understand. At night, she dreamed of a river. Wide and blue. A place where no one wore chains. But every time she reached the water, a shadow pulled her back.

A tall man in dark robes walked past the line. He said nothing. His skin was the same tone as hers, but his eyes were distant—measuring. Just another buyer, she thought.

She looked down.

One of the guards grabbed her roughly by the chin and lifted her face. "This one is young. Unspoiled. Good bones. She’ll last."

The robed man paused. His gaze locked with hers. Not cruel. Not kind. Just still.

"She speaks?" he asked the slaver.

The slaver shrugged. "They all did at first. She doesn’t anymore."

"Name?" the man asked.

"Naparye," she whispered hoarsely. It was the first time she’d spoken in three days.

The man blinked. Then reached into his robes and pulled out a leather pouch. Gold coins, the kind that made the merchant’s eyes widen.

"Done," the slaver said too quickly.

The rope was cut, and Nura collapsed. She expected to be dragged again. Beaten into obedience. But instead, the man knelt beside her.

"I’m not here to save you," he said softly in a different tongue. Even though she couldn’t understand she felt the kindness in his words.

Napayre’s eyes widened.

"I just need you to live."

He reached into his cloak, offered her water. She hesitated, then drank, lips trembling.

"Come with me." He said.

----

Musyoka walked quickly, Naparye beside him, barefoot but steady. The girl didn’t ask questions. Good. He wasn’t ready to give answers.

He hadn’t told the others. This wasn’t part of the mission. But there was something about her—her eyes were sharp beneath the silence. She had seen too much. Survived too much. fгeewebnovёl.com

She reminded him of Khisa, years ago, standing outside that burned homestead in the hills.

This girl could be useful. Or dangerous.

He would let the future decide.

Present — Nuri Coastal Waters

"Identify yourselves!" a voice rang out from a fast-approaching patrol boat.

Musyoka stepped forward as the crew scrambled to show the appropriate documents.

"It’s Musyoka," he called. "I’m with the Shadow guard. We’re expected."

The patrol commander narrowed his eyes, then gave a slow nod. "Take the smuggler’s channel. You’ll be met inland."

The vessel veered slightly, heading for a secret inlet. Hidden under mangrove cover, the channel led to a stone ramp surrounded by Nuri guards. Musyoka disembarked and was escorted straight to Lusweti’s chambers.

Royal Palace – Throne Room

Musyoka kneeled before the king. His eyes were tired.

"They are no different," he said grimly. "North, south, east—it doesn’t matter. The markets thrive. The Portuguese, the Mamluks, even independent traders. And they all wear silk while our people bleed."

Lusweti’s jaw tightened.

"What of the slave origin points?"

"They’re taking them from across the Sahel, and further north—Berber and Bantu alike. And I’m convinced someone on the coast is feeding them information."

Meanwhile – Akumu’s Journey to Goa

Akumu adjusted the loose tunic he wore aboard the Goa-bound merchant ship. The air was thick with humidity, the sails swollen with monsoon winds. Goa glistened on the horizon—colorful and deceptive.

The slave compounds were surprisingly ornate. And unlike other colonies, slaves here could rise. They were allowed to serve in militias, even gain rank. But their necks still bore collars. Their lives were not their own.

Akumu said nothing. He clenched his fists behind his back, watching a soldier bark at a black slave to polish his boots faster.

Anger sat like hot coal in his chest. But this wasn’t the time.

En Route Back – Indian Ocean

The wind was favorable. They were halfway home when the lookout cried out: "Sails on the horizon!"

The Ottoman pirates came swiftly—three fast ships, black flags snapping. They fired crude cannons that splashed water high into the air. Grappling hooks flew.

The merchant guards put up a fight, but it was chaos—screams, smoke, flashing blades. One of the pirates leapt aboard, slicing a man’s neck with terrifying speed.

Akumu moved.

With the grace of a panther and the fury of a storm, he drew his twin blades. He moved through the attackers like death incarnate—precise, merciless. He knocked a pirate overboard, caught another by the throat, and threw him into the mast.

By the time it was over, blood soaked the deck. Silence reigned.

The merchant captain stared at him, wide-eyed. "You... you’re not just a guard..."

Akumu wiped his blade on a fallen pirate’s tunic.

"I’m not here to impress you. I’m here to ensure you live long enough to deliver what you promised."

The captain stammered. "You—if they find out—"

"They won’t. Unless you want to be the next one overboard."

The merchant nodded quickly.

Akumu returned to the shadows of the ship’s hold, but he knew the damage was done. His cover was broken. He had shown too much. But survival meant choices, and this one had been necessary.

Back to Nuri

As the coast of Nuri rose in the distance, Akumu stood at the stern. The wind pulled at his cloak. His body was sore. But his mind was clear.

This was more than infiltration now.

This was war.