The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 84 - The Fire in his Eyes

The letter in Emperor Gelawdewos’ hand was short, but it carried the weight of an entire war.

Ottomans and Portuguese allies against Abyssinia.

New ally found : Prince Khisa of Nuri.

Need supplies for new navy, blueprints for new ships provided.

Adal camps eliminated between Shewa and the border by Prince Khisa.

Plans to purge spies have begun.

He did not wait for formalities or debate. Nobles and generals were summoned without delay. The emperor didn’t have time for lengthy council sessions — not with what this letter implied. A chance. A fighting chance.

By the second day, his royal convoy reached Shewa.

The town did not stop for his arrival. No golden banners flapped in the wind. No processions lined the cobbled streets. The air was thick with the scent of ash, oil, and sweat. Workers passed hurriedly with crates of supplies. Blacksmiths hammered steel like war drums in the background. A cart rumbled by, laden with rough metal fragments and large clay pots filled with unfamiliar black powder.

Only murmurs and furtive glances marked his arrival.

"That’s the Emperor..."

"He came himself?"

"Did they really say a foreign prince cleared the border?"

The Emperor stepped out of his carriage and took in the scene. The town buzzed with urgency, but it wasn’t panic—it was preparation.

General Mekonnen walked beside him, eyes scanning every face.

"This doesn’t feel like a place waiting for rescue," Mekonnen murmured. "It feels like one building a counterstrike."

"No wonder I had to come myself," the Emperor replied under his breath.

They approached the command building — a sturdy stone structure that had once been the town hall. Now, guards in mismatched armor and newly dyed blue sashes stood at the entrance, the mark of Shewa’s reformed resistance.

The Emperor barged in without announcement.

Inside, the air was stuffy with parchment, candle wax, and the faint whiff of gunpowder. Maps and letters covered the long table at the center. Tesfaye, the Shewan commander, looked up from a spread of charts and hastily scrawled spy reports. His eyes widened.

"Your Majesty!"

"Is it true?" the Emperor demanded, out of breath from his brisk walk. "Do we truly have a fighting chance?"

Tesfaye stood, still recovering from the shock. "Yes. The young Prince is our saving grace. We’ve purged several Adal spies from Shewa and surrounding villages. There is still more to do, but... he’s lit a fire under us."

"Start from the beginning," the Emperor said, pacing. "I need to understand the man before I put the fate of Abyssinia in his hands."

Tesfaye gestured for him to sit, though the Emperor refused. He began recounting how Khisa first arrived—dusty, unassuming, and entirely too confident. He had claimed to wipe out all Adal camps between the border and Shewa. Tesfaye had dismissed it as bravado until he sent scouts and found the truth: burnt camps, slain soldiers, and freed captives.

"Hundreds of women, Your Majesty," Tesfaye said, voice quiet. "Slaves, wives, daughters—saved by a stranger."

"And now?" the Emperor asked.

"He’s training our troops. Teaching them movements I’ve never seen. His guards, barely men, move like ghosts. He’s been building crude bombs using saltpeter and resin. His people are at the ports gathering intel on an incoming Ottoman weapons ship. If we can seize it..."

"We could arm our army," the Emperor finished. His eyes were sharp now. "I must see him. Send for him."

Tesfaye saluted and called for a runner.

"Mekonnen, see how the troops are being trained," the Emperor ordered. "I want your eyes on this."

Minutes passed.

Then the door opened.

Khisa Lusweti entered, flanked by one of his younger guards. His tunic was charred, and his face was streaked with soot. The smell of oil clung to him.

He bowed slightly. "Forgive my appearance, Your Majesty. I am Khisa Lusweti, Prince of Nuri. We have much to discuss."

The Emperor stared at him in silence for a moment, measuring him—not by appearance, but by presence. There was something raw in Khisa’s voice, something unpolished yet firm, like a blade not yet sharpened but already dangerous.

"Tesfaye, leave us."

The Shewan commander obeyed, closing the door behind him.

"What are your intentions?" the Emperor asked. "What do you gain by helping us?"

Khisa met his gaze. "It’s the right thing to do—but I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for."

He walked to the table, unrolling a map, his fingers leaving faint smudges of ash.

"My kingdom is growing, but the threats grow with it. Slavers, colonists, opportunists. I came here to form alliances. If we let them divide us, they’ll own us within a generation."

The Emperor crossed his arms, unmoved. "We are hardly in a position to help your kingdom. You came seeking strength from ruins."

"I came seeking unity before the world decides we’re easier to conquer apart."

"You speak boldly."

"I act boldly," Khisa replied, his voice firm. "My people risk their lives at the coast to gather intel. My guards, some only eighteen, are teaching your men how to fight in the shadows. I’m crafting weapons with my own hands. I’ve seen what happens when we wait. I won’t let it happen again."

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. "You could be a spy. Or another opportunist. Why should I trust a man who just walked in and claimed a miracle?"

Khisa took a step closer, lowering his voice. "I don’t ask for trust. I ask for results. My actions speak. Look outside. Your people aren’t just waiting for orders anymore. They’re preparing to fight. You’ve been fighting alone for too long. If we unite and bring others with us before the foreigners close their jaws, we’ll see a new dawn. One where we rule ourselves."

His voice, calm but urgent, filled the room like smoke curling into every corner.

"I will not kneel to people who think me cattle. If you don’t want my help, say so. I will find another road and build my wall against the tide, stone by stone, soldier by soldier. I will do it by myself if I have to." freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

A silence hung in the air.

Then the Emperor laughed softly, but it wasn’t mockery. It was something else—relief, maybe, or awe.

"You speak like a man from a legend," he said. "I never even dared dream of something beyond Abyssinia. And here you are, covered in soot, with fire in your eyes."

Khisa simply stood still, the weight of war thick in his shoulders.

The Emperor walked to the window, watching the smoke rise from the forges. Then he turned back, a slow smile spreading.

"I suppose I have no choice but to listen, young Prince. Let’s see what your fire can do."