The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 87 - Blood, Salt and Steel

Assab Port reeked of brine and broken dreams. The wooden dock planks creaked under every step, a symphony of decay and neglect. It was exactly how the reports had described it—underdeveloped, chaotic, and tucked far from prying eyes. For Khisa, that made it the perfect hiding place.

But it was still a gamble. The kind that could either tip the scales of war or bury them beneath the Red Sea.

Secrecy had always been their sharpest blade. If they lost it now, the Ottoman retaliation would be swift and merciless. But if they succeeded...

If they succeeded, then the very waters of the Red Sea would echo with their names.

If they succeed, it would mean more battles ahead. More wars against even stronger enemies, but..it would still be better than failing. Failing meant, Nuri will be swallowed whole.

By day and night, Khisa drilled his soldiers without mercy. They fought on the stolen ships like wolves circling a wounded bull—learning to swim with armor, to leap from one vessel to another, to fight atop slick decks as waves threatened to pull them under. They bled in training so they wouldn’t bleed in battle.

Three days left. The Ottoman vessel would arrive then. They would have only one shot.

It was time to move.

Khisa boarded the lead ship with the Shadows, Faizah, Biruk, and a tight unit of elite soldiers. Tesfaye captained the second, his dark eyes scanning the horizon like a hawk. Both crews wore ragged, mismatched clothes and covered their faces with scarves, their skin smeared with grease and charcoal. Pirates. Filthy, desperate, unpredictable. Just the kind of people who wouldn’t be questioned too closely.

As they slipped away from port under the cover of dusk, the tension was thick enough to choke on. Soldiers clutched their spears and bows like lifelines, knuckles white, eyes wide. The salty air bit at their faces, and every gust of wind felt like it carried whispers of death.

Khisa leaned against the wooden rail, the spray of sea mist kissing his skin. His eyes flicked across the deck—archers checking their explosive arrowheads, others handling molotovs with trembling fingers. The ships now carried more than brave hearts—they were war machines, outfitted with functioning cannons and grappling hooks along their sides.

His mind raced.

Every angle. Every possibility. Every damn thing that could go wrong. This mission would change the course of the war—or end it prematurely.

His chest tightened. He closed his eyes and whispered.

"Ayaan," he murmured into the silent bond that tethered him to the system, "maybe I’m biting off more than I can chew. I haven’t had the time to process anything. I’m just... moving. Always moving. If I fail, history repeats itself. And I—I don’t think I could live with that."

[When you reincarnated here, you vowed to make life better for everyone. And you are doing your best, Prince. But you must rest, too.]

He smiled faintly, a tired, bitter thing. The weight on his shoulders was growing heavier by the hour.

"I made children into soldiers, Ayaan. My friends are barely eighteen, and they’re already covered in scars. I think about who I was at that age. Just some stoned teenager trying to pass exams and hide my stash. And now I’m... here."

He paused, staring out at the dark waves.

"Maybe I should go back home. Focus on building Nuri. Make it the strongest kingdom in Africa. Let someone else carry the burden of uniting the rest."

[You could. We still have time to pull back. Abandon Abyssinia. Go back. Nuri will thrive.]

Khisa chuckled dryly and shook his head.

"You know I can’t do that. The guilt would eat me alive."

[And that is why you are worthy. Because even when the weight crushes your spirit, you still choose to fight.

Nuri cannot stand alone forever. Africa needs a beacon. Someone who chooses unity over conquest.

You may not succeed in your lifetime. But you’ll give the future a fighting chance.]

He swallowed hard, blinking the sting from his eyes.

"Thank you, Ayaan. I can’t do this without you."

[We are in this together, Prince Khisa.]

"I promise, I will do whatever it take to make sure that history does not happen here. Once we fight them off, maybe those who have already been sold can come back home. No, the will come back home and find this continent thriving." He clenched his fist.

[ I can’t wait to see it.]

On the deck of the ship, just beyond the glow of lanterns, the Shadows sat together in a tight circle near the helm. The stars twinkled above them like silent witnesses.

"It’s been a while since we’ve been like this," Musimbi said, her voice soft against the lapping of the waves. "This next battle... it won’t be easy."

Wasike leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. "Why do you think he’s helping Abyssinia? Wouldn’t it be easier to side with the Ottomans or the Portuguese? They have better ships, better weapons. Instead, we’re building everything ourselves like madmen."

"I’ve asked myself that too," another muttered.

Faizah, still the newest among them, looked up. "I think... he helps because he can’t bear to look away from injustice. He sees people suffering and acts—without calculation, without asking what’s in it for him."

Musimbi nodded slowly.

"He sees Abyssinia as Nuri," another Shadow added. "If the Portuguese got to us first, we’d be in the same chains. Maybe even worse. He’s fighting for the version of us that never got a chance."

Wasike scoffed but didn’t argue.

"He’s the only leader I’ll ever acknowledge," one said quietly. "He’s not perfect. He’s reckless. But his heart is strong. And when it matters, I want to be his shield."

The group sat in silence, each quietly reaffirming their loyalty—not just to the mission, but to the man who had brought them this far. The boy who had been a stranger in a strange land, who now bore the hopes of a continent on his back.

Far ahead, hidden beneath the horizon, the Ottoman vessel approached—rich with weapons, slaves, and secrets.

Khisa’s hand tightened around the railing.

It was almost time.