The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 98 - The Silent March

Inside the command tent, the air pulsed with tension. Maps and scrolls littered the table, but all Khisa and Tesfaye saw was a thousand unseen dangers.

Khisa placed a marked map between them, his voice low and deliberate.

"This is the plan," he said. "We create a false river beneath the enemy’s nose. A hidden network. Checkpoints, disguised as merchant stations, placed between Massawa, Zeila, and Assab. We also need a few on deserted Islands. The slaves will move along this invisible route, checkpoint by checkpoint, until they reach freedom."

Tesfaye leaned in, scanning the map carefully. "Each checkpoint?"

"Operated by trusted agents," Khisa said. "My Shadows. Small teams. They’ll oversee transfers, control the flow, and ensure that the right people—our people—make it through."

"And the merchants?" Tesfaye asked, wary.

Khisa’s face hardened.

"We handpick them. Men with ambition, yes—but men who fear our wrath more than Ottoman gold. Gold alone won’t keep them loyal. Fear will."

He stabbed his finger against the table.

"If even one merchant betrays us—if they believe the Ottomans offer a better reward, or a safer future—this entire plan collapses. Thousands of lives will be lost. Abyssinia itself might be exposed and we will be wiped out under their might. I am not naive enough to believe in human kindness. I want to, but with thousand of lives on the line, I simply can’t. "

Tesfaye frowned. "We’ll have to make examples, Khisa. Publicly, if necessary."

"We will," Khisa agreed without hesitation. "One merchant steps out of line, and his family pays the price first. Then him. The merchants won’t know the whole plan, everyone will have their own routes. Never meeting. If even one is caught they can’t jeopardize the mission."

Tesfaye nodded grimly. "Merciless. But necessary."

Khisa leaned closer. "There’s more. We won’t funnel everyone to Assab. Some slaves will be rerouted directly to the Nuri coast. Quietly. Slowly. We need the population if we’re going to build what we dreamed of."

"Growth... through salvation," Tesfaye murmured. "You’re planting seeds in blood-soaked soil."

Khisa’s jaw tightened. "If we don’t, our alliance will die before it ever learns to walk."

Silence fell between them, heavy and understanding.

"I’ll find the merchants," Tesfaye finally said. "Ones who understand that serving us means survival—and betrayal means extinction."

Khisa nodded once.

"May the gods forgive us for what we’re about to do."

Later that night, under a ceiling of indifferent stars, Khisa gathered his elite Shadows.

They formed a circle on the cold earth—Simba, Jelani, Musimbi, Barasa, Nia, and the rest—young faces carved by battle and loyalty.

Khisa studied them for a long moment, committing them to memory.

"I have a mission for you," he began. "It will be the hardest thing I have ever asked."

The fire crackled between them, throwing long shadows across their armor.

"You’ll infiltrate enemy lands, hiding in plain sight. Some of you will pose as merchant guards, others as dockworkers, even as common laborers. You’ll oversee checkpoints, move our people unseen."

He paused, letting the weight of it settle.

"You will see horror. You may be forced to stand by and do nothing while evil happens inches from you. You cannot break cover. You cannot act unless you are certain it won’t jeopardize the mission."

Several Shadows clenched their fists. Others dropped their gaze to the ground.

"You’ll be alone. Months... maybe even years. As long as this war burns, you are on mission. No return until I call you back or you complete the network."

Khisa’s voice cracked slightly.

"I am not ordering you. I am asking."

The fire popped loudly. No one spoke.

Khisa bowed his head.

"Think. Choose. I won’t hold it against you if you refuse. Some of you might not come back. Some of you might lose yourselves."

Without another word, Khisa turned and walked away, leaving them to their choice.

The Shadows gathered again on a quiet hill, far from prying eyes.

Musimbi broke the silence. "What do you guys think?"

Simba was the first to answer, voice rough. "It’s going to be hard. Honestly... I’d rather stick by Khisa. I know he’d never let us die. He always protects us."

"We’ve been training for this," Jelani said firmly. "Ndengu and Naliaka are already carrying the flag at sea. Akumu, Tiriki, Musyoka—they’ve all tasted hell in Massawa and Zeila. Now it’s our turn."

Barasa exhaled heavily. "Faizah stays behind. She’s still new and needs more training. She’ll keep learning under Khisa’s watch. The rest of us split between checkpoints."

"Two per checkpoint," Nia added. "One watching, one acting. Always."

There were nods of agreement.

Then Simba hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I want to suggest something—and Jelani, you’re going to hate it."

Jelani narrowed her eyes. "Go on."

"You and the other women should stick to overseeing the checkpoints, not the infiltrations," Simba said carefully. "Out there... around the slavers... you’ll be seen as property. Targets. I know you can fight—but perception matters. They won’t respect you. They might try to buy you. Worse."

Jelani’s fists balled up. "You think we’re weak?"

"No," Simba said firmly. "I think you’re too strong to waste. If you’re captured, the entire network falls apart. Secrecy is our only weapon. We can’t afford the risk."

Musimbi placed a calming hand on Jelani’s arm. "He’s not wrong. We must be invisible."

Slowly, Jelani exhaled through her nose.

"Fine. But don’t think I’m standing still."

"We wouldn’t dare," Barasa muttered dryly, earning a small, sad laugh.

The teams were formed. The sacrifices agreed to.

All that was left now... was to vanish.

Later that night, Khisa sat alone by the riverbank, staring at the silent flow of water.

He had chosen this spot, far from camp, where no one could hear him.

His shoulders shook once. Then again.

Silently, Khisa sobbed—silent, wracking gasps he refused to voice aloud.

The burden crushed him. The faces of his friends—brave, stubborn, loyal—burned behind his closed eyes.

He hated what he was doing to them.

Sending them into darkness.

Into a life they might never return from.

Into choices that would scar their souls forever.

But there was no other way.

The war demanded blood. And sometimes, it demanded pieces of the soul.

Khisa pressed his forehead to the earth, whispering a broken prayer.

"Please forgive me. Please bring them back."

The river whispered on, carrying his prayer into the endless night.