The Wrath of the Unchained
Chapter 46 - Shadows in the Forest

Chapter 46: Chapter 46 - Shadows in the Forest

The night was thick with humidity, the scent of damp earth rising with each careful step. Every rustle of the leaves, every distant call of a predator sent a jolt through Weche’s nerves. He and Kibet moved swiftly, their bodies low, their senses stretched thin. The forest was alive with unseen dangers, but none greater than the enemy they pursued.

Their mission was simple but critical: track the Kilwa army, map their movements, and, if possible, sabotage their advance. A single misstep could doom the entire war effort.

They had been running for days, weaving through dense foliage, fording rivers with water up to their chests, their bodies pushed to the limits. They traveled light—only their bows, daggers, and enough food to keep them moving. Sleep came in short bursts, their ears always alert for danger.

And then, on the seventh day, they found them.

The boisterous laughter of Kilwa soldiers cut through the stillness of the jungle like a blade. Weche and Kibet crouched in the underbrush, their breathing slow, steady. Just ahead, four men rode lazily through the trees, their horses stepping over thick roots with practiced ease.

Two carried swords, their hands resting lazily on the pommels, while the other two cradled muskets across their laps. Their uniforms were worn, dirt and dried blood staining the fabric.

"They’ve been fighting something," Kibet whispered, barely moving his lips.

Weche nodded. The claw marks on one soldier’s sleeve, the dried gash on another’s arm—it wasn’t battle wounds. The forest itself had fought them.

The Kilwa scouts were too relaxed. They were laughing, one of them telling a story between gasps for breath.

"...and then the damn beast just leaped at him! You should have seen Chande’s face—screamed like a child!"

The others roared with laughter.

"If it wasn’t for my shot, we’d be one man short," the gunman bragged, tapping the side of his musket.

Kibet exhaled slowly. "They think they own this land."

Weche’s grip tightened around his bow. "Then let’s remind them they don’t."

They climbed. The thick branches of the trees provided cover, the leaves masking their movements. Their hands knew this work well, every grip practiced over years of hunting. The cool wind swayed the canopy, shifting the moonlight against the forest floor like ghostly shadows.

The riders passed beneath them, oblivious.

Weche met Kibet’s gaze. A silent count.

One.

Two.

Three.

They loosed their arrows.

The soft twang of the bowstrings was drowned out by the sound of impact. Both arrows struck true—one embedding itself in the throat of the first gunman, the other piercing the eye of the second. The two slumped forward, their muskets falling to the ground with a dull thud.

The laughter died instantly.

The remaining two men kicked their horses into motion, blades flashing as they scanned the trees, searching for their unseen attackers.

But Weche and Kibet were already airborne.

They dropped from the branches like hunting leopards.

Kibet landed first, rolling through the impact before surging forward. His dagger found its mark in the first soldier’s side, slipping between his ribs. The man gasped, swinging wildly, but Kibet twisted the blade and yanked it free. The soldier toppled from his saddle, choking on his own blood.

Weche’s target barely had time to react. The moment his boots hit the ground, he lunged, his dagger flashing upward in a vicious arc. The blade carved through the soldier’s neck, severing flesh and arteries in a single strike. Warm blood sprayed against Weche’s face as the man crumpled.

Silence followed.

The forest swallowed their deaths as quickly as it had witnessed them.

Weche wiped his blade clean on the fallen man’s tunic. Kibet kicked over one of the bodies, checking for any maps or notes. Nothing.

"We have to move," Weche whispered. "If they were scouting ahead, the main force isn’t far behind."

Kibet whistled softly, signaling the horses. They would need them for the journey back.

The bodies would be dealt with by nature.

They left no trace.

The days that followed were a test of endurance. The forest thinned, the terrain shifting into rocky hills. The closer they got to their target, the more cautious they became.

And then, on the eleventh day, they found it.

Weche crouched at the edge of the tree line, his breath catching in his throat.

Kilwa’s army sprawled across the valley below. A massive encampment, thousands strong. Torches flickered in the night, illuminating rows upon rows of tents. Soldiers moved in steady patterns, the distant sound of commands carried by the wind. The sheer number of them sent a chill down Weche’s spine.

From this distance, he could make out foreign soldiers among the ranks. Some wore Portuguese armor, others bore markings he didn’t recognize. Mercenaries.

"We can’t count them all," Kibet muttered.

"We don’t need to." Weche’s eyes narrowed. "We just need to slow them down."

He pointed toward the river that ran through the valley. It was their lifeline, the only major water source for miles.

"If we block it, their supplies will dwindle."

Kibet’s expression darkened.

"An avalanche would be better," he murmured. "It’ll cause chaos, destroy supplies, and bury some of their men alive."

Weche looked up at the jagged cliffs looming over the valley. The rock was loose, the ground unstable. With the right push, they could send parts of it crashing down onto the camp.

"It won’t stop them," Weche admitted. "But it will buy us time."

Kibet exhaled sharply, running a hand over his shaved head. "This won’t be easy."

Weche smirked. "Nothing worth doing ever is."

They retreated deeper into the forest to plan.

Their mission was far from over.

The river was cold, its current sluggish from the dry season, but it was still the Kilwa army’s lifeline. Weche and Kibet moved like shadows, cutting through the dense brush until they reached the narrowest point upstream.

A natural rockfall had already begun forming—boulders leaning precariously, their balance fragile. With the right push, the river would be blocked, forcing the water to seek another path.

"We don’t need much," Kibet said, grabbing a sturdy branch and wedging it beneath a cluster of rocks. "Just enough to send the water in the wrong direction."

Weche worked beside him, jamming logs and debris into the gaps. It was slow, grueling work, their muscles burning with effort. Sweat trickled down their backs, the damp night air making it impossible to dry off.

Hours passed. The first hints of dawn tinged the sky purple when the dam finally began to take shape. The water fought against its new prison, swirling violently before breaking off into smaller streams, diverting away from the valley.

Kibet crouched low, watching the water level drop. "That’s it. By the time they notice, they’ll already be dying of thirst."

Weche grinned. "Now for the avalanche."

The cliffs were treacherous, the loose gravel beneath their feet threatening to send them tumbling to their deaths. Every step had to be calculated, every breath measured.

They found the weakest point—jagged rocks barely holding together, cracks running deep through the stone. If they could trigger a collapse, tons of debris would come crashing down onto Kilwa’s camp.

Kibet tested a section with his foot. A pebble broke free, tumbling into the valley below. It disappeared into the sea of tents.

Weche took a deep breath. "We need force. Fire or leverage."

Kibet unslung his bow. "Fire."

They worked quickly, binding dried grass and twigs into makeshift torches. The wind was in their favor, carrying the scent of smoke away from the valley. They set small fires along the cracks, the heat licking at the weakened rock.

The flames flickered, glowing ominously in the dark.

And then—

CRACK.

A deep groan rumbled beneath their feet. The ground trembled, as if the cliffs themselves were taking their first breath in centuries.

Kibet shoved Weche. "Go! Go!"

They ran. Behind them, the earth roared.

A cascade of stone and dirt exploded down the mountainside. Massive boulders shattered on impact, crashing through tents, crushing men and supplies in an instant. The sound was deafening—a thunderous, merciless force swallowing everything in its path.

Screams filled the valley.

General Malik al-Mansur was already in a foul mood when the avalanche struck.

He had been forced to slow his march due to illness in the ranks—bad water, spoiled rations. He had spent the past three days dealing with complaints from his officers, their patience thinning.

Now this.

He stormed out of his tent, his boots sinking into the loose dirt. Soldiers ran in all directions, some trying to dig out buried comrades, others shouting over the chaos.

A section of the camp was completely destroyed—dozens dead, more injured. Horses screamed in terror, their legs broken from the falling debris. Crates of food lay splintered, their contents mixed with the dust and blood.

Malik’s fists clenched.

"Who did this?" he barked.

An officer stumbled toward him, his face smeared with dirt and panic. "We—we don’t know, General. It was sudden. The cliffs—"

Malik silenced him with a glare. This was no accident.

Someone had planned this.

He turned toward the river. His stomach tightened. The flow was weak—too weak.

He strode forward, grabbing a water bucket from a nearby soldier. He poured it out, watching the pathetic trickle.

His jaw locked.

"Get me the scouts," he snarled.

A nervous messenger hesitated. "The last scouting party... hasn’t returned."

Malik’s hands trembled, rage coursing through his veins. He had been played.

"Send more men," he growled. "Find whoever did this. And bring me their heads."

Weche and Kibet watched from a safe distance, hidden among the trees. Even from here, they could see the frustration on Malik’s face.

The plan had worked.

The Kilwa army was now dehydrated, short on supplies, and delayed. Days—maybe even a week—would pass before they could recover. That was time King Lusweti could use to prepare.

Kibet exhaled, running a hand over his head. "We did it."

Weche grinned, despite the exhaustion settling in his bones. "We did."

But they weren’t safe yet.

Now, they had to get back.

And the real war was only just beginning.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.