The Wrath of the Unchained
Chapter 47 - The Edge of Survival

Chapter 47: Chapter 47 - The Edge of Survival

Weche and Kibet didn’t stop running. Their bodies screamed in protest, their lungs burned, but they forced themselves forward. The darkness of the forest wrapped around them, the scent of damp earth thick in the air. Every branch they pushed through left scratches on their skin, but they barely noticed. They had no time to feel pain.

Their only priority was survival.

They reached the cave where they had hidden the horses—four strong beasts, their breath steady, unaware of the chaos unfolding around them. Weche and Kibet didn’t hesitate. They threw a few heavy stones into the saddlebags of two horses, whispered quick commands, and sent them galloping in the opposite direction. The sound of hooves thundered through the night, fading into the distance.

It wouldn’t fool the Kilwa army forever. But they didn’t need forever.

Just a few precious hours.

They mounted the remaining two horses and took off, keeping low as they rode. The terrain was treacherous—dense undergrowth, uneven paths, the occasional fallen tree forcing them to slow their pace. The forest had always been their ally, but tonight, it felt like it was testing them, pushing them to their limits.

Dawn was beginning to break when they sensed it.

A shift in the air.

The subtle wrongness of the silence.

They had been found.

Six Kilwa soldiers emerged from the trees like wraiths—four gunmen and two swordsmen, their expressions smug, their movements slow and deliberate. They thought this was already over.

"Well, well," one of them sneered, adjusting his grip on his musket. "Look what we found."

His comrades chuckled, forming a loose circle around them.

"Two little scouts, thinking they can outsmart an army," another added.

Weche and Kibet exchanged a look. A silent agreement.

They would not be captured.

In an instant, they disappeared into the trees.

The Kilwa soldiers cursed, raising their muskets. But it was already too late.

The first gunman barely had time to blink before an arrow buried itself in his throat. He gurgled, staggering backward, eyes wide with disbelief as he crumpled to the ground.

The second suffered the same fate.

Panic spread through the remaining men. The gunmen fired wildly into the trees, the sharp cracks of gunfire shattering the morning stillness. Bullets tore through leaves, snapping branches, kicking up dirt.

But Weche and Kibet were no longer there.

They moved like ghosts, navigating the terrain with ease. Every step was calculated, every breath controlled.

And then, they struck.

Dropping down from the branches, they became whirlwinds of steel. Kibet drove his dagger into the side of the third gunman, twisting it before ripping it free. Blood sprayed across his arm, warm and slick. The man crumpled with a strangled gasp.

Weche went for the fourth, his blade slicing clean across his throat. The soldier’s musket fell from his grip, his hands grasping at the deep, gushing wound. He slumped forward, dead before he hit the ground.

The swordsmen lunged, their blades flashing.

Kibet barely dodged the first strike, rolling away just in time. Weche caught the other’s sword mid-swing, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks.

They fought like animals.

The Kilwa swordsmen were trained, but this was Nuri’s forest.

Weche feinted left, then drove his dagger up under his opponent’s ribs. The man gasped, his sword falling from numb fingers as he crumpled.

Kibet’s opponent swung wildly, but Kibet was faster. A quick sidestep, a brutal slash across the throat, and it was over.

But not without cost.

Weche hissed, pressing a hand to his shoulder where a bullet had grazed him. The wound was shallow, but the sting was sharp.

Kibet wiped his blade clean. "We don’t have time to bleed. Let’s move."

They mounted their horses, pushing the exhausted animals forward. There was no time to rest.

Every heartbeat counted.

By the time the Nuri flag came into view, Weche could barely keep his head upright. His vision blurred, his body numb with exhaustion. His limbs felt heavy, as if the weight of the entire war had settled into his bones.

Kibet slumped forward in the saddle, barely conscious.

They didn’t even have the strength to hold on when the horses finally stopped.

The moment their feet hit the ground, they collapsed.

The world blurred—voices, hands grabbing them, carrying them. The sharp scent of medicine.

Weche’s mouth was dry, his body trembling from exhaustion, his mind still screaming at him to stay alert. Keep fighting. Keep moving.

Soldiers swarmed them, shouting orders, pressing cloth to their wounds, forcing water past their cracked lips.

Weche barely registered the hands lifting him, the coolness of the tent’s shade.

But then he heard Lusweti’s voice.

"Tell me everything."

Kibet’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "The Kilwa army—slowed, but not stopped. The avalanche crushed part of their camp, but they’ll recover. The water supply is disrupted, but they’ll find another way. We bought time, but not much."

Weche swallowed, his throat raw. "And they’re hunting us."

Lusweti’s expression was unreadable. He nodded once, then turned to General Simiyu.

"They will come through the valley," Lusweti murmured, his eyes narrowing. "It’s the only clear path."

Simiyu unfolded a map, tracing a finger along the valley ridges. "It’s a perfect killing ground. We can thin their numbers before they reach us."

Lusweti exhaled sharply, his mind already moving ahead.

"They have more men," he said slowly. "More firepower. If we fight them in open battle, we lose."

He tapped the map.

"But if we control the terrain... drag this out... we bleed them before the real fight begins."

Simiyu nodded grimly. "War of attrition."

Lusweti’s jaw clenched. "We only need to hold them off long enough. The ones I sent to the coast will return. And then..."

His fingers curled into a fist.

"This war ends when Almeida and the Sultan are dead."

Silence hung heavy in the tent.

Kibet and Weche, still battle-worn, exchanged a glance.

They had risked everything to buy Nuri time.

Now, it was up to Lusweti to make that time count.

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