The two armies moved steadily toward each other, a slow but inevitable clash creeping closer with each passing day. Lusweti and his 5,000 warriors marched in disciplined formation, every step measured, every movement deliberate.
Opposite them, Malik’s 10,000 soldiers advanced with far less caution. The Kilwa forces were a mixed, undisciplined horde of mercenaries, slavers, and professional warriors lumped together under the same banner. Some laughed and jeered as they marched, already speaking of their rewards, of the gold and women they would claim once Nuri fell. Others walked with dull expressions, uninterested in yet another battle they were forced to fight.
At the front, Malik rode with a perpetual scowl on his face. His eyes flicked over the uneven terrain, thick vegetation patches, and winding rivers cutting through the land. He clenched his jaw. Why was he even the Sultan?
This march had exposed him. He was proving himself incompetent with every passing day.
A Kilwa commander rode beside him, his expression set in a grim frown. "This is a foolish decision," the man muttered. "Marching blind without knowing the enemy. What are we even walking into?"
Malik did not have the patience for this conversation. "This is what the Sultan commanded," he snapped. "We had no time to scout ahead."
The commander sighed, shifting in his saddle. "Then we should prepare for the worst. We don’t know their strengths or weaknesses, and that makes them dangerous."
A sharp bark of laughter came from behind them. Another officer grinned lazily. "Dangerous? To who?" he sneered. "This is a band of barbarians we’re fighting. Future slaves, nothing more. You worry too much."
The first commander shook his head but said nothing.
Malik, however, was not as certain. He recalled the Nuri delegates he had tortured—days of pain, starvation, and suffering, yet they had not broken. There had been no desperate bargains, no spilling of secrets. Only silence.
The more he thought about it, the more his instincts whispered—Nuri is not as weak as they seem.
Still, his soldiers showed no concern. They were relaxed, even amused. Some played dice as they walked, tossing coins and laughing at each other’s losses. Others sang drinking songs, swaying in their saddles. They were not an army preparing for battle. They were a horde marching toward easy plunder.
From the moment they set foot in Nuri, the false merchants had been watched.
Captain Shikuku’s Watchers had never lowered their guard. Not once.
The merchants’ arrival had been met with suspicion, their flawless politeness a thin veil for deception. They had claimed to be Portuguese traders, drawn by tales of a rising kingdom filled with wealth. They spoke of gold, of trade opportunities, of alliances.
But their words were too careful. Their interest was too focused.
The Watchers let them roam freely, playing along with their act. But they watched everything.
The merchants had begun spreading whispers—tales of a great kingdom that could offer riches beyond imagining. They made grand promises to those who would listen, speaking of glory, of wealth, of power.
The people of Nuri, however, were not fools.
They listened politely. Smiled. Nodded.
And then turned away.
The merchants grew frustrated.
"This is ridiculous," one of them muttered in their inn. "These cattle refuse to listen."
"They don’t know what’s best for them," another sneered.
The group sat around a dimly lit table, frustration etched into their faces. Their voices were low, their whispers sharp.
"We need to force their hand," one said.
"How?" another grumbled. "They won’t trade. They won’t listen. And we can’t go back empty-handed. Almeida will have our heads."
Then, a slow, dark smile spread across the leader’s face.
"We take them," he said. "One by one."
The others looked up.
"We have horses. We have weapons. These people walk around without fear—they do not even carry weapons half the time." He chuckled darkly. "They will learn to fear us soon enough."
Excitement flickered in their eyes.
They chose the river. It was the perfect place—where women gathered daily, washing clothes, filling pots, laughing as they talked.
They would strike swiftly, seize as many as they could, and ride out before the city could react.
They did not get the chance.
As they approached the riverbank, a head flew through the air.
The body crumpled a second later, blood splattering the earth.
The remaining merchants froze.
The Watchers were there.
Emerging from the trees. From the rocks. From the shadows.
Weapons gleamed in the fading sunlight.
"You disappoint us," one of them said, stepping forward. His tone was almost bored. "We expected more from you."
One of the merchants stumbled back, hands shaking. "H-How did you—"
"We never lost sight of you," another Watcher said coldly. "Every step, every whisper, every scheme—you were under our gaze."
The merchants’ faces twisted with despair. This was not supposed to happen.
They had underestimated Nuri.
And now they would die for it.
An arrow took him in the throat.
The remaining ones fell to their knees, begging, their arrogance shattered.
The Watchers did not waver.
"For your crimes against Nuri," one of them said, "you are sentenced to death."
The merchants screamed.
It did not save them.
Two weeks into the march
Lusweti sat in the command tent, his eyes locked on the maps before him.
Every river. Every hill. Every hidden path.
Nothing could be overlooked.
When Jabari left Kilwa, the army was already preparing for battle.
"They must have already begun their march." he muttered to himself.
Lusweti exhaled slowly. "We need scouts ahead," he said, his voice firm. "Not just one or two. Five teams. Two men each. Different directions."
General Simiyu frowned. "You want them to find a way past Kilwa’s army?"
Lusweti nodded. "We need a route to Kilwa itself."
Simiyu hesitated. "If we bypass them, they will march straight to Nuri. Our people won’t survive that."
Lusweti’s eyes hardened. "That’s why the main force will meet them head-on. But I will take a small team to end this at the source."
Simiyu’s jaw clenched. "You mean—"
Lusweti leaned forward.
"We kill the Sultan and Almeida before they can regroup." Newest update provided by novel·fire.net