The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 152 - The Pulse of a Growing Flame

The plan was in motion. Quiet as whispers, swift as shadows, Faizah, Zara, and Kiprop moved with the three Mkono wa Giza, their steps soundless against the dark earth. Cloaked in the secrets of night, they crossed border after border, heading into Kongo. Their mission: infiltrate and uncover the origin of the plague that had devastated Buganda. Answers were overdue, and Nuri needed them.

Each operative knew the stakes. The enemy had gone silent after releasing such devastation. Silence, in this war, was never peace—it was preparation. Somewhere in Kongo, forces were plotting, and the Mkono wa Giza would bring back their secrets, or not return at all.

Back in Nuri, the rest of the Shadow Guard spread out across the realm. They manned every road, every gate, every known—and unknown—pathway into the kingdom, including the northern trails leading to Abyssinia. Their orders were absolute: root out spies, uncover hidden threats, stop infiltration before it began. Failure was not an option. Their vigilance was the price of freedom.

In the heart of Nuri, Khisa bent over architectural plans once again. The capital needed to rise—not just in brick and mortar, but in soul and symbol. Nuri’s strength had to be seen from miles away. It needed masterfully crafted homes, gardens that bloomed with peace, and streets where every Nurian, no matter their past could walk freely.

In Lusimba, Queen Nanjala had become the warm hand guiding the Bugandan traders and children toward stability.

The trade agreement was already in effect and these new children were here to learn the language in order to benefit Buganda in the future.

She oversaw the construction of temporary homes, ensured the children were registered into the growing school system, and personally led language and writing sessions twice a week.

At one such session, a young girl, barely six, whispered in her broken Swahili, "Are we Nuri now?"

Queen Nanjala smiled. "You are who you choose to be, but here. As long as you follow the teachings of Nuri, you are one of us. When you go back home, you will build your village and your kingdom to be just as magnificent if not better."

A future. That is what Nuri promised Buganda and they intend to deliver.

On the dusty fields near the schools, the game of Mbumbwa had become a daily rhythm for the children. Bugandan, Abakhore, Angwenyi—it no longer mattered. With every sprint, tackle, and cheer, the lines between past and present blurred. Khisa’s game had done more than entertain. It had unified.

Young Nyaera, a boy with a quick mouth and faster feet, laughed as he dodged three players and scored. "Mbumbwa is better than food!" he shouted.

One of the teachers chuckled. "Good! Because lunch is late."

Far to the southeast, King Lusweti commanded the coastal front. Port after port fell, not through brute force alone but with precision and overwhelming technology. The ships designed in Nuri’s drydocks had grown faster, better armed, and more maneuverable. With every successful siege, they liberated captives, claimed trade routes, and brought more wealth to the kingdom.

"The tide has turned," Lusweti said aboard the Njia ya Moto, the navy’s flagship. "Nuri no longer waits for the world. We shape it."

His admirals nodded, charting the next port city under enemy control.

Back inland, the army was ablaze with purpose. When they were not building towns, repairing roads, or teaching villagers basic tactics, they trained relentlessly. The shadow of the last war loomed behind every formation.

In a camp near the Ziwa Highlands, two soldiers shared rations as the evening fires burned low.

"We were too slow last time," grumbled Sergeant Obura. "By the time we reached the heart of the conflict, Lusweti had already ended it."

Private Wekesa nodded. "Not this time. Next time, we’ll be the storm. Not the clean-up crew."

"I’ve been reading the reports on the raids in the coast. What King Lusweti has achieved is impressive. It has only been a few years since we were just a tiny village, look at us now. We’ve grown strong enough to rival kingdoms surrounding us." Obura said clenching his fists.

"I envy the navy, they grow stronger with each battle, something we haven’t seen since the battle with kilwa. I don’t want war, but I’m itching to put my skills to the test." Wekesa said smiling.

Obura smacked him over the head.

"It’s because we are at peace that we can afford to get stronger right now. We will see battle eventually, especially because Nuri is making powerful enemies. We will be on the frontlines protecting the smiles of our people." Obura said.

"As the Nuri army, we will never falter."

Their fists met in a silent vow.

Nearby, a freed slave named Mwanaidi, now part of the construction corps, listened quietly. She had lost her entire family during the early slaver raids. Now she helped lay bricks for a new library.

Nuri saved her when she was beaten and helpless, they gave her a place to live, some land to farm and a chance to grow.

A curious child approached her.

"Aunty Mwanaidi, do you miss where you came from?"

She paused, then answered, "I miss my people. But Nuri... Nuri is what we dreamed of in chains. This is the future we whispered to the stars. Was scared back then, but now we can hapilly smile and play mbumbwa all day." She tickled the child and she burst out laughing.

Markets buzzed with activity. Farmers brought cassava, millet, and groundnuts; artisans sold tools, jewelry, and simple machines Khisa had introduced. Storytellers, drummers, and dancers filled the evenings with life. In every corner, one could see scars—but also healing.

A local elder, once skeptical of Khisa’s rapid ideas, leaned against a post watching the schoolchildren recite poems about Nuri.

"I was wrong about the boy," he said to his friend.

"Khisa?" the friend asked.

The elder nodded. "He dreams big. But he also delivers."

In the quiet center of the capital’s plans, Khisa stood atop a half-built tower, gazing out at the city lights—small and flickering now, but growing.

"We’re building a beacon," he murmured. "And one day... it will light the world."