The Wrath of the Unchained
Chapter 170 - War of Belief

Chapter 170: Chapter 170 - War of Belief

The royal chambers were empty.

Every hall, every corridor, every vaulted chamber had been searched three times over. Servants questioned. Guards interrogated. Hidden passages uncovered and checked. Still—nothing.

King Nzinga and his family had vanished.

Not just vanished—evaporated.

Lumingu stood in the heart of the royal palace, fists clenched behind his back as a trail of sweat slid down his spine. Around him, the smell of lamp oil and anxiety filled the war room. The palace walls, once symbols of authority, now felt like a cage of his own design.

"They were here," he growled. "We know they were here. And now they are not. So where did they go? I posted guards in every inch of this place, how did they just vanish!"

No one answered.

He turned sharply to Mobali, his second cousin and one of the nobles loyal to him. The man flinched under Lumingu’s glare.

"Speak."

Mobali cleared his throat. "We’ve checked the shrine vaults, the tunnels beneath the river gate, the old monastic chambers near the outer wall. We’ve bribed the priests. Interrogated the palace stewards. No sign of the king. Not a whisper. Not a trail."

"And the children?"

"Gone too. As if the whole family dissolved into smoke. The nobles still loyal to the king are also missing, all of them vanished in the night. "

Lumingu slammed a fist on the map table, sending carved stones scattering across the surface.

"I spent years getting this close!" he snapped. "And now, on the eve of the coup, my prize vanishes? No!"

He paced, jaw tight.

"The people need to see the king fall. To see him humiliated, broken. Only then can we replace him with something better. Until then, I’m just a man with whispers and ambition."

A second noble, younger and nervous, hesitated at the edge of the room. His name was Kosua. He licked his lips before speaking.

"My lord... it’s possible—just possible—that outside help was involved. Maybe they know our plans, they are probably planning to kill us all and take back the kingdom."

Lumingu’s eyes slid toward him.

Kosua braved on. "There have been... rumors. There are people who move like shadows in the night. People asking too many questions scattered all over. It could be... Nuri."

The room stilled.

Mobali looked at Kosua like he’d lost his mind.

Lumingu walked toward him slowly.

"Nuri," he said. "The dreamers to the east. The ones who pass out medicine for free like fools? If they were smart, they could have made Buganda theirs."

He barked a short laugh.

"They don’t even know I’m behind the plague. We killed hundreds—hundreds—and they still think it was a sickness sent by nature or God. They’re fools. They have no reach here."

Kosua bowed his head. "Still, sire, the timing—"

"Coincidence," Lumingu snapped. "Don’t give the sun-worshippers more credit than they deserve. They’re clever, yes. But they’re not this clever. This... this was a leak. A traitor, maybe. Someone tipped off the king. Someone in this room."

The nobles shifted uncomfortably.

Lumingu turned back to the map, tapping the palace with one long, ringed finger.

"Double the guards at the gates. Send scouts to the outlying hills and rivers. Recheck every noble estate. And sweep the foreign quarter—no ships leave this city until we find them."

He paused, then narrowed his eyes at Kosua.

"And if Nuri is here... we’ll find them. Eventually."

Outside, bells rang across the city as patrols were dispatched. Horses thundered across courtyards. Soldiers moved through the slums and gardens with torches and spears. The streets of Mbanza-Kongo became a hive of restless metal.

But above them, the moon hung silent. Watching.

The king was gone. And with him, the foundation beneath Lumingu’s rising empire had begun to crack.

***

The palace gates opened for no one after nightfall.

But on this night, a single rider galloped through the southern gate like a man being chased by death itself.

His horse was frothing and wild-eyed, its flanks soaked with sweat. The rider slumped forward, robes torn, hair matted, one sandal missing. Guards drew spears as he approached—but recognition flickered.

"It’s Mbuta!" one called. "The envoy we sent east!"

By the time he dismounted, Mbuta could barely walk. His eyes darted to every shadow. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. He stumbled up the palace steps as if fire licked at his heels.

When he reached Lumingu’s private quarters, he collapsed onto the floor, clutching at the threshold like a drowning man clinging to driftwood.

The chamber quieted. Candlelight cast flickering shadows across the map-strewn walls.

Lumingu looked up slowly from his writing desk, his expression unreadable.

"You’ve returned," he said. "Earlier than expected."

Mbuta looked up. His lips trembled.

"S-sire..." he rasped. "You have no idea... what they’ve built."

Lumingu signaled his guards to leave. Only Mobali remained, silent at the wall.

"Come," Lumingu said, leaning forward. "Tell me."

Mbuta knelt shakily, speaking in gasps.

"I... I was there, in their capital. I had to pose as a trader. Getting in was near impossible—they watch everything. But once I did..."

He shuddered, eyes wide.

"The city... it’s made of stone. Proper stone. Paved roads, sewer channels. Their buildings rise like monuments—but they are still new. Fresh. Growing. Their people are disciplined. Not afraid, but focused. There is no laziness in their streets. I didn’t even see beggars in the streets."

Lumingu narrowed his eyes, intrigued despite himself.

"And the military?"

Mbuta’s hand twitched.

"Sire... they have rifles. Not like the Portuguese—better. Sleek, silent, reloading like clockwork. They train in squads that move like water. Their soldiers wear no bright colors—just dark uniforms. And they don’t shout commands. They signal with hand signs."

He clutched at his throat.

"Once I stumbled upon the army training grounds, I was immediately surrounded. A woman appeared to be their leader, her eyes were cold, she looked at me like prey. She could’ve killed me. But she didn’t."

He met Lumingu’s gaze. "She let me live. But her eyes... they were not merciful. They were measuring."

Silence.

Lumingu studied him, one finger drumming on the table.

"She let you go?" he asked slowly.

Mbuta swallowed. "Y-yes."

"Why?"

"I don’t know. Maybe... maybe to send a message."

Mobali looked concerned. "Sire, if she followed him—"

"She did," Lumingu snapped. "No one that trained lets a spy go by accident."

He rose and moved to the window.

"She wanted us to know what she is. What they are. That was not mercy—it was psychological warfare."

He turned to Mbuta again.

"Where did you sleep on your way back? Which roads did you take?"

Mbuta blinked. "The west trail. Through the mountain pass."

Lumingu clapped sharply.

"Send a detachment of the Red Spears to comb every mile of his path," he ordered Mobali. "If any footprints shadow his, burn the villages near the trail. Smoke them out. If they let him live, they may already be here."

He turned his attention back to the broken spy.

"You’ve done well," he said softly. "You survived."

Mbuta didn’t reply.

Lumingu stepped closer.

"And that woman... did she say anything else?"

Mbuta stared at the floor.

"She just apologised for their cautiousness and told me to enjoy Nuri. She even offered to find me a job. I am sure she knew I was a spy. I waited for as long as I could before coming back."

That struck a nerve.

Lumingu’s jaw tightened. "Arrogant."

Mobali frowned. "Surely you’re exaggerating—"

"They had no Portuguese," Mbuta said quickly. "But there were foreigners. From what I heard many were former slaves. Walking free. Building things. Learning trades. I saw a woman dressed in silk robes with her face covered teaching children math under a baobab tree.

I saw a man from the east healing with powders and herbs. They have no churches... but there’s faith. It’s... different. But strong. Traditional. Rooted. The people believe in Nuri."

He dropped to his knees.

"You think they’re soft. But I saw soldiers march in silence. No chant. No trumpet. Just discipline. Like they’d been trained since birth to win wars they hope never to fight."

The chamber fell into stunned silence.

Then a slow, amused chuckle came from the corner.

The Portuguese man leaned against the column, arms crossed. A long scar ran down his neck, half-hidden by gold chains. His name was Dom Alexandre Soares, and his presence in Kongo was no accident.

"Well," Dom Alexandre said smoothly, "it seems we’ve found ourselves a worthy opponent at last."

"You find this amusing?" Lumingu asked, eyes narrow.

"Oh, deeply," Alexandre replied. "You’re thinking about armies and escape routes. I’m thinking about opportunity."

Lumingu raised an eyebrow.

"Nuri has no churches, you say?" the Portuguese man asked Kabale.

The scout nodded, still shaking.

"No missionaries. No crosses. No cathedrals."

Alexandre turned to Lumingu with a grin that was all wolf.

"Well, my dear friend, I think it’s time we send them some."

Lumingu smirked. "You mean priests?"

"No. Missionaries. The good kind. Armed with scripture and strategy." He stepped closer. "They like to say they’re different from the colonizers. But the world is too small for difference. One way or another, someone will teach them to kneel."

He laughed softly.

"For the glory of God."

Lumingu chuckled too, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"Let’s see what kind of god they bow to," he muttered.

High above, the two Shadows disappeared into the ceiling beams, already sprinting across rooftops before the words stopped echoing.

The war of whispers had begun.

And now, it would become something more.