The Wrath of the Unchained

Khisa stood before the blacksmiths, watching as the forges roared with heat. Sweat glistened on their skin as they hammered away at molten steel, shaping it into the tools that would carry them into the unknown.

"I need weapons," he said, his voice commanding. "Not just any weapons—the best you have ever made."

The blacksmiths exchanged glances before nodding, listening intently as he continued.

"For myself, a double-sided axe—one with balance, reach, and strength. It must be sharp enough to cleave through shields but durable enough to withstand countless battles."

One of the smiths, an older man named Mwinyi, frowned. "That's a heavy weapon. Even for a warrior like you."

Khisa nodded. "Then make it so that only I can wield it properly."

Mwinyi grunted in approval before gesturing for a younger apprentice to start gathering materials.

"And for the others," Khisa continued, "They will come request what weapons they wish we also need many daggers and arrows. We need enough to fight any enemy up close or from a distance."

"What of armor?" another smith asked.

"Stronger than before. Make it light, but capable of stopping arrows and bullets. Use everything we've learned from the slavers' weapons."

The smiths murmured among themselves before Mwinyi spoke again. "This will take time, but we will do it."