Chapter 51 - The Fall of Kilwa
Lusweti and his ten warriors were already on their way to Kilwa. Events were spiraling out of control. Almeida’s plans were nearing fruition.
The nobles and ministers of Kilwa had swallowed his lies whole, strutting through the kingdom as if they already owned it. Their arrogance blinded them to the knife at their throats.
Almeida sat in his fortified stronghold, watching the chaos unfold. He had orchestrated all of this without lifting a single finger.
"I really am meant to be a king," he mused, grinning. "Portugal will regret abandoning me. Once I take over this place and drain it of its riches, they’ll come crawling back, begging to make deals with me."
He laughed, the sound hollow and sharp.
Failure was a thought that never crossed his mind. Even so, he would not allow complacency to be his downfall. Overconfidence led to ruin, and he had come too far for that.
He sent his mercenaries to spread through every alley and every entrance of Kilwa, covering all paths of escape. No one would leave this city alive unless he willed it.
Turning to the leader of his mercenaries, he sneered, "Once those greedy fools kill the Sultan, kill them all. Anyone who resists will be enslaved. These people are products—try not to damage the civilians too much. The healthier ones fetch a higher price."
A dark smirk crossed his face, his eyes alight with cruel amusement.
Wazir led the nobles directly to the palace. Sultan Muhammad Ibn lounged in his chamber, a goblet of wine in hand. Drunken arrogance filled his veins. He had convinced himself of his future riches, refusing to consider any other outcome.
"Sultan," Wazir began, voice steady. "How fares the war?"