Chapter 8 Shadows of the West”

The cold night hung heavily over the village as Faisal made his way to Rahim Khan's quarters. His footsteps echoed in the stillness, the rhythmic sound of the forge now a faint hum in the distance. The warlord wanted to speak, and Faisal knew that the news would concern Malik Zaman.

Despite Rahim's victory in the valley ambush, Malik was far from defeated. The game was only beginning, and Faisal could sense that Malik was preparing for something more—something desperate. But that was expected. Faisal had planned for this. Every step that Malik took was calculated, anticipated.

When he entered Rahim's quarters, he found the warlord brooding over a map of the region. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls. Rahim's face, illuminated by the flickering light, looked grim, etched with lines of frustration. His losses had been heavier than expected, and though he had crushed Malik's forces, he knew that another attack was coming.

"Faisal," Rahim said without looking up, his voice rough with exhaustion. "We have news. Malik Zaman is gathering men. More than before. He's regrouped, and this time he has mercenaries with him. From the west."

Faisal stepped closer to the table, his eyes scanning the map. "How many?"

"Three hundred more men. And these mercenaries—British, we think. They've been spotted with newer weapons. Something we haven't seen before."

Faisal's mind raced. The British were already here, in this region, moving ahead of their empire's expansion. It was sooner than he had expected. The Great Game—the conflict between Britain and Russia over control of Central Asia—was still in its early stages, but it seemed that Afghanistan had already caught their attention. Malik must have struck a deal, trading loyalty for firepower.

Rahim's voice cut through his thoughts. "We need those cannons ready. If Malik attacks with these new mercenaries, our muskets won't be enough."

Faisal nodded. "The cannons are in production. We'll have the first few ready within a week. But if Malik has British weapons, we'll need more than artillery. They'll have range, precision—things we can't match yet."

Rahim frowned, clearly not pleased with the news. "So what do we do?"

"We adjust," Faisal said calmly. "We still control the terrain. We use the mountains to our advantage. The British may have advanced rifles, but they don't know the land like we do. I'll position your men in strategic points along the ridge. When Malik's forces approach, we'll bombard them from above, drawing them into the narrow passes. That's where we'll use the cannons."

Rahim grunted, folding his arms. "And what about the British mercenaries?"

Faisal's eyes darkened. "Leave them to me."

There was a moment of silence. Rahim studied Faisal, the tension in the room thickening. Faisal knew the warlord was trying to gauge him, trying to understand this strange man who had given him so much power yet kept his own motives hidden. But Faisal wasn't worried. Rahim's mind was too focused on the immediate—on holding his territory and surviving the next battle. He didn't see the larger game unfolding.

After a long pause, Rahim nodded. "Do what you must."

Faisal turned and left the room, his thoughts already shifting toward the task at hand. The British mercenaries were a complication, but they were also an opportunity. If he could capture some of their weapons, study them, perhaps reverse-engineer them, it would give him an edge in the future. And the future was all that mattered.

As Faisal made his way back to the workshop, the cold night air biting at his skin, his mind wandered to the strategies he had learned from studying the endless wars in Warhammer 40k. The grimdark universe had always fascinated him, not just for its scale but for the ruthless efficiency of its battles. The Imperium of Man, with its vast armies and god-like rulers, wasn't so different from this world. Everything boiled down to war and survival.

But unlike the God-Emperor, Faisal wasn't content with brute force. Power wasn't simply about overwhelming numbers or weapons. It was about knowing when to strike, when to pull back, and when to let your enemies destroy themselves. It was about manipulation, control—turning every situation to your advantage.

As he entered the workshop, the heat from the forge washed over him, driving the chill from his bones. The workers were still at their stations, hammering away at the cannon parts, their faces flushed from the effort. Faisal moved through them, inspecting the progress.

"How long until the first batch is ready?" he asked one of the foremen.

"Four more days, my lord. The first two cannons will be complete by then."

Faisal nodded. "Good. We'll need them sooner than expected."

He walked deeper into the workshop, his mind already racing ahead to the coming conflict. Malik Zaman wouldn't expect an attack from above. The mountains would be Rahim's advantage, and with the cannons raining down fire from the ridges, Malik's forces would be trapped. But it was the British mercenaries that intrigued Faisal the most. Their presence meant that the world beyond Afghanistan was already shifting. The empires were beginning to take notice, and that meant Faisal's timeline had just accelerated.

Later that night, as the workers left the forge and the village fell into silence, Faisal returned to his small quarters. The weight of his ambitions and the world beyond the mountains pressed on him, but it didn't break him. If anything, it fueled him. The British. The Russians. The Ottomans. They were all moving, and Afghanistan would soon be caught in the middle.

He knelt on his prayer mat, the quiet of the night settling around him. He had grown up far from the heartlands of Islam, but his faith had always been with him. It was his anchor, his reminder that there was something greater than all of this—greater than his ambitions, his power, or the world he was shaping.

As he bowed his head, the words of the Quran echoed in his mind, grounding him. "Say, 'O Allah, Owner of Sovereignty, You give sovereignty to whom You will and You take sovereignty away from whom You will.'" The verse reminded him that no matter how powerful he became, no matter how much control he gained, everything ultimately belonged to God.

But even in that submission, Faisal knew that his role was to act. To build. To shape the future of this land. And if he had been given this knowledge—this system, this second chance—then it was his duty to use it.

As he finished his prayer, he rose and stood by the window, looking out at the dark mountains that surrounded the village. Somewhere out there, Malik Zaman was gathering his forces, and the British mercenaries were preparing for war.

But Faisal was prepared too. The cannons would be ready. And when the battle came, he would be waiting.