February 14, 1869.
A party of more than fifty men set out for the capital of the Yeke Kingdom. Leading them was Merke, who had declared at the Mbeya expansion conference half a month earlier that war should be waged against the Yeke Kingdom.
Marching across the grasslands was somewhat difficult, especially on foot. Svit had assigned them horse-drawn carriages, but the group could only take turns resting inside them. It was not that Svit was being stingy; carriages were strategic resources in East Africa and were scarce in number.
At a glance, these fifty-odd men were clearly East Africa's regular troops. They carried standardized Dreyse rifles, wore clean and tidy Prussian military uniforms with nothing skimmed off the allotment, and had simple grenades produced by East African armories hanging at their waists.
"This weather is truly stifling!" Merke said to the accompanying personnel as he wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief.
"What is this? You're in the midst of blessings and don't know it. The eastern coast is where heat truly kills people. On the inland plateau, the sunlight is merely stronger; its heat is far inferior to that of the eastern coast," Becker said to Merke.
Becker was the sixth man at the expansion conference who had cut off Merke's spellcasting at the last moment. His proposal had won Svit's high regard.
Thus, Becker had been authorized to undertake the important task of this mission to the Yeke Kingdom, while Merke was responsible for the party's security along the journey.
"Mr. Becker, do you think Msiri will accept our goodwill?" Merke asked Becker.
"Hehe, Msiri has already reached a point where there is nowhere to go. If he does not rely on us, his kingdom faces the danger of destruction. Msiri is a clever man.