Rumors travel faster than caravans. By the time winter winds swept across Harar, whispers of "the prince's rifles" had reached both court and countryside.
Some nobles dismissed it as exaggeration.
"Rifles made by peasants? Impossible," scoffed Grazmach Tulu over a goblet of honey wine. "If the boy makes weapons, they are toys at best."
Others felt unease.
"If it is true," murmured Ras Wolde — who had not forgotten his brush with exposure — "then the boy aims to outshine even his father. Today rifles, tomorrow what? A throne not yet meant for him?"
But the loudest whispers came from beyond Ethiopia's borders. In Massawa, Italian officers heard reports of secret forges in Harar. At first, they laughed. But when a trader described the sound of waterwheels hammering steel, the laughter faltered. One officer muttered, "If Ethiopia builds its own guns, conquest becomes a graveyard."
Letters were dispatched to Rome.
Meanwhile, Tafari remained outwardly calm, tending to his duties as though nothing had changed. But inside, he knew the danger. "We cannot remain in shadow forever," he told Abebe one night. "Sooner or later, we must show what we have made. But we must choose how."
The chance came sooner than expected.
Bandits had struck a caravan near the Ogaden border, killing merchants and stealing goods. Normally, Ras Makonnen would send troops with imported rifles to deal with such raiders. But this time, Tafari stepped forward.
"Father," he said, bowing low, "let me take a small band of men — armed with our new rifles. Let us prove their worth, not just in workshops, but in battle."
Makonnen studied him. The boy before him was still only sixteen, yet his voice carried the weight of command. After a long silence, he nodded. "Very well. But if you fail, Tafari, I will answer to the emperor for your folly."
Two nights later, Tafari led twenty men into the scrublands of the Ogaden. They were not seasoned soldiers but a mix of guards, smiths, and loyal peasants. Each carried one of the new bolt-action rifles, their hands tight with both fear and pride.
"Remember," Tafari told them, crouched by the firelight before dawn, "our strength is not in numbers but in fire. Aim true, keep formation, and the enemy will think we are an army twice our size."
When the bandits attacked at sunrise, swooping down with swords and muskets, Tafari's men held their ground.
"Fire!" he shouted.
The rifles cracked like thunder. Bandits fell, their charges shattered by disciplined volleys. Those who tried to reload their old muskets found no chance — the bolt rifles fired again and again, swift and merciless.
By the time the smoke cleared, a dozen bandits lay dead, the rest fleeing into the hills. Tafari's band had lost only two men.
The survivors raised their rifles high, voices echoing: "Ethiopia's own fire! Ethiopia's own strength!"
News spread even faster than rumor. Soldiers whispered that Tafari's rifles had slain raiders with impossible speed. Merchants claimed they saw bandits running in terror from "a thunder that rolled without end."
Nobles reacted with mixed fear and fascination. Some sent envoys to Ras Makonnen, offering loyalty in exchange for "a share" of these weapons. Others muttered that the boy was arming his own army under his father's nose.
Even the emperor himself, Menelik II, heard the tale in Addis Ababa. He sent word to Makonnen: Bring the rifles to court. I wish to see with my own eyes.
In Harar, Ras Makonnen confronted his son. His voice was stern, but his eyes betrayed pride.
"You have proven your rifles. You have silenced doubters. But understand this, Tafari — you walk a knife's edge. Nobles will envy you. Foreigners will fear you. And fear makes men act rashly."
Tafari bowed. "Let them envy, let them fear. Ethiopia must not crawl behind the world. If we do not rise, we die."
Makonnen placed a hand on his son's shoulder, heavy with both warning and hope.
"Then rise carefully, my son. For the higher you climb, the greater the fall."
That night, Tafari lay awake, staring at the rifle beside his bed. His first trial was over. His first victory had been won. But the greatest challenge now loomed before him: taking Ethiopia's hidden fire into the heart of its politics — and convincing the emperor himself.