Chap­ter 1 – Bel­gian and Arab opens with Lieu­tenant Albert Wer­p­er, a man once bound by mil­i­tary dis­ci­pline, now unrav­el­ing in the unfor­giv­ing iso­la­tion of the Con­go. His demo­tion, a result of per­son­al fail­ure, has left him bit­ter and men­tal­ly frayed. Months of jun­gle exile erode his con­science until one fate­ful day, dri­ven by sup­pressed rage and delu­sions of restor­ing his hon­or, he mur­ders his supe­ri­or offi­cer. The act is not one of jus­tice but des­per­a­tion. As real­iza­tion sets in, Wer­p­er flees into the dense for­est, hunt­ed by those who once served beside him. Exhaust­ed and at the brink of col­lapse, he is dis­cov­ered by none oth­er than Achmet Zek, a feared Arab raider with a rep­u­ta­tion for bru­tal­i­ty and dis­dain for colo­nial author­i­ty. Werper’s down­fall is no longer a secret shame; it becomes his pass­port into a world far dark­er than any mil­i­tary court could devise.

Upon their first tense meet­ing, Wer­p­er, rec­og­niz­ing Zek’s hatred for Europeans—especially Belgians—spins a tale of shared resent­ment. He claims he, too, was betrayed by the Bel­gian com­mand, offer­ing his mil­i­tary expe­ri­ence in exchange for pro­tec­tion. Intrigued, but still sus­pi­cious, Zek tests Werper’s loy­al­ty, even­tu­al­ly allow­ing him into his raid­ing par­ty. As weeks pass, Wer­p­er proves himself—not through val­or, but through cal­cu­lat­ed ruth­less­ness. He adapts quick­ly to the raiders’ mer­ci­less ways, find­ing unex­pect­ed com­fort in the law­less­ness. His inte­gra­tion into Zek’s band is not marked by cama­raderie but mutu­al exploita­tion. Both men under­stand that trust, in their world, is a cur­ren­cy far too expen­sive. It is dur­ing these ear­ly days that Zek begins to speak of a long-stand­ing obstacle—Tarzan, pro­tec­tor of the Waziri and guardian of hid­den wealth.

The plan Zek pro­pos­es is as auda­cious as it is cru­el: cap­ture or ran­som Lady Jane, Tarzan’s wife, to force the ape-man into sub­mis­sion. Wer­p­er, at first dis­turbed, is not entire­ly immune to the appeal of gold. His con­science protests, but it is quick­ly over­ruled by prag­ma­tism. Ratio­nal­iza­tions come eas­i­ly in the jun­gle. He tells him­self she is a sym­bol of the colo­nial struc­ture that cast him aside—a woman of priv­i­lege in a world that deemed him dis­pos­able. Her fate, he con­cludes, is not his bur­den. Besides, to oppose Zek is to invite death. And so, Wer­p­er accepts the scheme, dri­ven less by greed than by fear, and a grow­ing sense that redemp­tion is beyond reach. He has cho­sen sur­vival, even if it means sac­ri­fic­ing what remains of his moral com­pass.

As Wer­p­er and Zek plot beneath the fad­ed canopy of the raiders’ tent, the jun­gle out­side grows dark­er, mir­ror­ing the decay tak­ing place with­in. Their shared ambi­tion binds them, but each har­bors his own agen­da. Zek wants revenge, pow­er, and wealth. Wer­p­er craves free­dom from the past and a new iden­ti­ty unbur­dened by guilt or insignif­i­cance. Their alliance is built not on shared goals, but mutu­al need—dangerous and unsta­ble. The tent becomes a sym­bol of their pact: weath­ered, patched, and propped up by threats and des­per­a­tion. With­in this space, deci­sions are made that will soon col­lide with Tarzan’s world of loy­al­ty, jus­tice, and raw strength. As they set their plan into motion, the stage is pre­pared for a bru­tal con­fronta­tion between greed and integri­ty, between sur­vival and sac­ri­fice.

This open­ing chap­ter lays bare the inner frac­tures of Werper’s soul, expos­ing how fear, exile, and ambi­tion can warp even the most dis­ci­plined man. His fall is not sud­den, but methodical—a step-by-step sur­ren­der of prin­ci­ples to the wilder­ness of his own mak­ing. At its core, this is a tale about choice: not the ones forced upon us, but the ones we make when no one is watch­ing. Werper’s descent con­trasts sharply with the loom­ing fig­ure of Tarzan, whose val­ues, though pri­mal, remain ground­ed in hon­or. As the paths of these three men—Werper, Zek, and Tarzan—begin to con­verge, the jun­gle read­ies itself for a reck­on­ing where sur­vival will test the soul more than the body.