Njuwa lay awake long after Jengo's soft snores filled the small hut. The warmth of the fire crackled beside them, the scent of burning wood mixing with the lingering aroma of the evening's stew. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his belly was full, his body was warm, and he was not shackled. But sleep did not come.
He kept replaying the events in his mind—the raid on his village, the cold iron chains biting into his wrists, the long journey to the Baron's fortress. The endless days of servitude. Kifo's last words before they fled.
"Run."
Njuwa clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Kifo had stayed behind to buy them time. Was he still alive? Had he been captured? Killed?
He would find out.
He would not abandon the only friend he had left.
A soft rustling sound caught his attention. He turned his head just in time to see Nyoka moving through the hut, placing fresh logs into the fire. Her wrinkled face was illuminated by the flames, her sharp eyes glinting in the dim light.
"You should rest," she said without looking at him. "Your body may be free, but your mind is still in chains."
Njuwa hesitated. He had met many elders in his village before the raid, wise men and women who spoke in riddles and stories. Nyoka had that same presence.
"I can't rest," he admitted.
She nodded as if she had expected his answer. "Because of the one you left behind?"
Njuwa's breath caught in his throat. "How did you—"
Nyoka chuckled softly. "Because I've seen that look before. It's the look of someone who carries a debt heavier than his own soul."
Silence stretched between them. Outside, the distant hoot of an owl echoed through the trees.
"What do you plan to do?" she asked finally.
Njuwa sat up slowly, careful not to wake Jengo. He met Nyoka's gaze, his voice steady. "I have to go back."
She studied him for a long moment before sighing. "Foolish. But expected."
Njuwa frowned. "You think it's foolish to save someone who saved me?"
Nyoka chuckled again, her laugh dry like leaves in the wind. "No. I think it's foolish to believe you can walk back into the jaws of a beast and come out unscathed."
He said nothing.
She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. "If you truly mean to return, you cannot go as you are now."
Njuwa swallowed the sharp retort on his tongue. She was right. He was no warrior. No cultivator. He had escaped by luck, not skill. If he returned as he was, he would only be recaptured—or worse.
"What do you suggest?" he asked carefully.
Nyoka's eyes gleamed. "Training."
Njuwa blinked. "Training?"
She nodded. "Your body is weak. Your mind is sharp, but sharp minds alone don't cut through steel. If you wish to survive, you must become more."
He had never trained before. His village had been peaceful, its warriors few and scattered. Cultivation had been something distant—tales of powerful lords, mystical techniques, and warriors who could shatter boulders with a single strike.
But if it meant saving Kifo… he would do whatever it took.
"I'm ready," he said firmly.
Nyoka smirked. "We'll see about that."
---
The next morning, Njuwa and Jengo stood in the clearing behind Nyoka's hut. The old woman had given them both simple wooden staves, the weight unfamiliar in their hands.
Jengo yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What exactly are we doing?"
Nyoka stepped forward, her back straight despite her age. "Strength is important, but strength without control is like an ox with no yoke. We begin with discipline."
Jengo groaned. "Sounds boring."
Nyoka's hand shot out like a whip, striking the side of his staff. Jengo yelped as the force sent vibrations up his arms.
"Boring or not, it will keep you alive," she said sternly. "Now. Show me how you stand."
They spent the morning learning footwork. It was harder than Njuwa expected. Nyoka drilled them relentlessly, making them shift their weight properly, teaching them to stay balanced.
"Power is meaningless if you fall before the fight begins," she said.
By midday, Njuwa's legs burned, his arms aching from holding the staff properly. Jengo had collapsed twice, grumbling curses under his breath.
"You're weak," Nyoka said bluntly.
Jengo scowled. "Thanks."
"I do not say it to insult you," she continued. "I say it because it is true. But weakness is not a curse—it is a beginning."
Njuwa tightened his grip on the staff. He had never thought of himself as strong. But for Kifo, he would become strong.
"Again," he said.
Nyoka smiled. "Good."
---
Days passed. Then a week.
They trained at dawn, their bodies pushed to the limits. They learned how to strike, how to parry, how to move without wasting energy. Their bodies ached, but each day they improved.
Nyoka did not teach them cultivation techniques—she said they were not ready. Instead, she made them run, made them fight, made them learn how to use their own bodies before relying on anything else.
"Your spirit is a blade," she told them one night. "But a blade must first be forged before it can cut."
Njuwa listened, absorbing every word.
He could feel the change in himself. His muscles no longer ached as they once did. His balance was better. He reacted faster.
But it was not enough.
Kifo was still in the fortress.
One night, as the fire crackled, Njuwa turned to Nyoka. "When will I be ready?"
She studied him carefully. "Do you truly want to know?"
"Yes."
She motioned for him to follow her. They walked beyond the clearing, into the darkened woods. The moon cast pale light between the trees.
"Strike me," Nyoka said suddenly.
Njuwa hesitated. "What?"
"Strike me," she repeated. "With everything you have."
He frowned but obeyed, gripping his staff and lunging forward.
Nyoka moved like water. One moment she was in front of him, the next she had sidestepped his blow effortlessly.
He swung again. She dodged.
He tried a feint. She was already two steps ahead.
Then she struck.
Her staff hit his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. His vision blurred as he stumbled back.
"You are faster," she admitted. "Stronger than when you arrived."
She lowered her staff. "But you are not ready."
Njuwa gritted his teeth, frustration boiling inside him. "Then when?"
She met his gaze. "When you can land a single blow on me, you will be ready."
He wiped the sweat from his brow, heart pounding.
Then he tightened his grip on his staff.
He would train.
He would become stronger.
And when the time came, he would return to the fortress.
He would not fail Kifo.