The sun had barely risen when Njuwa stepped onto the training field. The dirt beneath his feet was still damp with morning dew, but the air carried the promise of another grueling day. Jengo was beside him, stretching his sore limbs with a look of deep misery.
"I swear," Jengo muttered, rolling his shoulders, "if I survive this training, I'll become a legend. Or at least someone with the ability to lift a rock without crying."
Njuwa smirked but didn't reply. His mind was elsewhere—on the weapons laid out before them.
Nyoka stood in the center of the yard, arms crossed, her sharp eyes watching each of them. Before her, a collection of weapons gleamed in the dim light. There were swords, spears, daggers, and even a few crude wooden clubs.
"Today," Nyoka announced, "we see if you have what it takes to wield a weapon."
Jengo groaned. "I barely have the strength to wield a spoon."
Nyoka ignored him. She walked toward the weapons, gesturing for them to step forward. "Choose wisely."
Njuwa hesitated. His hands twitched as he considered his options. The sword seemed like the obvious choice—it was the weapon of warriors, of heroes in stories. But something in him resisted the idea. It felt… unnatural.
Instead, his eyes drifted toward the short spear. It was simple, sturdy, and versatile. A weapon that allowed both attack and defense. Something about it felt right.
He reached for it, the cool metal sending a shiver up his arm.
Beside him, Jengo grabbed a wooden club, sighing dramatically. "I was hoping for something a little more heroic, but at this point, I'll take anything that won't break my arms."
Nyoka watched them both, her lips curling into a smirk. "Interesting choices. Let's see if you can use them."
The First Strike
The training began immediately. Nyoka wasted no time in throwing them into combat.
"Attack me," she said simply, standing unarmed.
Jengo hesitated. "Are you—"
She moved before he could finish. In a blur, she stepped forward, twisted his arm, and sent him crashing to the ground.
Jengo groaned. "I should've known."
Njuwa tightened his grip on the spear. He had seen Nyoka's speed before—attacking blindly would be foolish. He needed to use his head.
He lunged forward, aiming a quick thrust at her midsection. Nyoka sidestepped with ease, but he was ready for it. He twisted the spear, changing its direction mid-motion.
For the first time, Nyoka looked mildly impressed. She knocked the spear aside at the last moment, her movements still faster than he could fully track.
"Better," she admitted.
Jengo sat up, rubbing his sore arm. "Oh, so he gets a compliment?"
Nyoka ignored him. "Again."
They attacked.
Again and again.
Hours passed as Nyoka taught them the basics—how to block, how to counter, how to move. Every lesson was delivered with brutal efficiency. Mistakes were met with pain. Success was met with more challenges.
Njuwa lost count of how many times he was thrown down, how many times his arms burned from holding the spear in a defensive stance. But he kept pushing forward.
His body was changing. The weight training, the sparring—it was all starting to make sense.
The Taste of Blood
By midday, Njuwa was panting, sweat dripping from his brow. Jengo lay sprawled on the ground, barely moving.
Nyoka finally called for a break. "Not bad," she admitted. "For weaklings."
Jengo groaned. "I'll take it as a compliment."
They sat by the side of the training yard, drinking water and trying to catch their breath. Njuwa's hands trembled slightly from the intensity of the morning session, but something deep inside him felt… satisfied.
Then, the sound of footsteps caught their attention.
A group of armed men approached the yard. They weren't trainees. Their armor was heavier, their weapons sharper.
Njuwa's stomach tensed. He recognized these men.
They were the Baron's soldiers.
Nyoka stood as they approached. A tall, scarred man stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over Njuwa and Jengo with mild disinterest.
"The Baron has ordered a demonstration," he said, his voice rough. "The new slaves will fight against real opponents."
Jengo paled. "Wait, what?"
Nyoka smirked. "Perfect timing." She turned to Njuwa and Jengo. "You've trained. Now you fight."
Njuwa felt a strange mix of emotions—fear, excitement, and something else he couldn't quite name.
The soldiers stepped aside, revealing their chosen opponents. Two young warriors, slightly older than Njuwa and Jengo, stepped forward. Their expressions were unreadable, but their stances showed experience.
"These are real fights," Nyoka said. "No holding back."
Njuwa tightened his grip on his spear.
The Fight Begins
Jengo's opponent moved first, swinging a wooden sword. Jengo barely dodged in time, stumbling backward.
Njuwa had no time to worry about him. His own opponent lunged, a dagger flashing toward his ribs.
Instinct took over.
Njuwa twisted to the side, bringing his spear up in a defensive sweep. The clash of metal rang through the yard as he barely deflected the blow.
His opponent was fast. Faster than anyone he had fought before.
Njuwa stepped back, adjusting his grip. He had to think. He had to use what he had learned.
The next attack came—a flurry of quick slashes. Njuwa deflected one, dodged another, but the third scraped across his shoulder, drawing blood.
Pain flared, but he didn't let it slow him down.
He countered.
The spear struck out, aiming for his opponent's knee. It was a calculated move—Nyoka had taught him to attack weaknesses.
The warrior twisted, barely avoiding the full impact, but the strike still landed. He stumbled slightly.
It was all the opening Njuwa needed.
He surged forward, driving the blunt end of his spear into his opponent's chest. The force sent the warrior staggering backward.
Before he could recover, Njuwa struck again—this time aiming high. The wooden shaft of the spear smacked against his opponent's temple, sending him crumpling to the ground.
Silence filled the training yard.
Then, Nyoka's voice rang out.
"Well done."
Njuwa stood over his fallen opponent, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The blood on his shoulder still trickled, but he barely felt it.
For the first time since being taken as a slave…
He felt like a warrior.