Chapter 20 - The Foundation of a Kingdom 2

Doubt was natural. Even expected.

Some of the new members of the Nuri Kingdom—former captives, refugees, and even some of the Angwenyi—were uncertain about following Khisa's commands. To them, he was still a child, no matter his title as Prince.

But time and time again, he proved them wrong.

Khisa never hesitated to lead from the front. He did not demand blind obedience; he earned it through action. His strategies worked. His decisions bore fruit. And slowly, skepticism turned into respect.

Yet, he knew respect alone would not build a kingdom.

"The foundation of any kingdom is literacy," he declared at a council meeting. "If our people can read and write, no one can trick them in trade. They will not be cheated out of their land or wealth. Knowledge is power, and we will wield it."

The villagers murmured among themselves. Some nodded in agreement, while others scoffed.

An elder named Mwanzu, a man known for his skepticism, crossed his arms. "Books will not build houses, boy. They will not put food on our tables. You speak like a man, but you think like a child."

Khisa met his gaze without flinching. "A fool signs a trade deal with only his thumbprint because he cannot read. A fool gives away his land because he does not understand the words on a contract. We will not be fools."

The murmurs grew quieter.

Still, education required teachers.

Among the freed captives was a man named Mshale. He had been a slave under Cornelis for ten years, forced to act as an interpreter between the Dutch and the Swahili-speaking traders. Unlike many, he had learned to read and write both languages.

Khisa met with him personally. "I need you to teach our children Dutch and Swahili."

Mshale hesitated. "Why Dutch?"

Khisa's expression was cold. "The enemy's language is a weapon. If we understand them, we can use their words against them. We will know their deals, their plans. And when the time comes, we will not fight blindly."

Mshale nodded. "Then I will teach them."

Thus, a class was formed, where children learned languages alongside their usual lessons. It was slow at first, but as the days passed, even the skeptical parents saw the value.

One afternoon, Khisa visited the class, curious about their progress.

A young boy frowned as he struggled to pronounce a Dutch phrase. "Het is... warm?"

Mshale chuckled. "Close! 'Het is warm.' Say it again."

The boy tried again, but his thick accent twisted the words. The other children giggled.

Khisa smirked. "Seems like Dutch is harder than swinging a stick, huh?"

The boy shot him a frustrated look. "You try it, then!"

Khisa raised an eyebrow and repeated the phrase perfectly. The class groaned in defeat.

"I still don't like it," the boy muttered. "Swahili is easier!"

Khisa only laughed. "Maybe. But knowing both will make you stronger."

With new people arriving daily, land became a pressing issue. They needed more of it—and fast.

Khisa sent out scouts in all directions. "Find land that is unclaimed. If no one lives there, we will make it ours."

Days passed, and reports trickled in. There were vast stretches of land to the east, filled with fertile soil and flowing rivers. To the south, dense forests. The west held rocky terrain but rich minerals.

But the land was not without dangers.

Wild animals attacked some of the scouting parties. A man returned with deep claw marks across his back. Another limped home, a lion's bite nearly taking his leg.

The villagers were angry.

"We should kill them!" one man shouted at the next gathering. "The animals will not stop! They hunt us as if we are prey!"

The crowd agreed. Many had lost loved ones to the wild. They wanted blood.

But Khisa stood firm.

"We will not slaughter them," he said.

The villagers muttered in disbelief.

Mwanzu sneered. "So you would have us cower like prey?"

Khisa shook his head. "No. We will learn to live with them. We are taking their land as much as they are invading ours. We must find a balance."

"This is foolishness!" another man shouted. "You speak like a child!"

Khisa's gaze hardened. "No. I speak like a leader. We will not destroy the land we claim. If we hunt recklessly, there will be nothing left for the next generation. Instead, we will track their movements, build stronger defenses, and learn when and where to hunt safely."

It was not a popular decision. But he would not waver.

Later that evening, Khisa personally visited one of the injured men, a warrior named Bwana. His arm was bandaged, deep claw marks running along his skin.

"How do you feel?" Khisa asked.

Bwana chuckled weakly. "Like I lost a fight to a leopard."

Khisa smirked. "You did."

Bwana sighed. "And you still think we shouldn't kill them?"

"Not all of them," Khisa said. "We will learn from this. Next time, we'll know how to avoid them."

Bwana studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, Prince. Let's see if your way works."

Using Ayaan's guidance, Khisa took note of every mineral in the area. Gold, iron, copper—all valuable. But one discovery stood out above the rest.

Limestone.

They had found a mine filled with it. If he could refine it into cement, their construction would change forever. Brick buildings took months to build, but with cement? They could create structures faster, stronger, and more durable.

"We will make this kingdom richer than any have ever seen," Khisa murmured, staring at the pale stone in his hands.

Despite all his responsibilities, Khisa was still a child.

One afternoon, he found himself at the newly built playground. Children ran across the wooden beams, swung from ropes, and kicked a Mbumbwa ball across the field.

"Prince! Play with us!" a girl called.

Khisa hesitated for only a second before he grinned. "Alright, but I won't go easy on you!"

He dashed onto the field, joining the game. Dust rose as feet pounded against the earth. Laughter filled the air. For a while, there were no politics, no battles, no expectations. Just the thrill of the game.

And for a brief moment, Khisa was not a prince, not a leader—just a boy