Chapter 26 - The Rite of Kings

The scent of fresh soap lingered in the air, a strange yet welcome addition to Nuri.

Khisa had spent weeks perfecting the process, mixing animal fat, ash, and water to create a substance that would save lives. The first batches had been uneven, some too soft, others too harsh, but after several attempts, he had finally mastered it.

Each household received a bar of soap, and he took it upon himself to teach them how to use it.

At first, many of the villagers had laughed at the idea. "Water has always been enough," they argued.

But Khisa had been prepared for their skepticism.

He turned to the children.

Gathering them near the river, he clapped his hands together and grinned.

"We're going to learn a song," he declared.

At first, they fidgeted, unsure. Then, as he began singing, the rhythm caught their attention:

"Rub your hands, scrub them well!

Clean and fresh, no dirt to tell!

Rinse them here, rinse them there,

Stay healthy, show you care!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd as Khisa dramatically acted out each motion, scrubbing his arms, washing his face, even rinsing between his toes. Soon, the children sang along, mimicking his movements.

The adults watched in amusement, until the older women—who ran the households and tended to the sick—started to take the lesson seriously. If it could protect their families, it was worth the effort.

Within days, washing with soap became a habit.

The village air smelled cleaner, sickness lessened, and even the elders grudgingly admitted that Khisa's strange ways had their merits.

And with that, another step toward a stronger Nuri had been secured.

With hygiene taken care of, Khisa turned to his next challenge—travel safety.

The lands around Nuri were rich with wildlife. Elephants, lions, and hyenas roamed freely, and while they were a part of the land, they also posed a threat to traders and villagers traveling between settlements.

But the answer was not to wipe them out—that would destroy the balance of nature.

Instead, Khisa decided to build roads—clear, marked paths that would make travel safer without disturbing the natural world.

The system had already fed him information on city planning, and while he couldn't build a grand city yet, he could lay the foundations.

His first attempt at using cement had been a success, though many villagers still preferred bricks.

Change took time.

But day by day, Nuri was evolving.

To make the roads a reality, Khisa needed more manpower. He couldn't force people to work—he had to negotiate with the villages he had visited, convincing them to send their people to Nuri to learn.

But before that, there was one final thing standing between him and his full authority—

The Coming of Age Ceremony

Khisa had spent years training, learning, and leading. He had fought battles grown men feared and made decisions far beyond his age.

And yet, in the eyes of tradition, he was still a boy.

That was about to change.

The coming-of-age ceremony was one of the most sacred traditions of the Luhya. Imbalu—the rite of circumcision—marked the transition from boyhood to manhood.

It was not just a physical test—it was a test of courage, discipline, and resilience.

And Khisa would not be exempt.

On the morning of the ceremony, the village buzzed with anticipation.

Drums thundered across Nuri, announcing the event. Women sang in high-pitched ululations, while warriors danced in preparation, their spears and shields reflecting the morning sun.

The initiates—including Khisa—stood in a line, their bodies painted with white clay to symbolize purity. Their upper bodies were bare, their lower halves wrapped in ceremonial cloth.

Khisa stood tall, but inside, his stomach coiled with nerves.

This was not like facing an enemy in battle—this was standing still, unflinching, as pain was inflicted upon him.

It was a test of resolve.

As the elders approached with their blades, the crowd fell silent.

Lusweti and Nanjala stood at the front, watching him intently.

Lusweti's eyes held pride—not just for his son's courage, but for the man he had become.

Nanjala, however, clutched her hands together, her face unreadable.

Khisa took a deep breath.

The elders moved in quickly—the cut was swift, practiced, merciless.

Pain sliced through him, sharp and unforgiving, but he did not make a sound.

That was the rule. That was the expectation.

Not a flinch. Not a tear.

He clenched his jaw, his breathing slow and controlled.

The onlookers erupted in cheers.

The warriors pounded their chests, calling his name.

A grand celebration was held in honor of the young men and women who had just come of age.

The young men were tested on their bravery through circumcision, while the young women were taken under the guidance of elder women to be mentored into womanhood.

Each girl was assigned a mentor, a respected woman of the village, who would teach her about family, leadership, and responsibility. This was not simply about marriage—it was about learning how to contribute to the community, how to care for the sick, how to prepare for leadership, and how to navigate life with wisdom.

Drinks were poured, women danced by the fire through the night, and elders shared stories of warriors and leaders who had come before.

Among them, Khisa's name was already beginning to take root.

He had passed the test.

But it wasn't over yet.

The initiates were led into seclusion, where they would recover and learn the deeper meanings of manhood. Here, the elders spoke to them of responsibility, honor, and leadership.

Khisa listened carefully, but his mind was already racing ahead.

This was the final barrier.

With this, he could now fully take command of the Nuri military.

And he already knew what his next step would be.

Khisa had access to knowledge beyond his people's understanding. The system had shown him how different weapons functioned, how tactics could change the course of history.

Spears and arrows were effective, but not enough.

The gunpowder they had seized from the slavers had almost run out from all his experiments. And the worst part?

He had no idea how to make more.

Until he figured it out, he needed an elite force—a special unit of warriors trained in multiple weapons and tactics.

And he knew exactly who would be perfect for it.

The boys and girls he had grown up with, the ones who had trained beside him, laughed with him, fought with him. They were not just friends—they were brothers, warriors.

The realization struck him with a new kind of certainty. These were not just his childhood companions.

They were the future of Nuri's military.

They would be the first warriors of their kind.

And they would be unstoppable.