CHAPTER 157: CHAPTER 157 - THREE LETTERS, ONE NATION

The sun had barely begun to rise over Nuri’s capital, casting long gold ribbons through the lattice windows of the council chamber. Outside, the sound of hammers on stone echoed like a heartbeat—steady, rhythmic, unstoppable.

Khisa sat alone at the central table, cloaked in silence. The table was wide and heavy, carved from a single fallen mahogany tree brought down during the first clearing to build the city. Around it, the seats of his advisors sat empty—for now.

Before him were three scrolls.

Three messages. Three truths from the field.

He had not yet opened them.

Instead, he sat still, his fingertips resting on the wax seals. One bore the swirling storm emblem of the Shadow Guard. Another, the mountain-insignia of Faizah and Kiprop’s team. The third was sealed with a hawk and sun, Naliaka and Ndengu from the Mkono wa giza base.

He exhaled, picked up the first.

To Prince Khisa of Nuri,

May this letter find you with clarity. We have returned from Kongo and are now resting in Lusimba. The road was long and our faces are tired, but our spirits are unbroken.

We have uncovered a plan. A slow one, designed to move through trust. Lumingu intends to have his people infiltrate Nuri and poison our grain, we suspect the same method used in Buganda will be used to target us. The chances of him looking for people to bribe is very high.

We have a lot of people coming into Nuri, if he intends to weaken us through our own, this is his best opportunity.

The rest of the group is also investigating the king of Kongo, if Lumingu is truly attempting to overthrow him, we might have an ally in him.

But the implication is clear: They want Nuri to rot from the inside—quietly, shamefully.

The situation in Kongo is more delicate than we feared. Lumingu’s reach is deeper than just influence—he has bought minds, not just swords. He cloaks himself as a savior, calling us expansionists and puppet-masters. The people listen.

We are compiling names and movements. Expect more updates in the coming moon.

Respectfully,

Faizah, Kiprop – Shadow Guard

Khisa read it twice, jaw tightening only slightly.

He did not curse, nor speak. He folded the scroll neatly, placed it beside him, and turned to the next.

The Second Report — From Zuberi

To Prince Khisa,

The spy has been identified. His name unknown. He entered through the west, posing as a refugee. His Swahili was broken. His eyes lingered too long. A Watcher caught him, but not before he stumbled upon the training fields. He saw our ranks. Our unity. Our weapons.

I let him go.

I understand the risk. But I weighed it. He returns to Kongo now carrying fear. He saw strength. Discipline. The face of a kingdom not of savagery, but of precision.

It may stay Lumingu’s hand. If not... then we lure him into a miscalculation.

I sent two Mkono wa giza to follow him back to his puppet masters. The plan is to scare them into submission and avoid war entirely, but even then it might not work and will show our hand too early. I believe if anything it will either buy us time or force them to make a mistake.

I await punishment if it comes.

Zuberi – Shadow Guard

Khisa didn’t smile. But something shifted in his posture—a softening in the eyes, a quiet pride.

"She’s brave," he murmured to no one. "I’ve taught them well."

He folded the letter more slowly this time, carefully, like one might tuck away a personal note from an old friend.

Then came the third.

The Third Report — From Naliaka and Ndengu

To Prince Khisa,

We write with news of development. A recruit, Sefu, has pioneered a system for identifying strangers and visitors at the northern gate. Colored clay tokens marked by district. Symbols rotated weekly. Control questions at checkpoints. The result? Suspicious individuals flagged. One confirmed as a spy from a southern village, he is currently being held at the watcher base in the northern towns.

We propose a full identification system for Nuri. Clay for locals. Horn or stamped cloth for officials. Shell discs for traders. Visual markers that can be read from a glance but cannot be easily forged. A system built for scale, for efficiency, and for peace of mind.

This is our recommendation. With your approval, we will expand the idea with the Watchers and town stewards across Nuri.

It is working. The blade you placed in our hands is sharp.

Naliaka and Ndengu.

Khisa tapped his fingers against the edge of the scroll.

"This ID system... it’s smart. Simple, fast, and scalable. But I wonder—will it be enough?"

The system’s voice echoed gently in his mind.

[It’s an excellent foundation. For civilians, traders, and local workers—it creates visual clarity. But Nuri’s strength lies in its hidden hands as well.]

"You’re thinking of the Mkono wa Giza," Khisa murmured.

[And the Shadow Guard. These are not ordinary soldiers. They need to move across districts, blend in, vanish, and reappear without suspicion. A clay token won’t do. It exposes them to the same scrutiny as foreign traders.]

Khisa stood and crossed to the balcony again, watching smoke from the forges rise in the distance.

"Then we need something subtler. Tokens hidden in plain sight. Invisible to most, but unmistakable to us."

[A mark, perhaps. Not on the skin—but something worn. A strip of black thread woven behind a sleeve seam. A pin carved with a code embedded in the underside of a belt. To outsiders, it’s decoration. To a trained eye, it speaks.]

Khisa nodded slowly. "The Watchers will need to be taught how to read it. Only the higher ranks. We’ll need new protocols."

[And each squad leader among the Mkono should receive rotating identifiers. Weekly. A code phrase embedded in a proverb. A colored powder sealed into a hidden compartment. Even if one is captured, they cannot expose the next rotation.]

"Good," Khisa said, his voice firmer. "Zuberi, Naliaka, Ndengu—they’ll understand. I’ll include it in my response."

He walked back to his table and unrolled a clean sheet of parchment.

"Let the enemies of Nuri come," he said quietly. "They will find themselves trying to grasp shadows—and choking on the light."

Khisa leaned back in his chair, letting the letter fall into his lap.

He looked out the window. The city pulsed beyond it.

He breathed it in.

This wasn’t just survival anymore.

This was a nation.

Khisa remained seated long after his sister had left.

The scrolls lay across the table, like fragments of the future waiting to be assembled. Outside, the sun had risen higher, pouring amber light through the open slats of the window. The sound of distant Mbumbwa cheers echoed faintly from a schoolyard nearby—barefoot children shouting, chasing, laughing.

He smiled.

Then, softly, to no one the room could see, he said,

"It’s been so long since I transmigrated here. I can’t believe those brats I used to play Mbumbwa with grew up to be so reliable."

A familiar voice, calm and ever-measured, rang in his mind.

[It’s all because you gave them the chance to grow. Without your intervention, they might not have even survived past the first battle.]

Khisa leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand.

"Have we done enough to prepare them?" he asked aloud, though his tone was almost like a whisper to himself.

[The simple fact that they now know they can be strong is because of you. They can and they will survive.]

Khisa stared through the window again, his eyes distant now.

"I keep thinking about Kongo," he said slowly. "Everything tells me to act. To storm in and tear it all down. All the chains. All the ships. All the rot."

[And yet you hesitate.]

"Yes," he admitted. "Because I know we’re not ready. Nuri is growing, but to take on Kongo directly? We would burn too much too soon. Our people would suffer, and all we’ve built could crumble before it fully stands."

He closed his eyes.

"I need to understand what we’re truly up against."

There was a pause. Then the system responded—not just with encouragement, but with history.

***

The Kingdom of Kongo, in 1554, was a vast and well-established polity in Central Africa. It had been a dominant regional power since the late 1300s, with its capital at M’banza-Kongo—a thriving city that the Portuguese referred to as São Salvador.

By this time, Kongo had developed a centralized monarchy supported by a noble class, vassal provinces, and a sophisticated administration. Kings held the title Manikongo, and the state had long embraced diplomacy with Europe, especially Portugal.

The early 1500s saw a surge of Portuguese presence in Kongo. Christianity had been introduced and adopted by parts of the nobility, leading to a cultural blending—but also tensions. While early cooperation brought weapons, luxury goods, and education, it also came with one devastating trade: slavery.

Although the Manikongo initially attempted to regulate the slave trade, internal divisions, rival factions, and Portuguese greed led to widespread abuses. Captives were taken from inland wars and sold to Europeans in exchange for firearms and goods, fueling a vicious cycle.

By the 1550s, the slave trade was booming, and with it came deep fractures within Kongo society. Some nobles enriched themselves by selling prisoners and even their own people. Others resisted, including segments of the church, but their voices were often drowned out.

The region was unstable, its political factions increasingly polarized between pro-Portuguese collaborators and traditionalists.

***

Khisa opened his eyes, his gaze sharper now.

"So the kingdom itself is divided," he said aloud. "It has power, yes, but it’s fractured. Riddled with contradictions. Some of them know slavery is wrong—but they keep feeding it because it’s profitable. That’s what makes them dangerous."

[That is why patience is your weapon.]

Khisa nodded slowly.

"Then we wait. We grow. We build stronger ties with Abyssinia, Buganda. We prepare."

He stood, crossing the room to gaze at the city from the balcony.

"Because one day... when we come for the chains... we won’t just break them."

His voice dropped.

"We’ll make sure they never come back."