I Was Sent To The Zulu War Era With A System

Fire In The Blood

  

  Handful of the warriors had gotten an early start to the day and stirred coals that had not completely gone out from the night before, feeding them after small bundles of dry twigs until they ignited to life once again. Others remained cozily tucked underneath thin blankets of stitched hide, their bodies curled up as if covering themselves from stolen memories more than cold.

  

  

  

  

   Ndabuko was off by himself, at the ragged edge of the ridge, watching the sky change. He had not slept. Not because he was uncomfortable, or even suffering the nightmares of another. But rather that rest seemed to offer nothing other than a false sense of completion. His body had changed, and moved with power that was subsequently not his own, but now that strength left him with the same aching fatigue not in his muscles, but possibly to the deepest essence of him awash in grief for the thing he had not yet buried or perhaps it was something he had an already buried.

  

  

  

  

   He closed his eyes for a moment, and began to listen to the earth, the sky, and the wind. He would even like to have listened to his body, but he would have to do that another time. Beneath it all somewhere he still heard the screams of yesterday. They were not loud. They were not sharp. Just little bits of code traveling distant from the source like the last staleness of thunder cracking across the sky, remnant from a had passed.

  

  

    He opened his eyes once more and found the camp was beginning to come alive. The boys were coming together in a small clearing in-between two really old trees. They looked anxious. Some of them stood there stiffly, shifting from foot to foot. They clutched their makeshift spears—sticks that were made from raw wood or sticks they had carved down to size. Sipho was mixed in with them, the boy's face a smeared mess of dirt and something not far from pride. He had his chin tilted up just enough for me to see it.

  

  

  

  

   Chief Bheka arrived without ceremony. His large ears and cheeks folded into his enormous frame and moved like stone under compression, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of leadership. Bheka wore a heavy necklace of bone, copper, and teeth against his chest, each piece clicked against the next as he walked. He was accompanied by two warriors, one who was tall and thin, with shrewd eyes that missed nothing, and one heavy like a carved tree trunk, with scars on both arms like vines climbing a post.

  

  

  

  

   "You said you would train them," Bheka said. His voice was low and even, there was no wasted words.

  

  

  

    "Now go ahead."

  

  

    Ndabuko nodded once, and turned to the boys, who sat up straight when his gaze came to rest on them. There were about a dozen, maybe more. All were between ten and sixteen, all were wiry and bruised, and had scabbed over at least one knee, some were still in the process of scabbing, and there were some who stood in a way indicating they have fought before. Others were standing in a way that clearly indicated they didn't know where to set their feet.

  

  

    He stepped forward, and spoke, his voice steady.

  

  

    "You know how to swing a stick. That is not what makes you a warrior."

  

  

    The words hung in the air over them like fog. The boys glanced nervously back and forth at each other.

  

  

    "What makes you a warrior," continued Ndabuko, "is not what weapon you hold in your hand, but why you raise it. It is to protect when you are broken. To make the choice to push on even when your legs are weak. To have the capacity to strike and the capacity to know when not to strike."

  

  

    An uncomfortable, uncertain murmur slipped through them.

  

  

    A tall boy with a scar above his left brow scoffed quietly.

  

  

    "And you, stranger, what do you know of warriors?"

  

  

  

    Ndabuko spun to face him, voice even, but stern. 

  

  

   "More than enough to still be alive." 

  

  

   He did not wait to hear a reply. He raised a hand slowly and pointed at the ground. 

  

  

   "Stand. No weapons. Just how you hold yourself. Show me how you would meet an enemy." 

  

  

   The boys hesitated. One by one, they shifted their feet, lowered into unsteady positions, faces determined. Some dropped too low. Others stood way too tall, too stiff. One had too much weight leaning forward, and his feet were trembling with each breath. 

  

  

   Ndabuko walked the row, eyes wide open, adjusting without shouting. 

  

  

   "You, bend your knees, not your back. You are not kneeling before death."

  

  

  

   "You there. Spread your feet. You have no shield. Balance is your only shield."

  

  

  

  

   To his astonishment, they complied. Not graciously, not respectfully, but they complied. They frowned. They moved. They tried again. Maybe they did not do it for respect, at least not yet, but there was something in his tone that left no room for doubt. He was not asking for trust. He was showing them not to die.

  

  

  

  

   And then it came, the pulse. That subtle, familiar hum in his head.

  

  

  

  

   System Update: Clan Module Unlocked. Accessing Clan Hierarchy...

  

  

   Clan: Bheka

  

  

   Chieftain: Bheka, son of Nomgqibelo

  

  

   War Council (3 seats): 1 occupied (Khumalo), 2 vacant

  

  

  

   Warrior Rank Progression Marketing:

  

  

   Initiate

  

  

   Blooded

  

  

   Shield Brother

  

   War-Trainer

  

   Clan Defender

  

   Champion of the Bheka

  

  

  

   Leadership Titles Available to Host: Initiate (default). Path to War-Trainer Unlocked.

  

  

    System Mission: To complete the basic training of ten youths of the clan. Your Leadership score will be used to determine if you can be promoted.

  

   Real-time tracking of your progress. 

  

   The messages faded, but the pressure remained. 

  

   He had simply risen because. The system probably expected it. And the tribe was too, whether they openly said so or not. 

  

   They trained until the sun was directly overhead. No strikes, no contact, just posture, stance, movement. Repetition until their muscles shook. 

  

   Ndabuko did his best to show them what he could. The body he occupied responded to him nearly too well. His instinct was honed by something deeper than memory. He showed them how to move without falling. How to recover without pausing. They mimicked him, slowly and awkwardly, like wolves relearning their tactics for stalking after years in captivity. 

  

   By midday, their breath was ragged. Some were close to dropping. Others bit their lip and only fought to remain standing. Even the boy with the scar, and, whose arrogance was dimmed, moved with thoughtfulness.

  

   They had a break for water and dry meat. Sipho sat near to Ndabuko; his face was shining with sweat and silent admiration.

  

  

  

  

   “You talk like someone who has commanded men,” the boy said.

  

  

   Ndabuko cut off a piece of meat and chewed slowly, both of them knowing the boy’s question would get an answer.

  

  

   "I have seen what happens when people don't know how to fight. That counts as a lesson enough for me to teach it."

  

  

   The boy nodded, but did not speak again. His stare drifted out to the men and the warriors who were lounging on the shady side of the road, far away from the boys. 

  

  

   "If you become a war-trainer," he asked on a sigh, voice low, "would that mean you go to the council like everyone else now?"

  

  

   Ndabuko's brow moved down.

  

  

   "Why does it concern you?"

  

  

   "Because the council only listens to their own voices while they sit with their hands in their laps. Not the people who are fighting for the land. Not the people who lost sisters and families."

  

  

   He let his talk trail off and then felt the bitter bite on his lip.

  

  

   "Maybe if you were there, the council could learn to remember who they are supposed to protect.”

  

  

    Ndabuko felt something shift in his chest. Not pity. Not even sympathy. Just understanding. Sipho was too young to talk like that. Which meant he had learned pain too early.

  

  

  

   He placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder.

  

  

  

   "Maybe it's time we teach them how to listen."

  

  

  

   Another thrum went through him.

  

  

  

   Clan Favorability Increased. Youth Unit Loyalty +3.

  

  

  

   Progress: 34 percent toward New Title: War-Trainer.

  

  

  

   Optional Quest Available: Begin Formation of Personal Unit. Requirements: Five loyal trainees.

  

  

  

   By late afternoon, they moved to spear drills. Nothing fancy. Just bare basics. Thrust, brace, and recover. Over and over. The drill helped build confidence. Laughter was sporadic. Not joy. Still, near enough to it. Life was learning to live again.

  

  

  

   Two of the warriors who had flanked Bheka earlier where observing, openly, at a distance. Eventually, the larger of the two, arms thick with old scars, stepped forward, his shadow long in the sun.

  

  

  

  

    "You lead them well," he said gruffly. "Better than others we've tried."

  

  

  

  

    Ndabuko didn't smile. "They want to learn. That's all that matters."

  

  

  

  

    The warrior grinned faintly. "You may live to become more than a stranger."

  

  

  

  

    As the sky began to darken, a call went out through the camp. Bheka summoned him to the council fire. Flames danced in a shallow circle, licking upward like tongues searching for answers. The chief sat among three elders, Khumalo among them, while the others studied Ndabuko with silent judgment.

  

  

  

  

    "You've done more than I expected," Bheka said, eyes sharp, voice steady. 

  

  

  

  

    "The boys speak of you."

  

  

  

  

    Ndabuko remained standing, shoulders relaxed but firm.

  

  

  

  

    "I didn't come here to be spoken of. I came because something threw me into your war. Now I want to know what you intend to do with the ones you still have."

  

  

  

  

    The fire crackled between them. Khumalo leaned forward slightly.

  

  

  

  

    "And you think you can lead them?"

  

  

  

  

    Ndabuko looked at each man, then at the fire.

  

  

  

  

    "I think you have survivors. I think survivors can become warriors. But only if you stop waiting for strength and start building it."

  

  

  

  

    Bheka's face didn't shift, but something behind his eyes settled.

  

  

  

  

    "If you can lead them through battle, not just drills, then perhaps you were sent by more than chance."

  

  

  

  

    The words had barely faded when the next message pulsed into his skull.

  

  

  

  

    System Notice: Performance Evaluation Complete. New Title Acquired : War-Trainer (Provisional).

  

  

  

  

    Privileges Granted: Tactical Interface Access. Ability to Issue Orders to Youth Unit. Loyalty Statistics Unlocked.

  

  

    Warning: Title Provisional. Must be Proved in Combat. Failure Will Result in Rank Stripping.

  

  

  

  

    He nodded slowly.

  

  

  

  

    The path forward was clear. The system had named him a leader, but the land would demand he prove it with blood.

  

  

  

  

    Ndabuko stepped back from the fire and looked toward the dark valley below. War was coming. He could feel it in the air, in the way the stars trembled behind clouds.

  

  

  

  

    Let it come.

  

  

  

  

    He had not come this far just to survive.

  

  

  

  

    Now, he would rise. Not as a stranger. Not as a memory from another world.

  

  

  

  

    But as a flame reborn in blood.