~Major of all majors~
Five months had passed since I was made a Hand, and that meant I had to purchase a Divine Craft. I chose a very flexible craft. A sword. It had red markings on it—very light and sleek. I liked how easy it felt to hold and swing. I had seen it before in the craft shop and thought it looked beautiful. The way it was designed, the curve of the blade, the way the markings flowed—I liked all of it.
I had asked for the value once and found out it cost eight slips. That was a full Dai.
Too expensive for someone like me. I hadn't even earned a single slip back then, so how could I afford an entire Dai?
But now that I had been made a Hand, I could loan it and pay for it later—once I had gathered enough Dais.
After acquiring the blade, I decided to call it The Bleeding Mercy, because of how it looked whenever it was swung—like it was rubber, bending with motion, bleeding with every strike.
Tor thought it was a very odd craft.
Simi and Ajani had the same opinion, they both liked it and commented on how well it suited me.
Now that I had acquired the blade, there were three key things I needed to keep in mind. First, I would eventually have to pay for it. Second, since I had no Divine Essence of my own, I would need to periodically refill the sword with Divine Energy. And third, whenever my craft was lost in battle, I would need help summoning it back.
Major Deji had assured me that he would take care of the refilling whenever the blade's Divine Energy ran low. As for summoning the craft when it got lost, Deji explained that because the sword would be fueled by his own Divine Energy, I wouldn't need to consult the craft shop or rely on the craftsmen like the Madarikans did. Deji could summon it directly, making the process much simpler and discrete for me.
My tools were ready, and I wasted no time diving into training under Deji—learning the way of the sword and how to wield it properly.
Having never held a weapon before, the challenge was significant. And this was no ordinary weapon; it was infused with Divine Energy, making it all the more difficult to master.
But if there was anyone fit to teach me, it was Major Deji, a master of blades. I had always admired his cobra dagger—how effortlessly Deji wielded it in battle, especially during the Morduk contract and decided to model my own style after his.
Deji was more than willing to share his knowledge. So for days, then weeks, then months, I trained—again and again.
At first, whenever Major Deji received a contract, I stayed behind. Simi and the others would follow, while I remained in the House—silent, watching, waiting. But with time, I started joining them. Not to fight. Just to observe.
Slowly, I began getting chances. Small ones. Moments where I could apply everything I'd studied on my own. A misstep here, a correction there. Quiet contributions—nothing remarkable, but something.
Now, officially, I had completed two contracts.
Because I was still considered a lesser Hand, my contributions were tracked differently. That went for any of us in this rank. Until we had joined at least five contract missions, even as simple attendees, we weren't credited for one full contract. Five attendances equaled one. Unless…
Unless we did something significant. Something above our standing.
Like during the Morduk contract. Back then, I had intervened and saved the day. But at the time, I wasn't yet a part of the family. So it didn't count.
And since then, nothing like that had happened.
Which, honestly, I was glad for.
In all the times I'd followed Major Deji, I'd never been pushed to the point of taking palm wine. Not once.
It had gotten to the point where I sometimes forgot i even carried a Fallen essence. I was beginning to feel like a true Hand, even if i was still limited to the abilities of a Madarikan. They had no divine traits—no enhanced strength, speed, or senses—and they relied solely on Divine Crafts. Since they didn't carry divine essence within them, they couldn't refill their crafts on their own. Instead, they had to return to the craft shops, leave their weapon behind, and return later after it had been recharged.
It bothered me that I operated so much like a Madarikan. Thankfully, Deji was always there to help me with refills during contracts—but even that began to feel like a weight. I hated the idea of being a burden, always running to Deji in the middle of battle.
So, I stopped.
I began training myself to manage the divine energy in my craft, striking only when necessary, focusing more on precision than power—just like my Major. And when the craft's energy ran low, I wouldn't ask for help. Instead, I would fight through it, wait until the contract was complete, and only then would I return to have it refilled.
***
Months had gone by and Akenzua had made significant progress, much faster than anyone had expected. During their one-on-one sparring session in the training field, Major Deji was clearly impressed. The rhythmic clash of their weapons echoed across the almost empty arena as Akenzua's movements grew smoother, more fluid. Each strike felt more precise, more controlled. There was an ease to his technique now, a growing confidence in his swordplay.
"You've come a long way," Deji said with a rare smile, wiping the sweat from his brow. "If you had divine essence in you, you'd be a better Hand than most right now. Your growth is remarkable—far beyond what I was capable of at your level, and I've had the advantage of my own divine essence."
Akenzua caught his breath as he parried Deji's strike. "I'm better than Tor, you mean?" He grinned teasingly, his words a bit of lighthearted mockery.
Deji laughed heartily, his voice rich and deep. "Smarter, that's for sure."
They both chuckled, the bond between them deepening in that moment. Akenzua felt lighter than he had in a long time, his frustrations melting away with each laugh. Major Deji was right—he had improved immensely with the Bleeding Mercy since the day he first acquired it. Through the contracts he had completed, he had already earned three slips. Soon, he would have a full Dai. As a working Hand, he was steadily gathering resources. A sense of pride swelled within him.
He had even decided that he wouldn't pay off the debt as soon as he earned eight slips. No, he would aim for more—maybe twenty-four or even thirty-two slips before paying it off. Perhaps he would buy more crafts to add to his collection. Things were looking up for him. He was finally settling in, finding his place.
But the moment was interrupted.
"Major Deji," came a voice from behind, breaking the rhythm of their spar. Akenzua looked over his shoulder to see Major Ayo standing there, with Tolu by his side, his arms crossed in a way that suggested he had come for more than just casual conversation.
Ayo's eyes gleamed with curiosity, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Akenzua," he said, "I'd like to see how well you perform against Tolu—no Divine Crafts, just a clean spar."
Akenzua's heart skipped a beat as he noticed the small group of Hands now gathering around them, drawn by the sound of Major Ayo's voice. His nerves spiked, the sudden attention from the others making him uneasy. He glanced at Deji, his voice a little strained.
"I… I don't want to," Akenzua muttered, his gaze flickering to the growing crowd.
Major Deji gave him a reassuring smile, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. "You don't have to, Akenzua."
But Major Ayo stepped forward, his expression resolute. "Oh, come on, Deji. It's tradition. Let the lesser ones test their strengths. We can't have them feeling too comfortable, can we?"
Deji sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. "Everything is tradition to you, Ayo."
Ayo grinned widely, unbothered by the jab. "Why, of course. We are the Adesina family, after all—the most cultured among all the families. It's only right that we maintain our ways, don't you think?"
He turned to Akenzua, his gaze sharp yet playful. "Besides, I'm sure both hands have a score to settle. Isn't that right, Akenzua?"
Deji clenched his jaw, clearly unhappy with Ayo's insistence. He knew Akenzua didn't stand a chance against Tolu—not in a hand-to-hand spar. If Divine Crafts were allowed, it would still end in defeat, but at least Akenzua could hold his ground and no one would question his lack of Divine Essence.
He sucked his teeth in frustration.
Then he leaned toward Akenzua. "Don't panic," he said in a low voice. "Just play along. Try to put up a fight. There are eyes on you, so don't make it too easy."
Akenzua gave a reluctant nod, his chest tightening.
Tolu had already started bouncing lightly on his feet, loosening his arms and rolling his neck like a predator warming up for the hunt.
Ayo glanced at Deji and motioned him to give the fighters space.
The small crowd that had gathered now stood in full anticipation, whispering and watching closely. The atmosphere thickened.
Akenzua inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breath. Why is this happening? he thought. Why now? But deep down, he knew the truth—this was always going to happen. He was a false Hand, and the longer he stayed, the more the truth would press against the seams.
Still, he had grown used to this life. He was slowly fulfilling his vow. No—he wasn't going to let it all unravel here. Not today.
A strange focus came over him, like a quiet fire. His breathing slowed. His eyes sharpened.
Tolu noticed the shift immediately. He stopped bouncing, tilting his head slightly. Something felt off. Why did Akenzua suddenly seem so calm?
Tch, he thought. Doesn't matter. He'll be exposed either way. And if he transforms… I'll kill him before the family even asks why.
Ayo raised his hand, his voice clear.
"On my command… fight."
And just like that, the duel began.
***
It had been five months since I was accepted into the Adesina Family as a Hand.
Five months of training, working out, learning to wield Divine Crafts—not to channel them, but to understand them, master them.
I had studied fighting stances, practiced footwork, memorized patterns, and even helped take down First Level Fallen Creatures during contracts.
I'd done everything possible to grow stronger, faster, smarter. Everything—except transform.
But today, I faced my hardest test yet. Not the Southern Madarikans who once hunted me. Not the creatures that had torn flesh and bone on contract missions. Not even the temptation of palm wine whispering my name.
No.
My greatest test came in the form of a simple spar. With a fellow Hand. With an audience. And I was failing.
Pow!
A sharp strike caught him on the ribs. The wind rushed out of me.
Another blur—smack!—a palm to my temple.
Thud! I hit the ground again.
The crowd winced.
"Ah. The new Hand is useless," someone muttered.
"Has he even landed a punch?" another said.
"Maybe he's still injured from the last mission."
"Please. Even injured, a true Hand should hold his own."
I staggered up, trying to ignore the comments, my stance loose, arms shaking.
Tolu grinned, bouncing on his feet with ease.
"I told you to watch yourself," he said with a smirk.
"Guess you thought I was just saying things, huh?"
I didn't reply. I was too busy breathing, too busy keeping my legs from collapsing.
Deji's eyes narrowed from the sideline. He turned to Ayo.
"This is enough."
But Ayo blocked him with an arm, still watching the match. "He hasn't quit."
Tch. Deji's jaw tightened. His hand hovered near his side, unsure whether to step in or not.
Wham! Another hit—Tolu's elbow to my chest.
Crack! A spinning backfist to the cheekbone.
The crowd gasped. A few hands rose to their mouths.
"This isn't a spar anymore," Deji growled.
"This is an assault."
I dropped again. Dirt clung to my face. Blood traced my bottom lip.
This is pointless, I thought, spitiing on the ground.
How am I supposed to prove myself like this? I can't keep up… not against a true hand.
My limbs screamed as I pushed my upright. Vision blurred.
I barely raised my arms before—
Tolu's knee slammed into my jaw.
I flew backward, tumbling across the training field like a discarded doll.
Gasps and shouts erupted from the crowd.
"Ayo—!" Deji stepped forward again.
Ayo raised his hand to hold him back.
But Deji had seen enough.
Tolu advanced again, cocky, ready to finish it.
"I said that's enough!" Deji roared, breaking past Ayo's arm.
Tolu didn't stop.
He launched another strike—until Deji's body slammed into him, knocking him back.
Deji pinned him by the chest, glaring into his eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" Deji shouted.
"You trying to kill a fellow Hand during a spar?"
Tolu, panting, just stared back. "If he dies, then maybe he was never a Hand."
The tension in the air froze.
Ayo finally stepped forward, slower this time.
He eyed me, who was still on the ground, bloodied, not moving, but not unconscious.
Ayo's voice cut the silence like a blade.
"Five months in this family…" he said slowly.
"And not a single punch landed today."
He turned his head slightly, expression unreadable.
"What exactly have you been doing, Akenzua?"
"…Because from what I saw, it's like you have no Divine Essence at all."
Ayo glanced at Tolu, who was still breathing heavily beneath Deji's grip.
"I have seen enough," Ayo said calmly. "Tolu, come."
Deji hesitated, then slowly released his hold. Tolu stood up, chest rising and falling, sweat dripping down his face—but the smugness had dulled. He threw one last look at me, still half-kneeling in the dirt.
Without a word, Tolu turned and walked toward Ayo.
The Major gave a short nod, and the two of them left the training field.
The crowd followed suit, breaking apart in small groups, whispering under their breath.
"He's no real Hand…"
"Barely landed a strike…"
"Maybe he bribed someone to get in…"
Deji crouched beside me, brushing some dirt from my face. My lip was bleeding again, and my eyes were distant, as if they were somewhere else entirely.
"You alright?" Deji asked.
I didn't answer. Only nodded, slow and tired.
Deji exhaled and pulled me up, slinging one of my arms over his shoulder as we began walking back toward the house.
"You might not be a true Hand," Deji said quietly, "but you've got the heart of one."
I didn't respond—not with words—but my eyes shifted slightly, the faintest flicker of something unreadable behind them.