₦airaland Forum

CHAPTER TWO UNEARTHING SECRETS


The courtyard of God Bless My Own Secondary School was soon transformed into a bustling carnival of anticipation.

This time, Long lines of students especially those in the Junior secondary school section who weren't so brave to face off with the multi dimensional being that was father Christmas for fear of been turned into a wrapped present or worse turned into an elf assistant , accompanied by their mothers, snaked through the courtyard, leading to a whimsically adorned canopy that now stood as the epicenter of festive excitement.

The air was thick with a concoction of emotions—excitement, curiosity, and a hint of trepidation.

Under the makeshift canopy, a red carpet unfurled like a path of dreams leading to a massive golden throne—a throne fit for the legendary Father Christmas.

Fluffy clouds of fake cotton snow adorned the surroundings, and twinkling lights adorned the edges of the canopy, casting a warm and festive glow.

Mothers, adorned in an array of colorful dresses and holiday-themed sweaters competitively to outlook the others clutched their children's hands with a mixture of excitement and mild anxiety and eyes that fought a silent war with the others.

The children, their eyes wide with wonder, clutched their ticket number as sold by the school which unknown to them determined the type of gift to be handed out to them.

Miss Celestine, a black, tall lady known to the students had dragged in dramatically, an even bigger bag loaded with what many believed to be more gifts recently manufactured from the godlike being, Father Christmas's toy making factory, the kids each filled with a wish list more extravagant than the last in their heads, watched with utter curiosity.

In the midst of the throng, Mr. Johnson, the ever-enthusiastic emcee, stood on a makeshift stage, a microphone in hand. His booming voice echoed through the courtyard, announcing the grand entrance of Father Christmas with a theatrical flair that rivaled a Broadway production.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Gather 'round as we welcome the one, the only, the legendary, mythical, all dancing and all twerking, all laughing and all jovial Father Christmas!"

His announcements caused a stir amongst parents nevertheless it was met with a chorus of excited gasps and cheers from the children.

The long-awaited arrival of Father Christmas was heralded by the jingling of bells, a sound that seemed to transcend the boundaries of ordinary reality. From behind a festive curtain was rolled open for the grand entrance, but the rotund figure of Father Christmas never emerged, his red suit aglow with festive cheer was never seen.


Mr. Johnson, not one to let the moment pass without theatrical commentary, bellowed again,

"Behold, the bringer of gifts, the master of merriment, the one and only Father Christmas!" With a grand sweep of his arm, he gestured toward the raised curtains but yet a festive figure who was now anxiously been expected to perform some acrobatic display was nowhere near stood his golden throne.

The children, their anticipation reaching a fever pitch, disappointed and confused began to murmur and no sooner had the reality began to sink in deep did they hear a horrible and dreadful scream from a far off.

Something horrible had been discovered by the elf assistant and his blood curling scream had delivered the message to everyone within the school ground.

Alright let's get back to the murder mystery at hand, dear readers!

CONT'D



In the heart of the school, hidden away from the festive celebrations, was a modest changing room where the magic of Christmas was about to take an unexpected turn.

Mr. Vincent, a young man with a mischievous glint in his eye, stood surrounded by the elaborate costume of Father Christmas.

His accomplice, a dwarf named Titus, who masqueraded as the elf man, joined him in the clandestine room.

Vincent, a man of humble origins and an illiterate to boot, hailed from the vibrant Igbo tribe whose various trades drew him to the city of Lagos many years ago.

His attire, a mismatch of colors and textures, reflected a lack of concern for sartorial conventions. The costume of Father Christmas, with its plush red and white fabric, swallowed him whole, leaving only his eyes and the top of his head visible.

As the door creaked shut, sealing them away from the festivities, Vincent and Titus found themselves in a room filled with the smell of sweat and anticipation.

A dusty mirror, hanging precariously on the wall Ana a school calender that dated back 30 years hid in plain sight, reflected their unconventional duo—a towering Father Christmas and a diminutive elf with a pointed hat.

Vincent, his face obscured by the fluffy white beard of the costume, flashed a grin at Titus.

"Titus, oyah count that money way dem first spray us quick and bring that gin out from your bag?"

Titus, with a chuckle that echoed through the small room, replied handling him the gin bottle

"Vincent, my man, this is nothing short of genius, na God go bless Oga Benji way help us organize this gig, we never even collect proper pay, people Don spray us finish like this, Who would suspect that beneath this jolly exterior, we're counting crisp bills?"

The two unlikely conspirators settled onto an old wooden bench, their makeshift throne in the realm of costume changes. A bottle of gin, concealed in the folds of the Father Christmas costume, made its appearance. As the cap popped open, the room was filled with the sharp scent of whiskey.

Vincent took a swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand.

"Titus, my friend, this is the good stuff. We will need another bottle, you go go buy one more bottle if not performance fit drop oh, "

Titus, raising his face seemed bewildered.

"Eh watin you talk so, no nah! that thing na foreign made oh, one bottle per show na so we agree am nah, where I go see another bottle buy?"

Vincent frowned "come, stop the counting for now make you go find another bottle, if not I nor go fit perform well oh, you suppose know say this gin na e be like sugar for this palp way I dey drink, tell them to find you a shop nearby, you hear!"

"I hear eh, no shout like that abeg, No cheat me for the money oh, count everything and wait for me," Titus said impatiently before dawning his hat and taking his leave hurriedly.

"No worries before day finish, na big big money I go dey count personally,"

Mr Vincent locked the door and began to dismantle his costume systematically and hurriedly.

He soon got on his phone and dialed up someone.

"hello it's me , quickly come abeg, make we finalize discussion,"

The call ended quickly, he found a widow and peeped through, from a far a
he could see just about everybody and everything, even Titus who was close to the gate could be seen. He chuckled at his colleague's small nature from the height he watched him and returned back to the half empty bottle.

THE END OF CHAPTER ONE.

CONT'D



In the labyrinthine corridors of God Bless My Own Secondary School, away from the festive buzz of the courtyard, lay the inner sanctum—the trinity of the school's administration.

Mr. Martin Olawole, the vice principal, A young man in his late thirties, Mrs. Sheila, the astute bursar and fashionista of the school who had garnered another name from the school as "moniee" , and Mr. Petrol Davies, the head of the non-academic staff department, a retired vigilante leader whose face scar had spurned more legends amongst the students than anyone could think, found solace in the confines of their shared enclave.

The room, tucked away on the second floor, bore witness to the unspoken dynamics of power and discontent that thrived within its walls. As the door creaked open, revealing a humble space with aged wooden furniture and worn-out carpets, the trinity convened to discuss matters that lay beyond the prying eyes of the staff and students.

Mr. Martin Olawole, the vice principal, greeted the others with a weary smile. His well dyed and washed hair on top his meticulous attire conveyed an air of authority that seemed slightly worn around the edges. His eyes, though dulled by sleepless nights, hinted at a profound understanding of the intricate workings of the school.

Mrs. Sheila, the school's bursar, sat behind a cluttered desk, her sharp eyes adored with fake eyes lashes that seemed overly too big for her and a make up with confusing intentions, scanning financial reports and budgetary documents.

Her sleek demeanor and no-nonsense attitude made her an enigma among the staff.
Her role went beyond mere number-crunching; she held a key to the financial pulse of the institution and made no play about it even though this itself was her own curse; for she spent heavily on things many considered to be trivial and unnecessary like a D&G handbag worth 98,000.

Mr. Petrol Davies, a man with a name that carried the weight of irony, leaned against the doorframe, his sturdy frame exuding an air of quiet rebellion. As the head of the non-academic staff department, he witnessed the daily grind of the school's backbone—the janitors, security personnel, and other unsung heroes who kept the institution running.

The trinity gathered around a worn-out conference table, the surface of which bore the scars of countless deliberations. As they settled into their routine, the air buzzed with a blend of familiarity and unspoken discontent. The recent changes under Principal Maxwell's tenure had not gone unnoticed by this trio, and today's meeting held a sense of urgency.

Mr. Martin Olawole, adjusting his glasses, opened the discussion with a sigh.

"Can you just imagine the self acclaimed savior making a Martin Luther king speech in front of everyone like they don't know he is the devil in saint's clothing,"

"Leave him be, he assumes the PTA board will sing to his call for financial support next year, imagine the shock he will receive," Mrs. Sheila scoffed offloading a file more of expenditure documents on the table.

"The staff morale is at an all-time low, and the students are starting to feel the impact. We can't turn a blind eye to the decay within these walls, one of you better stand up and talk to him," Mr Davies added.

Mrs. Sheila, her eyes never leaving the financial reports before her, nodded in agreement.

"The budget cuts are affecting every department. We're losing qualified teachers, and the ones who remain are stretched thin, I will not agree to a salary pay cut again oh, I have high maintenance standards! "

Mr. Petrol Davies, crossing his arms, added his voice to the chorus of discontent.

"And what about Maxwell? Disappearing for over a week without a word and then the accident during his disappearance,"

Mr Davies eyes caught a glance from both oh them, there was silence that communicated something between the trio before they returned their glances.


"let's not talk about that again, the police are on it, for now it's Christmas, I hear the guy he got for the job is the same he got last year, the guy is unarguably good, the people love him!"

"Too bad we may not be able to afford him next year if nothing is done about our plummeting finances," Mrs Sheila revealed.

The banter among the three, a mixture of concern and shared frustration, intensified. Mrs. Sheila, with a wry smile, remarked.

Mr. Martin Olawole chuckled, "I wouldn't be surprised if he's found a hidden treasure trove at the North Pole like the Santa Claus guy, We could use a bit of that treasure here too, I want a solid gold bar for present!"


"you two could wish it all, the fact is that things are turning up ugly and next year we may not have a school standing, what worries me is that he knows this, anyway, poor man go always find a way to survive!"
Mr Davies concluded in pigeon English before taking his leave.

Somewhere outside he could hear the door behind him been locked.

"Those two, I wonder what is even up with them self, laslas Na who no dey bath well dey spray perfume pass " He thought to himself.

CONT'D



Slowly Mr. Johnson, the lively emcee, announced the arrival of Principal Maxwell. The audience, a sea of expectant faces, shifted their gaze toward the stage where the figure of authority emerged. Principal Maxwell, a man recently bestowed with the responsibilities of guiding the school's destiny, stepped forward with an air of assumed importance.

The principal, a figure of stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere, was a man of diminutive stature, his rotund belly preceding him like a harbinger of bureaucratic weight.

Clad in a meticulously tailored suit that seemed strained against the swell of his midsection, Principal Maxwell exuded an air of self-importance that bordered on arrogance and pride.

His head, bereft of hair and accentuating the pinkish hue of his fair complexion, glistened under the stage lights.

The crowd, initially buoyed by the holiday spirit, couldn't help but exchange furtive glances. The recent acquisition of the school by Principal Maxwell, a mere two years ago, had brought about a transformation that left lingering shadows in the hallways.

What was once a haven of academic excellence and communal growth had been shaken to its core under his stewardship and as if that was not enough even the spirits of the land seemed not to be in his favor for a laboratory project flagged off before his take over had grinded to a halt permanently when a laborer had fallen into a ditch and died, a tragedy that had been interpreted as anything but good.

In his opening speech, Principal Maxwell projected an illusion of confidence, his voice resonating through the courtyard. He spoke of his vision for the school, a vision that, despite its polished exterior, seemed to crumble under the weight of economic woes, dwindling standards and a management staff torn in two by his constant favoritism and nepotism. His words, carefully crafted to appease, masked the reality that hung heavy over the institution.

The economic downturn, Principal Maxwell explained, had cast its long, ominous shadow over the school's finances. The once-thriving institution found itself grappling with a budgetary crisis that manifested in the form of staff layoffs, disappearing extracurricular programs, and a palpable decline in the quality of education. The loss of seasoned teachers, driven away by budget cuts and dwindling morale, left voids that even the most passionate educators struggled to fill.

"But we never say never, God bless my own will continue to beam lights where many other schools can't, my dedication and passion can not be rivaled, we will triumph like soldiers on the battlefield, my soldiers will not surrender to failure " He revealed at a point like a failed motivator.

The courtyard, once a place of communal pride, now echoed with the whispers of discontent. The students, the very heartbeat of the school, felt the changes in the air over the last two years.

The vibrant tapestry of diversity that had characterized God Bless My Own Secondary School began to unravel, and the communal spirit dimmed like a flickering flame bringing to mind old suspicions and questions.

As Principal Maxwell spoke, his words painted a picture of a school haunted by economic woes and sinking standards, a far cry from the institution it once was. The audience, a captive congregation, listened with a mixture of resignation and frustration.

They had become unwitting spectators in the unraveling mystery of Principal Maxwell's tenure.

Yet, amid the somber tones of his speech, a shroud of mystery hung over the principal's recent acquisition of the school.

Questions had lingered in the minds of the community. Why had the previous administration, a beacon of educational excellence, given way to a man whose leadership seemed to sow the seeds of decline? Whispers of clandestine dealings and backdoor negotiations danced through the air, creating an undercurrent of suspicion.


Principal Maxwell, with a forced smile that barely concealed the weight of his decisions, left the stage amidst polite applause.

The courtyard, now tinged with an unspoken tension, awaited the next act in the unfolding drama. The holiday festivities, though ostensibly joyous, had cast a shadow that stretched beyond the twinkling lights and festive decorations—a shadow that hinted at a mystery yet to be unraveled within the walls of God Bless My Own Secondary School.

Many parents watched on suspiciously as he walked off the stage whilst others began to share their opinions and rumors quickly.

Somewhere in the school building was the trinity of the school's administration.

CONT'D




As the sun tipped lower over a cloud, casting a warm glow over the festively adorned courtyard of God Bless My Own Secondary School, the anticipation among students and parents alike reached a crescendo.

The annual Christmas party promised an evening of laughter, magic, and musical enchantment. The buzz of excitement heightened as the event's emcee, a charismatic teacher named Mr. Johnson, a tall, lanky man unceremoniously called Dogo by the students and a few teachers, welcoming the eager audience with infectious enthusiasm.

The atmosphere crackled with the promise of laughter as the first highlight of the evening, the invited comedian, took the stage. The spotlight illuminated a figure with a mischievous grin, and within moments, raucous laughter echoed through the courtyard.

Jokes and anecdotes flowed seamlessly, casting a spell of joy over the audience. The comedian, a maestro of humor, wove tales that transcended generational gaps, leaving parents and students alike in fits of laughter usually the joke was aimed at one of the students or a teacher, hence the constant dread secretly by many who hoped not to be singled out.

Amidst the merriment, a hush fell over the audience as the notorious magician, known far and wide as the "Wizard of Wonder," stepped forward, he was known in the community as a deportee from abroad however he maintained racial injustice over his deportation and never said more and outside his brick layering and carpentry jobs occasionally he practiced magic so there he was Cloaked in mystery, his reputation preceded him, and whispers of his unparalleled illusions spread like wildfire among the students.

The magician, with a twinkle in his eye, began his performance, defying the laws of nature with tricks that left the audience in awe. Confetti and cards vanished into thin air, and materialized from nowhere, eliciting gasps of amazement from the captivated crowd.

Following the magician's act, the stage transformed into a realm of musical enchantment. A songstress, renowned for her soul-stirring performances, graced the platform. Her voice, a melodic cascade that resonated with emotion, captivated the hearts of all who listened. Senior students exchanged glances of reverence, acknowledging the songstress's prowess as she effortlessly traversed genres, weaving a tapestry of musical delight that embraced the diversity of the audience, even more was her body tight wear that provocatively caused more stir among the housewives than the female students.

One had quickly and openly complained about the risk of such performance to her marriage whilst the senior students especially the males cheered and spread whatever little change they had sought to hold on to for refreshment.

But as the music faded, the courtyard erupted into a carnival of games and festivities. Students engaged in spirited competitions, from sack races to three-legged races, their laughter blending harmoniously with the cheerful melodies playing in the background.

The air was charged with the infectious energy of youth, and the school's courtyard became a playground of joy.

Yet, amidst the jubilant atmosphere, the event's true celebrity remained shrouded in mystery. Whispers circled through the crowd as Mr. Johnson, the animated emcee, regaled the audience with tales of a legendary figure known across the globe. A character who, according to the teacher's vivid descriptions, had traversed nine oceans and over ten mountains, sailed from the North Pole with gifts galore on a magical sleigh that defied both gravity and common sense.

The celebrity in question was none other than Father Christmas himself, a mythical figure whose reputation extended far beyond the borders of Igidah. Described as a global sensation with the ability to end wars with laughter, melt hearts with a smile, and showcase acrobatic prowess that haunted the dreams of professionals, Father Christmas was an enigma wrapped in the magic of the holiday season.

As Mr. Johnson built the anticipation with his theatrical storytelling, the courtyard fell into a hushed anticipation. Even the harmattan breeze seemed to hold its breath as the magical moment approached. The stage lights dimmed, and a festive hush spread through the audience.

Then, as if summoned by the collective yearning of the crowd, the familiar sound of bells and trumpets echoed through the air as the gates swung open . A magical sleigh well done and painted by an artist on top a rusty wagon, adorned with twinkling lights connected by a hidden generator, appeared as if from thin air. The courtyard erupted in gasps of astonishment as the legendary figure of Father Christmas jumped and landed with an acrobatic display that threw the kids into a frenzy, his red suit aglow in the shimmering lights, his bag of endless surprises held up by his assistant, his trusty little elf man, a dwarf called Caesar.

The Father Christmas figure was well dressed and masked up and painted for realism even his pot belly would shame that of many politicians if it were to be a competition for it jiggled and moved with a sense of purpose and his hearty laugh and twinkling eyes, became the living embodiment of the holiday spirit.

The students, young and old, watched in awe as he performed feats that defied explanation. His dance moves rivaled the best in the world, and his acrobatic displays left the audience spellbound, he could dispel and out dance ten of the village masquerades, he could out-twerk even the best strip dancers in the world, he could without any care perform displays that raised hairs on skins.

To the children, he was more unreal than the wizard of wonders and as the trumpets and drums beat gloriously like a spell he had everyone in captive with his feats and soon began to cash in on the wads of money sprawled at him from every corner much to the disappointment of many performers.

for a little while the music stopped giving Mr Johnson a much needed break to get things back in order.

Father Christmas and his elf assistant were led to awaiting room to relax and prepare for the proper order of events, what a relief many parents thought seeing the calm that had quickly enveloped the children once again.

CHAPTER ONE THE FESTIVE PRELUDE



In the heart of Lagos, a sprawling city that pulsated with life and energy, nestled a vibrant community known as Igidah. It was a tapestry of sights and sounds, a living canvas painted in hues of diversity and interconnected stories. The air, thick with the fragrances of street food and the lively chatter of locals, hinted at a place where traditions and modernity danced in harmonious coexistence.

Igidah was not merely a neighborhood; it was a bustling microcosm of Lagos itself. Its streets, lined with vendors selling everything from colorful fabrics to tantalizing street food, echoed with the rhythm of everyday life. Narrow alleys led to hidden markets where the aroma of spices mingled with the melodies of street musicians, creating a symphony of urban existence.

At the heart of this spirited community stood a bastion of education, a beacon of aspiration known as God Bless My Own Secondary School, it had been around far longer than many other schools however it had passed multiple owners.
The school exuded an aura of pride and ambition. Its sturdy brick walls, adorned with vibrant murals depicting scenes of academic excellence and cultural diversity, stood as a testament to the institution's commitment to nurturing young minds.

The school was more than an educational institution; it was a hub of dreams, where students from various walks of life converged to carve out their destinies. God Bless My Own Secondary School was a name whispered with reverence, a promise of quality education and a stepping stone to brighter futures.

As the Christmas season approached, Igidah transformed into a canvas adorned with festive decorations. Streets twinkled with fairy lights, and the scent of freshly baked goods wafted through the air.
Shopkeepers adorned their storefronts with colorful ornaments, creating a kaleidoscope of holiday cheer that enveloped the entire community, the brutality of the economic woes were merely hushed into shelves of hope and dreams for the moment.

Amidst this festive backdrop, God Bless My Own Secondary School prepared for its annual Christmas party, a celebration that had remained constant even with the numerous changes in terms of owners it had over the years, the christmas party was like ice that covered the cake even though many had began to see through the money grabbing antics employed by many for such occasions, GOD BLESS MY OWN secondary school's party simply honored this old tradition as did the community.

The school's courtyard, usually a hub of academic pursuits, underwent a magical metamorphosis during the period, like the harmattan wind suddenly laying waste to the sun's effort to remind the community of it's heat. Decorative lights adorned every tree, casting a warm glow over the students and teachers bustling about. Colorful banners, bearing messages of joy and celebration, fluttered in the breeze, heralding the impending festivities.

The students, adorned in a kaleidoscope of traditional and modern attire, added to the vibrant tapestry of the scene. Laughter echoed through the corridors as teachers exchanged warm wishes, and the promise of a well-deserved break lingered in the air. The school's cultural diversity manifested in the array of holiday decorations, showcasing a melting pot of traditions that united the students in celebration.

A few students rehearsed, others jumped and played whilst many eagerly joined a few teachers and event organizers to set up designs at strategies places.

The highlights of the event would go from the invited comedian or comedians, a notorious magician who had over the years gained a gathering that conceived him to be a wizard of unrivaled powers to a songstress who many of the senior students would talk about with reverence after her performance, the many games and the celebrity of the event it self.

Usually described by a teacher to have sailed nine oceans and over ten mountains, from the the north pole itself with more gifts than a gift factory could produce for a year on a magical sleigh that defiled gravity and common sense, the celebrity known across the world from Iceland to Iraq, whose laughter could end wars and melt hearts, whose dance moves could beat the likes of Shakira and Beyonce and move even the angels in the heavens and whose acrobatic displays were the nightmare of professionals, whose disappearing powers were simply unnatural, Father Christmas himself.


TO BE CONTINUED.

SYNOPSIS

In the spirited setting of a Nigeria private secondary school's Christmas party in Lagos, the joyous occasion takes a dark turn when the man behind the Santa Claus costume, Mr. Vincent, is discovered dead in his changing room on December 22nd.
As the school is thrust into a web of deception, theft, and forbidden liaisons, a seasoned police detective steps into the labyrinth of secrets and deceit.

IZANAGI PROVINCES - CENTRAL PLAINS - WILD TAVERN


Within the lively heart of the bustling tavern, the air was thick with the harmonious chaos of laughter, clinking tankards, and the lilting melodies of spirited music. The warm glow of lanterns danced upon wooden beams, casting a golden aura over the revelry.

In a corner bathed in shadows, a mysterious swords woman known as Ayame the silent witch, clad in a form-fitting ensemble of dark silk and adorned with an assortment of lethal blades, sat with an air of quiet confidence. Her piercing eyes, the color of stormy gray, scanned the room with a watchful intensity, revealing a woman of both deadly prowess and enigmatic allure.

Beside her, one of her chief commanders, Takeshi, shared in the revelry. A man of imposing stature, Takeshi's presence commanded respect as he exchanged hearty laughter with his fellow soldiers. Their armor, bearing the insignia of a legendary mercenary band, glistened with the marks of countless battles.

The atmosphere in the tavern pulsed with energy as patrons swayed to the rhythmic beats, and nimble dancers twirled with grace on a makeshift stage. The aroma of spiced wine and sizzling meats mingled in the air, creating an intoxicating blend that fueled the merriment.

As the night unfolded, a mysterious hooded figure slipped through the entrance, the edges of their cloak trailing like shadows. The ambient noise hushed momentarily as the figure moved with purpose towards Ayame's secluded corner. The dim light revealed only the glint of determined eyes beneath the hood, concealing the identity of this enigmatic newcomer.

With a nod from Ayame, Takeshi signaled to his men to make room for the hooded figure. As the newcomer took a seat, Ayame's gaze lingered for a moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. The air grew charged with an unspoken understanding, as if the currents of destiny had woven these disparate threads into a singular tapestry of intrigue.

The tavern, a haven of joyous chaos, bore witness to a convergence of destinies—the deadly swords woman, her stalwart commander, and the mysterious figure shrouded in secrets. Amidst the music, dance, and wine, a tale of alliances, enmities, and the dance of blades seemed poised to unfold in the heart of the lively night.

She motioned her visitor to speak using sign language.

"you may speak your business," Takeshi explained.

The hooded figure produced half a map and shoved it to Takeshi who studied it carefully and passed it on to the silent witch with an indifferent look.

"that is half of where your boys are, the slave traders do so well to move their business around but the war for now has slowed the pacing, I need a job done real soon, get it done, I get you..."

"how dare you blackmail her majesty?"

The witch motioned for her commander to hush quickly.

"keep your dogs in check,"

The hooded figure revealed a bit of his hidden face stunning even the witch herself.

"Prime minister Harashi?" she signaled and then smiled wickedly, pouring out wine for the minister who ignored the offer.

"a week from now, There is going to be an attack on Prince Yuji Maisanori on his way to see me, you must not fail to deliver me his head, this attack must be carried out in the military wears of the state of Azure, ensure you leave trails,"

Harashi took his leave leaving the silent witch and her commander to plan for their next contract.

KUROI EXPANSES - KAGE OUT POST VILLAGE - NORTHERN JAPAN

As the night began to settle over the heaps of smoke, ashes, blood and uneasiness echoing over the distance, the duo of travellers had luckily found an haven in a mountain side alongside a few villagers who had fled and escaped the war below, the little girl had been passed on a family who comforted her.

"everyone here has lost someone," demon monkey watched carefully, the weariness and tiredness, the trauma and pains etched in everyone's faces down to the animals spoke the brutality of the long age war between the main states of Japan and the onslaught by the slave traders.

" The monkey has feelings?" Atsuo said cleaning his blade cautiously besides a fire place.

" Demon monkey, feelings? Impossible, I am just stating the obvious, look at everyone they seem lost already, Atsuo tell me something, your kind, why do they fight for something so meaningless as land? "

" For one who boasts of the knowledge of the world, that's rather unexpected, it's not about the land, it's about power, since the time of Dragons, greatness was measured by the amount of power one has, we started the first wars against the dragons for power now they are no more, now we fight amongst ourselves," Atsuo said.

" so there will never be an end? "

" as along as the lands are scattered, some idiot would want to unite them and as long as there are men like that, the war will always continue, get some sleep, we leave at first dawn. " Atsuo said, sheathing his blade and finding a space to lie.

"

KUROI EXPANSES - KAGE OUT POST VILLAGE - NORTHERN JAPAN



In the aftermath of the merciless assault by the slave traders, the once-thriving village lay in ruins, its spirit shattered, and its essence tainted by the horrors inflicted upon its inhabitants. The acrid scent of smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the pungent stench of charred wood and despair.

The remnants of homes, now reduced to mere skeletons of their former selves, stood as silent witnesses to the brutality that had unfolded. Crumbling walls, once adorned with vibrant colors, now bore the scars of fire and destruction. The cobblestone streets, worn by the footsteps of generations, were marred with ash and the imprints of a desperate struggle.

Amidst the desolation, a few slave traders, adorned in ominous black attire The Black Dragon Slave Traders, still roamed the village like vultures circling the aftermath of their conquest. Their cool, calculating eyes scanned the ruins for any signs of life, dragging reluctant captives toward awaiting caravans with chains clinking ominously.

In the corners of the devastated village, families huddled together in a futile attempt to find solace amid the ruins of their lives. The air echoed with the anguished cries of those torn from their homes, pleading for mercy that fell on deaf ears. The slave traders, indifferent to the agony around them, continued their heartless march, their faces obscured by shadow and malice.

The once-vibrant marketplace, now reduced to rubble, held remnants of shattered stalls and overturned goods, a stark contrast to the bustling life it once hosted. The remnants of a small temple, its sacred walls defiled, stood as a cruel reminder of the sanctity that had been violated.

In the heart of the village square, where laughter once echoed, the well now stood tainted with the stains of tragedy. The bodies of those who had dared resist lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless eyes staring into the abyss, a haunting testament to the merciless brutality of the invaders.

As the last of the slave traders plundered what was left and captured those who may have returned from the nearby bushes.

A father protecting his daughter was quickly caught and both legs sliced and watched for sports as he bled out before his daughter and mother.

The black dragons hadn't known it yet but many villages feared them more than the five main states who were at war, for they were the vultures that feasted on what was deemed irrelevant to the main states yet they were the horses by whose means the five main states staged their wars, in a way, the slave traders fuelled the war at both ends.

Devouring the poor and helpless, many villages whose protection had been guaranteed in the past by their various allied main states were no longer certain, the war demanded soldiers, mercenaries, sorceresses and any who could fight hence little was given as thought to these villages who were now constantly at the mercy of the black dragon slave traders.

"leave the girl to me, the mother, her legs would sell for some coins, take hers and her heart and eyes too!" A commander on horse ordered.

His companions jeered and cheered as they watched the lackeys cut down the mother in sizes before the terrified girl who shuddered and shook in great fear.

" eight of you and one of her, what are the likes of you still doing here, your troop has long left yet you remain scavenging and hunting down what's left of a village already plundered , how pathetic and cruel are you?" Atsuo drew his sword, with stern eyes.

An arrow came hurling at his face which he brilliantly carved in halves.

" A swordsman, he will sell for more, get me his head! "


" they will never learn! " demon monkey nodded his head pathetically from his hideout where he anticipated the battle.

To be continued.

IZANAGI PROVINCES - CENTRAL PLAINS - ROYAL GROUNDS - MAISANORI'S CHAMBERS


In the heart of the traditional Japanese royal court, Prince Yuji Maisanori sat in dignified repose, a young man in his thirties whose regal bearing reflected the weight of his royal lineage. Clad in finely woven silk robes adorned with intricate patterns of imperial gold and deep indigo, he exuded an air of sophistication that mirrored the refined taste of his ancestors.

Seated upon a lacquered ebony throne with ornate golden inlays, Prince Yuji's piercing eyes, the color of obsidian, scanned the delicate parchment before him with unwavering focus. His strong jawline and chiseled features bespoke both nobility and resilience, softened only by the subtle grace of his contemplative expression.

The room, a testament to the Maisanori legacy, resonated with an aura of restrained opulence. Sliding paper doors, hand-painted with scenes of cherry blossoms in full bloom, separated the prince from the world outside. The tatami mat floor, meticulously arranged in a precise grid, bore witness to countless deliberations and royal audiences.

A tokonoma, an alcove adorned with a meticulously arranged ikebana, displayed an artful harmony of seasonal flowers. Scrolls depicting legendary battles and sagacious teachings adorned the walls, underscoring the lineage of warriors and scholars from which Yuji Maisanori hailed.

The fragrance of hinoki wood, emanating from meticulously crafted incense burners, hung in the air, creating an atmosphere of tranquility that enveloped the young prince as he delved into the contents of the letter. The flickering light of slender candles in exquisite holders cast dancing shadows upon the polished surfaces, adding a subtle warmth to the room.

At a low, lacquered table beside him, an intricately designed tea set awaited, symbolizing the grace and poise inherent to the Maisanori lineage. The soft rustle of silk robes and the occasional whisper of the wind outside were the only sounds that dared to intrude upon the profound stillness of the royal chamber.

In this sanctum of royalty, Prince Yuji Maisanori, the steward of tradition and bearer of a legacy yet what was he, what was his status? To the ruling party people within his brother's court, he was no more than a cry wolf, a would be usurper, an ungrateful wrench and a coup plotter who deserved exile; exile he was now grateful for.

"you may come in," he said as the knocks abruptly cut short his thoughts.
Kaito Haruki walked in, his most trusted bodyguard and friend in such trying times.

"my lord, I have come to say something,"

"you have come to tell me it's a bad idea, isn't it?" Maisanori dropped the letter and directed Kaito to take his seat.

"prime minister Harashi can not be trusted, a meeting with him outside this royal grounds would not only put your life in danger of your brother's many assassins and mercenaries but also will give your brother the one reason he needs to waive the the exile's royal grounds rule against you, you will be charged for treason, please you must not accept this invite! " Kaito begged.


Kaito was right in many ways, firstly, prime minister Harashi was not just any bureaucratic power monger, he was a powerful and highly influential figure in the court and among the people, his support could get him to make his brother break off the alliance yet Harashi could never be trusted, He never did air his opinion about the alliance openly, not once yet his signature was first among those who supported his own exile and banishment from the Royal court, yet the letter did make it seem Harashi was truly convinced he had been right and could be convinced if he was ready to seat and talk about it.

"Harashi holds 65% control of that court, if I could convince..."

"they are trying to draw you out, they know you're saying the truth, the alliance is a charade, a lie to cripple us as dissolve the military, already the the alliance 4th amendment has divided the military into 4 divisions, if they do not see that as a ploy to weaken our great state, I fear your enemies have already penetrated the royal court long ago, you must reject and wait for the perfect time. " Kaito strongly inserted.

" with an army of over 611,450 soldiers Marching on to their death, I cannot overlook this, the 4th amendment will be the collapse of our state's military and defense, the walls cannot protect us alone, It is true Harashi can not be fully trusted but a blind man does not fear death, begin preparations, Kaito, this is our last stand! "

GOSPEL NON FICTION SYNOPSIS


A young uber driver by chance happen to deliver a forgotten backpack to its owner, the resulting series of event will tend to shape his own destiny and question his faith and believe in God Almighty.

CONT'D



"hah, correct not even a desperate demon would offer you anything for nothing but you have demon monkey, demon monkey holds you a debt, I will accompany you..."

Atsuo must have been startled but he showed no emotion and remained u unperturbed, true, demon monkey did hold him a debt it had vowed to repay at all cost but if there was anything the demon enjoyed above all things including it's insatiable taste for knowledge, it was it's freedom, surely, demon monkey wasn't serious.

"incase you are wondering why I am going, well I am getting bored with the central plains, the rigid trade routes has made it impossible for books to come in, plus Since we are heading north..."

"North?"

"yes, the one you seek is hide the path dealer or some entities call him the merchant, I can bet a 5088 copies of demon monkey, he knows about the eye of oinaga,"

"then if it's a demon, then it can be anywhere while north?" Atsuo asked.

"because where the war thickens, there is always a merchant or a dealer, the war is the business and the business is the war, you have to keep up Atsuo, why can't you all humans know everything!" demon monkey taunted.

"but again it still doesn't offer any solution to the fact I have nothing to trade with," Atsuo added.

Demon monkey puffed a set of scrolls , much older and unique in its nature, one could tell it was in fact a relic of an age long lost.

"you see this, copy 1023 found this ancient text, it's dragon language long lost to humans and I doubt even demons could understand what it had to offer, but I am demon monkey, every Language known and unknown, codes, puzzles, if it is trying to communicate... "

" your point exactly!? "Atsuo cut in horribly, demons were known for their egotistical and prideful nature, something that irritated the swordsman a lot.


" you are such a Oak dragon, swordsman, Anyway, this holds the only written evidence of the source of dragon magic across the plains, it talks about the cosmic path way, a singular path way that bridges and branches across all living entities anyway I should not bore you, there is a path system the dragons mastered which is true to the cosmic pathway, by asking for something you have already been given, the cosmic listens to you... "

" In other words, we have got nothing to offer, well we have you, don't we? Pack up your things if you have any, let's go monkey demon,"

Their banter echoed for miles as they found their way across the central plains, an unlikely duo of demon and man.

Chapter One : SNOW FALL


AOKI CITYNORTHEAST - EMPEROR MAIMOTO'S LIBRARY - NIGHT


"go away, we are closed," The irritation behind the voice was fierce and downright bullish, echoing from the massive structure of shelves of old and quite modern books flooded the entire scene.

"The last time we met, your count was 34,567, I wonder what number stands now?" Atsuo ignored the earlier response, he was good acquaintances with this entity, he sought after.


Demon monkey suddenly flashed out of nowhere with a pile of books tightly wrapped under his tail.

" Hey, everybody come see, it's Atsuo! " demon monkey cried out half excitedly bringing more copies of the entity out into the open.

"Where is he.... Oh there you are, I can see you over there!" Atsuo pointed out the real demon monkey out of the hundreds of copies, much to the frustration of the entity; perhaps he would get him good next time he hoped.

Three years ago, his compulsive nature to read and learn new things, the curse of his demonic influence had gotten him into the wanted list of a particular group of bounty hunters, the silver hand. It was a small library on the outskirts of a small village, Silver hand had somehow gotten hold of ancient dragon magic, good enough to courter his evasive and manipulative powers, they had been planning his capture for certain and Atsuo Goichi Hiromori had walked in to get a map and for the price of a map, Atsuo had taken it upon himself to help an entity many would quickly try to kill or capture, he hadn't been afraid a
Or even in different about it or it's nature, the swordsman was quite peculiar in his own way and hence a debt was owed and a friendship established between man and demon.


"51,892 currently, ask me anything about the world, I can tell you just about everything, come on, try me, I know it all!" demon monkey snapped it's finger and completely emptied the scene of his duplicates.


"anything?" Atsuo's voice carried a bit of cynicism in it, of course demon monkey could potentially dare fuxi in terms of knowledge but one question would forever haunt it; how is it that Atsuo can always tell it apart from his clones at all times, it was a mystery that had pushed it to perfect it's cloning techniques to almost perfection yet the damn swordsman rarely ever raised a fuss before pointing out the obvious.

"okay, not everything, not yet but very close, demon monkey very close, what is it swordsman, what brings you here, still on your quest? " Demon monkey puffed out of sight only to return with a new book.

"Still on my quest, monkey demon, I need to know something, An influenced object, one that can help me find someone...."

"There are many objects..."

"No, this one is different , this one does not use a tracer or a marker or scent," Atsuo corrected.

"hmmm, now that's interesting, I remember, demon monkey knows, the eyes of oinaga dragon, one of the many ancient dragons, it's eyes could see all things, after the great fall, a great demon took its eyes for a trophy, ever since it's whereabouts have been a mystery... Wait, how does Atsuo know.. If you know then it's no longer a mystery, if it's no longer a mystery then you are looking for a high ranking demon, possibly a merchant or a path dealer, they should have what you are looking for, " Demon money replied.


" And where do I get one, since I don't have or use an influenced object or posses anything of interest, " Atsuo asked.

Chapter One


"No, I don't want you to leave daishi, father would never let the..."

"He signed and stamped it already plus he can't do anything now, our clan, our village have always been known as loyal subjects of the central plains and it's bureaucrats, father would give up ten more sons to ensure things stay this way ,"

"I hate him, no, he could not have, why? Did he have to send you, daishi please don't leave me here alone,"


His elder brother hugged him tightly and soon freed his embrace.

"It is going to be alright, I will be back, this war won't be my last, Atsuo, Here is my dragon scale blade, keep it for me, can you do that?" he shoved the blade into his younger brother's hands.

"I... I... I... I don't know, I..."

"fool! A Hiromori never hesitates, Daishi, we must go now, the others are ready!" Their father emerged from the horses stable, stern eyes that seemed offended by the moment both brothers were trying to have.

Once again, Atsuo sighed dully, the snow was his nature, the cold was his home yet it haunted him with memories he would prefer not to have or share over wine.

The dragon blade was one of many precious item he kept around his belt, it was all the memory he had of his brother, the wars never stopped, it only worsened, the five major states were at war and disarray y spread far and wide amongst the others and only until recently the Izanagi province and the onyx citadel of yami own ruling family formed an alliance in their war against the three others, and alliance Izanagi 's own Emperor Yuji Masatomo's own brother, Masanori has condemned openly sparking internal conflict and the rumors of a coup.

Nothing caused strife and devious scheming between the bureaucratic members of the ruling classes of Izanagi province such as a threat to their power.


As he approached Izanagi province , he couldn't help but admire it's beauty, it's magnificence In the heart of the tumultuous realm, shielded by towering walls that reached towards the heavens, lay the thriving city of Aoki, Izanagi's own city of dragons.

The massive fortifications, built of sturdy stone and fortified with centuries of history, stood as a testament to the resilience of its residents amid the ongoing war that encircled the land.

Beyond the imposing walls, the city sprawled in a mosaic of buildings and streets teeming with life. Towers of varying heights reached for the sky, casting shadows that danced upon the bustling streets below. The architectural diversity spoke of a city that had evolved over generations, adapting to the changing tides of conflict and prosperity.

Aoki city was a beacon of resilience, a thriving metropolis that refused to succumb to the relentless pressures of war.

The large number of residents moved with purpose through the labyrinthine streets, their daily lives woven into the vibrant tapestry of the city. Merchants peddled their wares in crowded markets, the air thick with the aroma of exotic spices and the clamor of lively barter.

Despite the constant wars that loomed beyond the protective walls, the people of Central Plains displayed a collective spirit that defied the challenges they faced. The city's heartbeat echoed in the rhythmic clang of blacksmiths shaping armor, the scholarly discussions within grand libraries, and the laughter that echoed from lively taverns.

The walls, grand and unyielding, were a symbol of both protection and confinement. From atop the battlements, guards surveyed the horizon, their watchful eyes scanning for signs of approaching danger. Towers punctuated the walls at strategic intervals, serving as both lookout points and residences for the elite.

Even in the midst of the ongoing war that raged beyond the city limits, Aoki city stood as a beacon of resilience for its people , its citizens refusing to be defined by the chaos that surrounded them. The spirit of the city thrived within the confines of its towering walls, a testament to the enduring strength and unity of those who called Aoki city, home.


He found his pass and quickly gained access beyond the towering gates, with his map in hand, he turned northeast to the largest library he could find, where there was knowledge, there was demon monkey.

Chapter One: Snow Fall



"Again... Again... Put your soul into your swing, boy!"

Atsuo sneezed and shivered as he practiced under the cold snowy weather.

"The Samui Sutoraiku Strike can only be perfected once, if you fail to achieve full form while perfecting it, the cold will hold on unto your heart and stop it from breathing, you will die from the inside out, so you must never give into the cold not until you perfect the strike, son!"

Those words returned to the now seemingly seasoned swordsman, Atsuo Giichi of the Snow Fall Village as he rode his trusted horse across the snowy terrains, heading to the central plains, his much more youthful days were filled with much terror and blood to last a lifetime, yet he had optioned not to turn tails and hide.

If he kept at the speed, he was sure to make it before dawn.

PROLOGUE CONT'D



"Hey you, what did you say about the bounty?" One of the five men asked, the threat in his voice had began to disperse the crowd in the tavern, even the bar keeper had disappeared suddenly as the air began dangerously thin in the tavern.


Yet the sword man remained calm, calmness that could either be interpreted as arrogance or sheer confidence, either way it was certain, one would find out.

"There is 5,000 gold coins in that bag, take it and withdraw your claim to the bounty," The swordsman pointed to a half filled bag of gold coins he dropped on the table.

There was a momentarily silence followed by laughter from the men who began to spread out in an attack formation, it was certain this was the one they had heard about the previous week, the Atsuo Giichi Hiromori the buyer they call him, a swordsman who goes around buying out claims to this particular bounty, those who refused were never seen again and they certainly were going to refuse, the Bo-kei gang was one of the best bounty hunters in the northern province, refusal to duel was an act of cowardice they could not afford, besides he seemed no different from any sword man they had dealt with in the past.

"You will regret this, Buyer!" The leader announced drawing his sword out.

"last chance, take the gold and keep your lives as bonus," His words stern and dangerous.


"You will die here swordsman!"

They rushed at him and with a dropped kneel he burdened the weight of their swords against his with much easy that worried the men immediately.

He rushed out and gave enough distance to take a good stance and as they came so did they fail to resist or parry his slashes, dropping all five as quickly as the fight started.

"wait, don't kill me please, Spare my life, spare me, you want the bounty, don't you, I have got something for you that will help you, " Pleaded the heavily wounded leader as Atsuo hovered around him, hoping to end his misery.

"Speak!"


"We have been on the trail of Genkei Senshi for months now without luck, He is quite elusive so we decided to seek out the merchant, there are talks, he has could find us an influenced object that could help us track him more effectively , the thing is we were on our way there... "

He stopped breathing his last, drowned by his own blood where he laid.


" Hey you, where is the... "

Atsuo realized what had happened and sighed heavily, another night and another uneventful accident leading to the unnecessary blood shed.

He returned to the board and took a hard stare at genkei's picture. It was already 2 and a half years, he could be dead, he could have been killed or something but he won't stop, there was no option, even now this so called influenced object could really help determine his next course of action and if this was true, there was one entity that could help him with the information he needed, demon monkey.

PROLOGUE TO CHAPTER ONE - SNOW FALL

PROLOGUE



SILENT CITY静寂の街-COLD TAVERN -DEN OF HUNTERS


Nestled in the heart of a Silent City, "The Cold Tavern" stands as a dimly lit refuge for those seeking the thrill of the hunt. Its weathered exterior is marked by a swinging sign, bearing the emblem of a mysterious hooded figure against a crescent moon – an emblem recognized by all who frequent the tavern whose branches are easily recognized across the various cities . A groaning signboard outside whispers tales of the countless patrons who have crossed its threshold.

Inside, the atmosphere is thick with the scent of well-worn leather, the faint aroma of pipe smoke, and the lingering fragrance of hearty stews served at worn wooden tables. It is not just a tavern; it is a hub for bounty hunters, mercenaries, and those with a taste for adventure.

A long, scarred bar occupies one side of the room, tended to by Gruff, a grizzled barkeep with eyes that have weathered years of tales of peril and excitement. His gaze surveys the room as he expertly polishes tankards, an observer of the stories that unfold within The Cold TAVERN.

Near the entrance, the bounty board commands attention, covered in a chaotic collage of tattered parchment. Each document tells a story – tales of criminals, rogues, demons, dragons, and creatures that haunt the outskirts of civilization.

Bounty hunters, identified by an assortment of weapons strapped to their backs and hardened expressions, gather around the board. They engage in hushed conversations, weighing the potential rewards and risks of each bounty. The flickering light from oil lamps casts shadows on their faces, creating an air of mystery that envelops them.

The bounty board itself is a patchwork of parchment adorned with sketches of wanted individuals and crude maps indicating the last known locations of elusive targets. Notices range from petty thieves to notorious bandit leaders, and even the occasional mythical creature that stirs fear among the locals.

A palpable silence falls over the room when a newcomer enters, their worn boots announcing their arrival. Seasoned hunters, their eyes gleaming with camaraderie and competition, cast glances toward the newcomer. The Wandering Shadow is a place where reputations are earned, coin purses are filled, and alliances are forged in the pursuit of bounties that linger in the shadows of the medieval realm. It serves as the nexus where tales of adventure begin, and where those who walk the path of the bounty hunter come to check on the available bounties that await their skill and cunning.

"100,000 gold coins ah, what do you think old chap, overpricing?" The straw hat face covered sword an announced his presence finally, eyes glued to the board.

"You are talking to me?" The half drunk old man asked confusingly as the stranger walked up to his table.

"Yes, you, you seem like a lively one who can tell me about the bounty, 100,000 gold coins for a human, even dragons would feel jealous right now,"
The swordsman drew a cup and signaled for service quickly, his words sipping into the ears of many quickly.

" well, uh (chuckles) I think it is a ghost dragon chase if you ask me," The old man replied half excitedly, it was his luck to find someone tonight willing to buy a bottle of wine for him for a conversation.

"A ghost dragon you say, so you don't believe it's a real deal or you don't think it's possible to get the bounty?" The swordsman asked curiously as wine bottles settled on their table.

"Well, Its both and also not, think about it, first the bounty is unreasonable, a 100,000 gold coins for a mere man is impossible, I mean what would warrant such a bounty and if it is true, we could be talking about a grand master swordsman with powerful influenced weapons and maybe demon alliances, such a man would never ever be caught and he won't even bother to hide in the first place, so I think it's a ghost dragon bounty! "

" (thoughtfully) I think you are very smart old chap, you have a point yet again, you have some of the best bounty hunters and sword men after this mysterious bounty, I can't blame them, it's a once in a lifetime opportunity to put swords to good use and retire in wealth maybe buy a minister position in one of the small cities up in the sourth and live free forever, "

The old man seemed pleased with his colleague and had hoped to go a bit further before he realized a group of bounty hunters had overshadowed their table, of course he was no fool not to recognize, this was Bo-Kei and his gang; one of many patrons he preferred not to cross paths with, He gulped hard the remainent and took his leave hastingly, his colleague must have done something to draw such ugly folks and such folks hardly left without leaving a mark, he had drunk more than enough for the night.

I do not owe the copyrights of the image below. Only used for.illustration purposes.

In a land infested by demons, ancient dragons and warriors and bounty hunters who have harnessed their dark power by making pacts with these demons, genkei, a grieving swordsman, roams the desolate countryside. Haunted by the murder of his wife and the annihilation of his village by a malevolent demon trapped within a cursed sword, genkei is a tormented soul. His journey for vengeance takes him through grim landscapes, his path marked by the relentless voices and visions of the imprisoned demon.

Amidst the shadowy forests, genkei encounters Atsuo, a prodigy swordsman on his trail yet not for the sword but to settle some old scores.reluctantly, Genkei accepts Atsuo as a true, honorable rival with skills not to be looked down upon and a real bond between swordsmen begins to unfold ironically in a war strciken landscape and an even superior foe lurking in thr dark. As they travel, they begin to share their stories and inner demons, deepening their connection and resolve.


GENKEI SENSHI : YEAR ONE TRIES TO REWRITE THE LORE OF WHAT IS KNOWN ALREADY AND SET THE FOUNDATION OF WHAT IS TRULY THE TALE OF THE ONE WHO TALKS TO SWORDS

Check out the original anime story here:


https://www.nairaland.com/6767637/he-talks-swords-anime-series