Chapter 3: Poison and Old Wounds

Luckily, after years of training, I still had some tricks up my sleeve.

Na who never see war dey use all him hope for one basket. Me, I get sense, I hide small inside my sword.

Just before my soul scattered, I drew my sword and slashed towards the mortal world.

One quick move, sharp sharp, I pour the last of my spirit inside the blade, shout my ancestor’s name, and slash down—my only hope.

On that sword spirit, I tied a small piece of my original soul.

That small thread na all I get—like gourd with last drop of palmwine. But I tie am well, hope say e go carry me reach tomorrow.

With that tiny thread, I finally came back to life after two thousand years.

Two thousand years! When I open my eyes, na another world. E be like I blink once, but time waka pass me.

But this time, all my pride had disappeared.

I no get that my old noise again—na empty head I get, humble like chicken after rain.

The defeat from my last life almost broke my spirit.

Sometimes, na only real disgrace fit break strong head. I no fit hide am.

That so-called number one sword master of Umuola—abeg, na joke.

If dem call me champion now, I go just laugh. I don see bigger things.

Genius is only the entry ticket to meet real great people.

Dem no dey give gold medal for only talent. Once you cross small river, you go see say real sea dey wait.

Before, I saw nobody as my mate, thinking I be the child of the Great Spirit.

My head too swell that time, I believe say na only me get power. I no sabi say world wide.

Now, I understand: person pass person, sky pass sky.

As elders dey talk: "If you think say your yam big, another man dey fry better porridge."

In this new life, I no longer care to be number one in the world.

If dem give me small farm, cool wife, pikin wey go call me papa, I go just dey content.

All I want is peace—just to live a calm, simple life.

No more wahala. I no get time for battle, na small joy I dey find now.