Chapter 12: The Path of Suffering

Jackim woke up to the unbearable stiffness of his muscles. His entire body throbbed, each bruise a painful reminder of yesterday's fight. The taste of blood still lingered in his mouth, and his knuckles ached from where they had collided with Liang's ribs.

Yet, despite the pain, a small fire burned within him.

He had endured.

The wooden ceiling above him swayed slightly as he forced himself to sit up. The small, dimly lit training quarters smelled of sweat, damp wood, and herbs—probably meant for healing injuries. He had no idea how he ended up here. The last thing he remembered was collapsing after Han dismissed him. Someone must have carried him inside.

Jackim pushed himself off the straw mat, his feet unsteady. The moment he stood, a fresh wave of pain shot through his ribs, making him suck in a sharp breath. His hands clenched into fists. The pain wasn't new—it was just a reminder of how weak he still was.

"Tch. Still alive?"

Jackim turned to see Liang leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirking as usual.

Jackim wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Disappointed?"

Liang chuckled. "Not really. You took a beating, but you didn't cry. I respect that."

Jackim rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to walk past him. "I don't need your respect."

Liang followed, amused. "Maybe not. But you're going to need more than stubbornness to survive here."

Jackim didn't respond. He already knew that.

The courtyard was alive with movement as trainees practiced their forms under the early morning sun. Some sparred in pairs, their movements precise and controlled. Others meditated, their breathing deep and measured. The rhythmic sounds of fists striking wooden dummies echoed through the air.

Jackim's eyes fell on Han, who stood at the center, watching them all. His sharp gaze turned to Jackim the moment he stepped out.

"Late," Han said flatly.

Jackim didn't bother to argue. His entire body still felt like it had been crushed under a carriage, but he forced himself forward.

"Run."

Jackim blinked. "What?"

Han didn't repeat himself.

The other trainees didn't even glance his way. They already knew.

Jackim clenched his jaw and began moving. At first, it was just a jog, his feet kicking up dust as he circled the training grounds. But with each step, the pain grew worse. His ribs protested, his lungs burned, and his legs felt like they carried the weight of a thousand stones.

Still, he ran.

Minutes turned into hours. Sweat soaked through his tattered shirt, and his breathing grew ragged. He lost count of how many laps he had done, but Han never gave him permission to stop.

Liang and the others finished their morning drills and moved on to sparring. Jackim kept running.

The sun climbed higher.

His vision blurred, his steps faltered, but he pushed forward.

When his legs finally gave out, he collapsed onto the dirt, gasping for air.

Han's footsteps approached.

Jackim struggled to lift his head.

"Again," Han said coldly.

Jackim's fingers dug into the earth beneath him.

His body screamed for rest. His mind begged him to stop.

But his soul burned with defiance.

He pushed himself up, staggering back onto his feet.

And he ran.

---

By midday, Jackim's body was drenched in sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his feet barely lifted off the ground. He didn't know how many laps he had completed—fifty? A hundred? His entire body felt like it was on fire, yet Han still hadn't told him to stop.

The other trainees had moved on to their respective training drills, practicing stances, sparring, or honing their weapon techniques. Jackim, however, remained running in endless circles.

Liang, who had been spectating for a while, finally sighed and turned to Han. "Isn't this enough? The guy can barely stand."

Han didn't even glance at him. "If he can still breathe, he can still run."

Jackim's knees wobbled, and for a second, it seemed like he would collapse again. But he gritted his teeth and kept going. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to stop, but his will refused to break.

He thought about every time someone had looked down on him. The way he was mocked for being poor. The way his ex-girlfriend left him without a second thought. The humiliations he endured in public places, in restaurants, in business offices, in wealthy neighborhoods.

They thought he was nothing.

If he collapsed now, wouldn't they be right?

Jackim's vision swam, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He wasn't running with his body anymore—he was running with his will.

Finally, as the sky began to shift into shades of orange, Han's voice rang out.

"Stop."

Jackim barely heard it over the pounding in his head, but his legs immediately gave out. He collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air, his entire body trembling violently.

His arms barely had the strength to hold him up. His face was drenched in sweat, his shirt sticking to his skin.

Han approached him, his expression unreadable. "Stand."

Jackim's fingers curled into the dirt.

He couldn't.

His body refused to move.

Han knelt down beside him. "Do you want to become strong?"

Jackim swallowed hard. His throat was dry, his body shaking. But his eyes burned with a fire that couldn't be extinguished.

"…Yes."

Han nodded. "Then you'll learn this first lesson well. A strong fighter doesn't just rely on skill—he relies on endurance."

Jackim remained silent, his breathing ragged.

Han straightened. "You survived today. That's good. But tomorrow, it will be worse."

Jackim didn't doubt it.

As Han turned to leave, Liang crouched beside him, smirking. "You looked like you were about to die."

Jackim, still gasping, gave a weak grin. "Didn't, though."

Liang let out a chuckle. "Maybe you aren't completely useless."

Jackim closed his eyes for a moment, exhaustion pulling at him. He didn't know how long he lay there before he finally found the strength to move again.

With great effort, he rolled onto his back, staring at the darkening sky.

The pain in his body was unbearable.

But deep inside, something stirred.

He had survived the first step.

And tomorrow, he would do it again.

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