Chapter 13: The Struggle Begins

The next morning arrived far too soon.

Jackim awoke to a deep, throbbing pain that radiated through every fiber of his being. It felt as if his muscles had been torn apart and barely stitched back together. His body screamed for rest, but the sharp clang of the training bell shattered any hope of sleep.

Han had already made it clear—if he wanted to survive, he had to endure.

With great difficulty, Jackim pushed himself off the thin straw mat, his joints stiff and aching. The scent of damp wood and herbal ointments lingered in the small training quarters, reminding him of how close he had come to collapsing for good the previous day.

Yet, despite everything, his spirit remained unbroken.

By the time he staggered into the courtyard, the other trainees were already mid-way through their morning drills. Some were practicing bare-handed combat, while others wielded wooden staffs and blades, moving with sharp precision.

Han stood at the center, his piercing gaze scanning the group. When his eyes landed on Jackim, there was no surprise—only expectation.

"Late again."

Jackim forced himself to stand straight, ignoring the sharp pain lancing through his ribs. "I'm here."

Han's expression didn't change. "Run."

Jackim didn't hesitate. He took off, even though every step sent fresh waves of agony through his legs. The courtyard's perimeter felt twice as large as yesterday, and each lap blurred into the next. His breath was uneven, but he forced himself to keep moving.

Sweat dripped down his face, his shirt clinging to his body. The other trainees barely spared him a glance—most had been through this before. They knew better than to pity the weak.

Liang watched from a shaded corner, arms crossed. A smirk tugged at his lips as he saw Jackim stumble for the third time.

But Jackim didn't fall.

He pushed himself forward, his mind locked onto one thought—he couldn't afford to be weak.

After what felt like an eternity, Han finally called for him to stop.

Jackim collapsed onto his hands and knees, his breath ragged. His vision swam, black spots dotting his eyesight.

Yet, he had done it.

Again.

Han walked over, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust. He studied Jackim's trembling form before nodding slightly. "Good. You lasted longer."

Jackim clenched his fists against the dirt.

It still wasn't enough.

---

Just as Jackim thought he'd have time to recover, Han called him over.

"We start combat training today."

Jackim's heart pounded, but he swallowed his exhaustion.

Liang stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "I'll go easy on him."

Han shot him a sharp look. "If you go easy, you'll both regret it."

Jackim barely had time to process the warning before Liang lunged.

A fist crashed into his stomach.

Pain exploded through his core, and before he could react, a sharp kick swept his legs out from under him. The world spun as he hit the ground, coughing violently.

Liang snorted. "Too slow."

Jackim gritted his teeth, staggering back to his feet. His entire body ached, but he refused to stay down.

He rushed forward, throwing a punch. Liang dodged easily, countering with a quick jab to his ribs. Jackim barely managed to block, but the impact still sent him stumbling back.

His breathing was labored, his muscles sluggish. His body wasn't responding the way he wanted—it was still too slow, too weak.

Liang smirked. "You're not used to fighting."

Jackim glared at him. "I'll learn."

Liang raised an eyebrow. "We'll see."

The next strike came faster. Jackim barely managed to deflect it, but Liang wasn't giving him time to breathe. His movements were fluid, each attack seamless. Jackim could do nothing but react, his defenses crumbling with every hit.

Within moments, he was on the ground again.

Han sighed. "Pathetic."

Jackim's fingers dug into the dirt. His body screamed at him to stay down, but his pride wouldn't allow it.

He forced himself up, his vision swimming.

Again.

He had to get up.

Liang studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "You've got heart, I'll give you that."

Jackim wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I'll do more than survive."

Han's eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"Then prove it."

Jackim took a shaky breath, his fists tightening.

He would.

No matter how long it took.

---

By the time training ended, Jackim's body was a mess of bruises and exhaustion. Every inch of him ached, his limbs heavy as he limped toward the small, worn-out wooden cabin assigned to him.

The others ignored him, too focused on their own routines. A few of them, however, whispered as he passed.

"He won't last a week."

"He's just a stray dog trying to run with wolves."

Jackim didn't acknowledge them. He didn't have the strength to care.

He collapsed onto his mat, breathing heavily. His body felt like it was on fire, his muscles screaming in protest.

The old man's voice echoed in his mind.

"You are weak now, but that is only the beginning."

Jackim closed his eyes.

If he wanted to change, if he wanted to rise above this, he had to endure.

He clenched his fists.

No matter what.

The night was long, and his dreams were filled with shadows of his past—mocking laughter, abandoned love, and the suffocating weight of failure.

But when dawn came, so did a new resolve.

Tomorrow, he would be stronger.

Tomorrow, he would fight again.

And one day, no one would dare look down on him ever again.

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