Chapter 15: The Path of Blood and Sweat

The morning was unforgiving.

Jackim woke up to the sharp sting of aching muscles, his entire body feeling like it had been run over by a carriage. Every limb protested as he moved, but he clenched his teeth and forced himself up from the thin straw mat in the training hall. The air was cold, the wooden floor beneath him hard and unwelcoming. His fingers curled into the fabric of his torn training robe, his mind already steeling itself for the hell that awaited him.

He could hear the distant sounds of training outside—fists hitting wooden dummies, the crackle of energy in the air as the other disciples practiced their martial techniques.

But for Jackim, none of that mattered.

Because today, he would prove that he wasn't just some poor outsider struggling to keep up.

Today, he would take one step closer to the top.

---

Han stood at the peak of the training grounds, his arms folded as he watched the students gather. His piercing gaze fell on Jackim, who had just stepped out, his robes still damp with sweat from the previous day's training.

"You look like you barely slept," Han commented.

Jackim wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Sleep is a luxury, isn't it?"

A few of the disciples around him smirked, but most ignored his presence. He was still nothing but a nameless outsider to them—one who didn't belong among the elite.

Han, however, nodded approvingly. "Good answer."

Then, without warning, he tossed a heavy wooden bucket at Jackim's feet. The force of it hitting the ground sent up a cloud of dust.

Jackim blinked at it, already knowing what was coming.

"Carry this up the mountain," Han said simply.

Jackim exhaled. "How far?"

Han smirked. "Until I say stop."

Jackim's fingers curled around the rough wooden handle. The weight of the bucket was immense, filled to the brim with water. He barely had time to adjust his grip before Han continued.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Jackim looked up.

"Not a single drop can spill."

Silence.

The other disciples exchanged glances, some chuckling under their breaths. Even Liang, who leaned lazily against a tree, scoffed. "You might as well quit now."

Jackim ignored them.

With a deep breath, he hoisted the bucket off the ground. The weight sent an immediate jolt through his arms, his muscles screaming in protest. But he didn't hesitate.

Step by step, he moved forward.

---

The mountain path was steep and uneven, the loose gravel making every step a battle for balance. The sun, though still low in the sky, cast long shadows across the jagged rocks.

Jackim's arms burned.

His shoulders ached with every movement, and his grip on the wooden handle tightened until his knuckles turned white. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat dripping down his face as he climbed higher.

Halfway up, his legs trembled.

The weight of the bucket was relentless, his grip slipping slightly.

But he couldn't let it fall.

He clenched his jaw, adjusting his stance. The water inside the bucket swayed dangerously, threatening to spill over the edge.

No. Not yet.

He forced himself to focus.

Each step felt like walking through fire, but he didn't stop.

He refused to stop.

Behind him, some of the disciples followed, watching with amusement. Liang trailed at a distance, his arms crossed as he observed in silence.

The peak of the training ground felt impossibly far.

Jackim gritted his teeth, his breathing ragged. His vision blurred slightly from exhaustion, but he kept moving.

And then—finally—he reached the top.

Not a single drop had spilled.

A long silence followed.

Han raised an eyebrow, stepping forward to inspect the bucket. After a moment, he nodded.

"You lasted longer than I expected," he said, his voice unreadable.

Jackim forced himself to stand straight despite the pain in his spine. "What's next?"

Han's lips twitched into the faintest smirk.

"Now, we see if you've learned anything."

Jackim turned, just in time to see Liang stepping into the training ring, cracking his knuckles.

His heart sank.

Not again.

---

Liang's stance was relaxed, but his sharp gaze held amusement. "Still breathing, poor boy?"

Jackim rolled his shoulders, the exhaustion weighing on him like a mountain. "Barely."

Liang smirked. "Then let's see if I can fix that."

The moment the match began, Liang moved like a phantom.

Jackim barely had time to raise his arms before a powerful strike slammed into his ribs. The impact sent him stumbling, pain exploding through his body.

He gasped, the breath knocked out of him.

But he didn't fall.

He refused to fall.

Jackim steadied himself, his legs weak but his mind sharp. He had taken too many beatings already to let this one break him.

Liang studied him. "You're getting harder to knock down."

Jackim exhaled, smirking despite the pain. "And you're getting predictable."

A flicker of irritation crossed Liang's face.

In an instant, he attacked again.

Jackim barely dodged, his instincts sharper than before. His movements weren't fast, but he was learning.

And this time, he countered.

His fist swung forward, catching Liang off guard.

The impact was weak, but it landed.

For the first time, Jackim had landed a hit.

A hushed silence followed.

Liang rubbed his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to Jackim's surprise, he laughed.

"Well, well. Maybe you're not hopeless after all."

Jackim smirked, ignoring the blood on his lip. "Told you."

Han watched them in silence before speaking.

"You're improving."

Jackim wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Not fast enough."

Han's smirk widened. "Then we train harder."

Jackim exhaled, the exhaustion crushing him. But in his heart, something burned.

A fire.

A relentless determination.

Because he knew one thing for certain—

He was no longer the same weak boy from before.

And soon, the world would know it too.

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