Chapter 16: The Burden of Strength

The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of insects as Jackim sat alone in the courtyard. His body ached from the brutal training session, but his mind refused to rest. His hands trembled slightly as he flexed his fingers, feeling the rawness in his knuckles from the earlier fight with Liang.

He had landed a hit.

A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

The realization sent a rush of determination through him. He was improving—slowly, painfully—but undeniably. The path ahead was steep, yet for the first time, he believed he could climb it.

But was it enough?

Could he truly stand against the powerful families, the skilled martial artists, the ones who looked down on him with nothing but scorn?

A flicker of doubt crept in, but he crushed it.

No. He couldn't afford to waver.

Not now.

---

Morning arrived with an unrelenting chill. The disciples assembled in the training yard, their breaths forming faint clouds in the cold air. Han stood before them, his arms crossed as he surveyed the gathered students.

"Today," he announced, "we're going to test your progress."

A murmur spread through the crowd.

Han's gaze landed on Jackim. "And you, outsider, will be tested the hardest."

Jackim tensed but didn't back down.

Han gestured toward the far side of the courtyard, where a row of wooden poles stood, each wrapped in layers of tightly woven rope.

"You will strike the pole five thousand times," Han stated. "Without stopping."

Silence.

Even some of the senior disciples hesitated.

Jackim's stomach twisted. His body was already sore from yesterday, but he clenched his fists and stepped forward without a word.

Han nodded approvingly. "Begin."

Jackim took his stance.

The first strike was manageable. The second, a little harder. By the tenth, his knuckles throbbed.

By the hundredth, blood seeped through the skin.

Still, he continued.

Each punch sent sharp jolts of pain up his arm, but he refused to stop. The onlookers whispered, some shaking their heads, others watching with curiosity.

Liang leaned against a nearby pillar, smirking. "You think pain makes you stronger?"

Jackim didn't answer. He kept striking.

Two hundred.

Three hundred.

His vision blurred from the effort, sweat dripping down his face, mixing with the blood. His fingers trembled, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on.

Four hundred.

His arms burned. His body screamed for mercy.

But mercy was a luxury he had never been given.

So he kept going.

---

By the time he reached one thousand strikes, his entire body felt numb. His breath came in ragged gasps, his knuckles raw and torn.

But still, he continued.

Han watched him carefully. "Good. Now use your legs."

Jackim barely had the strength to stand, but he obeyed. His kicks were sluggish at first, his balance unstable. He nearly collapsed after the first few attempts, but sheer willpower kept him upright.

The minutes bled into hours.

By the time he reached two thousand strikes, his vision darkened at the edges.

By three thousand, he could barely lift his limbs.

And yet, he still refused to stop.

His body was failing, but his mind was stronger than ever.

Han finally raised a hand. "Enough."

Jackim nearly collapsed, but he steadied himself, panting heavily. His fists were drenched in blood, his legs trembling.

Han stepped closer, inspecting him. "You lasted longer than I expected."

Jackim smirked weakly. "That's becoming a habit."

Han chuckled, but there was respect in his eyes. "You've proven something today."

Jackim exhaled, his chest rising and falling heavily. "And what's that?"

Han's expression darkened slightly. "That you have the will to endure."

A long pause.

Jackim's heart pounded.

"But…" Han continued. "Will alone won't make you strong."

Before Jackim could react, Han moved.

A blur of motion—then a sharp strike landed against Jackim's chest.

He was sent flying backward, crashing into the dirt.

The world spun around him.

Pain exploded in his ribs, knocking the breath out of him.

Han loomed over him, expression unreadable. "Strength isn't just about surviving."

Jackim struggled to rise. His arms shook as he pushed himself up, coughing.

Han crouched slightly, lowering his voice. "It's about winning."

Jackim clenched his fists.

He understood.

He wasn't strong enough yet.

But he would be.

He had to be.

---

That night, as Jackim sat in the courtyard once more, nursing his wounds, he felt something shift within him.

A hunger.

A hunger for strength.

A hunger to rise.

Because he knew this was just the beginning.

And the world had no idea what was coming.

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