Chapter 18: The First Real Fight

The underground chamber was silent except for the distant crackling of torches. The air was thick with tension as Jackim faced Liang, his body still pulsing from the Iron Tempering Ritual. His muscles ached, his skin burned, but deep inside, something had changed.

He was stronger now.

Liang smirked, cracking his neck. "You think sitting in a cauldron makes you a warrior?" His tone was mocking, but his stance was precise—his movements controlled. This wasn't just arrogance. He was a trained fighter.

Jackim flexed his fingers. He had no formal techniques yet, only the harsh training Han had put him through. But he wasn't going to back down.

Han watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed. "If you lose, get up. If you fall again, stand. And if you're broken—fix yourself."

Jackim exhaled.

This was it.

Liang lunged forward.

Jackim barely had time to react as Liang's fist shot toward him. He dodged, but not fast enough—pain exploded across his ribs as the punch grazed him. He staggered back.

Liang didn't give him time to recover. He followed up with a spinning kick, aiming straight for Jackim's chest.

Instinct took over.

Jackim raised his arm just in time, absorbing the impact. His bones vibrated from the force, but he didn't crumble. Instead, he pushed forward, using the momentum to swing a fist toward Liang's face.

It connected.

Liang stumbled back, eyes wide with surprise.

Jackim's heart pounded. His punch actually landed.

But Liang recovered fast.

"Not bad," he admitted, wiping his lip. "But not enough."

Before Jackim could react, Liang twisted low and swept his legs out from under him.

Jackim crashed to the ground, the air knocked from his lungs.

Pain flared, but Han's voice echoed in his mind.

"If you fall, stand."

Jackim rolled to avoid Liang's next strike and pushed himself up, ignoring the ache in his limbs.

This wasn't just about winning.

This was about surviving.

A Fighter's Instinct

Jackim adjusted his stance, feet planted firmly. He remembered the training—balance, patience, control.

Liang smirked. "So, you can take a hit. Let's see how long that lasts."

This time, Jackim didn't wait.

He moved first.

Liang's eyes flickered with surprise as Jackim closed the distance, launching a faint punch toward his face.

Liang reacted, blocking high.

But that's what Jackim wanted.

At the last second, he twisted, dropping low, and drove his elbow into Liang's ribs.

Liang grunted in pain.

Jackim pressed forward, ignoring the burning in his muscles. He followed up with a sharp knee to the stomach.

Liang staggered, breathless.

Jackim saw the opening.

He spun and sent a kick crashing into Liang's side.

Liang was thrown back, hitting the ground hard.

For the first time, he didn't get up right away.

Jackim stood there, chest rising and falling. His knuckles ached, his body screamed, but—

He won.

Han chuckled. "Not bad."

Jackim's gaze never left Liang, who finally pushed himself up, wiping blood from his lip. His smirk returned, but there was respect in his eyes now.

"You got lucky," Liang muttered. "But next time—"

Jackim interrupted. "I'll still win."

Liang's smirk widened. "We'll see."

Han clapped his hands together. "Enough talking. Training starts at dawn."

Jackim's body begged for rest, but he only nodded.

He wasn't stopping now.

Not when he had just begun.

---

That night, Jackim sat outside the training hall, staring up at the stars. His body ached, but there was a strange excitement inside him.

For the first time, he felt like he belonged in this world of fighters, of warriors, of those who refused to kneel.

He had won his first fight.

But he knew—

The real battles were yet to come.

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