Chapter 19: The Challenge from the Elite

Jackim awoke before dawn, his muscles stiff from the fight with Liang the night before. The ache in his body reminded him of how far he had to go. He had won, but it wasn't skill that secured his victory—it was instinct and luck. He needed more.

As he stepped outside the training hall, the morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and burning incense. Han stood at the center of the courtyard, waiting.

"You're early," Han said without looking at him.

Jackim nodded. "I want to improve."

Han smirked, tossing him a wooden staff. "Then let's begin."

The moment Jackim caught it, Han moved.

A blur.

Jackim barely had time to react before Han's staff whipped toward his ribs. He raised his own to block, but the impact nearly sent it flying from his hands.

"Too slow."

Han struck again—this time at his legs. Jackim jumped, but Han was already spinning, his staff slicing through the air like a blade.

Jackim couldn't keep up.

In a matter of seconds, he was disarmed and on his back.

Han towered over him, staff pointed at his throat. "You think fights will always be fair?"

Jackim clenched his jaw. "No."

"Then stop holding back."

Han stepped back, motioning for him to stand. Jackim wiped dirt from his cheek and picked up his weapon.

"Again."

---

As they sparred, the sound of approaching footsteps broke the rhythm of their movements.

Jackim turned and saw a tall figure entering the courtyard, dressed in flowing black robes embroidered with golden dragons. His presence alone radiated authority.

He was followed by a group of young men and women, all dressed in similar attire. Their expressions ranged from amusement to contempt as they observed the training.

Han lowered his staff, eyes narrowing. "What do you want?"

The man in black smiled, but it was the kind that carried hidden thorns. "Master Han, always so direct." He then turned his gaze to Jackim, eyes scanning him like a predator sizing up its prey. "So this is your new student?"

Jackim remained silent.

Han's grip on his staff tightened. "Why are you here, Zhao Feng?"

Zhao Feng chuckled, stepping closer. "We heard rumors. That you were training… someone interesting." His gaze settled on Jackim. "But looking at him, I fail to see what's special."

One of the young men behind him scoffed. "Just another street rat pretending to be a warrior."

Jackim exhaled slowly, keeping his emotions in check.

Zhao Feng continued, "In fact, I think it's insulting that someone like him gets to be under your guidance, Master Han. So, how about this?"

His smile sharpened. "A challenge."

Jackim's eyes flickered. "What kind of challenge?"

Zhao Feng's smile widened. "One of my disciples against you. A proper fight. No excuses. No luck. Just skill."

Jackim's fingers curled around his staff.

Han looked at him. "You don't have to accept."

But Jackim stepped forward.

"I do."

---

The courtyard was silent as Jackim faced his opponent.

The disciple chosen to fight him was Luo Ren, a well-known name among martial artists. He was lean but muscular, his movements sharp and calculated. Unlike Liang, Luo Ren had been trained since childhood.

"Let's make this quick," Luo Ren said, unsheathing a pair of daggers.

Jackim took a deep breath. He had no weapons except his fists. No proper technique. No family name backing him.

But he had resolve.

Han nodded. "Begin."

Luo Ren vanished.

Jackim barely saw the movement before pain erupted in his side. Luo Ren had closed the distance instantly, his dagger's blunt edge striking just below Jackim's ribs.

Jackim staggered, but before he could recover, Luo Ren was behind him.

A kick to the back sent Jackim tumbling forward.

The group watching laughed.

Zhao Feng smirked. "This is embarrassing."

Jackim gritted his teeth.

He pushed himself up, forcing his breathing to steady. Luo Ren was faster, stronger. His moves were unpredictable. But—

Jackim was still standing.

"If you fall, stand."

Jackim exhaled.

When Luo Ren came again, Jackim didn't dodge. He stepped forward instead, catching his opponent off guard.

He absorbed the first strike, letting pain fuel his focus. Then, in one swift motion—

He grabbed Luo Ren's wrist, twisted, and slammed his elbow into the man's shoulder.

A sharp crack echoed.

Luo Ren cried out, stumbling back.

The watching disciples' laughter vanished.

Zhao Feng's smirk faltered.

Jackim didn't let up. He pressed forward, using everything he had learned—quick counters, precise movements, unexpected strikes.

And then—

His fist connected with Luo Ren's jaw.

The disciple crashed to the ground, unconscious.

Silence.

Jackim wiped blood from his lip and turned to Zhao Feng.

"Is that enough skill for you?"

Zhao Feng's expression darkened.

But Han stepped between them. "The fight is over." His gaze locked onto Zhao Feng. "Now leave."

Zhao Feng didn't argue. He only smiled—one filled with unspoken threats.

"This isn't over," he whispered before turning away.

Jackim watched them leave, his heart pounding.

He had won.

But he knew—

This was just the beginning.

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