Chapter 10: The Brutal Training Begins
Pain was the first thing Kim Han felt.
Not the dull ache of starvation from the pit, not the sharp sting of fresh wounds. This was different—a pain meant to reshape him.
The cold metal of Daichi's boot pressed against his chest, pinning him to the ground. Blood trickled from his lips as he gasped for air. His body screamed.
But Daichi Sato only smiled.
"You made it out of the pit," Daichi said, pressing down harder. "Now, let's see if you can survive me."
Han gritted his teeth. He wanted to fight back, to tear Daichi apart. But his body refused to move.
He was too weak.
Daichi shook his head, sighing. "Disappointing."
Then, the real training began.
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The first rule of Daichi's training: Pain is your teacher.
Han was stripped of any comfort. He was given no food, no water, no rest. Every moment of his existence was a test.
The first morning, they dragged him out into the cold. The mountain air burned his lungs as he stood in the center of an abandoned temple courtyard. Stone walls rose around him, trapping him.
He wasn't alone.
Standing before him were three masked men, all armed with wooden swords.
Daichi's voice echoed through the courtyard.
"Kill or be killed."
The first strike came without warning.
A wooden blade smashed into his ribs. Han staggered, gasping. Another strike. His knee buckled.
A third. His vision blurred.
He collapsed onto the stone floor, coughing up blood.
Daichi's footsteps approached. Slow. Patient.
"You think suffering in the pit made you strong?" Daichi knelt beside him, grabbing Han's face. His red eyes burned with amusement.
"You're still weak."
Han spat blood onto Daichi's face.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—a sharp pain exploded in Han's stomach.
Daichi's fist drove into his gut, sending him sprawling. The world spun.
"You'll learn," Daichi said, standing up. "Or you'll die."
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The second rule: Your body is your weapon.
There were no swords, no guns, no armor. Han had only his fists, his instincts, and his will to survive.
They starved him for days.
His body became frail, shaking with exhaustion.
Then, the real torture began.
Punch after punch, kick after kick.
Each strike was designed not to kill him—but to break him.
His bones screamed. His muscles begged for rest.
But Daichi never let him stop.
"If you can't stand, you don't deserve to live."
One night, after a particularly brutal session, Han collapsed against a tree, barely breathing. His vision swam.
Then—a bowl of rice was placed before him.
Han's body cried out for food.
But Daichi's voice stopped him.
"If you want to eat," Daichi said, tossing a wooden sword at him. "You fight for it."
Across from him stood a man twice his size.
Han's stomach tightened.
But he had no choice.
He picked up the wooden sword.
The man attacked first—fast, brutal, unrelenting.
Han barely dodged, the wooden blade slicing through the air inches from his face.
Then, pain exploded in his side.
A kick.
Han hit the ground hard, coughing. The rice spilled beside him.
Daichi laughed. "Pathetic."
The man kicked Han again.
But this time, Han grabbed his leg—twisting it with everything he had.
A sickening snap.
The man screamed, falling to the ground.
Han didn't hesitate.
He smashed the wooden sword against the man's face—again. Again. Again.
The courtyard fell silent.
Han stood over the unconscious man, breathing heavily.
Daichi smiled.
"Now," he said, tossing the bowl of rice at Han's feet.
"Eat."
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The third rule: Kill the weakness inside you.
Daichi pushed Han beyond his limits.
Blades were introduced next.
Every day, Han fought—against stronger enemies, faster opponents.
He failed. Again. And again.
Every failure came with punishment.
A knife cut across his arm. A broken rib. A night without food.
Pain became his new normal.
One night, as he lay in the dirt, bleeding from a fresh wound, Daichi knelt beside him.
"There's only one way to survive this world," he whispered. "You must become something more than human."
Han's breath was ragged. His fingers twitched against the dirt.
Daichi leaned closer.
"You must become a demon."
Han's eyes slowly opened.
For the first time, there was no hesitation. No doubt. No weakness.
There was only hatred.
The next time he fought, he didn't hold back.
He moved faster. Hit harder.
And when his opponent fell—he didn't stop.
He kept beating him.
Even after the man stopped moving.
Even after blood painted the stone floor.
Only when Daichi's hand rested on his shoulder did Han stop.
Daichi's smile was wider than ever.
"That's it."
Han had finally learned.
To kill the weakness inside him.
And become something else.
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