The morning air was still wet with dew when Arnesh's legs finally gave out beneath him. His body hit the earth hard, chest heaving, lungs screaming for air. For a moment, he thought he wouldn't be able to stand again. Yet, instinctively, his hand clawed for that stick nearby. He pressed it into the ground and forced himself upright, swaying, his arms trembling like dry branches in the wind. He leaned there, panting, sweat dripping down his face, until the sharp sting of Jaban uncle's palm landed on his back.
"Don't stop now," the Jaban uncle barked, though his eyes softened for a second. "Move again."
And Arnesh did. With legs heavy as iron, he pushed forward, running, stumbling, dragging himself through the same motions. He ran until the edges of the world blurred, until his chest burned like fire and his breath came in ragged pulls. Only after three relentless hours did he collapse once more, this time near Jaban uncle, who was sitting cross-legged and watching.
Uncle studied him in silence, then asked, "What drives you to such madness, boy? What keeps you from giving up?"
Arnesh raised his head, voice thin but steady. "I don't know," he whispered. "But I feel it. Like something screaming inside of me, telling me to learn, telling me to keep moving." Jaban uncle nodded in smile.
He paused, gripping the dirt with his small hands. "But uncle you know, when I sit alone… I feel something bad happened here, something I can't explain. I don't know why, but it weighs on me."
Jaban uncle said nothing for a long while. Then he sighed and motioned with his hand. "Go grab some food first. Empty stomach teaches nothing."
Arnesh obeyed, stumbling toward the hut. Inside, Granny and Mala were at work. Uncle asked granny "Did he practiced all morning?"
Granny glanced at him, her weathered face unreadable. "Yes. All morning he ran like hellfire was at his back. And I also asked the same question, he gave you the same answer he gave me yesterday."
Jaban lowered his tone. "There's something burning in him, something he can't name. How does he recover so quick from pain? How is his mind so stubborn? His instincts are sharper than most men,. Ordinary boys don't survive like this. I don't think he is a stray, lost in the flood. He has something incredible in himself, hidden away. Even I can't read his hand lines... some one has changed it but not fully."
Granny didn't look up from grinding herbs. "Maybe he is just ordinary, you are thinking too much. But no word has come about the report?"
Uncle shook his head. "No news."
"Then train him," she said finally, her voice curt. "It won't be long before it arrives."
He frowned. "Are we really going to do it?"
But Granny didn't answer. She simply moved deeper into her work, leaving the question to hang heavy in the smoke-filled air.
Later, after eating, Arnesh went out again. The pool Jaban had ordered him to dig stood nearby, half-filled from rain. He picked up his stick, raised it high, and began practicing the downward slash, over and over, the sound of wood cutting air echoing in rhythm with his breath. His arms burned, but he didn't stop. Noon sun baked the yard, but he didn't stop.
From the shadows, Jaban uncle emerged, carrying something massive, a big cattle feeder, tall as two men. He dragged it beside the pool, then fetched a long bamboo, split it in half, and propped it at a sharp angle against the feeder.
He looked at Arnesh, eyes glinting. "This morning, you climbed with pain biting at your heels. Now you'll do it again. You'll climb, balance, and fill them both." He pointed to the feeder and the pool. "Same time. Do you understand?"
Arnesh swallowed hard, staring at the towering task.
"You may fall from the bamboo. Be careful," Jaban added. But his voice carried no softness now. "Go quickly."
Arnesh sat for a while, clutching his ribs, his chest rising and falling with sharp gasps. The world blurred at the edges, but his mind kept working. He raised his head, stared at the feeder and the bamboo pole, and silently measured it with his eyes. He even made a small mark on his temple with his finger, as if etching a note into his own body. Then, without a word, he picked up the two wood buckets and staggered off toward the river.
The path was uneven, stones biting into his bare feet. His arms screamed under the weight. When he returned, both buckets filled to the brim, but the water was spilling out from it, his legs wobbled as he approached the bamboo climb. He took a deep breath and began.
Halfway up, his foot slipped. His body tilted, balance gone. A split second later, he crashed to the ground with a sickening thud. Pain ripped through him, his arm bent wrong under the weight of his armour, his leg twisted, ribs pounding as though a hammer struck them from within. His breath tore out of him in a hoarse scream.
Jaban uncle's voice cut through the silence. "Wanna stop?"
Mala, standing nearby, pressed a hand to her mouth, a laugh threatening to spill. But Granny's eyes snapped toward her, sharp as a blade. "If you're laughing, then go practice with him," she said coldly. "Feel his pain before you mock it."
Arnesh sat on the ground, teeth clenched, his whole body trembling. The broken places in him were already swelling, skin turning red and purple. He felt like pieces of him were no longer his own. Jaban uncle crouched beside him, his face shadowed by the afternoon sun.
"This is just the beginning, boy," the old man said quietly. "Are you feeling pain?"
Arnesh nodded, his jaw locked tight.
"Then why aren't you crying?" uncle asked.
Arnesh swallowed, lips trembling. "Yes… I am crying."
Uncle leaned closer—and only then did he notice the faint lines of tears tracing down Arnesh's dirt-smeared cheeks, water glistening like a secret he had tried to hide.
"Do you want to stop?" uncle asked again.
Arnesh shook his head slowly. "No."
"Then go."
The boy pressed his good hand into the earth and forced himself up, every movement pulling fire through his veins. He swayed on his feet, groaning softly, then grabbed the buckets once more. His walk toward the river was slower this time, but his back was straight, his steps heavy with stubborn resolve.
As he limped away, Jaban uncle called after him, his voice like a hammer striking the soul. "Remember this, boy: pain is only the gatekeeper of strength."
The words lodged themselves deep in Arnesh's mind.
When he returned again with water, the buckets clattered against his legs. Each step sent lightning through his ribs, and the water splashed over the edges with every stagger. He grit his teeth, leaning heavily on a stick he had picked up on the way back. His eyes stung, his breaths were ragged, but he did not stop.
He reached the bamboo pole and set the buckets down. His chest rose and fell like a storm. For a moment, he closed his eyes, as though searching within for something stronger than flesh.
Jaban uncle stepped forward. "Are you going to stop now? Has pain grown bigger than your will? Do you want to quit?"
Arnesh's eyes met his. For a long second, nothing moved. Then the boy closed his eyes for sometime. Without a word, he lifted the buckets again and stepped onto the bamboo.
The pole shook beneath his weight, creaking like an old tree in the wind. He walked slowly, balancing, sweat dripping down his brow. But halfway across, the bamboo bent too far, wobbling under his broken stance. His foot slipped, his body spun sideways, and once again he fell.
This time the pain was worse. The broken bones screamed, the bruises throbbed, his breath came out in ragged, animal-like gasps. For a moment he lay there, staring up at the sky, wondering if the stars would appear before his vision returned.
But even in that pain, even with tears in his eyes and blood on his lips, he clenched his fists.
.................
The boy's arms trembled, his broken hand barely keeping its grip on the edge of the bamboo. The swelling had turned red, throbbing like a second heartbeat. His ribs screamed with every breath, yet when uncle's voice cut through the air, sharp and unbending, he clenched his jaw and rose.
"Do you feel that much pain?" uncle asked.
His lips quivered, tears streaking his cheeks, but he forced out, "No."
Uncle's eyes narrowed, as though weighing the truth. "Stand up."
He obeyed, though his knees shook, though every muscle begged him to collapse.
"Good," uncle continued, tone steady but merciless. "Now tell me—does that pain feel like it will kill you?"
He nodded weakly.
"Remember this," uncle said, stepping closer, his shadow falling heavy on the boy, "pain is only the gatekeeper of strength. Pain is temporary. It may tear your body, it may burn you alive, but if you bow to it, then forget your dream. If you give up for this—" he tapped the boy's swollen arm—"then go gather flowers with children. Martial arts are not for soft minds. Not for those who retreat when they see the mountain is taller than expected."
The boy lowered his eyes, his tears falling freely now.
Uncle's voice hardened further. "If you feel pain, smile at it. If it breaks your ribs, laugh at it. If it threatens to shred you apart, grin back. Because pain is a teacher that does not lie. Show me your teeth against it."
The boy, face streaked with dirt and tears, pulled his lips into a trembling smile, half-cry, half-laugh. It was ugly, but it was enough.
"Good," uncle said, his tone softer for just a flicker of a moment. "Now, take those two bamboo again."
The boy turned, dragging his battered body toward the edge of the training yard. Moments later, he returned, breathless, carrying the long bamboo poles. But uncle was not finished. He brought ten bricks from the corner, stacked them in pairs, and placed the bamboo across.
"Walk."
The boy stepped onto the bamboo. At the lowest height, it was steady, almost easy—his weight pressing evenly across. He managed it, though his body wavered from exhaustion. But when uncle stacked the bricks higher, the bamboo shifted underfoot. At the fourth level, the poles bounced as though alive, jerking with his movements. The boy stumbled, fell hard twice, clutching his ribs, before he finally crossed. (here two bricks were put from some distance with each other on rowlock orientation.)
At the fifth height, he fell nine times. Every crash sent shockwaves through his injuries, every breath cut deeper. But after the ninth fall, he made it, limping, sweating yet his smile still forced across his face.
Uncle's gaze was like steel. "Now," he said, "remove the bricks from one side. Walk on it."
The boy hesitated it then. The bamboo tilted sharply, slanting like a bridge into the void.
But he obeyed. Slowly, carefully, he walked again. At first, on the seventh brick, the slope was steep, but manageable. His toes gripped like claws, his stick steadying him. His ribs screamed louder than ever, but his will pressed harder.
The eighth brick was worse, he angle like a knife-edge beneath him. The bamboo wobbled, rolling under his bare feet. Sweat stung his eyes, but he pressed on.
At the ninth brick, halfway across, the structure gave way—the bricks collapsing beneath with a dull crash. The bamboo tilted violently, sending him downward. But instinct sparked before thought. He leapt, body twisting through the air, and landed rough, but alive, rolling to the ground.
He lay on his back, panting, staring up at the pale sky. The pain was everywhere—sharp, hot, unbearable. Yet the smile lingered, cracked and trembling, but real.
Uncle crossed his arms, his shadow falling over the boy once more.
"Good," he said. "This is the beginning. If you do not break how you will rise. If you do not fear the fall how you will learn to fly."
...............
The sun had slipped away, leaving the courtyard bathed in the dim glow of dying embers from the hearth. The boy's chest heaved, every bone inside him aching as though splintered. He lay face down on the dirt, sweat mixing with dust, his fingers twitching from exhaustion.
Jaban uncle watched silently, arms crossed. Granny stood by the doorway, shaking her head, while Mala peeked out and burst into laughter.
"Still alive?" Granny teased.
Mala laughed louder. "He looks like a crushed frog."
Even Jaban chuckled under his breath. The boy turned his face from the ground, bruised and dirty, but his lips curled into a smile. He wheezed out, "I will try again."
With trembling arms, he pushed himself up, staggering back to the bamboo. He rearranged the bricks, his swollen hands fumbling but determined. Again he climbed. Again he fell. Again he set it back up. The rhythm of effort, fall, rebuild repeated until numbers lost meaning. His body was no longer his own, just a bundle of instinct clawing at the task.
At last, Jaban placed a hand on his shoulder. The weight of it was heavy, but not cruel. "Balance is everything in life. Lose it, and you fall, just as you do here."
The boy's chest rose and fell violently, but he nodded faintly.
The night had fully swallowed the sky when Granny's voice cut across the silence. "Hunh… still awake? You want to train more?"
He tried to rise, but his body betrayed him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed again into the dirt. "Ahh… my whole body is aching in pain."
"Enough," Jaban said, voice firm. "No more today. I will return tomorrow. Do your morning training as usual." With that, the old man turned away into the darkness.
The boy barely had time to rest before a sharp pain jolted him—Mala's fingers twisting his ear.
"You still want to practice, eh?" she scolded, her eyes flaring. "Your hand is broken, your leg is broken. You still think you can fight? Then fight with me!" She threw two punches against his battered chest. He gasped, holding his arms up weakly in surrender.
"Stop, elder sister… stop. Today is finished for me. Do you… do you have medicine?"
She crossed her arms with a smug grin. "Of course I have medicine. But why should I apply it for you? I have to wake up early."
Her smile shifted, sly and sharp. "Though… I have an idea. Don't worry, I'll make sure it hurts less."
The boy looked at her then, his tired eyes widening. She seemed less like a sister, more like a devil in disguise. "Can it be possible?" he asked warily.
"Of course." She tilted her head with mock sweetness. "Go bathe first. Then come back. I'll help you."
He nodded, too weak to argue, and limped toward the small stream behind the hut. Each step was a struggle; the water stung his cuts and bruises as he washed. When he returned, his hair dripping and his clothes clinging to him, he was still encased in the battered armour strapped around his body.
Mala frowned. "You didn't remove that armour?"
He shook his head, gripping the straps tighter. "Uncle told me to always wear it. Even in sleep."
She sighed dramatically, then smirked again. "Foolish. But since you insist, I'll treat you like this. Sit down."
He obeyed, lowering himself to the ground with a groan. Mala gathered her pouch of herbs, her grin never fading. "Now," she said, rolling up her sleeves, "this might sting."
The boy swallowed hard, staring at her as though preparing to face another trial. He wasn't sure which was worse, the pain in his body, or the mischievous gleam in her eyes.
Mala laughed as she saw him still wrapped in iron. "If you wear those to sleep, then sleep outside the house. Otherwise, I'll beat you myself! Open those things—how can I apply medicine?"
He hesitated, gripping the straps stubbornly. "I'll open it for now… but I will wear them again."
"Fine," she said with a sly grin, "but first, drink this." She handed him a bowl of thick, black liquid that smelled of crushed herbs and bitterness. "This will help, but if we don't treat your broken bones quickly, the swelling will cripple you."
He stared at the bowl, wrinkling his nose. "I will endure the swelling."
Her eyes narrowed. "Everything has a limit. Don't test mine. Now open that iron chunk." She raised her fist and gave him a quick punch to the head. With a groan, he finally gave in.
Like a scolded child, he removed the armour piece by piece. Mala bent down beside him, her hands surprisingly careful as she pressed against the swollen joints. She wrapped his legs with bandages soaked in a yellowish-green paste, the smell sharp and earthy. The cut along his arm she bound with strips of cloth dipped in the same mixture. "There," she said, patting the last knot. "Now put your armour back on. But remember, I can only patch what's outside. The rest… you must endure."
He nodded silently and strapped the weight back onto himself.
The next day, long before dawn, the boy stirred. Pain still burned through his body but it was feel like almost gone and something deeper inside pushed him up. As the sky held its breath before sunrise, he began his run across the field, armour clanking with every step. His swollen legs dragged, his ribs screamed, yet he kept moving.
Inside the hut, Granny stirred the fire and noticed his shadow through the door. She shook her head. "Mala, wake up and do your chores. That boy is already out there, swollen and broken, and still he practices. And you—lazy cat—still snoring."
She kicked Mala's bedding. With a groan and a scowl, Mala sat up, rubbing her eyes. "What is wrong with him? Doesn't he know pain?" she muttered angrily, stumbling outside.
By then, Arnesh had dropped to the ground and was forcing his arms through push-ups, the weight of the armour grinding against his body. His breaths came out ragged, yet he moved like a machine that refused to stop. Then, standing, he gripped his sword and began slashing downward again and again, sweat dripping from his brow into the dirt.
Mala's anger flared as the early chill nipped at her. "Because of you I had to wake up this early!" she shouted. Without warning, she hefted two rocks and dropped them on his back while he was doing push-ups. "Do one hundred like this. If I see even one short, I'll add more weight."
He groaned under the sudden burden. "Demon girl…"
Her lips twisted into a wicked smile. "Oh? Calling me names?" She dragged over another rock and dropped it on. "Two hundred, then."
His arms trembled violently, his elbows buckling under the crushing weight. Still, he clenched his teeth, grunting through the pain as he pushed the ground away again. His sweat fell like rain onto the earth, his breath rattling.
Granny stepped out, drawn by the commotion. Her eyes widened at the sight of the boy straining under a mountain of stone. She strode over, grabbed Mala by the ear, and twisted. Mala yelped.
"Enough! Everything should not be done with harshness," Granny scolded, tugging her ear harder. "Decrease it before you break him completely."
Mala pouted, rubbing her ear as Granny released it. "He's too stubborn, Granny. He won't stop unless someone makes him."
"Maybe," Granny said, glancing at the boy who still pushed against the earth, veins bulging on his arms. Granny said nothing and went away...
Arnesh lifted himself once more, his body shaking, yet his lips formed the same smile as yesterday.
Mala stayed there with crossed her arms, a wicked smile tugging her lips. "Nope. If he does less than I said, I won't make food for him. Nor feed him either." She let out a laugh that cut sharper than the morning air.
Granny came back again and gave Mala a sharp smack on the head. "You talk too much, girl."
Yet even with the scolding, Mala remained, arms folded, watching. Arnesh strained on the ground, his body trembling under the rocks, breath ragged like a beast in the hunt. His sweat soaked the earth beneath him as he counted aloud, every word a battle. He pressed through until sixty-one, then collapsed to the dirt, chest heaving.
"Don't stop," Mala barked, grinning devilishly. "Only one hundred thirty-nine to go. Quickly."
He groaned but, after resting for a moment, forced his broken body to rise again. His arms shook, his ribs screamed, yet he moved. Slowly the count climbed—eighty, ninety, a hundred. At one hundred three, he faltered. His arms buckled. He crashed face-first into the dirt.
Mala dragged another stone toward him, her grin widening. "If you're weak, then take more—"
But Granny stormed forward, her stick raised. Whack! Whack! She smacked Mala hard, again and again until Mala yelped and scrambled back. "You fool! Do you want to kill him?" Granny snapped. She bent down, took all the stones off Arnesh's back, and tossed them aside.
She knelt beside him, her old voice low but sharp as a blade. "Don't push yourself too much. Don't get irritated suddenly by others' words. That will only burden you, boy. Do only part that your bod can endure." She tapped his chest with her stick. "Listen. Learning is like building a house: the foundation must be laid stone by stone, patiently, with care. Without a firm base, the walls will crumble; without walls, the roof cannot stand. Each lesson is a brick, each struggle the mortar that binds it. Only then does the structure rise, not as a fragile hut, but as a lasting shelter."
Her eyes softened slightly. "I've seen talent in you. But you're trying to learn everything at once. Adapt your body first. You're rushing too much. Don't do that, it will only broke your body not healing him. First stabilize the lower body. That is your foundation."
Her words burned into him deeper than the pain in his ribs. With a grim nod, he forced himself up again and set off running. His feet dragged at first, but he pushed through, step after step. He dropped for push-ups, then sat-ups, sweat running down his temples, pain carved into every breath. But this time, no one forced the weight on him. He carried it himself.
By the time the sun painted the sky with gold, Jaban Uncle ambled into the yard. Arnesh was sitting in the dirt by then, hunched over, looking like a bull that had ploughed a field from dawn until dusk.
Granny wiped her hands on her apron. "Jaban, did you bring those things I told you?"
He froze mid-step, scratched his bald head sheepishly, and turned on his heel. "Ah… I forgot." He shuffled away toward his hut.
Granny shook her head with a sigh. "See this fool? At his age, still forgetting." She glanced at Arnesh and waved. "Boy, come with me."
He staggered up slowly, like a lone warrior rising after battle, armour rattling with every movement. His body screamed, but he followed. Granny stopped before a tall tree and pointed. "Climb."
He nodded, stepped forward, grabbed the trunk… then froze. His hands hovered uselessly on the bark. He scratched the back of his head. "How?"
For a heartbeat, silence. Then laughter erupted. Jaban had returned with something and broke into a wheeze. Mala cackled, clutching her stomach. Even Granny chuckled, shaking her head at his blank stare.
Arnesh blinked at them, confused, his lips twitching into a tired smile. Even in pain, even in failure, the will to rise still burned inside him....
......................
Author's NoteI see you frowning already—"Why are we stuck in training scenes? Where did the real story go?" Patience, reader. Do you think heroes are born from thin air, summoned only when battles arrive? No, no. Legends are cooked slowly, like stew left simmering until the flavour bites. This boy's bruises, his arguments with granny, even the devilish punches from Mala—these are not detours, they're the secret seasoning. Skip them if you like, but don't cry later when the storm comes and you realize you missed how the blade was sharpened.
To be continued...