CHAPTER 74: CHAPTER 10.2 : THE TRAINING WAGER (1)

And so... the training began.

However, they had no idea of the horrifying thing they were about to witness.

Uncle Acok stood firm, executing powerful combat moves—punches and kicks delivered with strength and precision. The muscles in his arms tensed with every strike, his breathing was steady yet forceful, and beads of sweat began to form along his temples. His troops followed with discipline, their bodies moving in unison like rows of war machines, guided by Uncle Acok’s sharp shouts, like a ruthless instructor scolding his students. At a glance, he looked like the most stubborn military trainer in the country.

He spotted Al at the back, moving lazily, looking completely unmotivated. His posture was slack, and his gaze wandered as if his mind was elsewhere. Uncle Acok smirked slyly before speaking.

"Young Master, you seem to lack enthusiasm. Perhaps you’re not used to the movements we’re doing. How about you come forward and show us a few moves you usually practice? Let’s start from the basics."

Al let out a long sigh, eyes narrowing slightly like someone far too familiar with boring situations. He stepped forward, arms crossed, standing casually.

"I... don’t want to spend too much time here, Uncle. I have to study now. The National Exam is only a few days away. So let’s finish this quickly."

Uncle Acok’s gaze hardened.

The bodyguards burst out laughing.

"National Exam?"

"This guy’s hilarious."

"Study? Isn’t he the one they say is barely passing?"

"As if he could get high scores, hahaha!"

The mockery kept coming. Al exhaled and glanced at them briefly, his eyes like someone watching a bunch of noisy kids in a marketplace.

Uncle Acok shook his head—not at his men’s behavior, but at Al.

"What’s the point of the National Exam? What do you think you can become with that half-baked brain? Even if you’re dumb, at least you could learn to fight, right?"

The bodyguards roared even louder.

Al’s patience began to wear thin. The corner of his lips tensed, and his fingers tapped his arm as if holding himself back. His usually expressionless face started to twitch, and in his mind, he was already trying to craft a sly remark to end this without too much effort.

But before he could think of something sharp to say...

One of the bodyguards stepped forward.

He was a stocky man, not particularly tall, with a standard haircut and tanned skin. His muscles were solid, the veins on his neck standing out as he smirked.

"Sir Acok! I have an idea."

Uncle Acok looked at him.

"What is it?"

"Instead of just demonstrating moves, why not let me be his sparring partner? Real combat experience is better than just learning movements, right? We want to be fighters, not performers. That’s what you always say, isn’t it?"

Uncle Acok stroked his chin, cleared his throat, then nodded.

"You’re right."

He turned to Al, who was still standing lazily before him.

"I think that’s a good idea. You can show us your fighting style while getting some training experience."

Al’s eyes sharpened slightly, as if an idea had just struck him—an idea to turn the tables.

"Hmmm. Alright. But how about we make it more interesting with a little bet?"

"A bet? You sound like a street fighter. Maybe that’s what you used to be." Uncle Acok smirked, glancing at his subordinate. The man nodded in return.

"So, what do you even have to bet? Do you even have anything worth wagering?" he asked mockingly.

Al looked at Uncle Acok, then at the subordinate, smiling.

"If I can bring him down, I never have to join this training again. But if he brings me down, I won’t just join training—I’ll serve all your needs for the next three years. How’s that?"

Both Uncle Acok and the subordinate grinned.

"Hahaha, you’re serious? Can you even make him take a single step back?" Uncle Acok laughed loudly at the cocky remark from this nobody.

But Al only smiled—a smile that could easily be misunderstood. It wasn’t the grin of a boastful man, but the expression of someone who already knew the outcome.

Seeing that irritating smile, Uncle Acok restrained himself.

"Interesting. Alright. Let’s treat this as a little exhibition. But... are you sure?" he asked.

Al nodded.

Uncle Acok signaled his subordinate to get ready for what they thought would be some harmless fun.

"Ready!" the bodyguard said, winking at Uncle Acok and his fellow guards.

Laughter erupted around them.

To them, this was going to be a hilarious show to brighten their exhausting day.

Only Dedy wasn’t laughing.

Leaning back with his still-injured waist, he stared blankly at Al.

I suppose this will be entertaining... but not for them, he thought, the corner of his lips curling into a faint smile.

Please make them regret this, Young Master...

Al then stepped into the middle of the small arena. Sunlight from the side lit half his face, making his lazy yet mysterious expression stand out. He stood there like someone with no intention of fighting at all.

The bodyguard stomped a foot down, taking a ready stance. His shoulders rose and fell as he regulated his breathing, locking eyes on his target. But seeing Al’s lazy posture, he loosened up and put his hands on his hips.

"Come on, Young Master. Show us what you’ve got. They say you’re good at fighting thugs. Or... maybe you’re just good at hiding when you were a street kid? I bet it’s all just rumors."

More laughter.

Al’s eyes were empty.

He took a breath.

Then... nodded.

"Alright. Just remember the terms. If I can bring you down, I’m free from training."

The soldier scoffed. Al seemed more focused on the wager than on being intimidated.

"Haha! Go ahead! Just don’t regret it later!"

He slapped his chest with one hand. The sound rang out deliberately, meant to provoke his opponent further, showing his dominance.

"As a sign of respect, I’ll let you attack first... Young Master," he said mockingly.

The watching guards looked on with amused grins.

Feeling the crowd’s support, the soldier couldn’t hide his smile anymore.

In his mind, he already pictured the scene:

Al would attack recklessly, punch like an amateur, he would block with ease, slam Al into the ground, then finish him off.

Easy.

The thought alone made him grin with satisfaction.

But Al walked forward casually. His steps were calm, each footstep echoing clearly on the floor, his hands slowly curling into fists, no visible tension in his body.

Not rushing.

Just ordinary steps. Fists ready to strike.

To them, Al’s body showed no sign of strength. But...

The soldier, who had been closing his eyes and shaking his head in mock amusement, started opening them.

Al was now right in front of him—close enough to throw a punch.

Everyone watched closely, holding back their laughter, waiting for the funny moment.

Their hearts beat faster, holding in their chuckles until the perfect moment to burst out laughing.

But then...

A strange discomfort began to spread, like a cold wind creeping from the ground into their bones.

The air shifted.

The atmosphere turned silent.

The sound of Al’s footsteps felt heavier than they should, as if pounding on their chests.

The bright morning suddenly felt like a suffocating night.

For reasons they couldn’t explain, chills ran down their spines, and the laughter in their stomachs vanished instantly.

Uncle Acok sensed the strange energy and frowned deeply, his gaze sharpening as if trying to pierce through the air around Al.

But he didn’t know where this energy came from.

Meanwhile, the soldier who had been mocking Al was trembling more than anyone else.

To the onlookers, it may have looked like two men about to trade blows.

But what the soldier saw before him... was something so terrifying that no one could have predicted what would happen next.

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