The first light of dawn broke across the worn roof tiles, spilling into the small dusty room.
Jin slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the ceiling as warm beams brushed his face. He stretched, bones crackling, and felt the dull ache in his shoulder where old scars still whispered.
"Fuck… even the sun feels softer here," he murmured, the corner of his mouth curling wryly.
A breath later, that tiny softness died away, crushed under the cold iron of memory.
A mercenary king doesn't get to sleep peacefully, kid.
But right now? Hell, it felt good.
Dragging his aching body up, Jin padded barefoot toward the broken window. Outside, morning mist coiled around the village rooftops, golden threads dancing above the treetops.
For the first time in years — in two lifetimes — Jin felt the fragile sweetness of peace.
But the warmth couldn't melt the blade hidden deep inside:
I won't waste this second chance. I'll become stronger than ever before. Nobody will cage me again.
After splashing cold creek water on his face, Jin caught sight of his reflection: messy black hair framing a sharp nose, slightly round cheeks that still clung to childhood, and those deep purple eyes — strange, cold, alive.
"Damn, I'm almost too pretty," he smirked, raking wet hair back. "One day, even those pirate bitches won't stand a chance."
The words were half joke, half prophecy.
Back inside, Jin reached for the most precious thing left by the man who should've been his father:
A weathered leather journal. No fancy name, no ancient sect bullshit — just raw, honest training notes, sweat-soaked pages about how to fight, how to survive.
Flipping through, Jin's sharp eyes traced each stroke, each scribble:
Six-Form Body Art mastered to the bone
Hidden breathing to press power deeper into muscle and marrow
Notes on "King's Strike" — a strike so fierce it ruptures flesh from within
And all of it achieved without so-called "Qi" or magic — just raw, brutal training.
So the old bastard reached what my past life called "Advanced Internal Force" — full control over muscle, bone, and guts.
And he still died. Fucking world, always hungry for more blood.
Jin's purple gaze grew distant, recalling his own mercenary road: forced to tear muscle apart to grow stronger, fighting beasts, men, monsters — until power became the only friend.
But now… with this new world's food, herbs, and Kikoru at my side… maybe I can go further than him.
He clenched his small fist, feeling the surge:
"My first goal: master 'Inner Force' to its deepest level — perfect body control. Then, build raw power on top, crush anyone who dares stand in my way."
No bullshit martial arts tournaments, no sects. Just the road of a warlord.
Sword at his side, Jin stepped barefoot into the small courtyard, the morning breeze teasing scars and sweat.
Let's see what this body can really do.
He planted his feet, back straight, heart steady. Breath slow. Muscles trembling.
Standing Pillar Technique.
His master called it "the art of becoming an unshakable mountain."
Minutes crawled into an hour. His child's body screamed: shoulders burning, calves shaking, sweat rolling down his nose to spatter the dirt.
Come on… you've stood in gunfire. You won't kneel now.
Blood thundered in his ears. Vision blurred.
Yet somewhere deep, the old Jin laughed:
Good… hurt more. The more it hurts, the more alive you are.
Finished, Jin's body trembled with exhaustion — but the moment he moved, force surged through limbs and veins, hot and wild.
"Fuck yeah," he gasped, chest heaving. "I can feel the flow… almost enough to punch through."
If he kept this pace, he'd soon reach the Inner Force threshold — the first real step to becoming a beast among men.
He gulped water, wiped his mouth, and pulled out the heavy wooden training sword he'd carved: rough, uneven, heavy as sin.
"Alright, big guy. Thousand strikes, no stopping."
One. Two. Ten. Fifty.
Sweat rained, breaths came ragged, and every muscle burned like it was on fire.
By strike three hundred, his arms shook so hard the sword nearly slipped.
By six hundred, his vision blurred with sweat and pain.
Come on, motherfucker. You've bled more than this.
At eight hundred, lungs screamed for mercy.
At a thousand, he wanted to vomit.
But at strike 1,120, his foot slipped — and Jin dropped to his knees, chest heaving, mouth full of the taste of blood and victory.
He lay on the dirt, chest rising and falling.
"Past life, six years old I could barely do a hundred strikes," he croaked, grinning despite himself. "Now? A fucking thousand. That's growth, Jin. That's your fucking road."
Evening fell. Jin roasted salted fish over coals, staring into flame.
Beyond the embers lay the jungle, the sea — and one day, the wide world where monsters wore human faces.
"I'll become a monster too… a better one. For freedom, for power… and maybe, just maybe, for her memory."
The memory of Kikoru — past love, now reborn as the system guiding him.
Jin's eyes hardened.
Tomorrow, the grind would continue. Standing, breathing, striking — forging a body that even gods might fear.
No more doubt.
This is my fucking road.
This story is inspired from various fanfics i have read from around the world so if you find any similarities please dont mind . Thank you
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
T/N :
Access 30 chapters in Advance on my P@treon: patreon.com/GodFic