The courtyard was eerily silent as Jason stepped into the ring for his final sparring session of the day. The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and blood, and the faint hum of cicadas served as a haunting backdrop. 

His body ached from hours of relentless training, but beneath the fatigue, something darker simmered—a bubbling, restless anger he couldn’t quite name.

Talia stood nearby, her arms crossed as she observed him. “This will test your endurance and control,” she said, her voice calm but firm. She gestured to three assassins, each masked and armed with dulled practice blades. “They will fight as a team. Show me you can hold your own.”

Jason’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. Control. That word gnawed at him. There was something inside him that resisted control, a storm he couldn’t suppress. But he stepped forward, his muscles taut as he prepared for the onslaught.

The assassins didn’t waste time. The first lunged at him, blade aimed for his chest. Jason sidestepped, his movements sharp and instinctive. His fist shot out, catching the assassin’s ribs with a sickening crack.

The second attacker came at him from behind. Jason ducked under their swing and spun, his elbow smashing into their face. Blood sprayed from their nose, and they staggered back, groaning.

The third assassin was faster, they threw a precise kick, slicing toward Jason’s neck. He barely managed to block it with his forearm, the force rattling through his bones. A growl escaped his lips, low, guttural, animalistic.

“Focus, Jason!” Talia’s voice cut through the haze.

But he wasn’t listening. The world blurred around him, his vision tinged with red. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else.

The first assassin recovered and charged again, but Jason was already moving. He grabbed their wrist mid-strike, twisting it until the blade fell from their hand. Then, with a feral roar, he drove his fist into their jaw. The sound of cartilage snapping was deafening.

Jason didn’t stop. He yanked the assassin forward, slamming his knee into their gut. They crumpled to the ground, coughing and gasping, but Jason didn’t even glance at them.

The second assassin hesitated, their stance faltering as they saw the fire in Jason’s eyes. He pounced, his movements more beast than man. His fist collided with their temple, sending them sprawling. 

Before they could recover, he was on them, his fists raining down like hammers. Each strike was accompanied by the wet, meaty thud of flesh giving way. Blood splattered across Jason’s knuckles, but he didn’t care.

“Jason, stop!” Talia’s voice was sharp now, tinged with urgency.

He didn’t hear her. The third assassin made a desperate move, swinging their blade at his back. Jason spun, catching their arm mid-swing. With a savage twist, he disarmed them and shoved them to the ground.

Something inside him snapped. He grabbed the fallen blade and stood over his final opponent, his chest heaving. The assassin looked up at him, fear evident even behind their mask.

Jason raised the blade, his hands trembling—not with hesitation, but with the sheer force of his rage.

“Enough.”

The single word cut through the chaos like a blade of its own. Jason froze, the blade hovering inches above the assassin’s throat. He turned, his bloodshot eyes locking onto the figure standing at the edge of the courtyard.

Ra’s al Ghul.

The Demon’s Head approached with measured steps, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was sharp, piercing, but there was no judgment in his expression. If anything, he seemed… intrigued.

Jason’s chest heaved as he dropped the blade. It clattered to the ground, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. The red haze began to lift, leaving him staring at the bloodied, broken bodies around him.

“I told you to stop,” Talia said, stepping forward. Her tone was stern, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—concern, perhaps.

Ra’s held up a hand, silencing her. His attention remained fixed on Jason. “Remarkable,” he said softly.

Jason’s hands were still shaking as he turned to face Ra’s fully. “I—I didn’t mean to…”

“You lost control,” Ra’s interrupted. “You surrendered to the animalistic nature which gnaws within you.”

Jason blinked, his breathing still uneven. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ra’s stepped closer, his voice calm but commanding. “The Lazarus Pit has left its mark on you. It has awakened something primal, something powerful. Most would be consumed by it, reduced to madness. But you…” He gestured to the carnage around them. “You harnessed it. Unrefined, yes, but the potential is undeniable.”

Jason looked down at his bloodied hands, his mind racing. The anger, the rage—it had felt like a monster inside him, clawing to get out. But in that moment, it had also felt… exhilarating.

“You are wasted in group training,” Ra’s continued. “From now on, I will train you personally.”

Talia’s eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.

Jason met Ra’s gaze, his jaw tightening. “Why?”

Ra’s allowed a small smile. “Because you could be great, Jason. If you learn to wield your bloodlust, to temper it with discipline, you could become a weapon the likes of which this world has never seen.”

Jason didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t sure if Ra’s words were a promise or a threat. But deep down, he couldn’t deny the allure of it—the chance to master the storm raging inside him.

“I’m in,” he said finally, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind.

Ra’s nodded, his expression unreadable. “Then let us begin.”

                                    *****

It’s been a couple of days since then and Ra’s only had him engage in physical training so he could master his body. But today, he was to finally engage in combat training.

 Jason stood in the center, his fists clenched at his sides. His body still ached from days of conditioning—push-ups until his arms gave out, running until his lungs burned. 

Yet, none of that compared to the nervous energy coiling in his stomach as he faced his opponent, a veteran League assassin clad in black, whose calm expression betrayed nothing.

“Begin,” Ra’s al Ghul’s voice rang out from the sidelines, sharp and commanding.

The assassin struck first, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Jason barely had time to register the movement before a fist slammed into his ribs. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and he staggered backward, clutching his side.

“Too slow,” Ra’s observed, his tone devoid of sympathy.

Jason grit his teeth and lunged forward, throwing a wild punch. His opponent sidestepped with ease, grabbing Jason’s wrist and twisting it painfully. 

Before Jason could react, a kick swept his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. The coarse sand bit into his skin as he rolled, coughing.

“Get up,” Ra’s ordered.

Jason pushed himself to his feet, his hands trembling with both exertion and frustration. The assassin waited, motionless, his stance a perfect combination of offense and defense. Jason’s mind raced. He had no formal technique, no strategy, but instinct urged him forward.

This time, he feinted a right hook and pivoted sharply, aiming a knee at his opponent’s midsection. 

The move caught the assassin off guard, earning Jason a grunt of pain as the knee connected. A flicker of triumph flashed in Jason’s chest, but it was short-lived.

The assassin recovered almost instantly, grabbing Jason’s leg and yanking him off balance. Jason hit the ground hard, his vision swimming. The assassin loomed over him, pressing a knee into his chest.

“Yield,” the assassin said coldly.

Jason glared up at him, defiant, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Screw you,” he spat.

A faint chuckle escaped Ra’s. “Enough. Let him up.”

The assassin released Jason, who rolled onto his hands and knees, spitting out sand. His body throbbed with pain, but a fire burned in his chest, a refusal to give up.

Hours later, after being given only a brief respite, Jason was summoned again. His muscles screamed in protest as he stepped back into the arena. 

This time, a younger, less experienced opponent faced him. Jason thought he might stand a chance, but Ra’s had made one thing clear, no opponent in the League was weak.

The second fight began with a blur of motion. Jason tried to focus, watching for openings. His opponent moved with fluidity, every strike precise and controlled. Jason blocked a series of punches, his arms absorbing the brunt of the blows.

Then it happened. His institutive muscle memories began to serve as his guide. All he had to do was assimilate the situation and take the initiative.

When his opponent aimed a kick at his head, Jason ducked and countered with a swift uppercut that snapped his opponent’s head back. 

Without thinking, Jason followed up with a low sweep, taking the younger fighter’s legs out from under him. His opponent hit the ground, and Jason pounced, pinning him with an elbow to the chest.

For a moment, Jason felt a surge of pride. He’d done it. He’d won.

But his opponent wasn’t done. With a burst of strength, the younger assassin bucked Jason off and scrambled to his feet. Jason hesitated, and that split-second delay cost him. A flurry of strikes overwhelmed him, ending with a powerful kick to the sternum that sent him crashing into the dirt.

“Still raw,” Ra’s commented, stepping forward. “But there is potential.”

Jason groaned, clutching his chest as he struggled to sit up. “Potential? I just got my ass handed to me. Twice.”

Ra’s leaned down beside him, his expression unreadable. “And yet, you displayed moments of brilliance. That uppercut was instinctual. The sweep, effective. These are the fragments of a warrior buried within you, Jason. We will unearth them.”

Jason looked up at him, his jaw tightening. “Then teach me how to fight.”

A rare smile tugged at the corners of Ra’s lips. “Oh, I intend to. For now go and take a shower, it will be meal time soon. Also ensure you get plenty of sleep.” He left as Jason remained on the floor a while longer as Ra’s made his exit.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep