Preparation

(Two weeks later)

"Five years…I will have to prepare properly. I've beaten up most of my rivals here, and it's time to find new prey. Before that, I'll have to somehow get back at Silva, though."

Even though Mike had just been released from the hospital, it was not like him not to do anything during those bedridden two weeks. Not being able to use his body did not prevent him from using his head. Now that he made a full recovery, Mike was finally able to set his plans in motion.

"As a purple belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, I'm already better on the ground than anyone who has no experience. On top of that, it's only useful in a one-on-one fight anyway. I will have to work on my standup. There is no better place to dedicate myself to that than the country where most people still literally fight for survival, Thailand!"

He knew he would need money to fund his training and life. Mike had sold all of his possessions. Everything he worked hard for over the years. His car, his house with everything inside it, anything that would not fit into a couple of suitcases was sold. Even if the fight purses in Thailand were low, many illegal underground promotions paid a lot more if one kept winning. They would help keep him afloat until it was time to leave.

Mike did not have many friends, but those he associated with were left baffled. Without any explanation, he simply disappeared from one day to another.

"A celestial voice told me he would transport me into another world!" Mike could just laugh out loud when he thought about how people would react to that.

They would not understand. Only someone who experienced what he had would understand. He did not know where exactly this feeling came from. Maybe every lunatic in this world felt the same, but Mike just knew deep inside him that it was real.

The intercontinental plane arrived in Bangkok, and after getting his luggage, Mike took a taxi.

„To Pattaya, please."

„Oh… for the beautiful women, eh?" The taxi driver put on a knowing grin, but Mike could not be bothered to answer him.

Mike took out his new E-reader with thousands of books he planned to read. From basic anatomy to sports science and from survival books to history, anything he found useful was bought and downloaded.

Most people would probably research modern weapons or ways to get rich in a world without advanced technology, but that would go against his goal. He did not want to dominate and reign through 21st-century weaponry. What would be the point of that? For Mike, nothing felt better than smashing in faces with his fists.

All the preparation was just an end to fulfill that goal better. After two hours of reading, the taxi finally arrived at the F-Tex gym. It was equipped with the newest equipment, had a swimming pool, sauna, gym, octagon, and several boxing rings.

After settling in and making himself comfortable in his room, Mike was greeted by the gym owner. The owner was happy to provide the best boxing trainers, personal trainers, and sparring partners for an astronomical amount. Adding the salaries for a former Israeli Sayeret Matkal instructor and a renowned instructor from Europe's most prestigious HEMA school, including their accommodations, all the money he had saved up would only last him for half a year. Both of the special coaches would only be arriving in the next few days. Their private matters had to be taken care of first, as they would spend at least half a year inside the gym with Mike.

To hold on financially for five years, Mike calculated he would have to fight professionally twice every weekend and win at least three underground fights each week. By forcing himself into a corner, there would only be two options left. Adapt and survive or break down and die.

The future would not be an epic adventure where he could just rely on luck and plot armor to reach every goal he had. This was real life, and if the preparation was not done correctly, he might just die like a random dog on the street.

Every day, except Sunday, when he rested, Mike followed the same schedule. First, he would wake up at five in the morning and do cardio for an hour. Afterward, he had personal Muay Thai training for another hour, in addition to another hour of sparring at the end.

Then he would jump into the sauna, take a shower, and follow a strict meal plan for breakfast. In the next few hours, he was free to do whatever he wanted, so Mike used that time to study and occasionally watch some Bear Grylls or historical documentaries. When learning how to survive dehydration, he would also sometimes puke just a little.

In the afternoon, the schedule was the same as in the morning, but instead of studying after lunch, he had one-on-one self-defense and HEMA training. Training with the Sayeret Matkal instructor mostly consisted of knife defense training with a shock knife. Mike had lost count of how many times he had been shocked already. No matter how fast and agile he was or how he predicted a slash or stab, the shock knife found its target again and again.

<<Every time I get shocked could mean death against a real knife. Even if a slash does not kill me, I may bleed out, or the wound could get infected.>>

"As I said, you can not just block or dodge. What will stop the attacker from stabbing you again? Do you think he will just pause and give up? You have to either simultaneously hit them back to stagger them or move out of his range to avoid another attack." The instructor kept repeating the same advice over and over again.

Mike was making progress, but the pace was far too slow to be ready in five years. On top of that, his HEMA training was going even worse.

Long sword, broadsword, rapier, sword and buckler, and even a short roman gladius all massively outreached a normal dagger or knife. It made dodging and deflecting almost impossible. The blue and purple spots all over his body were a reflection of failure during every single training session.

"Fuck!"

The frustration finally got to Mike, causing him to hit a wall next to him in a fit of rage. The skin on his knuckles peeled off, and blood dripped down the fingers.

"I do not understand why you want to spar without a weapon. Getting attacked by a knife on the streets is certainly in the realm of possibility, but who carries a sword around? If you want to practice HEMA, then you should pick up a sword as well," the HEMA instructor did not understand why Mike was doing this.

Just their sparring alone was enough to force a regular person to rest for days. But the training maniac had several other training sessions throughout the day on top of physical conditioning. The human body could only take so much. It was just a question of time until his employer collapsed.

"I do not need you to understand. Just do what I'm paying you for." Mike's voice was devoid of any warmth

"I'm not a sadist. I do not enjoy torturing people. Do not forget I am living here with you because I choose to, so show a little more respect."

The instructor was right. Mike knew both his HEMA and self-defense instructors were here for money, but they left behind friends and family. If he offended them, they could easily pay their fines and just go back, while he'd have to find new trainers. The payment provided was just enough for them to think it was worth it, even if they had to be away from their family for all those months. It certainly was not enough for them to get disrespected daily on top of that, though.

"I'm really sorry. But I feel like my improvement is just too slow. What am I supposed to do?" Mike truly felt terrible about the outburst.

"How does someone generate power to kick or punch?" asked the HEMA Instructor.

Surprised by the sudden question, Mike thought about it for a moment.

"Mostly with hip rotation, while the legs, core, and shoulders also do a lot of work."

"Then, in an MMA fight, you pay attention to those muscle groups as well as where the opponent is looking, how he is distributing his weight for balance, and his habits, right?"

It was true. Mike did pay attention to that, albeit mostly unconsciously. As he expanded on that idea, a new path for improvement opened up for him.

"You do not have to just focus on that. Think about your weaknesses, what openings you tend to show, and if your opponent is skilled enough to exploit them. The best way to improve is experience, so what we are doing right now is already correct. Just start to think consciously about these points, and you will naturally progress faster. The quicker you learn, the less bad I will feel about beating you up, so do me that favor, please."

It sounded like the instructor was joking at the end, but Mike had noticed the training's intensity slowly decreasing. A big part of Mike's frustration came from realizing he still got hit even though the HEMA expert was going easier on him.

"Thank you for your advice. I was separating unarmed combat and armed combat too much. In the end, both make use of the human body to inflict damage upon others. I will go back to the roots and apply everything to everything." Mike felt incredibly motivated and was looking forward to reaching a new height.

As a professional fighter, Mike was supposed to be close to the apex already, but the hellish training demonstrated that he was far from reaching the ceiling.

"That's great, but I still do not understand why you want to learn to defend yourself against swords, though," said the Instructor.

The complaints fell on deaf ears as Mike had already turned around to hit the sauna. Inside, it was easier to reflect on what he learned and which steps he'd take next. Sweat ran down his body, and thoughts ran through his mind.

<<I need to analyze this further.>>