The gentle night breeze drifted through the village of Payuhakrit in Chumphon province, where silence blanketed the land under a sky full of shimmering stars. Beneath the vast, open heavens, Riam Walker Payuhakrit, a seventeen-year-old boy, wandered across the lush fields alone. The cool air kissed his skin, sharpening his senses. His sharp eyes were fixed on the water's surface, which reflected the twinkling constellations above.
Across Riam's chest was the sacred "Nine Peaks Yantra" etched into his skin, glowing faintly like the stars themselves—a seal that protected him and housed a hidden, ancient power.
Riam was no ordinary boy.
He was the last direct descendant of the Payuhakrit family, heir to the secret art of "Ling Lom"—a mystical style of Muay Thai that intertwined the power of the wind with the agility of a golden monkey.
This world was unlike the Earth we know, a fantastical realm where martial arts and magic blended seamlessly into the cultures of every nation.
In Thailand, the "Muay Thai Sorcery" infused the spirit of the fighters, channeling deep inner strength into every punch, elbow, and knee.
In China, martial artists cultivated their internal energy until their bodies became as resilient as iron, able to confront demons or command storms.
In Japan, ninjas and samurai honed their minds to the stillness of frozen lakes, vanishing and striking from the shadows with unseen precision.
Every form of combat in this world carried immense power in its own right.
Riam had grown up with these stories and teachings since childhood.
"A true practitioner must close his eyes, listen to the breath of his opponent, and strike like a bolt of lightning!"
The voice of the old master still echoed within him.
Standing alone in an ancient pavilion, under the flickering light of a trembling orange candle, Riam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
The fresh breath of his training fused with the ancient magic coursing through his veins, awakening every fiber of his body. He could sense the subtle winds swirling around him, whispering that an ancient force was stirring.
One night, a great storm descended. Lightning slashed the sky, and though the pavilion's candlelight was extinguished, Riam stood undaunted.
He moved like a shadow against the tempest, leaping above the towering trees, weaving through whipping branches. On the tips of his toes, he seemed to float, and no enemy hidden in the wind could block his path.
CRACK!
His fist collided sharply with the air, sending ripples through the dark.
Each punch dispersed the storm's oppressive aura.
The torrential rain halted.
Riam stood tall, alone in the quiet birth of dawn.
The first light of morning spread over the village, making the dew on the flowers glisten like tiny diamonds.
Riam gazed upon his world with hope.
Every hardship, every lesson, had led him to understand that his journey had only just begun.