"The bandit groups should be my first target. They're perfect candidates for the ritual," Zatiel murmured, his voice quiet but laced with an icy conviction. His eyes gleamed—not with reckless rage, but with the calculated coldness of a predator mapping out its hunt. He could already envision their fates, each one marked and inevitable.
"My current body is too weak. If I want to complete my goal safely and swiftly, I need to improve it."
The numbers from his earlier scan floated in his mind. For a grown man, the standard value for physical attributes was 1. His own body barely surpassed that. At sixteen, and without any particular athletic background, he had little to boast of physically. His only edge was that his Spirit Force advancement had already granted him a small but tangible improvement to his physique. Still, that was far from enough for what he intended.
"A.I. Chip," he said inwardly, "show me the most efficient ways to rapidly enhance my body."
[Bip… compiling options.]
A flood of possibilities presented themselves in his mind's eye. He sifted through them with practiced efficiency, rejecting those that required rare resources or extensive preparation. His focus settled on one practical choice: a Breathing Technique.
Breathing techniques were the bread-and-butter training methods of mortal kingdom soldiers, designed to strengthen the body through controlled respiration, movement, and channeling of vital energy. Those who mastered them could earn the title of Warrior—formidable combatants by mortal standards. While such a technique could never make one a match for a true Magus, a skilled Warrior could kill an apprentice Magus in a surprise strike before the latter had time to react.
When Zatiel had first entered the Magic Tower, he had been granted both a meditation technique to develop Spirit Force and a breathing technique to build his body. Like most apprentices, he had prioritized meditation—Spirit Force was the true currency of power for Magi, after all. A strong body was useful, but it was Spirit Force that enabled one to wield magic and influence the natural energies of the world.
Still, a well-trained physique had its advantages. Reduced fatigue. Shorter recovery times. Less need for sleep. And in prolonged campaigns or missions, such endurance could prove decisive.
Now, with his situation so precarious, the breathing technique no longer seemed like an optional side path—it was a necessity.
He reviewed the technique in detail. It relied on precise cycles of inhalation and exhalation synchronized with specific stances and movements, stimulating the flow of vital energy through the body's meridians. Some variations in other kingdoms allowed users to channel elemental forces like fire or lightning, but these were mere party tricks compared to true magic. The Tower's version was stripped of such embellishments, focusing entirely on raw physical enhancement and incorporating a handful of combat-oriented movements for melee efficiency.
As he studied the details, a new thought formed—sharp and opportunistic.
"If the purpose of the breathing technique is to stimulate and amplify the body's vital energy… what if I combine it with Death Touch?"
The idea had potential. Death Touch allowed him to absorb life force from other beings. The breathing technique enhanced the processing of that energy within his body. Together…
"A.I. Chip, simulate integration of Death Touch with the breathing technique. Optimize for early-stage body strengthening."
[Bip… Calculating. Running virtual module. Estimated completion time: 2 hours.]
"Tch… Slow. In my previous life, the Chip's computational speed was exponentially higher. But this is the price of being bound to my current, far weaker soul. No choice but to wait."
He leaned back against the tree, conserving what strength he had. While Death Touch had already healed much of his worst damage, full recovery would still take time. Patience, in moments like these, was as much a weapon as any spell.
Two hours later, the Chip's voice returned.
[Simulation complete. Result: Improved Breathing Technique—integrated with Death Touch to harness external life force for direct conversion into physical enhancement. Highly effective in early-stage conditioning.]
A slow smile curved Zatiel's lips. "Excellent. Transfer the data directly to my brain. Begin immediately."
The transfer was seamless—patterns of breath, micro-adjustments in posture, mental focus points—all etched into his mind with perfect clarity. Without hesitation, he began the practice.
His hand pressed against the trunk of the massive grey tree beside him. Death Touch flared faintly, drawing a measured flow of life force from the tree. He split the stolen energy—half devoted to knitting together the last remnants of his injuries, the other half directed through the breathing technique's cycles to temper muscle, bone, and tendon.
Hours passed. The forest around him shifted subtly as the tree's life waned.
Two days later, the stillness was shattered by a deep, echoing CRACK.
The massive tree beside him—once vibrant and towering—groaned and toppled, hitting the forest floor with a crash that sent birds scattering. Its bark was brittle, its leaves shriveled, the entire trunk hollowed by the drain. At a touch, the wood crumbled to dust.
Zatiel stepped forward from the shade, transformed. The bloody, half-broken figure from two days earlier was gone. He stood taller now—1.8 meters, his posture straight and radiating quiet confidence. Beneath his robe, his physique was lean but well-toned, muscle lines sharp and functional.
"A.I. Chip," he ordered, "display my current statistics."
[Bip… Strength: 2.1 | Physique: 2.7 | Speed: 1.9 | Spirit Force: 4]
He nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. Gains will slow as the body hardens, but after the ritual… I'll have far more efficient means of advancement."
The numbers might not impress at a glance, but their meaning was clear to him. A physique of 2.7 was beyond the reach of most mortals without years of training. The improvement wasn't linear—it was exponential. A wound that would have nearly killed him two days ago could now be recovered from in half a day. In prolonged combat, the difference would be decisive.
He glanced out over the tangled swamp beyond. "The outskirts of the Grey Swamp… Bandit groups thrive here. They avoid the deeper zones—too many magical beasts for them to handle."
His voice hardened. "They'll do nicely for the ritual."
"A.I. Chip—scan for human life. Alert me on detection."
[Bip… Scanning initiated.]
With the Chip running quietly in the background, Zatiel moved. His new speed made the forest blur at the edges—1.9 might be just a number to others, but it meant he now ran nearly three times faster than an Olympic champion.
Minutes later, the Chip pinged softly. He slowed, crouching beside a faint set of footprints. They'd been intentionally obscured—scuffed over, debris scattered to break the pattern. But the Chip traced the hidden trajectory with ease.
Following the trail for five kilometers, he emerged onto a slight rise. Below, partially hidden by the swamp's mist, lay a sprawling encampment. A hundred tents formed a rough semicircle, surrounded by primitive wooden barricades.
Lookouts perched in the trees, eyes scanning outward. Faint glints of metal revealed traps laid in a perimeter.
Zatiel studied the layout in silence. "A sizable camp. Entry without preparation would be suicide—too many angles for them to surround me. And…" His gaze narrowed on the largest tent in the center. "Someone strong is there. The energy is concentrated—vital energy, or possibly natural energy. Hard to tell at this distance."
His lips curved faintly. "Before I strike, I prepare. There are plenty of plant around here that could be of use."
With that, he turned and vanished back into the swamp's shadow, already planning his next move.