Chapter 08

  Michael did not go back to the Infinity Dungeon the next day. He needed to unwind, relax, and clear his mind if he wanted to keep being exposed to dangerous and potentially life-threatening situations in a healthy way. Being tired did not make for good gains, after all.

  The morning began with a quick burst of healing to get rid of any stiffness from sleep and some stretching. Then a delivery boy arrived, and Michael took the large package filled with two large bags of bulking powder he had ordered online with express delivery the night before.

  “The real fun begins now,” he thought as he carried the box up the stairs to his home. The steps were grimy and full of sticky patches of compressed dust, and litter gathered in the corners of the dark floors. This was his home, and he hated it, retreating as fast as he could to the familiar squalor of his own apartment.

  He was not an expert on the sorts of exercises one could do at home, but a quick search on the internet showed loads upon loads of calisthenics training plans, ranging from beginner to advanced, targeting every muscle without the need to hit the gym and pay for a membership he could not afford. All he needed to begin was a floor, something he could use as a pull up bar, and patience.

  Except, with healing, he didn’t need to be patient. The problem with bodyweight training was that it built muscles slower than using the machines at the gym, while at the same time allowing for more balance in the body. A problem easily fixable with healing and a lot of cheap bulking powder.

  Michael quickly began to go through the beginner exercises: push-ups, jumping jacks, and negative pull-ups, dips using two chairs to support his weight, abs, squats, and all the basic movements to get him accustomed to his new training routine. The first set was horrible, legs being his only saving grace due to his passion for hiking, but in the end, the squats finally got to him before he even reached fifty. But it was no problem. Writing down the sets and reps for future reference, he activated [Healing Aura] with a grin.

  He took stock of how much mana he had spent to heal his muscles. “A copper coin well spent,” he thought with satisfaction.

  Absorbing one coin to replenish his mana back to full, he repeated the same exercises all over again and compared the numbers, tracking his growth.

  The gains were not impressive, but they were enough to put a smile on his face. The magic skill was working as intended, allowing him to train again after healing himself as if he had spent a whole day resting. He felt perfectly refreshed, with his muscles and tendons slightly improved by the single workout session.

  He looked at the numbers again after the second workout. His squats had gone up by five, his negative pull-ups by two, and his push-ups by three. No gains in doing dips, but he felt much less pain, and his form was much better.

  He kept training, pushing himself further with each healing cycle. Even when he got injured, or he pulled a muscle, the pain was nothing compared to the torture of the dungeon, and all it would take to be back to health were a few seconds of healing. For a skill able to mend broken bones in half an hour, healing a torn muscle was nothing.

  The morning passed quickly, the euphoria of gaining literal levels of physical fitness making time pass by in a blaze. By lunchtime, Michael had burned through most of his bulking powder, painful as it was to see more than a hundred dollars of dehydrated food disappear in a day.

  He had moved from beginner to intermediate exercises and then to advanced level ones, before stopping. He didn’t want to go too far. It was summer, which meant not too many clothes to hide in, and already his body looked much leaner while his muscles were bulkier. He lived in a little city in the middle of nowhere, where nobody knew him, but he still felt like being cautious.

  If he suddenly got huge and decided to return to the pawn shop, for instance, Old Dave was bound to notice for sure and ask questions. Even though he stopped before he went too far, he felt healthier than ever and could now do things he couldn’t even dream of doing even a few hours before. The feeling of strength, flexibility, and control over his own body was almost as intoxicating as that of magic. Almost.

  Taking stock of his situation, he was twenty pounds heavier but also much leaner, and his stash of 45 coins had been reduced to 30. He didn’t think about the rent money he instead spent on bulking powder; there was no need to dwell on his own decision-making abilities.

  It wasn’t the only gain. While he trained, he also gained knowledge about magic. His total capacity had increased with use, reaching 7 Copper. It had grown from between 5 and 6 Copper to 7 in the span of a single morning.

  “I spent fifteen coins to increase my total capacity by roughly one and a half Copper. I would like to experiment some more, but I don’t want my stash of coins to get too low.”

  Soon, however, he talked himself into doing some more tests. He would return to the dungeon soon, after all. After spending ten more coins, he was left perplexed by the results and almost wished he hadn’t wasted the coins like that.

  This time, his mana had not grown by any noticeable amount, invalidating the idea that usage meant growth. There had to be some hidden conditions if he wanted to increase his capacity, but with only 20 coins left he could not really afford to play scientist anymore.

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  He forced himself to drop the matter and cook a nutritious meal for himself to further fuel his muscle growth. As he ate, he also formulated a training plan for the following days, making sure to dial down the muscle growth to somewhat acceptable levels.

  “Two rounds of healing-training-healing every morning, plus bulking powder. It should make me grow in strength at about four times the speed of a normal athlete. This way, if Old Dave notices, he’ll just think I’m on gear.”

  ***

  Later that evening, it was finally time to show up at the dojo for karate class. After having skipped training last time, Michael failed to come up with an excuse not to go, despite knowing that he was in for an unpleasant experience. In fact, with the dungeon reinforcing his mindset, and his healing skill always available if he needed it, he almost welcomed the challenge.

  Not to mention the fact that his dojo was inexplicably cheap at only $40 a month for three classes a week, and Michael needed all the training he could get.

  “We are going to practice the Seichin kata today,” Sensei Stephan said, after the customary half hour of warm-ups and preliminary exercises.

  There were not many people at the dojo today: the sensei, Michael, Phillip—the lawyer—Marc and his wife Charlotte. The couple had recently had twins, and they had brought the kids with them. The two girls were currently mewling and trying to escape the confines of their stroller just outside the training room, all while watching videos at ludicrous volumes.

  “Did you really have to bring the two pests?” Phillip asked Marc, with little tact as usual.

  Marc simply smirked. Phillip looked tiny next to the bear of a man. By watching the two interact, it wasn’t clear whether they were friends or if Marc simply tolerated Phillip the way an elephant would tolerate a fly: too much effort to get rid of. The moment of contemplation was broken when Sensei Stephan looked at Michael and nodded when their gazes met.

  “You too, Michael. You know Kanshu already, there’s no need to waste more time on it.”

  Michael tried to protest but was silenced. “Come on! You are the chosen one, you’ll learn in two tries or some shit,” he laughed, “come on! If you want to inherit this dojo the least you can do is learn forms ahead of time, right?”

  There was a snicker coming from the far end of the room, where Phillip was standing at attention. They were in order of rank, with Phillip being the highest after Sensei Stephan, then Marc and his wife, and lastly Michael, who was still a white belt. Michael could not find it within himself to be angry at the sensei. He knew that Stephan was joking in good spirits: he really believed Michael could do it and did all he could to push him.

  At the same time, he was oblivious to the duplicitous nature of Phillip’s snicker, as if pretending not to notice. Once again, Michael was reminded of the fact that all the people in the dojo had known each other for years, even decades, and he was the latest addition. In a city this small, not many new people decided to join a random cheap martial arts group.

  “Yes, sensei.” Michael replied. Already, he was feeling a headache coming.

  “You three, start practicing,” the sensei said, “while I show him the moves. Then, we will go over it together.”

  It did not take much time at all for Michael to learn the new kata. The moves were many and fairly complex, but rote repetition did what middling talent and cursory interest failed to do. It was one of his great strengths, the ability to learn from doing. He found it even easier than usual to learn the kata now that he had real-life experience: he could easily imagine how some moves could be used to hurt goblins or defend himself from a strike coming at him.

  “See? I told you all he’s the chosen one. 8th kyu and already knows Seichin kata better than some people here. I won’t make names, but Taiko complained to me about our lackluster performance last time.” Then he looked at Michael, half-jokingly, “I guess I will have to leave the dojo to you when I retire.”

  It was only playful banter. Michael was friends with the sensei, having helped the man with moving some furniture and having met his family.

  He smiled and politely declined.

  “But of course,” said Phillip in a mellow, sickly-sweet tone that hid a sadistic grin, “after all, he even has Taiko’s blessing, doesn’t he?”

  “Oh yeah!” Stephan said enthusiastically, heedless of the true meaning of the words, “he even got the certificate autographed. It was the first time Taiko personally insisted someone skip a belt. Straight from the 10th kyu to the 8th. Truly the chosen one.”

  There were laughs, but of them all, only Stephan’s was one of true mirth. The others were mere facades.

  They practiced in silence, the only voice being the sensei’s botched Japanese counting numbers as they moved almost in unison. Michael messed up a couple of times, but nobody had the strength to point out anyone’s flaws after doing the kata more than forty times in a row.

  “Today is conditioning day.” Stephan declared.

  “Even better,” Phillip, who had been talking with the sensei in a hushed voice, said with a grin.

  “Okay. Form rows! And… bow! Good. Now, ten minutes of body conditioning drills, then you can go. Michael, you go with Phillip today.”

  Conditioning was about hitting each other to get used to the pain and to make their forearms, legs, and abs stronger by hitting them like the Japanese supposedly do in Okinawa. Today, Michael decided that he wouldn’t just take the hits; instead, he would take them and then heal himself. Healing a bruise didn’t take much mana or energy, and his mana pool was full.

  If Phillip went overboard, then he would also hit back, see who got tired first: Michael, who could heal after every punch and every hit, or Phillip, who would only accumulate bruises?

  They bowed to each other, then the real fun began.

  Phillip, predictably, did not hold back. Michael did not miss the slight grin on the man’s face every time he winced under his savage blows. This was not conditioning; this was tenderizing his arms and legs.

  Careful to only designate himself as an ally to be healed, not wanting to give Phillip a free health check, Michael slowly trickled mana into his skill, and a grin matching Phillip’s own appeared on his face. Each blow caused pain, but then the healing kicked in, and he could feel his arms and legs growing tougher, his bones denser, and his ligaments and muscles more conditioned.

  “What’s got into you today, chosen one?” Phillip taunted him, “you learned to like the pain perhaps? Why don’t you ask me to go easy on you like you usually do?”

  Michael only smiled, which made the other man only hit harder. “I realized just how useful this training is for me. And here I thought you were doing it because you liked hurting me!” he tanked a blow that should have rocked him, barely flinching, his skill immediately fixing all the damage and pain.

  “You put some muscle on your frame, skinny boy. That’s good. Means I can hit harder.”

  Michael only nodded. Five minutes had passed, and he had barely used a single Copper worth of mana. This was nothing compared to the goblins and the skeletons, the feeling of his bones breaking and his flesh rending. In fact, this was free training.

  “Do it,” he said evenly, his enmity with the man forgotten while thinking about gains. “Hit me as hard as you can.”