4: Used to it
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Master only decided to teach me because I threw a tantrum? What sort of bullshit is that?

We met two months ago, and although I acted disrespectfully many times, not once did I throw a tantrum, except for now.

Could he have decided to teach me only now?

No, no, let's not hastily draw conclusions. He could've talked about something I did back then, which he considers a tantrum.

That makes much more sense. Yup.

I was pretty reckless back then, so it makes sense.

Totally.

Fuck.

For the next week, we gather herbs, hunt, meditate, practice breathing and explore my meridians. I find it a nice distraction, having not a moment for useless thoughts.

Meridians turns out to be far more complex than I initially realized. I need to memorize the pathways and actively channel mana through them.

As long as mana is like a flame, this method is extremely inefficient. However, once I refine it into higher form, the effectiveness of Surge will increase significantly.

It might—deep breaths, deep breaths!—multiply my output tenfold!

This means my Limit Surge will be have a multiplier of a whole fucking thousand!

I have about 90 mana. High ranking warriors have about 5,000 mana. Rough calculations show I can strike nine times with enough force to bring down high ranking warriors, and that's without factoring quality and...

“I wouldn't get too excited if I were you,” says the boomer, bringing me back to reality.

“I know.”

We finish the session and I proceed to work on the breathing techniques. I improved nicely over the week, to the point I can last an hour on my own.

Even with the nerve restoration, I finally got some progress. I can tremble now! Sure, it's not 100% voluntary but I passed the greatest hurdle.

It's hellish. The frustration, helplessness of being unable to move my body is agonizing. I learned to loathe the sensation of being prisoned in my own body, to appreciate every casual gesture I can make.

But it's fine.

I'm already used to it.


Flashback: Percival - 10 years old

The young boy lied sick on his bed for days. Despite the attentive care of his nanny and the servants, his fever grew worse by the day. Pale as a ghost, frantic fear slowly overcame Percival as he felt his approaching death.

Death terrified the boy, who barely lived to witness his second decade in life. He wanted to stop, but it was already too late.

There's no turning back, not now.

Hidden in the piles of books laid disorderly on the marble floor, there were a few books secretly borrowed from the royal library. These books all revolved around one concept that recently fascinated him.

Compilation of Superhuman Techniques.

Superhuman Techniques: Nervous System Reconstruction.

Martial Arts & Bodily Evolution

Awareness Brings Power

Such titles were carefully placed at seemingly random locations. Percival had already memorized their contents by heart, and he was about to return them when the opportunity arose.

The problem was that he went too far too quickly.

His greed caused him to attempt the creation of a superhuman technique despite knowing that the chances of success are infinitesimal.

Failure meant death.

At the threat of death, Percival attempted to focus even further. His mind sharpened like a blade, time slowed to a crawl and he delved deeper into his own consciousness and body.

Simultaneously, mana burned, lighting the boy in azure aura. Instead of strengthening, it was converted into mental energy, enabling clarity in the darkness. The cloud of distraction finally disappeared, taking Percival's fear along with it.

He envisioned his own neural pathways, as he had done countless times before in practice—only now it was much clearer. He could see the strings, perfectly arranged in an impossibly complex array, weaving and intertwining with each other. After going over this infinitely detailed map, Percival somehow managed to identify the locations with the greatest concentration of threads.

For an immeasurable number of hours, days, weaks—or maybe a few seconds? There's no way telling—the threads were examined millions of times. Every time something new was learnt, new memories formed, new stimulus experienced even without his own awareness, the various networks of nerves changed accordingly, processing the data.

The brain wasn't just an inanimate object. It grew, it changed. It controlled this miracle called life.

How ironic that the thing that kept him alive would be the very reason he died.

Still, Percival couldn't give up. He desperately ran over the nerves, trying to find the “origin”.

His mana, pitiful, was at its limits. He didn't have much time left.

Deciding to risk everything, Percival activated Surge on his remaining mana. Even as a child, his single-mindedness in training this common technique was remarkable, and the emotional turmoil served as an effective stimulus to go beyond his limits.

The pathways shimmered dazzlingly. Microscopic damage was sustained, but there was no way to pay it any heed.

Awareness brings power.

This title, one of the few books containing information on how to create superhuman techniques, suddenly came to mind. Its meaning became painfully obvious.

Percival scratched the information he collected. His envisioning perspective transformed.

As if they were fibers of muscles, the web of strings moved to his will, its secrets unveiled. His consciousness was seared into these strings. Tensing them brought waves of potent energy, igniting Percival's focus to a whole new level. He could hear the hum of electricity flowing in his brain, his body.

Now he understood.

What he needed to do and how.

Delving even further into his nerves, the hardcode was unveiled. There's no need to look for anywhere specific. The pathways themselves had everything coded in, available to view from anywhere down the way.

Finding the part he started with unconsciously before was easy—it was the only part that was flawed at a glance. The program of the nerves was a seamless work of art, immaculate and precise.

Scratching the flawed work, Percival used his last bits of concentration to analyze the code. He added his tweak—that was what the peak of martial arts amounted to, a single tweak—and made sure to integrate it.

Pain jump-started everywhere possible in his body. Intense, agonizing pain that Percival simply couldn't take. He blacked out, unsure if he even succeeded.

When he woke up, the pain was gone. Even as his brain couldn't sort the details, the feeling of his body, so different from the original, announced the success. Percival was now one of the superhumans, and a creator at that.

His chest rose and fell steadily as he breathed. His heart pulsed calmly. His eyes blinked normally.

So why, he wondered, his body didn't listen to his commands to move.

Hands and legs twitched uselessly, random muscles did not tense properly. It was all happening seconds later.

After a few minutes of struggle, Percival fell from his bed, crashing on the cold marble floor. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get himself to stand on his feet. Such a simple action became impossible.

As his nanny rushed to his aid, placed him in bed... fed him, read to him, pushed his wheelchair, the reality of his paralysis slowly sank.

For the young Percival, it was the beginning of hell.

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