I Loaded the Occult Panel

The days that followed were quiet but fulfilling.

He attended classes during the day, received tutoring over lunch, and spent his afternoons doing specialized exercises with Mr. Holland, who was back from his business trip.

The weekly tutoring sessions had turned into a daily routine.

In the evenings, he returned home and used the memory bonus from [Learning] to expand his knowledge base, followed by a quarter hour of breathing method practice right before bed.

The breathing method was progressing well. After every nightly session, the warmth deep in his chest lingered for a few more breaths than it had the day before.

At first, it had only surfaced briefly during the breath-holding phase. Later, it extended into the first two beats of his exhalation, then the first three.

The trend was clear. The warmth was taking root, little by little.

On Saturday night, the house was asleep.

The grandfather clock in the living room struck eleven, the chimes drifting up through the floorboards.

Richard sat cross-legged on his bed. The curtains were drawn tight and the desk lamp was off. The only light in the room was a single sliver of moonlight spilling through a gap in the window.His Fourfold Breathing entered its fourth complete cycle.

Inhale. One, two, three, four.

Air flooded deep into his lungs through airways optimized by his [Breathing] skill. Resistance was minimal, making his breaths deep and even.

Hold. One, two, three, four.

He sank his attention behind his sternum, anchoring it to the Seat of the Sun.

Warmth spread outward from that spot, its boundaries distinct.

He could already map the shape of this warmth. Roughly the size of a brass button, it rested in a flat, circular patch against the inner wall of his sternum.

Exhale. One, two, three, four.

He pushed the breath out at a steady pace, guiding it past his larynx and out through his nose.

The warmth did not fade. He waited.

The second breath-hold lasted four beats. The warmth remained.

The fifth cycle, the sixth cycle, all the way to the tenth.

He finished the entire fifteen-minute training set. From start to finish, that button-sized warmth in his chest never faded.

It flared slightly when he inhaled and dimmed when he exhaled, but it was always there.

He focused entirely on that spot, feeling it out.

Beyond the warmth, there was now a very faint sense of weight.

Something rested right in the center of his chest. He couldn’t see or touch it, but it unmistakably possessed mass.

As his chest rose and fell, the thing swayed slightly, perfectly synchronized with his breaths.

This had to be the Ether Micro-circulation mentioned in the book.

The Panel flashed:

[Breathing] Lv.2 Experience: 200/500 (First milestone reached)

The Panel marked this as a distinct milestone, differentiating it from regular experience accumulation.

Richard sat on the bed for a long time. Rather than rushing to test anything, he carefully committed the sensation to memory.

There had been no grand commotion when the Ether Micro-circulation formed. He experienced none of the bursts of light or surges of heat he had expected.

It felt more as if a pile of loose sand inside his body had been scooped up, molded into a sphere, and packed tight.

He knew what was in there, but he didn’t yet know what it could do.

The book’s descriptions were far too vague. In Appendix C, the text offered only a single line regarding a Newcomer:

”One who has preliminarily established a complete Ether Micro-circulation within the body.”

The definition didn’t explain what such a person could actually do.

He tried clenching his fist.

His fingers responded faster. The old, sluggish stiffness in his fingertips was gone.

The book had mentioned that ether circulating through the body would optimize neural conduction. That was the most fundamental benefit.

Next, he tried splitting his attention away from his chest, drawing it down his right arm.

While translating the steganographic passages in the flora encyclopedia, he had read:

”Once ether forms a ring, it can be diverted. Like an irrigation canal channeling water, wherever it flows, it nourishes.”

He had only noted it down as background knowledge at the time, but now that he had the means, he could actually test it.

He drew his consciousness from the Seat of the Sun toward his right arm, feeling as if he were holding the nozzle of a very thin water pipe, slowly tilting it in that direction.

When he clenched his fist this time, the force was noticeably different.

His muscle mass hadn’t magically increased, but both contraction speed and precision had simultaneously improved.

He retracted the ether from his right arm and tried guiding it down into his legs.

The warmth arrived much more slowly in his legs, likely because they were further from the Seat of the Sun.

But it still arrived. The sensation of power in his calves and knees grew distinct and solid.

After a few experiments, Richard gained a solid understanding of his state now that he had established the circulation:

”First milestone effect: Ether Micro-circulation formed. Can be diverted to strengthen local areas.

”Enhancement effects are specific improvements in coordination, precision, and reaction speed.

”If one wishes to rapidly increase muscle strength and physical fitness, it might require practicing the Path of Blood Ignition. (Uncertain)”

He thought for a moment and noted down a few more points in his mind:

”Currently, the benefit of ether diffusing throughout the entire body is passive.

”Concentrated enhancement after localized mobilization is active. The two can be toggled flexibly.

”Note that total ether is limited. Sustaining localized enhancement for too long causes fatigue. Requires further observation.”

Having sorted out his current situation, Richard leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

Crossing the threshold of the Ether Micro-circulation was roughly equivalent to the difference between fighting bare-handed and holding a weapon.

Now, even without the Fog Wall Spell, just by strengthening his body with ether, three to five average adult men wouldn’t be able to get near him.

He pulled the quilt up to his chin and closed his eyes.

His body naturally entered a relaxed state after completing a breathing method session. Coupled with the continued optimization of his oxygen intake, his sleep quality was leagues better than it had been a month ago.

A few breaths after closing his eyes, he fell into a deep sleep.

...

Early the next morning, as the sky was just beginning to lighten, Richard opened his eyes.

Following his breathing method breakthrough, his energy recovered exceptionally fast. After sleeping for six hours, he simply couldn’t lie in bed any longer.

There was no noise downstairs; his father wasn’t up yet. From the master bedroom, the muffled sound of his mother coughing softly drifted into the hall.

This bout of coughing had been going on intermittently for several days.

Every year, once autumn set in, his mother’s old affliction would flare up.

Chest tightness, shortness of breath, waking up coughing in the middle of the night. When it got severe, she had to stay in bed all day.

The community doctor had come to see her and said it was the same old problem, prescribing a terribly bitter herbal ointment.

It was hard to say whether the medicine worked, but there were always ten to fifteen days every month when his mother was unable to manage the household chores.

During those times, Evelyn naturally took over everything.

No one assigned it to her, nor did anyone explicitly say, ”You manage the house when Mom isn’t feeling well.”

She had started doing it when she was twelve or thirteen, and over time, it had simply become the default.

She would wake up at half past six, scoop the ashes out of the fireplace, then add coal and get the fire going.

Then, she would head to the kitchen to boil water, slice bread, and fry eggs.

After their father finished his breakfast and left for work, she still had to clear the dishes, wash them, and wipe the dining table clean.

If their mother was in particularly bad shape that day, she would also make a sandwich in advance for their father to take to work.

Their father worked as a structural engineer at a manufacturing plant in the North District of Briston.

The title sounded respectable enough, but the work consisted of squatting in the factory all day drawing blueprints, overseeing assembly, and troubleshooting stress problems.

The factory was loud, dusty, and poorly ventilated. By the end of the day, he would be covered in black soot.

His quiet demeanor at home wasn’t entirely due to his personality.

Standing in a deafening workshop from dawn till dusk left him with no energy for warm conversation when he returned home.

Speaking meant responding, and responding meant expending extra energy. All his energy had already been spent providing for his family.

Evelyn often grumbled, ”This house would fall apart without me,” but her hands never stopped working for a moment.

But this morning, Richard had woken up earlier than his sister, and he worked even faster.

By the time she came downstairs rubbing her eyes, she could already smell toast and black tea.

The fireplace burned warmly, the dishes were neatly arranged on the dining table, and a clean spreading knife rested beside the butter dish.

Evelyn stood at the foot of the stairs, her mouth half open. ”...When did you get up?”

”Six,” Richard said, carrying a plate of eggs to the table.

”Did you light the fireplace?”

”Yeah.”

”Did you wash the dishes?”

”Yeah.”

”And you toasted the bread?”

”Yeah.”

Evelyn pulled out a chair and sat down, picking up a piece of toast and flipping it over.

Both sides were an even, golden brown with perfectly crisp edges. It looked better than the toast she made.

”...You used to always burn the toast.”

”I’ve been practicing lately.”

”You’ve been practicing, and it turned out like this?”

”Never mind that. Is it good?” Richard sat down opposite her.

”...It’s okay.”

”You’re chewing pretty fast, though.”

”I’m hungry.”

”Oh.”

By this time, their mother had heard the commotion and come downstairs. ”Did Richard make this?”

”Yeah. Mom, you should get some rest.”

Margaret didn’t say anything else. Seeing the breakfast already laid out on the table, she felt as though she was already mostly better.