Chapter 2: The Price of a Foundation
For a man who had just been reduced to a bloody paste and then miraculously brought back to life, Rhys felt remarkably calm.
He poked a finger into his own arm. It was solid. Hard, even.
He felt like he was carved from dense oak rather than flesh and bone.
The system’s emergency healing had granted him the ’Flawless Adamantine Body’, and it was no joke.
This was the first of the Eight Stages in the Mortal World, Body Tempering, but it felt leagues beyond the grunting, sweaty sessions he’d seen his cousins endure.
They got stronger, sure, but he felt... optimised. Perfected.
"Right," he muttered, taking a moment to assess his situation. He was standing in an alley, covered in a drying layer of his own blood, looking like the sole survivor of a meat grinder accident.
Not an ideal look for someone trying to blend in.
His first priority was to get out of sight before some well-meaning town guard spotted the gruesome scene and started asking awkward questions he had no intention of answering.
He slipped out of the alley, his movements surprisingly light and silent, and began walking towards the edge of town, sticking to the shadows.
The Whisperwood Forest loomed ahead, its dark canopy a perfect place to disappear.
As he walked, he focused his mind inward, calling up the crisp, blue screen that had saved his life. It hovered in his mental vision, clean and efficient.