Riley spent the entire day and night cultivating, unmoving as a stone statue.
Time lost all meaning as his blood boiled in silent tides and his body was tempered to an astonishing degree.
When dawn finally broke and pale light seeped through the cracks of the room, he slowly opened his eyes.
They were clear. Bright.
Not a trace of exhaustion could be found within them.
Instead, his body hummed with boundless vitality, every muscle and bone brimming with suppressed power.
Riley exhaled a long breath, feeling the stability of his foundation, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
He had succeeded.
His improvisation—bold, reckless, and utterly heretical by the standards of this world—had borne fruit.
In truth, there had never been much doubt.
Through the mysterious connection to his true body, Riley had been able to experiment without restraint.
Failed circulation paths, collapsed meridians, shattered cores—such risks meant nothing to him there.
