I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. The panic that had surged through me moments before slowly dissipated as I centered myself, mentally pushing away the fear. Now I needed to think—really think—about how to control it. I couldn't afford to act recklessly.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, assuming a meditative pose, just as I had read in martial arts books. My back straight, my hands resting on my knees, and my mind quiet. I closed my eyes and focused, trying to tap into the knowledge I had just absorbed. I reached within, seeking out the energy that was now a part of me.
I sensed it almost immediately. The energy inside my body was like a faint, pale white light. It wasn't bright or overpowering, but there was a subtle force, a power that was just beneath the surface. As I focused on it, I realized that it wasn't neatly organized. The energy seemed to be scattered chaotically across my body—like bits and pieces, dispersed and disorganized, all fighting for space and balance.
My heart raced as I examined the strange feeling. It wasn't something I could control easily, not like in the martial arts books where energy flowed through a trained body in calm, controlled pathways. This felt like the energy was swirling aimlessly, like an uncontrolled current that could break free at any moment.
I recalled the description of the Energy Conduit skill. It meant that the original owner of this body, Jin Kuroda, had been absorbing ambient energy from the surroundings without realizing it. The energy, I now understood, had been accumulating over time—gathered in small, almost imperceptible increments. But the fact that it had been stored chaotically across my body meant that it wasn't harnessed or focused properly.
An image of my previous research flickered through my mind. I had read about internal circulation techniques that martial artists used to properly manage and circulate qi (or energy). The thought immediately struck me: I need to learn how to control this energy.
The first idea that came to mind was simple—find a place and figure out a way to release the energy all at once. But that wouldn't be effective. If I just released it recklessly, I would waste all the energy my body had already accumulated. That would be a foolish waste of a resource I couldn't afford to squander.
I began to think more strategically. I needed a way to concentrate the energy, to focus it. That's when the memory of the internal circulation technique popped into my mind. It was a fundamental method for channeling energy within the body—accumulating it at the energy center, or Dantian. This technique wasn't just about releasing energy; it was about gathering it in one place, where it could be stored and controlled.
However, my mind then turned to a critical detail: I remembered reading that martial artists typically started learning internal martial arts from a young age. When you were young, your qi pathways were more open, and your body was more adaptable to the flow of energy. But as you aged, those pathways gradually closed, and it became far harder to channel energy through them.
I remembered a specific technique mentioned in the books I had read. It was called the "Qi Liberation Technique"—a method designed to open up the closed pathways and unblock the meridians in the body. This technique allowed a practitioner to regain the natural flow of energy, but there was a catch: it required a massive amount of energy to clear the blocked pathways, and the process was excruciatingly painful.
The Qi Liberation Technique wasn't something you could just try on a whim. It required preparation and a significant amount of qi to initiate. But it was my only choice. Without it, the energy inside me would remain chaotic, scattered, and ultimately uncontrollable.
I hesitated, the thought of the pain making my stomach turn. Was I ready for that kind of agony? Could I even endure it? There were so many unknowns. But if I didn't try, the energy would continue to grow, and I would be living with a ticking time bomb inside me.
I immediately opened up the system shop and searched for the Qi Liberation Technique. It was priced at 750 gold. I had no other choice. I had to buy it. After purchasing it, I was left with only 50 gold. I immediately felt the overwhelming surge of information as the technique's details were imprinted on my mind.
Once the information settled, I went over it carefully, ensuring that I hadn't missed anything crucial. The technique was complex, but I had to master it quickly.
Then, just as I was about to proceed, the system flashed another screen.
Mission: Learn the Qi Liberation Technique and unblock all your qi channels.
Reward: 500 gold and 500 EXP.
Penalty: Critical Injury or Death.
I stared at the screen, my heart sinking. Did I just trigger a mission, or did the system set this up automatically? The reward was tempting, but the penalty... Death? It was a stark reminder of how dangerous this process was.
Since I was going to do it anyway, the mission made no difference. I sighed, mentally preparing myself for the agony that was about to come.
I closed my eyes and focused, feeling the energy coursing through my body like an undirected current. It was an overwhelming, almost chaotic presence inside me—like a flood of light and power, rushing aimlessly through my veins. My body was tense, every muscle aching with the weight of this raw, untamed energy. I could feel the buildup of pressure—the need to do something, anything, to channel this power before it became more than I could handle. I couldn't afford to ignore it anymore. There was no other choice but to face it head-on.
Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself. This technique—the Qi Liberation Technique—was usually done by another person, a master or someone skilled enough to guide the process. But I doubted there was anyone in this world who practiced martial arts like that. No one here seemed to even know how to channel energy, let alone unblock pathways. So, if I wanted this to work, I would have to do it alone.
I took another breath, more controlled this time, and began to focus inward. I had read about how a martial artist's qi pathways were distributed throughout the body. I needed to find mine. I concentrated, visualizing the pathways inside me, trying to feel where they were blocked, where the flow of energy was being hindered. Slowly, I began to pinpoint the locations of the pathways that had been closed off.
Then, I located my Dantian, the body's energy center, the focal point for all the qi in my body. It was here that the energy should be gathered, where it could be stored and circulated. The Dantian was like the heart of my energy. It was where everything should start. I focused on it, trying to draw in all the chaotic energy that had been scattered across my body and gather it there.
As soon as I directed my focus to clear the blocked pathways, a violent, searing pain exploded through my body.
The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It felt like fire was coursing through my veins, burning every fiber of my being from the inside out. My teeth gritted together involuntarily, my entire body trembling from the sheer force of the agony. I fought to keep my focus, refusing to let the pain take over. My hands clenched into fists as I continued to channel the energy, slowly working through the first of the pathways.
The pressure in my chest grew unbearable. It was as if every inch of my body was being crushed under the weight of the qi trying to break free. Sweat poured down my face, dripping onto the floor as I struggled to keep my breathing steady. The pain made my head spin, my vision blurring with every pulse of energy.
It took all my willpower to keep pushing, to keep clearing those pathways. An hour passed, though it felt like an eternity. By the time I paused, panting and drenched in sweat, I realized I had barely made a dent in the process. Ten percent. That was all I had managed. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was a start.
I sank back onto the floor, my legs shaking, feeling like I had just run a marathon. My body felt drained, completely exhausted from the effort. As I sat there, gasping for breath, I noticed something strange. I looked down at my body, feeling lighter. I didn't understand at first, but then it clicked.
I wasn't just losing energy or fat. The energy I had been absorbing had been stored in different muscle groups across my body. As I began to clear the pathways, the energy was released, and my body was losing the excess mass that had been built up. I wasn't fat, I realized—I was just overloaded with energy that had nowhere to go.
But this raised a new problem. If I lost weight too quickly, it might look suspicious. This sudden change could attract unwanted attention. People would notice. I can't just go rushing through this, I thought. I need to take my time with this technique.
Slowly, I began to regain control over my breath, pushing through the exhaustion. This was going to be a long and painful process. But I had no choice. I would have to do this slowly, carefully, if I wanted to avoid any unwanted attention while also gaining control over the chaos inside me. Every step forward was a victory, no matter how small. But I couldn't afford to rush it. The road ahead would be slow, but it was the only path I had.