I opened the book slowly.
The pages were thick, yellowed by time.
The handwriting was old, written by hand.
I ran my eyes over the first lines.
Then I issued the mental command.
—Laboratory… begin extraction.
["Beep!"]
A small progress bar appeared in my vision.
["Extraction started.."]
["1%"]
["2%"]
I didn't actually need to read.
I just had to move my eyes across the pages.
My vision captured the text.
The virtual laboratory did the rest.
Lines of characters were scanned.
Interpreted.
Indexed.
Converted into data.
As my eyes moved across the pages, the system absorbed the knowledge like an advanced scanner.
Page after page.
["7%"]
["12%"]
["18%"]
I kept flipping through the book.
As the technique was analyzed, I began to understand its structure.
And… surprisingly…
It was simple.
Extremely simple.
At least in theory.
The technique was basically an extremely specific form of breathing.
Deep inhalation.
Retention.
Controlled release.
But it wasn't just breathing.
There was rhythm.
Pressure.
Exact timing.
Subtle diaphragm movements.
Small muscle contractions.
Very specific sequences.
It was almost like a biological algorithm.
The objective of this breathing was to activate something this world called…
Internal energy.
According to the book, this energy existed within all living beings.
Humans.
Animals.
Even magical creatures.
It was a natural energy of the body.
Latent.
Dormant.
The breathing technique served as a key.
When executed correctly, it stimulated the organs, muscles, and nervous system in a specific way.
This caused the internal energy to circulate.
Once activated, this energy began to travel through the body via natural channels.
Strengthening everything it passed through.
At more advanced levels, according to the book…
This energy could be concentrated in the limbs.
When a swordsman accumulated internal energy in his arm and released it during a strike…
The impact increased absurdly.
It wasn't magic.
It was biological amplification.
An extremely refined way of using one's own body.
In theory…
Even a chicken possessed internal energy.
The book mentioned this indirectly.
Any living creature had it.
But something essential was missing.
Rationality.
A chicken would never be able to execute a complex breathing sequence.
It would never understand the flow of its own energy.
That's why only humans — and some intelligent creatures — were able to use this power.
I continued turning the pages.
["63%"]
["71%"]
["78%"]
Each section described a stage of the technique.
The early stages were clearly basic.
But even so…
They were already dangerous.
Executing it incorrectly could cause fainting.
Internal injuries.
Or extreme exhaustion.
I kept turning the pages.
["89%"]
["90%"]
["94%"]
A few more pages.
Then the last one.
["100%"]
["Extraction Completed!"]
I closed the book slowly.
I placed my hand on the cover.
I closed my eyes.
Then I gave another mental command.
—Create a directory in the database called…
—Drake Family Breathing Technique.
["Beep!"]
A new folder appeared in the laboratory's internal system.
["Directory created!"]
I nodded slightly.
—Now transfer the information that was extracted into that directory.
["Task completed!"]
After that, I looked at the closed book in front of me.
The technique was now stored in the laboratory's database.
But there was a problem.
It was generic.
It was created for any member of the Drake family.
Men.
Women.
Young.
Adults.
Different bodies.
Different physical structures.
In other words…
It wasn't optimized.
—Okay… now based on the status of my current body, edit this technique and reformulate it exclusively based on that.
["Order received!"]
The mental interface immediately expanded.
Inside the virtual laboratory, a large number of windows began to appear.
On one side was the model of the original technique.
On the other side…
Was my body.
An extremely detailed three-dimensional projection.
["Height: 1.75."]
["Age: 15 years."]
["Sex: male."]
["Bone structure still in development."]
["Low muscle mass."]
["Lungs with moderate capacity."]
["Young heart, but poorly trained."]
["Starting technique restructuring…"]
["breathing intensity incompatible with current lung capacity"]
["Air retention adjustment: -17%"]
.
.
.
.
["Reformulation in progress"]
["Estimated time for completion: 20 minutes!"]
A timer appeared in front of my vision.
["00:20:00"]
["00:19:59"]
["00:19:58"]
…
I didn't care much.
So I leaned back in the chair.
Crossed my arms.
And let time pass.
While the laboratory worked inside my head, my thoughts wandered.
I really was very lucky.
Ridiculously lucky.
In this world that seemed like a mix of medieval Europe and fantasy…
Having a virtual laboratory like this was practically an unprecedented cheat.
Here, people depended on ancient books.
Tradições.
Mestres.
Décadas de tentativa e erro.
Enquanto isso…
Eu tinha uma inteligência artificial analisando tudo dentro da minha mente sem afetar meu corpo real.
Mas então outro pensamento surgiu.
Algo curioso.
Eu só estava aqui por causa de um acidente.
Segundo as memórias deste corpo, o antigo Dylan recebeu o legado de Charles, pensando que era uma estrela que caiu do céu.
E acabou deixando uma gota do próprio sangue cair sobre a pedra.
Foi naquele momento que o laboratório foi ativado.
.
.
.
Olhei novamente para o cronômetro mental.
["00:11:42"]
Ainda levaria um tempo.
Então simplesmente esperei.
.
.
.
.
["00:00:05"]
["00:00:04"]
["00:00:03"]
["00:00:02"]
["00:00:01"]
["00:00:00"]
["Reformulation completed!"]
I straightened my body slightly in the chair.
The Drake family technique was no longer a generic method created for all descendant.
Now it was something different.
Something adapted exclusively for me.
But knowing the technique was not enough.
Experience was required.
Practice.
Years of it.
So I issued another mental command.
—Laboratory.
—Generate artificial experience based on this new technique.
For a brief moment there was silence.
Then the response came.
["Order received!"]
The mental interface changed again.
The virtual laboratory expanded.
In the white space of the laboratory, figures began to appear.
Holograms.
All of them… were me.
Hundreds of them.
Three-dimensional models of my own body.
Each one assuming the posture of the technique.
Spine straight.
Shoulders relaxed.
Deep breathing.
Then they began.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
In synchronized form.
["Experience Emulation in progress"]
["Estimated time for completion: 60 minutes!"]
I simply leaned back in the chair again.
Sixty minutes.
Nothing special.
If that really worked…
I would gain years of training in just one hour.
So I simply waited.
.
.
.
.
["Emulation completed!"]
I straightened my body.
Time for the final step.
—Laboratory.
—Send this artificial experience to the memory zone.
There was a brief pause.
Then the response.
["Transfer started"]
And it was immediate.
A wave of information invaded my mind.
Sensations.
Breaths.
Muscle movements.
Energy flows.
Thousands of training cycles compressed into seconds.
My brain tried to process everything at the same time.
—Urgh…
I brought my hand to my mouth.
A slight nausea appeared.
My head throbbed.
A sharp pain behind my eyes.
For a few seconds I thought I was actually going to vomit right there on the library table.
I took a deep breath.
I waited.
The sensation began to fade.
The headache slowly retreated.
After a few minutes…
Everything returned to normal.
Or rather…
Almost normal.
Because now something inside me had changed.
I closed my eyes.
Instinctively I adjusted my posture.
Spine straight.
Shoulders relaxed.
And I breathed.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
The movement came naturally.
Without effort.
Without thinking.
As if I had done that every day for years.
Decades, perhaps.
I slowly opened my eyes.
A small smile appeared on my face.
Having this virtual laboratory really is a cheat!
.
.
.
Charles was in his office, the door closed and the curtains partially drawn, letting in only a strip of afternoon light.
He was sitting in the chair behind the heavy wooden desk, with his wife, Mily, sitting on his lap.
His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close with intimacy.
Mily smiled slightly, her fingers resting on his shoulders, while Charles leaned his face against her chest.
His hand slowly moved upward, and he held his wife's left breast, squeezing it firmly.
"Uhh~~
— You've been teasing me too much today… — he murmured with a half smile.
Before she could respond, a sound echoed from the door.
Toc~~ tOc~~.
Charles frowned.
Quickly, he released Mily's left breast, and the two separated.
She stood up and adjusted her dress naturally.
Charles rested his hands on the arms of the chair, straightening his posture, recovering the serious air he maintained in front of the servants.
— Come in. — he said in a firm tone.
The door slowly opened.
A maid entered and closed the door behind her.
She walked a few steps into the office and bowed deeply before the couple.
— Sir… Madam…
Charles made a brief gesture with his hand.
— Speak.
The maid kept her head slightly lowered.
— Sir, I came to inform you that the young master Dylan is in the library.
Charles's eyebrows slowly rose.
— In the library?
The maid nodded.
— Yes, sir. And… he was near the safe that holds the family technique.
For a moment, the office fell silent.
Charles rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, thoughtful.
Dylan.
The image of his son passed through his mind.
Before, the quarrelsome boy ran through the fields riding horses and getting into trouble, but since he received that stone, he had changed completely.
He immediately remembered the technique he had tried to teach Dylan a long time ago.
Charles slowly shook his head.
— Very well. You may go.
— Yes, sir.
The maid bowed again and left the office.
The door closed.
Silence once again dominated the room.
Charles then extended his hand and pulled Mily by the waist, bringing her close again.
— Did you hear that? — he said thoughtfully.
Mily lightly crossed her arms, looking at her husband.
— I did.
— Dylan… in the library. — Charles let out a small incredulous laugh. — That doesn't sound like our son.
Mily tilted her head.
— Maybe he's changing.
Charles narrowed his eyes.
— Changing?
She sighed.
— Think about it. He's going to be sent on that magical journey soon.
Charles tapped his fingers on the desk.
— Yes… the journey.
Only an heir with magical talent could make it.
And among all the children of the family, only Dylan had shown any real affinity with magic.
Mily continued:
— Maybe he has finally understood that he cannot run away from it.
Charles let out a short sigh.
— Or maybe he's trying to learn the family technique.
— Would that be bad? — Mily asked.
— No.
He shook his head.
— In fact, it would be the first sensible action I've seen from that boy in years.
Mily gave a small smile.
— You should be harder on him.
Charles looked at her.
— Harder?
— Like you were last week at dinner.
Charles let out a small "hm."
He remembered perfectly.
Dylan had tried to refuse the journey.
And Charles had made it clear that there was no choice.
Mily rested her hand on her husband's chest.
— Sometimes children only understand when they are pressured.
...
1839 Words
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