Eat More, Poop More, Train More

While Cole was still over there clanging away at the iron pot, Tylen had already begun his kitchen renovation project.

First, he scrubbed the dust-caked old stove bright with a stiff-bristled brush, then carefully aligned the stove's exhaust pipe with the ventilation shaft originally used to vent corpse odor from the morgue.

"Perfect."

Tylen patted the dust off his hands, satisfied with his handiwork.

Next, he fished out a spare wooden small table board from the corner, propping it on the counter to serve as a chopping block.

He also took out the Bone-Cleaving Knife he'd seized from the thugs yesterday and meticulously sharpened it on a whetstone, until the blade gleamed with a chilling glint in the candlelight.

Everything was ready; it was time to prep the ingredients.

Tylen washed each of the freshly bought ingredients clean, one by one.

He peeled the onions and sliced them into strips.

He cut the pork belly into strips two fingers wide.

He sliced the pig skin into large pieces, set aside to grease the pan.

With the 30x efficiency boost from the [Slacker Saint Body], the Bone-Cleaving Knife in Tylen's hand turned into a silver whirlwind.

Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!

The dense chopping sound echoed through the basement. Setting aside precision, just in terms of speed, his knife skills rivaled those of a five-star hotel head chef.

In less than three minutes, all the ingredients were processed and neatly arranged on the wooden board.

Tylen's cooking skills were quite impressive.

In his past life, his parents were busy making a living, so he grew up as a latchkey kid who cooked for himself.

During college, to get along with his wealthy second-generation roommate, he often secretly used banned appliances to cook in the dorm, and his skills had his roommates calling him "Godfather" as they devoured his food.

Later, in grad school, his cooking prowess helped him worm his way into his advisor's family, becoming the "good kid" in his advisor's wife's eyes.

"Too bad the ingredients are limited, and the only seasoning is salt."

Tylen looked at the materials before him, calculating in his mind:

"Then I'll make the simplest—onion stir-fried pork."

This was a home-style dish he'd learned from his mother.

First, boil the pork belly until cooked, shred it, then stir-fry it vigorously in lard, and finally add a generous amount of onion to bring out the flavor.

Simple as it was, the aroma of meat and onion mingling together was practically a rice-devouring god.

"The only pity is that I don't have scallions, so I'll have to make do with onions."

After prepping the ingredients, Tylen grabbed a carrot, crunching on it to supplement his vitamins.

While eating, he didn't idle; he picked up the thick tome, Alchemy Basics, with his left hand and buried himself in reading.

Time ticked by, minute by minute.

10 AM.

From outside the window came Cole's rough, loud voice:

The laborers in this labor district were all superstitious about entering the morgue, afraid of catching bad luck.

"Little Ma! The pot's ready!"

Tylen put down the book and hurried out.

There was Cole, brandishing a black iron thingamajig.

About 30 centimeters in diameter, 15 centimeters deep, with uneven edges and not exactly round, but it was indeed a usable wok.

A hard wooden rod, salvaged from a broken-down cart, was inserted into the handle, secured firmly with two thick iron nails—looked pretty sturdy.

"Thanks, Brother Cole!"

Tylen happily took the pot. Though it was far from round and even a bit ugly, having something like this in another world was already a rare luxury.

Back in the morgue, Tylen quickly washed the new pot clean.

Then he snagged some wood and coal from the back kitchen and lit the stove.

Flames shot up, and the iron pot was set on.

Once the pot was hot, he pressed the pig skin, still with some fat attached, against the bottom, rubbing it back and forth to render the oil.

Sizzle, sizzle...

As the temperature rose and the fat seeped out, a layer of clear oil gradually pooled on the bottom of the pitch-black iron pot.

A few minutes later, Tylen tossed the useless pig skin into the drain.

By then, the iron pot had been thoroughly greased with lard, shiny and slick.

Next, he added water and boiled the meat.

20 minutes later, the aroma of meat began to fill the air.

Tylen fished the boiled pork belly out of the pot, let it cool slightly, then expertly sliced it into finger-thick strips.

He dumped the boiling water, reheated the wok.

Added lard, heated it up.

The meat strips went in.

Sizzle!!!

The sound that erupted in that instant made Tylen, as he stirred, feel as if an entire lifetime had passed.

Tylen flicked his wrist, grabbing the bent Bone-Cleaving Knife to start stir-frying.

Once the pork belly was fried golden and crispy, with excess fat rendered out, he grabbed a big handful of shredded onions and tossed them straight in.

Then a pinch of coarse salt.

High heat, quick stir-fry!

The onions dehydrated rapidly under the high temperature, releasing a rich, sweet fragrance that perfectly fused with the smoky meat aroma.

That bold, overpowering scent instantly filled the entire basement, completely drowning out the usual smells of chemical reagents and rotting corpses.

"Time to plate!"

Tylen scooped the finished dish onto a plate.

He couldn't wait to pinch a golden, crispy strip of pork belly, along with a soft, well-cooked strand of onion, and pop it into his mouth.

Crunch.

The fat exploded in his mouth, the onion's sweetness cutting through the meat's greasiness, the coarse salt's saltiness awakening the ingredients' natural umami.

In that moment, Tylen felt as if he had crossed through time and space.

Back to that Earth with takeout, with night markets, with the hustle and bustle of life... and most importantly, where he'd already beaten the game of life.

"Phew..."

Tylen closed his eyes, a look of utter satisfaction spreading across his face.

Every pore on his body seemed to open up in that instant, the mental exhaustion swept clean away.

"Now this is food for a human!"

He wolfed down half a pound of meat before reluctantly stopping.

The remaining meat and onions were all stir-fried, covered with a clean cloth, and stored together with the wok in the magically temperature-controlled cold storage.

Nutrition replenished.

Tylen wiped his mouth, his gaze sharpening once more.

"Full and satisfied, time to get down to business."

He picked up the Purple Diamond Carving Knife and continued practicing rune carving on the bone.

Two hours later, it was noon.

After this intense practice session equivalent to sixty hours, Tylen had fully gotten used to carving runes on bone, and his speed had increased more than tenfold compared to last night.

Tylen set down the carving knife and flexed his slightly stiff wrist.

"Let's begin. First physical reinforcement training."

He stripped off his shirt, revealing a frame as thin as a rack of ribs.

Squats.

"One, two, three..."

By the sixth rep, Tylen's legs were already trembling, his lungs heaving like a bellows, gasping for air.

This body was far too weak.

Rest for a dozen seconds, then continue.

Push-ups.

He barely managed two, and before the third could go up, his arms started shaking wildly like butterfly wings.

"Up... get the hell up, dammit!"

Tylen gritted his teeth, his face flushed red, forcing himself to push up.

Arms gave out, so he switched to legs.

Squats, push-ups, squats, push-ups...

Cycle after cycle.

Just ten minutes later.

Tylen was sprawled on the ground like a dead dog, every muscle in his body screaming, the intense soreness making it hard to move even a single finger.

But he didn't dare rest.

"Can't stop! Stopping now means all our previous efforts are wasted!"

"Must stretch! Prevent muscle knots and cramps!"

Tylen forced himself up and began stretching his body.

He grabbed his ankle and pulled it back with all his strength.

"Fuck!!"

The instant the fascia on the front of his thigh was forcibly stretched, the heart-wrenching agony made tears of pure physiological pain stream from the corners of his eyes.

It hurt so much!

It was as if someone was literally tearing apart his muscle fibers.

"It hurts so bad! Let me rest—just one second of rest..."

The laziness inside him whispered like a demon in his ear.

But the next second, the instinct of a workaholic etched into Tylen's bones mercilessly crushed that thought.

"Rest my ass! Can't even take this little pain, and you want to be a wizard? Do you even want to live?!"

He gritted his teeth fiercely, holding that twisted posture.

However.

Just as he was still locked in battle with the pain, he suddenly froze.

"Huh?"

"Why... doesn't it hurt anymore?"

He clearly remembered that he'd only held it for less than twenty seconds.

By common sense, the pain from this kind of stretch should last at least a minute before easing up.

"Wait!"

Tylen's eyes snapped wide open, a flash of insight crossing his mind.

"Could it be... the stretching efficiency is also 30 times?!"

If that were the case...

Twenty seconds would be equivalent to ten minutes for an ordinary person!

At that thought, Tylen, who had just been filled with pain and despair, suddenly perked up.

He immediately switched legs and began stretching his right one.

This time, instead of resisting, he carefully focused on the process.

The first few seconds were indeed excruciating—pain so intense he broke out in a sweat, his muscles tensing up.

But soon, as time passed, that sharp, stabbing pain began to fade rapidly, replaced by a warm, soothing sensation of release.

It was like a tightly stretched rubber band slowly softening and loosening in hot water.

When both legs were fully stretched.

Tylen stood up and tentatively kicked his legs.

Light!

Unbelievably light!

The stiff, heavy feeling from before was completely gone. His legs felt as if they'd been injected with new vitality, even more flexible than before the workout.

"Awesome!"

Tylen couldn't help but pump his fist.

"This instant feedback—getting growth right after extreme pain—is just so damn satisfying!"

It was like playing a game: kill a monster, level up immediately, and refill your health bar.

This kind of positive feedback loop was downright addictive!

Now fully invigorated, Tylen gritted his teeth and began stretching every muscle in his body.

Arms, shoulders, lower back, latissimus dorsi...

Every part, every stretch, was a cycle from hell to heaven.

Ten minutes later.

When the last muscle was fully stretched under 30x efficiency.

An unprecedented lightness and comfort spread through Tylen's entire body.

He felt like a snake that had just shed its skin, reborn.

And what surprised him even more was.

In just those ten minutes of stretching, the stamina he'd exhausted from the intense exercise had already recovered by seventy or eighty percent!

"Just as I thought!"

Tylen clenched his fist, feeling the power surging back within him.

"This is like sleeping—my body's recovery rate is also 30 times faster!"

"Does that mean if I get injured, my wounds will heal 30 times faster too?"

"This is practically a budget, bargain-bin Wolverine!"

At that thought, Tylen's eyes gleamed with excitement.

Gurgle...

Just then, a thunderous stomach growl shattered his fantasy.

Hungry.

Very, very hungry.

That hunger felt like it was digesting the very walls of his stomach.

The intense training and accelerated recovery had consumed a massive amount of energy.

Without a second word, Tylen grabbed two apples from the table and devoured them in a few crisp bites.

Still hungry.

He ran to the canteen, grabbed two large chunks of dark bread and a big bowl of thick bean soup.

Back in the morgue, he took out the onions and meat he'd stir-fried himself.

He dipped the dark bread in the meat broth, taking a bite of meat, a bite of onion, a bite of bread.

Carbs, protein, fat.

The three major nutrients, mixed with the familiar taste of memory, slid down his esophagus into his stomach, turning into a rolling warmth that nourished his parched body.

An indescribable sense of satisfaction and happiness welled up inside him.

After lunch.

Tylen felt none of the usual post-meal drowsiness or laziness that made him want to lie down.

On the contrary, he was energized, his focus razor-sharp, and his body felt so light it might float away.

"It seems that with this 30-fold efficiency, the training has already boosted my metabolism and physical functions."

Tylen calculated in his mind:

"With this 30-fold recovery rate, I could even do three high-intensity training sessions a day!"

"One in the morning, one at noon, and one in the evening—each session plus stretching would only take about 20 minutes!"

"At this rate, in less than half a month, my physical condition will reach a qualitative leap!"

With that thought, Tylen was immediately fired up.

But it was already noon, time to get to work.

He picked up the neatly arranged rune papers, first went to the toilet for a massive dump to clear out the waste from his body.

Eat more, shit more, train more.

That was the secret to getting stronger.

Putting on the linen robe stained with the stench of corpses, Tylen mounted the carriage and left the Wizard Tower.

20 minutes later.

At the Fine Wine Gang's stronghold warehouse.

Ars took the oil-paper package with a smile, pulling out a few rune papers to inspect them closely.

The lines were smooth, the magic circuits clear—they looked as neat as if they'd been printed.

"Beautiful!"

Ars praised, quite satisfied, and handed over a Purple Gold Coin worth 50:

"This is your payment, Brother Magnus. Your craftsmanship is truly unmatched."

Tylen took the money but didn't rush off. Instead, he asked with a smile:

"Do you need more on your end?"

"These 100 sheets are still manageable for us."

"If you need, I can provide about 500 sheets a day."

Hearing the word "us," Ars's eyes flickered slightly.

He thought to himself:

"So this kid is some kind of leader among apprentices, with a bunch of underlings who draw Runic Frames for him."

"Figures. No way one person could draw this fast and this well."

Since they were an organized supplier, that made them even more worth cooperating with.

Ars immediately said cheerfully, "Magnus, why didn't you say earlier that you had this kind of production capacity!"

"We're in dire need of a large number of Runic Frames over here. My young master has been practicing Runic Studies recently, and his consumption is astonishing."

"Wait a moment."

Ars turned and walked deep into the warehouse.

10 minutes later.

A burly man came out carrying a huge bundle, setting it heavily on the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust.

Ars patted the bundle and said, "Here are 500 sheets of Blank Runic Paper."

"I want 200 Karl Runic Frames and 300 Ian Runic Frames."

"If you can maintain this quality, the price will still be 50 Purple Gold Coins per 100 sheets."

Tylen looked at the huge bundle, his eyes curving into crescent moons: "No problem! Delivery on time tomorrow at noon!"

This single order came to 250 Purple Gold Coins!

Adding the 500 Makley had given me, I finally had a bit of savings to my name.