Breathing Technique

Before dawn, in an abandoned hangar.

The roar of heavy metal music mingled with the sharp smell of alcohol. Hundreds of veterans, with a few new recruits mixed in, packed tightly around the center of the floor.

Jiang Yue and Xu Bo pushed through the crowd and headed straight for the raised platform.

Butcher Zhang sat sprawled on the Iron Throne, his heavy mechanical left arm resting on the table, a cheap cigar pinched between his fingers.

He was idly swiping through a military data pad, checking the odds for the next match.

"Sign me up for the Thousand-Jin Stake." Jiang Yue stopped before the table, his voice flat.

Butcher Zhang raised his one good eye and glanced at Jiang Yue.

His mechanical left arm extended. A red beam shot from its palm and swept over Jiang Yue's personal wristband.

"Jiang Yue. Basic test five days ago: punching power, 286 kilograms."

Butcher Zhang exhaled a cloud of smoke. His voice was rough as sandpaper and casually indifferent. "Know the rules? You go in there and take the pressure. This isn't a fight."

"You get an appearance fee, anywhere from one to twenty points depending on how many people bet and how much they wager. But if your bones break, don't come looking to me for medical bills."

"Fine." Jiang Yue nodded.

Butcher Zhang made a few casual swipes on the data pad and sneered. "I'll pick you an opponent. Wang Meng. Tested at 350 kilograms five days ago."

"After the beating he's taken in training these past few days, his raw strength should be closing in on four hundred. With a baseline under three hundred, you haven't got much chance against him. Perfect for warming up the betting."

Butcher Zhang did not care who won or lost.

All he cared about was whether the gap between their numbers would get the gamblers around him placing bets.

A moment later, soldiers from the Supervision Team called a recruit named Wang Meng into the ring.

Wang Meng was powerfully built, his muscles bulging like slabs of rock.

Days of punishing training had left his eyes bloodshot, but when he heard that his opponent was Jiang Yue, whose punching power was only 286 kilograms, his tense face brightened with the glee of someone handed an easy target.

Their test results from a few days earlier were the clearest measure of their strength. At 350 kilograms against 286, Wang Meng plainly had the better odds.

"Bets are open!"

Butcher Zhang slapped the alloy table. "Wang Meng wins, one to half! Jiang Yue wins, one to two! Place your bets!"

The crowd erupted. Judging by their builds and the official figures Butcher Zhang had announced, nearly nine in ten put their points on Wang Meng.

Jiang Yue ignored the noise around him. He raised his wrist and swiped across the betting terminal without a trace of expression.

[Points deducted: 10. Bet placed on: Jiang Yue.]

That was everything he had.

Beside him, Xu Bo took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. He put the few points left in his own account on Jiang Yue too.

The two men walked toward the center of the floor.

A massive hydraulic metal column hung overhead, radiating a cold, mechanical menace.

"Positions." The referee pressed the control button.

Jiang Yue and Wang Meng stepped into two alloy bases side by side and braced their shoulders against the pressure plates above.

Wang Meng turned toward the slender Jiang Yue, his mouth curling cruelly. "Short on points for medicine, kid? You're putting your life on the line to fill that hole, and your bones aren't hard enough for it."

Jiang Yue did not look at him. He stared straight ahead as characters lit up at the edge of his vision.

[Action: Bearing weight]

[Status: Smooth Breath and Tough Skin active.]

Whumm!

The hydraulic pump roared to life, driving an initial 300 kilograms of dead weight down on them.

Wang Meng grunted. His muscles swelled, blood surged through his body, and the veins in his neck stood out like earthworms.

Through sheer explosive muscular strength, he forced himself to withstand the first impact.

Jiang Yue was another matter.

Three hundred kilograms bore down on his shoulders, but his body did not sway in the slightest.

He drew a deep breath, perfectly reproducing in his mind the Breathing Formula Xu Bo had worked out.

The instant the hydraulic column's pump gave a faint shudder as it descended, he exhaled. Tough Skin relaxed by a fraction, unloading some of the force.

When that force briefly faltered, he inhaled. Smooth Breath locked the pressure in his core, and his bones braced tight.

Force Unloading.

Of that crushing 300 kilograms, the pressure actually reaching Jiang Yue's bones had been reduced by nearly thirty percent.

Besides, after five days of relentless eating and punishment, Jiang Yue's raw strength had quietly passed the four-hundred-kilogram mark.

At the one-minute mark, the pressure climbed to 350 kilograms.

Wang Meng's legs began to tremble. His breathing grew heavy, and sweat ran down his forehead to splatter against the base.

Gritting his teeth, he turned to Jiang Yue, expecting to see him crushed to his knees and begging for mercy.

Instead, he saw a face without a ripple of emotion.

Jiang Yue's eyes were half-closed, his breathing steady.

Those narrow shoulders held up 350 kilograms of steel, yet he stood as firmly as a dead tree rooted in the ground.

Wang Meng's pupils contracted. Disbelief filled his face.

How is this possible? His limit was clearly under three hundred kilograms!

Turmoil surged through Wang Meng.

In just five days, an ordinary person might gain twenty or thirty kilograms of strength at most. Even with some talent for Body Forging and intensive training, fifty kilograms would be exceptional.

Besides, Wang Meng had made progress during that time too!

How could Jiang Yue look more comfortable than I do under 350 kilograms of pressure?!

At the two-minute mark, the pressure reached 400 kilograms.

Creak...

A tooth-grinding sound came from Wang Meng's knees.

The tremendous pressure churned his organs, and the blood vessels in his eyes looked ready to burst.

He stared at Jiang Yue. The contempt in his eyes had turned to bewildered horror.

Jiang Yue still had not moved. Apart from a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, his torso had not bent a single millimeter.

I don't believe it! I've trained for years. How could I lose here?!

Wang Meng roared inwardly. He refused to accept it, and he could not bear to lose those vital points.

He threw caution aside and drew on every last bit of strength, forcing the final reserves of his body into his legs and spine.

He gave it everything he had.

Tiny beads of blood seeped through his skin as capillaries burst. He was already near his limit.

At the three-minute mark, the pressure reached 450 kilograms. For most recruits, this was the line between life and death.

"Aaaargh!"

Wang Meng let out a desperate, piercing scream.

All his willpower and every ounce of strength in his body had finally reached their limit beneath that absolute physical weight.

He did not give way gradually. He broke all at once, like a breached dam.

Crack!

With a dull snap of bone, Wang Meng's knees slammed into the alloy base.

Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, and his whole body went limp. The hydraulic column's safety lock shrieked and caught, stopping it an inch above his head.

The match was decided.

On the other side, the hydraulic column above Jiang Yue's shoulders slowly rose.

He rolled his slightly aching shoulders, let out a long breath, and stepped steadily out of the base.

The crowd, which had been screaming itself hoarse over its bets, fell deathly silent.

Everyone stared at Jiang Yue as if he were a monster.

The 286-kilogram recruit they had taken for an easy mark had outlasted a burly man approaching 400 kilograms. He had not even furrowed his brow.

"Fuck! What the hell was that?"

A few furious curses from veterans broke the silence. Those who had bet heavily on Wang Meng bemoaned their luck and hurled their worthless betting slips to the ground.

Up on the platform.

Butcher Zhang raised the brow above his one good eye, only half of which had any hair. He studied Jiang Yue again, this time carefully.

He did not care whether the gamblers below won or lost; the house always took its cut. But Jiang Yue's performance had caught his interest.

Extremely dense bones, absurd tolerance for pressure on his organs, and most important of all... that Force Unloading breathing technique. Butcher Zhang rated him highly.

His mechanical arm worked rapidly across the terminal.

"Five days, and you've built yourself a foundation that solid. You're one tough bastard."

Butcher Zhang stubbed out his cigar on the table and announced coldly, "Your appearance fee comes to five points, based on the betting volume."

"With your own bet doubled, you've made twenty points."

Ding.

Jiang Yue's wristband gave a faint buzz.

He raised his wrist, and a line of dim blue characters entered his view.

[Credited: 25 points.]

[Current balance: 25 points.]

Jiang Yue looked at those twenty-five points. At last, the faintest trace of satisfaction flashed in his eyes.

For someone who was nearly sick of eating nutrient paste, this was the first substantial haul of resources he had earned.

Those points were enough to let him eat Exotic Beast meat every day for the next three days. He could even exchange some for supplementary medicine that accelerated the flow of blood and vital energy, then make an all-out push!