Ruger rose from the Old Recliner and casually scratched his chin, only to find his fingers meeting bare skin. It was still bald there.
However powerful the Fur Shepherd's special ability was, growth still took time.
He curled his lip.
It was time to practice spells.
A long time had passed since Mahama's assessment. Apart from the splashes Ruger stirred up while practicing his spells, everything remained calm. That made him think of something else Mahama had said afterward: perhaps those esteemed Wizards had forgotten about them.
After finishing his spell practice, Ruger returned to the wooden hut. He still kept to his routine of spending one day resting in the Bedroom Space and the next staying in the hut.
On days when it was the hut's turn, even if meditation exhausted him, he would leave the Bedroom Space once he recovered. Usually, of course, he finished dinner there first.
But clearly, no one had come to the island looking for him.
Ruger took out the Old Recliner, then thought better of it and put it away, lying down on the hut's little bed instead.
Before he knew it, he began to feel sleepy.
He casually ordered his Shadow Servant to keep watch, then let his mind relax. Between meditation and spell practice, falling asleep was easy if he wanted to. If he wanted to hold out, he could also stay awake for many more days.
Sleep was an excellent means of recovery, as well as an indulgence in the laziness he loved.
Many Wizards chose to abandon sleep after advancing further, but he would not, and never would. The same went for good food, just like his attachment to the Old Recliner.
Laziness was a form of self-cultivation, too.
Ruger relaxed and gradually fell asleep.
A strong gust of