A Masochist’s Dream—was the technique Eren landed on to build his body. It sounded better in Ræzoňic.
His steps through the library led exactly to this book, his mind set even before he entered his Mind Palace.
Amongst all the knowledge in front of him, the grand tomes, the mystical manuals swirling with power, the books encased in pure starlight, he chose a thin, hastily-made papyrus sheaf stitched only by hemp and glue.
This was not an Ascension Art. It was a Martial Manual taught to cultivators who had to rehabilitate their body after losing their entire cultivation progress.
It was made for warriors who’d been mutilated of every ligament and muscle and bone. It was made for prisoners who’d been deprived of every sustenance they needed to survive. Alive only by technicality.
According to the story, this manual was made by a powerful cultivator who’d been tortured and reduced to mere skin and bones.
His captors, overconfident of the state they left him in, gave the cultivator no wardens nor guards to watch over him.
The cultivator vowed to escape. They laughed at him.
He was too weak to get up, let alone push open the door that required a mountain’s strength. With no cultivation and no sustenance to make himself stronger, the man’s chances of escape seemed utterly hopeless.
Fueled by revenge, the cultivator vowed to prove everyone wrong.
He pushed his body to its limit, breaking the very limitations of his own mind until finally, Ræzoň took notice of his efforts and helped his goal.
Before the guards returned, the cultivator regained his strength and tore through an entire world asunder as revenge.
Weighing the sheath of papyrus in his hands, Eren made his resolve.
This was exactly what he needed. It didn’t require strange esoteric materials nor did it need any talent in cultivation. It was a training regimen made for mortals who had dreams of becoming immortals.
It served as a good foundation for his cultivation as well. Any Ascension Arts he’d use in the future would benefit greatly from this training.
Best of all, it was the only Martial Manual that gave the fastest recovery time out of everything else. It had only been less than a day since he’d returned, but he already itched to get out of bed. With this, he could walk before he could relearn english.
Eren turned the first page over. Circular runes of Ræzoňic design opened up to him. Written in blood.
This Martial Manual promised the best results, granted he could survive it. Otherwise, it threatened the worst possibility. Death.
The thought gripped his heart, worrying, debating, hesitating, until the Ræzoňic runes imprinted on his mind.
A surge of information washed all the thoughts in his head.
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Eren opened his eyes, finding himself back in a sterile hospital room. No dust flying in the air, no smell of old rotting books. Just pale, pallid, walls.
Beside him, the machine’s electrical buzz had soothed into silence. The filament inside the lightbulbs, a bright magma red. Its temperature had soared so far above normal standards that its effects still lingered long after he took off the patches.
By this machine’s standard, his Psionic talent in the mind would be equivalent to 10 stars. Unheard of, Dr. Reid said. Unheard it will be.
This world didn’t consider the mind as a viable Awakener talent. They didn’t even know it was possible. They were ignorant of its importance in cultivation.
But in their defense, the comparison wasn’t fair.
The machine detected the amount of Ræzoň present in his mind. Not stored. Not permanent.
The Mind Palace was a memory technique that allowed him to peruse through the Immortal Library of Ræzoň as if he was actually there. He basically created a copy of the real thing in his mind.
Mortals could create their own Mind Palaces, but not with the same density of details as the library in Eren’s mind. To accomplish that, he needed to get Ræzoň from his surroundings and use it to enhance his mental capacity—something he achieved through no easy task.
Thankfully, Ræzoň was present in this world. So, he could visit his Mind Palace any time he wanted.
Spending a hundred years in that library finally became worth it, he thought.
Focusing on the deepest part of his brain, he found a new set of knowledge detailing the training regimen he needed to complete for the Martial Manual. Its instructions were simple.
He had to push his body to the limits. Push past the breaking point. And in doing so, earn the temporary aid of Ræzoň in his surroundings.
If he wanted to stand using his own two legs, he must force himself to do so, even to the point of his body betraying him.
His first goal was to sit upright.
Laying on the bed straight, he angled his hands perpendicular to the railings at his side.
He took a deep breath and pushed himself up. A sharp, immediate pain caused him to fall right back on the bed.
Fall wasn’t the right word. He’d barely even raised his neck.
Just that one attempt left his biceps shaking. He was so gaunt. So weak.
But he didn’t give up. He ignored the pain and pushed his arm against the bed, trying to turn his body to the side to find better purchase.
Something was poking his lungs and his stomach.
It was his own bones. There was not much muscle or flesh to separate it from his organs.
After some effort and much pain, he finally laid on his side. He came face to face with his heart monitor, showing him his increased heart rate and oxygen consumption. He was already breathless despite barely moving.
But this was how he was going to recover. He just had to keep trying and trying until he could raise his body upright. Ræzoň would do the rest.
As the pain assaulted his body, laughter seeped out of him. This reminded him of his early days in the Palatine.
To eternalize the library into his Mind Palace, he had to keep reading its contents to no end. Memorization was just the first step. He had to be intimate with the knowledge until he earned the approval of Ræzoň, allowing him to secure the knowledge inside his mind.
It was like bashing his own head into the wall hoping to memorize the microscopical grooves in its surface.
This was strangely reminiscent of that. Except, he may actually have to bash his head in trying to sit upright.