Moonlight spilled like water, quietly bathing the edge of the dense forest. Del leaned against a crooked tree, his right arm hanging limply at his side. Once the adrenaline faded, the excruciating pain of the dislocation crashed over him like a tidal wave.

  He didn’t stand immediately. Instead, under the faint glow, he stared fixedly at the virtual interface that had appeared in the center of his retina. It was a martial arts system the chip had forcibly decoded and generated from the deepest subconscious logic of his memories—named “Black Sand Sect.”

  “Chip, retrieve the documentation for Black Wind Sword,” Del commanded inwardly.

  “Task initiated. Searching… File package contains ten logic nodes. Current unlock progress: First Form ‘Black Sand Fills the Sky.’ Remaining nine forms locked. Note: Upon mastering all ten forms, ‘Black Sand’ special effect will activate.”

  Del frowned slightly. “That’s it? Nothing more?”

  “Correct. Due to incompleteness of host’s deep memory logic, no textual descriptions beyond form guidance.”

  Del tugged at the corner of his mouth in self-mockery. This fit the chip’s brutal disassembly style perfectly—it only ensured the data ran, caring nothing for backstory or romantic grudges. For him, that was actually better. No mystical nonsense; he could simply treat the ten moves as stackable violent plugins.

  He stood, feeling the spot in his lower abdomen that the chip labeled “dantian.” A warm, dense mass of energy circulated there along a strange circuit he had never encountered.

  “This energy circulation is completely different from the ‘Basic Battle-Qi Guidance’ Ian gave me,” Del silently compared.

  In his view, knights in this world cultivated battle-qi like pouring a savage torrent into the body, gaining explosive power through constant meridian collisions. The “qi” simulated by his chip, however, felt more like a deep, rhythmic underground river.

  “To outsiders, this would probably be seen as some extremely niche technique—maybe even one with dark attributes.”

  Del analyzed calmly. That worked in his favor. In a world where transcendent power was monopolized by wizards, clerics, and alchemists, battle-qi knights—though godlike to commoners—were ultimately just slightly stronger “wretches.”

  He had glimpsed the world’s true face in Ian’s materials. At the pinnacle of continental power sat three legendary archwizards—beings who could alter weather with words and shatter souls with a glance. By comparison, great knights who dominated city-states were probably just useful meat shields in wizards’ eyes.

  “To live like a person in this world, just one move like ‘Black Sand Fills the Sky’ is far from enough,” Del thought with some helplessness.

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  “Chip, activate surgical assist mode. Anesthetic reserves low—switch to painless acupoint suppression.”

  Del tore open his tattered shirt, revealing his gruesome right shoulder—flesh mangled, white bone visible. With practiced ease, he drew several sharp needles from his pouch and precisely inserted them into acupoints around the shoulder.

  At the command, a strange icy numbness instantly took over the area. Expression unchanged, Del gripped his right arm’s joint with his left hand and yanked upward.

  Crack!

  The sharp sound rang out unnaturally loud in the silent forest.

  Del grunted, cold sweat beading on his forehead. To his surprise, the moment the joint reset, the dantian energy automatically accelerated, swarming like busy worker bees to the injury.

  “Host tissue damage detected. Energy autonomously redirecting to damaged area. Repair speed: increased 300%. Estimated healing time: twelve hours.”

  Del stared at the retinal data, surprise in his eyes. “Damn—this ability actually formed its own self-sustaining cycle?”

  This meant the martial art not only killed—it passively trained him. With each circulation, Del felt his constitution strengthen imperceptibly. Most importantly, it had automatic healing. For someone dancing on a knife’s edge, this was divine.

  He glanced at the countdown in the lower-right corner of his retina.

  “Next form unlock countdown: 239 hours 59 minutes. Subject to host physique—time may shorten or lengthen.”

  “As expected, I’ll need to find some drugs to pop.” Del sighed, leaning on his sword. Guided by the chip’s stealth route, he slipped past all sentries like a panther returning to its lair and reached the castle.

  Dawn.

  A faint scent of blood lingered in Del’s room. He had changed into a clean linen tunic; though still pale, his steps were much steadier.

  Knock knock knock.

  “Young master, it’s me.” Maggie’s voice came from outside, cautious.

  “Enter.”

  Maggie entered, followed by two other maids. With the baron taking most of the castle’s forces, the remaining maids seemed anxious, instinctively seeking comfort from the once-marginalized second young master.

  “Young master, I heard you were scratched by branches in the forest yesterday. I brought some basic herbs from the castle pharmacy.” Maggie kept her head down, avoiding his eyes.

  Del walked to the table and examined the basket of assorted plants.

  “Good.” Del’s voice was cool, devoid of warmth. “Maggie, bring every ‘Fire Snake Grass,’ ‘Red Dragon Whisker,’ and ‘Goblin Tuber’ you can find in the castle. I need to consolidate my alchemy studies.”

  The maids exchanged glances. Maggie muttered doubtfully, “But young master, these herbs… they’re mostly for treating male weakness and stimulating heat…”

  Del didn’t look up. His slender fingers precisely plucked a purplish-red root—the rare “Deer Blood Grass,” core ingredient for a qi-replenishing potion.

  “Do as I say. No questions.”

  Maggie didn’t dare ask more and quickly led the others out.

  At the corner, the maids huddled together, expressions turning strange.

  “Did you see? Everything the young master picked was for… physical enhancement.” Cyril whispered, a blush on her face. “And his face is so pale—he must have overexerted himself training yesterday… or in the forest.”

  “And those herbs alone are basic virility supplements.” Another maid worried. “I feel like the second young master’s gaze has grown colder lately, but his hands tremble when picking herbs. He’s not planning to…”

  An ominous feeling spread among them. In their minds, an eccentric noble young master who avoided women yet obsessively hoarded virility herbs often signaled the prelude to extremely perverse desires.

  Inside the room, Del stared at the Deer Blood Grass and commanded inwardly:

  “Chip, simulate third revision alchemical formula. Remove irrelevant virility side effects—I want only the qi enhancement portion.”