While the rest of the prison tried to sleep, Joe sat quietly in his cell with his eyes closed as he prepared to train his essence control. He folded his legs into the lotus position, convinced it was the optimal posture for concentration after reading about it in countless novels. Just as he was about to begin, he noticed several internal notifications he had left unchecked. Without hesitation, he granted the Universe permission to reveal the messages.

  [Spirit Flow (Specialty)(Silver): Lvl 2 → 20]

  The first was a skill level up notification, and it left him stunned. His ability, which had only been at level 2 after his battle with Charles, had surged all the way to level 20. An 18 level increase.

  Joe had expected some improvement after training in his Soul Space, but this far exceeded anything he imagined. It was the largest jump he had seen from a single skill since arriving in this world. The fact that it was a high ranked skill made it even more astonishing.

  He reasoned that training within his Soul Space, where he was intrinsically connected to his True Soul, must have accelerated the growth as that was the source of all his spirit energy. Even so, it was difficult to believe.

  When he recalled the mental strain he endured while forcing his spirit energy to flow through multiple parts of his body in rapid succession, a clearer understanding formed in his mind. That exercise had been pure torment. Compared to everything else he had faced since arriving in this reality, it was the most grueling training he had endured.

  That realization made it easier to understand why his skill had grown so dramatically. He now possessed far greater control over his essence than he had before the exercise. It was comforting to see that his effort had not been in vain and that he had made genuine progress toward mastering his soul energy manipulation.

  ‘She may be strict, but Serene is a good teacher,’ Joe mused with a faint smile.

  With [Spirit Flow] reaching level 20, Joe began to wonder how many levels were required to truly master a skill. What would happen once it reached the threshold set by the Universe? He assumed it would evolve into a superior version, but there was also the possibility that it would simply cap and go no further. Until he saw clear evidence of evolution, he refused to dismiss that outcome. He could only hope the requirement was not something absurd, such as 100 levels. He did not have that kind of time. The Lord of the Woods awaited him at the end of the week, and he needed to strengthen all his abilities before then.

  [Spiritual Meditation (Specialty)(Silver): Lvl 1 → Lvl 12]

  As the skill that allowed him to enter his Soul Space, Joe was not surprised it had gained several levels from his extended visit. It likely improved based on the time spent within his Soul Space and the depth of his connection to his True Soul. Since it served as the bridge between himself and his God, he was pleased to see it advance.

  [New Skill Acquired (Specialty)(Bronze): Essence Concentration: Lvl 1 → Lvl 9]

  The skill was expected. He had developed it to a solid degree during his training with the Goddess. Its Bronze rank surprised him, as he believed it deserved Silver given the boost it provided to his offensive abilities. Still, he was not bothered. A lower grade simply meant more room to grow.

  After reviewing the messages, Joe dismissed the glowing interfaces and began his training.

  He entered a deep state of focus and circulated his essence throughout his body. Manipulating spirit energy within his Soul Space had been one thing. Doing so in his physical form was entirely different.

  The sensation was invigorating. Energy surged through his muscles and bones, flooding him with strength. It felt similar to the times he had subconsciously tapped into his soul energy, except now he could access it at will and draw upon greater reserves. When he broke the gates of Suveny, he estimated he had used roughly 25% of his essence. Now he could safely draw out 35%. That additional 10% made a significant difference, especially since he was no longer damaging his body in the process.

  He took a cautious approach, wary of pushing too far and causing his body to rupture as his spiritual form once had. Exploding his body in the physical world would be agonizing and lead to his death. He remained within the 35% he had mastered, focusing on familiarizing himself with the sensation. The control felt identical to what he experienced in his consciousness. When combined with Heavy Blow, the increase in physical strength would be enormous.

  After 30 minutes of experimenting, he let the energy settle. Since he had not pushed beyond his limit, he gained no levels, but that was never the purpose. He was simply accustomising himself with the sensation of harnessing spirit energy.

  He wondered how it would feel to draw upon 100% of his essence once he mastered the skill. If only he possessed a healing ability comparable to the natural regeneration of his spiritual form, he could train in the physical realm without restraint.

  Joe rose and glanced around the cell. Big Dog, Charles, and Bob were all fast asleep.

  He found it strange that he did not feel exhausted despite staying awake for two nights in a row. Yesterday made sense, as he had slept most of the day and only woken at sunset. But today he expected some fatigue. Instead, his body felt lively and full of energy.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Was it another benefit of his [Blessed Physique]? Or was it due to [Spiritual Meditation]? It made sense that his body would rest while his consciousness trained in the Soul Space. Most likely, it was a combination of both. Whatever the cause, he was grateful for the extra time to improve.

  When he analyzed Charles’s technique earlier, Joe realized the true source of the old man’s power lay in the muscle he had built over decades. Joe could replicate the martial skill perfectly, but only because of the boost from his [Blessed Physique]. Without real muscle behind his strikes, the technique lacked its full potential.

  Currently, he was tall and lean, with little visible muscle.

  In his previous life, he had neglected physical training. He focused on novels and schoolwork, doing only enough exercise to maintain a healthy weight. He never pushed himself beyond comfort. Looking back, he believed that was part of why he had been bullied. If he had possessed an imposing physique, his classmates might have thought twice. He had also likely missed opportunities to make friends. From what he had heard, gym bros were loyal and supportive. Perhaps visible abs would have solved more than one problem.

  That regret would not follow him into this life. He intended to build a powerful frame that would enhance his attributes and strengthen his skills.

  Joe did not overthink it. He performed a series of warm ups and began his workout.

  More than an hour passed without rest as he moved through various exercises. To his surprise, he was not tired in the slightest. It was only during the second hour that he felt mild fatigue. This was undoubtedly the effect of his Physique.

  He continued until ten minutes before midnight. Sweat covered his body, but he still felt capable of going on for several more hours. His muscles were slightly sore, though not nearly as strained as he would have expected after such an intense session. Still, he was not complaining. He had enjoyed himself and felt incredible.

  For the next five minutes, he practiced his movements, envisioning the opponents he would face in the tournament. Based on what Bob had told him, they were all formidable. He sharpened his strikes and refined his stances, determined not to leave any openings for them to exploit.

  Though midnight and the start of the tournament were fast approaching, Joe remained silent so as not to wake the others. Bob and Charles deserved their rest.

  After a few more minutes, he felt satisfied. He was no seasoned martial artist, but from the countless action stories he had read, he could tell his blows were swift and forceful. He would not fall easily once the tournament began.

  Joe wiped the sweat from his face and sat beside Bob, waiting for midnight to arrive.

  A minute later, the lights in the cell flashed on and the sharp ringing of a bell tore through the hallway as a guard shouted for the inmates to wake up. Joe gritted his teeth, deeply annoyed by the noise. He had already been awake, yet the sound still grated on him. He could only imagine how furious the others felt being ripped from their sleep so abruptly.

  Bob stirred and sat upright with a low groan. He rubbed his red, sleepy eyes and glanced at Joe. “Is it midnight already?” he muttered, as if the few hours of rest had passed in an instant.

  Joe nodded, confirming the unpleasant truth.

  “Dammit,” Bob grumbled, clearly wishing for more sleep.

  Joe gave him a sympathetic smile. The tournament had to be significant if they were forced to sacrifice their rest just to witness it, especially when only five inmates in the entire prison would participate.

  Big Dog and Shelly threw off their blankets soon after. Even without words, their irritation was obvious. Charles woke last. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, looking confused, as though he had forgotten why the bell was ringing at all.

  Joe leaned closer to Bob and whispered, “I don’t think anyone will be foolish enough to challenge the old man after his display in the battle royal, but stay close to him during the tournament. Prisoners from other sections might try something.”

  Bob nodded in understanding. As Joe was a vice commander, he would follow his orders without question. He was not much of a fighter, but he would carry out the command if necessary.

  A guard stepped into the cell. “Move. We’re late.” He clapped his hands impatiently.

  Joe rose without hesitation. Bob helped Charles to his feet and guided him toward the exit.

  Just as Joe was about to leave, Big Dog called out. Joe paused and turned.

  “Take this.” Big Dog tossed him a badge. Joe caught it, surprised. “Show it to the guard ahead. It's proof you won the Battle Royal. And Joe, don’t disappoint me. Show them the power of the East.”

  Joe glanced at the badge. It was plain, marked only with the number 4 in black against a white surface. He met Big Dog’s gaze and nodded. “I won’t let you down.”

  He stepped out and joined Bob and Charles as they were escorted down the corridor with a crowd of grumbling inmates. The guards barked orders to keep them quiet, but the complaints continued in low murmurs.

  They turned down unfamiliar passages, and Joe began to question their destination.

  “Is the tournament being held at the same place as the Battle Royal?” he asked.

  “No,” Bob replied. “It’s in the Central Hall. It’s the largest space in Suveny Station. It can hold inmates from all five sections.”

  Joe’s curiosity deepened. The scale had to be enormous.

  Eventually, the prisoners were lined up at a junction with three tunnels branching left, right, and center. A guard at the middle passage inspected each inmate before directing them to one side.

  When it was Joe’s turn, the guard held out a hand. “Badge?”

  Joe presented it. The man’s eyes widened slightly as he scanned Joe from head to toe. After a brief pause, he tilted his head toward the central tunnel. “Follow me.”

  The rest were sent left or right. Joe gave Bob and Charles a nod before they disappeared into the right passage.

  The guard leading him was silent. Only the echo of his boots filled the corridor. After a few minutes, they stopped before a large wooden gate. Metal clanked as it lifted upward, sliding into the stone above. Blinding light and deafening noise poured through the opening.

  The guard stepped aside and gestured. Joe walked forward.

  He squinted as radiant beast cores embedded in the ceiling flooded the hall with harsh light. The roar of the crowd struck him from all directions, forcing him to steady himself. For a moment, he felt disoriented.

  When his vision adjusted, he took in the scene. The hall was enormous, packed with inmates who shouted and cheered at the top of their lungs. The structure spiraled upward in layers, each level lined with balustrades behind which prisoners leaned and roared.

  The sheer scale made his chest tighten. Large crowds had always unsettled him, but he drew a slow breath and steadied his nerves.

  At the center stood a square stone platform. Four figures waited upon it.

  Joe fixed his gaze on the stage and began walking toward it, forcing the thunder of the crowd into the background.