I Loaded the Mysticism Panel
Chapter 31: Newcomer

Chapter 31: Chapter 31: Newcomer

The days that followed were uneventful yet fulfilling.

He attended classes during the day, had tutoring over lunch, and did specialized practice in the afternoon with Mr. Holland, who had returned from his business trip.

The once-weekly tutoring sessions had been changed to daily ones.

In the evenings, he returned home and used the memory bonus from [Scholarship] to expand his knowledge, followed by a quarter-hour of Breathing Technique practice before bed.

His progress with the Breathing Technique was quite good. After each nightly session, the warmth deep in his chest would linger for a few breaths longer than the day before.

At first, it had only appeared briefly while he held his breath. Then, it extended into the first two beats of his exhalation, and then the first three.

The trend was clear: the warmth was taking root, little by little.

On Saturday night, the whole family was asleep.

The grandfather clock in the living room downstairs struck eleven, the sound traveling up through the floorboards.

Richard sat cross-legged on his bed. The curtains were drawn tight and the desk lamp was off, leaving only a sliver of moonlight filtering through a crack in the window.

He entered the fourth complete cycle of his Quadruple Breathing.

Inhale. One, two, three, four.

Air flooded into the depths of his lungs along the airways optimized by the [Breathing] Skill. There was little resistance; the breath was deep and even.

Hold. One, two, three, four.

His focus sank behind his sternum, Anchoring the Throne of the Sun.

Warmth spread from that point, its boundary distinct.

He could now make out the "shape" of the warmth. It was about the size of a copper button, a flat, round disk pressed against the inner wall of his sternum.

Exhale. One, two, three, four.

He pushed the air out at a steady pace, up through his throat and out his nostrils.

The warmth didn’t recede. He waited.

The second hold. Four beats. The warmth was still there.

The fifth cycle, the sixth, all the way to the tenth.

When he completed the entire fifteen-minute practice set, the copper-button-sized warmth in his chest had not dissipated from start to finish.

It brightened slightly on the inhale and dimmed on the exhale, but it was always there.

He focused his full attention on that spot, feeling it carefully.

Beyond the warmth, there was now a faint sense of weight.

’There’s something new in the center of my chest. I can’t see it or touch it, but it definitely has mass.’

As his breathing caused his chest to rise and fall, the object would sway slightly, its movement perfectly in sync with his respiratory rhythm.

’This must be the Ether Micro-Cycle the book mentioned.’

The panel flickered:

[Breathing Lv.2] Progress: 30% (First Milestone Reached)

The panel marked this as a milestone, distinguishing it from ordinary experience accumulation.

Richard sat on the bed for a long time. He didn’t rush to test anything, but first committed this new sensation to memory.

The formation of the Ether Micro-Cycle had been uneventful. There was no sensation of light or flow of heat that he had anticipated.

It was as if loose sand inside his body had been gathered up by a hand, squeezed into a ball, and made solid.

He knew what was inside it, but not yet what he could use it for.

The book’s description was too general. The description of a Newcomer in Appendix C was only a single sentence:

"One who has initially established a complete Ether Micro-Cycle within their body."

The definition didn’t say what they could do.

He tried clenching his fist first.

His fingers responded faster. The sluggish, sticky feeling he used to have at his fingertips was gone.

The book had mentioned that Ether circulating in the body would optimize nerve conduction. This was its most basic benefit.

Next, he tried to direct his focus away from his chest, guiding it down his right arm.

While translating the hidden passages in that botanical guide, he had read:

"Once the Ether forms a cycle, it can be diverted and channeled, like water drawn from an aqueduct to irrigate the land where it flows."

He had only memorized it as background knowledge at the time. Now that he had the means, he could give it a try.

He guided his consciousness from the Throne of the Sun toward his right arm, as if holding the nozzle of a very fine hose and slowly tilting it toward his limb.

When he clenched his fist again, the force was clearly different.

His muscle mass hadn’t magically increased, but the speed and precision of their contraction had improved in sync.

He withdrew the Ether from his right arm and tried guiding it to his legs.

The warmth in his legs appeared more slowly, perhaps because they were farther from the Throne of the Sun.

But it arrived nonetheless. The sense of strength in his calves and knees became clear and solid.

After these experiments, Richard had a certain understanding of his condition after establishing the cycle. He summarized his thoughts:

’First Milestone Effect: The Ether Micro-Cycle is formed and can be diverted to strengthen specific areas. The enhancement effect is a specialized improvement in coordination, precision, and reaction speed. To rapidly increase muscle strength and physical constitution, I might need to practice the Path of Burning Blood. (Questionable).’

He thought for a moment and added a few more points:

’The current benefit of Ether diffused throughout the body is passive. The concentrated boost from local mobilization is active, and I can switch between them flexibly. I need to be aware that my total Ether is limited. Prolonged localized enhancement will cause fatigue, which requires further observation.’

After organizing his thoughts, Richard leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Crossing the threshold of the Ether Micro-Cycle was probably like the difference between being unarmed and having a weapon.

Now, even without using the "Fog Wall Technique," he could strengthen his body with Ether alone to the point where three to five ordinary adults couldn’t get near him.

He pulled the covers up to his chin and closed his eyes.

After practicing the Breathing Technique, his body would enter a relaxed state. Combined with the continuous optimization of his oxygen efficiency, his sleep quality was worlds better than it had been a month ago.

He fell into a deep sleep just a few breaths after closing his eyes.

.........

At dawn, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, Richard’s eyes were already open.

After his breakthrough with the Breathing Technique, his energy recovered exceptionally quickly. After six hours of sleep, he couldn’t stay in bed any longer.

There was no sound from downstairs; his father wasn’t up yet. From the master bedroom, he could faintly hear his Mother’s suppressed coughs.

This coughing had been going on intermittently for several days.

Every year after autumn began, his Mother’s old ailment would flare up.

Chest tightness, shortness of breath, waking up coughing at night—when it was severe, she had to stay in bed during the day as well.

The community doctor had come to see her and said it was the same old problem, prescribing an incredibly bitter herbal paste.

It was hard to say if the medicine worked, but for ten days to half a month, his Mother would be unable to manage the household chores.

At times like these, Evelyn would naturally take over everything.

No one had assigned her the task, nor had anyone explicitly said, "You manage the house when Mom isn’t feeling well."

The girl had started doing it when she was twelve or thirteen, and over time, it had become the default.

She would get up at six-thirty in the morning, first clearing the ash from the fireplace, then adding coal to get the fire going.

Then she’d go to the kitchen to boil water, slice bread, and fry eggs.

After their father finished breakfast and left for work, she would still have to clear the dishes, wash them, and wipe the table clean.

If their Mother was in particularly bad shape that day, she would also make a sandwich in advance for their father to take for lunch.

Their father was a structural engineer at a factory in Brighton North District.

The title sounded respectable enough, but the job consisted of spending all day in the factory drawing blueprints, overseeing assembly, and troubleshooting stress issues.

The factory was noisy, dusty, and poorly ventilated. At the end of the day, he would be covered in black soot.

His silence at home wasn’t entirely due to his personality.

After standing in a deafening workshop from morning till night, he simply had no energy left for verbal affection when he got home.

Speaking required responses, and responding required extra effort—effort he had already poured into supporting his family.

Evelyn often grumbled, "This family can’t survive without me," but her hands never stopped working.

But this morning, Richard had woken up earlier than his sister and was much more efficient with his chores.

By the time the girl came downstairs rubbing her eyes, she could already smell toast and black tea.

The fireplace was burning warmly, the table was fully set with dishes, and there was even a clean butter knife placed next to the butter dish.

Evelyn stood at the foot of the stairs, her mouth half-open. "...When did you get up?"

"Six o’clock," Richard said, placing a plate of eggs on the table.

"You lit the fireplace?"

"Yeah."

"You washed the dishes?"

"Yeah."

"You toasted the bread too?"

"Yeah."

Evelyn pulled out a chair, sat down, and picked up a piece of toast, turning it over.

It was evenly golden-brown on both sides with perfect crusts, looking better than the toast she made herself.

"...You used to always burn the toast."

"I’ve been practicing lately."

"Practicing a little gets you this good?"

"Never mind that. Is it good?" Richard asked, sitting down across from her.

"...It’s so-so."

"You’re chewing pretty fast, though."

"I’m hungry."

"Oh."

Just then, their Mother, having heard the noise, came downstairs. "Did Richard make this?"

"Yeah. Mom, you should get some rest."

Margaret didn’t say anything more. Seeing the breakfast already laid out on the table, she felt as if her illness had suddenly gotten much better.