This time, John wasn't late. He arrived on time and, without hesitation, picked up a basket and a pickaxe.
Looking ahead, he saw only four people had arrived before him. One was the girl from yesterday, the one Fatmaster had taken to his room.
Bruises marked her hands, one of her eyes was swollen, and a cut marred her lips.
Her expression was haggard, and she was eerily quiet.
John glanced at her, understanding what she must have endured. He wanted to help, but he lacked the power.
If he intervened, he'd only get himself in trouble, and he couldn't afford that. His strength was still low, and though his breathing had reached level two, its effects were minimal in terms of combat ability.
Challenging Fatmaster now would result in a beating, and even if he somehow defeated him—a cultivator—other cultivators stationed outside the prison would capture and kill him instantly.
Trying to play hero would lead to a grim fate.
It's better to stay low-key and increase my strength as much as possible. When the time comes, I'll escape this place, he thought, a determined expression crossing his face.
He didn't yet have the power to face Fatmaster or other cultivators, but he had his upgrade panel. If he bided his time and stayed under the radar, one day he'd be strong enough to flee this hellhole. That would be the day he'd make his move.
Sighing, he glanced at the girl again and moved to a secluded spot to mine spirit stones. Since he couldn't help her now, he focused on his own business.
He didn't want to fall short on spirit stones and get beaten like the others yesterday. For now, he aimed to live a low-key life.
Taking a deep breath, he gripped the pickaxe and began hammering.
Today, he felt different—as if he had more energy and clarity than before. John knew it was due to his level two breathing. His endurance had increased significantly just from this upgrade.
What will change when breathing reaches level three? he wondered, excited by the prospect.
Click!
Suddenly, a small spirit stone fell to the ground after just a minute of hammering. John stared at it in shock, his heart skipping a beat.
Mining spirit stones was no easy task. It required identifying the stone's structure and hammering precisely on the same spot repeatedly.
Due to the prisoners' poor mental and physical health, focusing on one spot was nearly impossible, which was why it often took an hour or more to extract a single spirit stone.
But John had gotten one in just a minute! This was absurd. At this rate, he could complete his daily quota in five minutes and, by the end of the day, might even gather enough stones for the next hundred days.
This speed was outrageous.
John knew it was all thanks to his level two breathing. Not only had it boosted his energy, but it had also sharpened his mental clarity, allowing him to focus better and for longer.
Swallowing hard, he glanced around. Since he was early, no one had seen the stone drop. He quickly picked it up and placed it in his basket. If others discovered his ability, it could bring trouble. He wanted to stay low-key and avoid becoming a target.
"I have to be more careful and mine the stones slowly," he decided, beginning to slack off.
Soon, more prisoners filled the mining area and got to work.
John noticed bruises on many of their faces—clear signs they were the ones beaten by Fatmaster yesterday.
The girls worked even harder than the boys, knowing a worse fate awaited if they didn't meet their quota. Not only would they face a beating, but they risked being sent to Fatmaster's room to endure endless humiliation.
No girl wanted that. John observed the gloomy atmosphere and sighed. It's turned grim after yesterday's incident, he thought, getting to work.
Soon, Fatmaster arrived at the mines, baton in hand, an evil smile on his face. His sadistic nature was clear—he enjoyed seeing others in pain.
John didn't want to be his target, so he started mining again. He deliberately hammered in the wrong spots to avoid suspicion and idled when Fatmaster wasn't nearby, watching the others.
As Fatmaster patrolled, he beat some prisoners, even landing a hit on John for no reason.
"Work hard! Don't slack off!" he yelled, striking John's back.
Anger surged in John's heart, but he stayed silent and worked. He didn't have the power to resist Fatmaster's bullying yet.
I'll make sure to kill him one day, he thought, continuing his task.
As the end of work time approached, everyone worked frantically. Those who had met their quota relaxed, some sitting on the ground to catch their breath.
John, however, already had seven spirit stones in his basket but didn't sit down. He acted focused on mining.
About an hour later, the bell rang. Only then did John relax, but unlike yesterday, he didn't slump to the ground. He had more energy than ever and felt no fatigue, thanks to his level two breathing.
He could have completed his five-stone quota in minutes but spent over eight hours to collect seven, avoiding unwanted attention.
He wasn't tired, though his back ached slightly from Fatmaster's baton strike earlier. Otherwise, he felt as refreshed as if he'd just woken from a good sleep.
"Everyone, stop and join the line! If I see anyone mining, I'll end their misery forever!" Fatmaster's voice boomed across the mining area like a lion's roar, dripping with disdain.
Those planning to sneak one more stone to meet their quota stopped immediately, joining the line with defeated expressions.
Their postures showed they were bracing for a beating. Some even began crying in anticipation.
John's eyes landed on the girl from yesterday. She stood calmly, her posture straight, a cold expression on her face, as if she hadn't endured humiliation just hours ago.
'She's too calm for what happened yesterday...' Before John could finish his thought, he noticed something in her hand that made his heart skip a beat.
Her right hand held the broken handle of her pickaxe, its wooden end sharpened to a point. It was dangerously sharp.
John's eyes widened. He could tell what she was planning. Has she gone crazy? he thought. There was no way she could defeat Fatmaster, a cultivator, with just a sharpened stick. She was signing her own death warrant.
A frail mortal like her stood no chance against Fatmaster. Though only in the early stages of cultivation, he was far stronger than a normal human, and despite his size, his reaction speed likely surpassed hers.
She had no chance of landing a hit. At this rate, he'd kill her.
After a moment's hesitation, John cut the line and moved behind her. Though he wanted to stay low-key and avoid meddling, he couldn't stand by and watch someone die. He felt compelled to at least warn her that her plan was reckless and would get her killed.
"Sister, what the hell do you think you're going to do with that stick?" John whispered, keeping his voice low so only they could hear. He didn't want anyone eavesdropping on their conversation.
The girl shivered at John's words and glanced back, a terror-stricken expression crossing her face as she saw him standing behind her. She turned fully to face him.
"Please don't tell anyone. I plan to end everyone's misery tonight," she whispered, her voice hushed. It was clear she'd had enough and had resolved to confront Fatmaster, aiming to end his life. But from her expression, John could discern that something else was on her mind.
Is she planning to end her own life and try to take Fatmaster's with her? he thought, swallowing hard. That seemed the most likely reason. He could tell she wasn't foolish and knew defeating Fatmaster alone was nearly impossible, so she was gambling with her life.
John took a deep breath, wondering how to convince her to drop the stick. After a moment's thought, he sighed. "Sister, I don't think this is wise. You'll only get yourself killed or suffer even worse humiliation than yesterday. I suggest you drop that stick. I promise, in six months, I'll kill that fat bastard myself," he vowed.
It was the only way he could think to stop her reckless act. He didn't want to make promises, but this was the only solution he could come up with to prevent her death.
The girl turned to him, tears welling in her eyes. "You think I'm stupid? How could a boy like you kill a cultivator? Don't lie to me," she said, a flash of anger in her tone.
John met her misty gaze, his expression turning serious. "If you're not stupid, then what are you doing right now? This isn't the right move. I'm a man of my word. I'll kill him in six months. Just wait. If I fail, you can try again then, and I won't stop you," he explained.
The girl stared at him, falling silent. After a moment, she looked ahead, no longer responding.