Chief Igris nodded, his gaze firm and unyielding. "I can see that your body is fortified with dragon scales. That much is clear. But what use is fortification if it is built upon frailty? Imagine giving a weak and sickly man a set of the finest armor and sending him to war. The armor may protect him for a time, but when the weight of battle presses down, when the strain of combat demands more than defense, that man will collapse. His body cannot carry the burden. It is the same for you. Your dragon scales are formidable, but the human body beneath is not yet strong enough to wield the full extent of the raw power surging inside you."

Max fell silent, his mind weighing the words carefully.

Chief Igris continued, his tone carrying a teacher's patience yet a warrior's severity. "The meat you will eat from now on will do more than build muscle. It will reconstruct your foundation from within, strengthening bone, tendon, marrow, and flesh. Piece by piece, your body will be rebuilt to handle the monstrous strength already dwelling inside you. Only then will your vessel be worthy of the power it contains. Only then will you begin to draw upon your true potential."

His eyes narrowed slightly, his voice lowering to a near growl. "And this is why the path of the Seven Divine Veins is so rare. Only those who rebuild their body from the foundation up can hope to endure it. Without such a foundation, the veins cannot be opened. They will resist, and the attempt will break you instead."

The silence that followed pressed heavily on Max, the weight of the revelation settling on his shoulders.

"Alright, what do I need to do to reach the level where I can move the black cube easily?" Max asked, his voice firm and resolute.

"Aside from eating the meat we provide, you just need to take a beating from us," Chief Igris replied, and there was a cruel gleam in his eyes as his lips curled into a dark smile.

"What?" Max muttered, taking an involuntary step backward, but before he could fully process what was happening, it was already too late.

In the next moment, his shirt was gone, his bare chest exposed to the open air, and he found himself standing with only his pants intact. His arms were stretched outward, held wide by the giants' command, and the first heavy blow struck his back. His body jolted violently, pain coursing down his spine as a deep grunt escaped his lips.

Around him, several giant dwarves wielded massive clubs, each one carved from stone and metal so dense they looked capable of crushing mountains. Without hesitation or restraint, they began to swing.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Each strike echoed like thunder rolling across the wasteland. The sound of wood and iron colliding with flesh resounded again and again, unrelenting, merciless, without pause for pity or hesitation.

Max clenched his jaw so hard his teeth felt as if they would shatter. He refused to cry out, though the clubs rained down on him with terrifying force. His body trembled, his skin split open in places, bruises swelled, and blood trickled down his arms, but he stood firm.

Chief Igris's voice cut through the storm of strikes, his tone as steady as the blows themselves. "Remember this. Do not use any of your abilities here. If you want to temper your body, if you want to rebuild the foundation of your human vessel, you must strip yourself bare of everything else. Let go of flames, lightning, scales, and defenses. Take the strikes directly. Let your flesh, your bones, and your marrow absorb the pain. Only that way will the weakness of your body be reforged into true strength."

Max glared forward, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. He wanted to curse Igris, to scream that this was madness, but deep down he knew there was no other way. He had chosen this path, and if he wanted the Seven Divine Veins to open, if he wanted the strength to crush the demons that threatened his world, he had to endure.

And just like that the days began to slowly for Max.

The beating never stopped. Every morning the clubs fell on him, his flesh breaking and healing, his muscles tearing and mending, his bones aching and slowly hardening with each relentless strike. The giants gave him no mercy.

When he collapsed, they dragged him back to his feet. When he bled, they let the wounds stain the ground before handing him a slab of centipede meat, rich with energy, to devour. That meat became his only relief, its strange vitality knitting his body back together, its essence seeping into his marrow to fortify his human foundation.

The pain never dulled, but Max's body began to change. His skin thickened, his muscles condensed, and his bones grew heavier and sturdier. Every strike that had once left him reeling began to leave less of a mark. His flesh adapted, each day toughening beneath the endless rain of blows.

Nights gave him no rest. Even when he lay down, his body throbbed from the accumulated pain. Sleep came in fragments, broken by spasms and jolts that reminded him of the clubs' weight. Yet with every sunrise, he rose again, silently bracing himself for the storm that never failed to come.

On the seventh day, Chief Igris spoke as Max lay bruised on the ground, his chest heaving from exhaustion. "You are stubborn, boy. Most would have cried out and begged to stop by now. But your silence, your refusal to bend, proves that you understand the essence of body cultivation. It is not about elegance or grace. It is about surviving hell until hell itself accepts you."

Max lifted his head, blood trickling down his lip. His voice was hoarse but unwavering. "I don't care how many times you strike me. I'll take it all. I'll rebuild this body until it crushes even this cube of yours."

Chief Igris chuckled softly, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Good. That is the spirit of one who might survive the path of the Seven Divine Veins."

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