Facing the hard wall that had been reset to the Arabic numeral “10000,” I truly felt an urge to cough up blood. I understood the cruelty of this place, but I had to avenge my parents—I had no right to complain or slack off. Driven by the unyielding will to avenge my parents, I began the afternoon training. Thanks to the guidance of that middle-aged man, I gradually grasped some techniques for exerting force, and my results in the afternoon were much better than in the morning.

My best achievement was managing to chip away a bit of this damned wall’s HP within six strikes. Although my average attack strength wasn’t always that sharp, compared to my morning performance, I had improved nearly tenfold.

This rate of progress was partly due to the seven stances taught by the middle-aged man, but there must have been other reasons as well. However, after such brutal training, my brain was too exhausted to function, and I had no energy left to ponder the cause. Especially surrounded by these devils, it was easy to overlook such “insignificant” progress. In this dark training camp, I was still the weakest one here, so I didn’t feel this improvement was particularly meaningful.

Even though I had made progress, human stamina isn’t limitless. After more than an hour of afternoon training, my strength began to wane, and I started to feel tired.

I glanced around and saw that these perverse monsters seemed never to tire, and I truly didn’t know what to feel. I quietly left the wall and sat down beside the blond foreigner. The golden burial shroud quietly extended out, and after about sixteen or seventeen minutes, I was once again full of energy.

By the end of the evening training, I still hadn’t earned the right to dinner. But I noticed that three fewer people had completed the training task—only nine had finished. It seemed these monsters weren’t completely tireless; it’s just that their endurance was far superior to that of ordinary people.

One question kept nagging at me: some people must have arrived before me, and only about one-tenth could complete the training. I didn’t believe the rest could go hungry for so many days and still punch with such strength. Looking at how energetic they all were, none of them seemed like they’d been starving for days. How did they manage without qualifying for meals?

This question didn’t trouble me for long. After finishing my first day of training, I returned to my room. Of course, I felt more like it was a prison cell. Not long after, a man in a crisp butler’s tailcoat knocked on my door.

He greeted me with a professional smile: “Sir, would you like dinner service?”

I asked in surprise, “What do you have to eat?”

Although I had the golden burial shroud, it could only restore my stamina, not fill my stomach, so I was still extremely hungry. The butler-like man, as if performing a magic trick, produced a menu and handed it to me. I had barely turned a page before my heart spasmed— even the cheapest item was in the triple digits, and a casual meal would cost as much as my parents’ combined monthly salary.

Just as I awkwardly tried to hand the menu back and say I didn’t need dinner, I suddenly remembered the bank card Edward Bennett had given me. I took it out and asked, “Can I pay by card here?” The butler in the tailcoat smiled and replied, “Our hotel accepts all bank cards, including UnionPay and international credit cards.”

I tried ordering a few items that seemed the most cost-effective, and then swiped over three thousand yuan on the wireless POS machine the butler produced. Even though the money was from Edward Bennett, it still hurt terribly.

Fortunately, the hotel’s service was quite good. The butler returned in less than three minutes, pushing a food cart and delivering all the dishes I’d ordered to my room. With a very British flair, he said, “Please enjoy your meal. I’ll come by later to clear the cart.” Then he left the room, closing the heavy door behind him as if it weighed nothing.

Chapter 9: Seems Like the Protagonist

To be honest, I’d never been to such a high-end hotel in my life, so I didn’t recognize most of the items on the menu. When I lifted the cloche and saw a black pepper sirloin steak much smaller than I’d expected, along with grilled calamari rings, baked snails, shrimp paste… I couldn’t help but curse several times—this hotel was truly heartless.

So expensive, yet so little food. Actually, as a country bumpkin, I didn’t know that Western meals were always this small in portion.

Although I tried to be “moderate” with my order, I was so hungry that I actually ordered quite a lot—over a dozen dishes in total. I wolfed everything down in no time and was finally full.

When the hotel butler came to clear the dishes, he also brought me something else—a thick photo album. He gently placed it on the table and left without saying a word.