Five hundred times... Gavin Brooks's arm was growing more and more sore and numb, so he simply used the warrior's level-three battle energy as well to supplement himself, continuing to repeat the same motion over and over.

It wasn't until evening that Gavin Brooks finally completed a thousand strikes.

When everything stopped, Gavin Brooks felt that it wasn't just his right arm, but all the muscles on the right side of his body that were aching, weak, and crying out in pain. It was absolutely impossible to even try to lift his arm again.

When Gavin Brooks went out, Old Smith was still dozing off. He just nodded at him and then closed his cloudy eyes again.

Was today's task done? Gavin Brooks dragged his exhausted body out of the blacksmith shop, and as he looked at the sky outside, he suddenly remembered something.

"Damn! System sprite, get out here now!"

"What can I do for you?"

Gavin Brooks raised his left arm and pointed at the sky, asking, "Didn't you say that after eight hours, I would automatically return to my original world? Look at what time it is now—eight hours? I think it's been at least sixteen!"

"There was something I forgot to tell you. The time in the game is a two-to-one ratio with real time. That is, eight hours in the real world equals sixteen hours in the game. But you're right, you've been in the game for almost sixteen hours now. Don't worry, you'll be back in the real world very soon."

Chapter 4: Has My Strength Increased?

"I..."

Just as Gavin Brooks was about to lose his temper, the system prompt sounded again.

"Player Gavin Brooks, please note: your game time for today is about to run out. Please prepare to log off."

The world before Gavin Brooks's eyes quickly twisted, and in that moment, even the sounds became strangely unreal.

Gavin Brooks felt like he had a very, very strange dream. In the dream, he went to a place called [Endless World], which seemed to be a virtual game, and there were things like blacksmiths happening there.

Dreams are usually only remembered in broad strokes, or maybe just a small part; very few people can recall an entire dream in detail.

Gavin Brooks found that his memory of this dream was extremely vivid—every little detail was crystal clear, as if these things had really happened.

Propping himself up on the edge of the bed to sit up, Gavin Brooks suddenly felt a bit of soreness in both arms, and all the muscles in his body were crying out with sharp pain.

This feeling was similar to when he had just entered school and Rodney Brooks had ordered him to run fifty laps around the campus as fast as possible, and he woke up the next day.

Compared to the soreness after those laps, the muscle pain this time was far worse—there wasn't a single muscle in his body that didn't hurt, and the web between his thumb and forefinger burned as if he'd been injured sparring with the instructor using the academy's knives.

When Gavin Brooks raised his arm, he realized that at some point, his arm had become wet, sweat clinging to his skin like grease.

And it wasn't just his arms—Gavin Brooks quickly noticed that his chest, back, and every inch of his skin had been drenched in sweat.

Jumping out of bed and lifting the covers, Gavin Brooks found that his bedding and sheets were soaked through with sweat. If a friend walked in and saw this, they might think he'd wet the bed, not...

"Gavin Brooks, I—"

Logan Brooks burst in again, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the damp sheets and bedding. His open mouth quickly formed an O shape.

Oh no! Seeing Logan Brooks's expression, Gavin Brooks instantly guessed what his friend was thinking—exactly what he'd just been self-mocking about.

"Logan Brooks, it's not what you think."

"I know, I know." Logan Brooks nodded repeatedly, his tone full of friendly trust, but the smile on his face clearly told Gavin Brooks that he would never believe his explanation.

"I just had a dream while sleeping! I sweated a lot!" Gavin Brooks pointed at the bed, explaining anxiously. He'd only just become the campus's "criminal face"—he couldn't turn into the "bed-wetter" in the blink of an eye, could he?

"I know, I know." Logan Brooks slowly backed toward the door. "Gavin Brooks, I've heard that when people suffer severe mental trauma, all sorts of things can happen. Wetting the bed is forgivable..."

Before he finished, Logan Brooks turned and dashed out of the room, running off with a string of mischievous laughter.

Gavin Brooks rushed to the door, wanting to shout another explanation, but then thought better of it. What's the point of explaining? It's not like he really wet the bed! Besides, he's already been labeled as the "criminal face" guy—why care about one more nickname as the "bed-wetting warrior"?

"Better wash the sheets first, that's the real business." Gavin Brooks quickly stripped off the sheets and covers, tossed them into the wooden basin, and headed straight for the water source. "They're soaked with sweat—how can anyone sleep like this? But seriously, why does my whole body hurt so much? Could it be that I subconsciously want to get stronger, so I was training myself even in my dreams? I'm just too hardworking! If the principal doesn't give me a scholarship, even the great God of War will be angered and punish him."