Ackster Phileam wasn't an expert on how the human body worked. But he knew that the body made new cells to repair what was broken and to create new blood. And that it all happened inside his body. He was pretty sure that the blood generation had something to do with his bone marrow. But regardless of whether it was inside his bones or some random organ he didn't even know existed, Ackster knew that it was the inner parts of his body that were doing the work when it came to regenerating his blood.
Ackster sat on his bed and began thinking about it. After looking at the time, he realized he did have a little while until the food was supposed to come. It should be enough to try at least a couple of things.
But the only thing he figured could work was taking a nap.
The human body worked the best, recovered, and healed the most when it was sleeping. Deep sleep would probably be best.
But if he let himself fall asleep, which he would do as soon as he put his head against the pillow and relaxed, Ackster would miss the food.
He couldn't do that for several reasons. He needed sustenance. And it would be awkward and unexpected if he went from eating several days' worth of food every meal to rejecting or ignoring his lunch. By now, it would be in his best interest to continue eating like a pig, even if only to maintain the image of someone stress eating to cope with the stress of their impending death.
He could tell the kitchen staff to put the food at the door and leave. If he couldn't speed up his recovery, that was what he would have to do.
But Ackster didn't want to sit back and just wait.
Knowing how to manually improve the rate at which his body recovered from physical harm with the help of his skill was something that would help Ackster greatly, no matter where he went, as long as he succeeded with his plan to escape death by Hero.
Knowing he would die soon if he didn't do something to prevent it also stopped Ackster from simply sitting still and doing nothing, which was his only alternative. Even napping would at least help him recover to a prime state and increase his odds of survival.
But since he couldn't nap, Ackster closed his eyes while sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. He hadn't tried meditation before, but he had heard that it was supposed to be healing.
Though, as he began, Ackster remembered it was probably in a more spiritual sense.
But it was worth a shot.
Ackster cleared his head of stray thoughts and focused on sensing his body. He tried shutting off the heightened senses Strong Body gave him. But he quickly realized it was difficult. If anything, paying attention to his senses while he didn't think of anything else only sharpened them further, which was the opposite of what he wanted.
But in addition to the chirping birds, the sound of footsteps in the nearby hallways, and the rustling of metal armor from the knights training around the corner outside his window, Ackster also realized he heard his heartbeat, the sound of his breathing, and his stomach and intestines growling as they did whatever intestines did.
So, instead of trying to limit or turn off his sensitive senses, Ackster realized it would be better to redirect them all to his insides and focus on the sounds and sensations coming from there.
It wasn't as straightforward as he would have liked since the only sense that was that easily used to sense the outside world and the inside of his body was his hearing.
Ackster couldn't really see, taste, touch, or smell his insides without opening himself up, which would only cause even more trouble for him.
But it wasn't either of those senses that Ackster wanted to use to get a grasp of his insides, anyways. He just wanted to begin with the senses he was aware of and use them to guide his way into stumbling onto the right thing.
Ackster wasn't sure he had done it, but when he focused his hearing, at least, on his heartbeat and the sound of his blood trudging through his veins, Ackster felt like he was a little more aware of what was going on inside his body. But it might just be a false sensation brought about by hope.
But Ackster wouldn't have gotten this far if he didn't have his hope, so he decided to trust it and focused on the sensation of his warm blood traveling through his body. He tried to trace the blood's path back to where it originated from but didn't get anywhere, even if he felt like he was getting warmer and getting rid of some fatigue.
Ackster didn't make any headway when trying to increase how quickly his blood regenerated, but since he felt like he could influence how the blood he had left flowed through his body by guiding it with his senses and perfectly timed deep breaths that controlled the heart, which pumped the blood forward.
So, when he finally heard the kitchen staff's light footsteps approach his door, Ackster did that to give his face some of the color he had lost during his bloodletting to replace the pallid, sickly whiteness that made him look like a dead man.
'Close enough.'
Ackster looked in the mirror and noticed that he didn't look as healthy as he did after a good night's sleep. But it was enough for anyone who didn't stare at his face every day to notice. The kitchen staff, who was afraid to even look at Ackster's upper body, but who would always look at Ackster's face when he opened the door, wouldn't notice anything different.
Ackster waited for the knock before opening the door with a sour frown on his face that scared the kitchen staff to look at the floor. Ackster yanked the tray of food out of the poor guy's hands before slamming the face in his hand. He felt grateful about the increased amount of food, so he didn't even say anything mean to the kitchen staff.
'I'm such a saint, honestly.'
Ackster ate the food, entertained by his own self-patronizing irony.