In recent days, Sam had been diligently honing his skills in deboning, using the flat back of a knife as his tool of choice.
Half of the 95 gold he had acquired found their purpose in the purchase of essential medicines.
Now, as he continued his training, each punch he delivered to the sturdy Iron Wood tree left an impressive seven-inch-deep indentation. His strength had surged to a formidable level of no less than 750 kg.
However, he had not yet attained the elusive state of formlessness described in the 'Infinite Chaos Battle Forms' manual, where every strike flowed like silk.
This state, known as 'flowing like silk,' was a matter of mastering one's own strength.
Once achieved, as detailed in the manual, Sam's strikes would leave the bark of the Iron Wood tree unscathed while shattering the inner wood.
Regrettably, Sam had not yet reached this boundary of perfect control.
Sipping on a steaming bowl of medicinal soup, Sam peeled off his sweat-drenched shirt.
His daily regimen of deboning had provided him with valuable insights into the art of strength control.
The kitchen was a furnace of heat, and Sam's exertions with the knife's back multiplied his efforts several times over.
At the same time, he activated the 'True Primal Chaos Formula,' which caused streams of sweat to pour down his body.
His actions were already causing a slight stir, unbeknownst to him.
"Mister Jonas, Miss Hen, it is my distinct pleasure to welcome you to our establishment. We have set up a private room for your convenience, should you prefer it,"
Sister Lan greeted the esteemed guests at the main entrance, having been informed of their impending arrival.
The Great Clarity Pavilion had dedicated special rooms for high-profile patrons who often favored privacy over dining in the open.
"Jerry, prepare the finest blue spring tea we have and instruct the kitchen to prepare a sumptuous feast. Bring out the very best dishes!" Lan instructed.
Great Clarity Pavilion catered to many distinguished guests, but Jonas and Hen Portia were in a league of their own.
Whether it was the Warlord Havens or the Imperial Palace, they had access to executive master chefs far surpassing the talents of those at Great Clarity Pavilion. There was little reason for them to dine here.
Hen Portia replied, "That won't be necessary. We've come here on a different mission this time."
"Oh? Looking for someone?" Lan asked.
"Yes, we've heard that a young man, approximately fifteen or sixteen years old, has been staying here. He's about as tall as I am, and his name is Sam." Hen Portia mentioned the name, as it was customary for guest rooms to be registered in this manner, such as "Mr. Sam."
She speculated that Sam might be with his master, whose registration would not be under "Sam."
"A youth of fifteen or sixteen years..." Sister Lan pondered for a moment before turning to Jerry. "Have we had any young men check-in recently?"
Jerry shook her head and replied, "I don't recall any, but I can check the logbook to be certain."
After Jerry left, Sister Lan entertained Hen Portia and Jonas, offering them seats.
Some time later, Jerry returned and said, "I've checked the logbooks, but there is no record of a young man staying here recently."
The Great Clarity Pavilion mainly catered to mature professionals and prominent figures, which meant few families with young men frequented the establishment.
Jonas furrowed his brow and remarked, "Not within the past ten days? But just eight days ago, this young man was indeed at the Great Clarity Pavilion."
Sister Lan thought carefully before replying, "Our Great Clarity Pavilion rarely accommodates young men or women. However, there is one teenage boy who works in our kitchen; he's been here for a month, but I doubt he's the person you're seeking."
Sister Lan assumed that Hen Portia and Jonas were searching for a junior member of some aristocratic family.
Despite Sam's remarkable story in the kitchen, his humble background and limited martial arts prowess suggested he had no association with the Warlord's Haven.
"Kitchen?" Hen Portia raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. He's a skilled deboner, very responsible. His job entails slicing meat," Sister Lan explained, noting Hen Portia's unfamiliarity with the occupation.
"Slicing meat? That can't be right," Jonas commented, convinced that an esteemed inscription master wouldn't work as a meat slicer.
Hen Portia, however, refused to dismiss the possibility. "What is his name?"
"I'm not entirely sure; he doesn't talk much. We only know his one name , Sam. He should be in the kitchen right now. Would you like to take a look?"
"Yes, please lead the way," Hen Portia responded, her curiosity piqued.
Following Sister Lan, they entered the Great Clarity Pavilion's bustling kitchen.
As the door swung open, a wave of scalding air and steam engulfed them.
It was late summer, and combined with the kitchen's sweltering heat, the atmosphere was stifling.
Hen Portia effortlessly dissipated the dry, oppressive air with her soul force, and they made their way through the kitchen.
Wide-eyed chefs and waiters watched them in amazement, as they recognized Hen Portia, a name known throughout Starlight Haven City for her exceptional talent. Why had she ventured into the Great Clarity Pavilion's kitchen?
Sister Lan finally pointed to a room tucked away in a corner. "Over there."
The Great Clarity Pavilion's kitchen was expansive, and Sam worked in a small, separate chamber.
Here, he meticulously sliced meat from various exotic beasts before it was stored in the freezer for preservation.
As Hen Portia peeked inside, she saw a young man clad only in green pants.
His well-defined upper body, tanned by the sun and glistening with sweat from exertion, faced away from her.
He wielded a simple bone knife, seemingly oblivious to their presence, as he expertly dissected a beast's carcass.
The young man's back, symmetrical and muscular, emitted an air of health and strength, accentuated by the beads of sweat that clung to his skin.
Perhaps due to the intense kitchen heat or his vigorous efforts, his entire back glistened with perspiration, radiating a powerful aura.
Was this Sam?
Hen Portia wasn't entirely sure, so she cautiously moved closer.
Observing the youth's profile, she found a youthful and determined face, seemingly unremarkable at first glance but increasingly captivating upon closer scrutiny.
The intensity of his gaze struck her as oddly familiar, coinciding with the image she had formed of Sam during their time at the Zither Department.
She couldn't quite fathom why, but witnessing this sight caused a faint blush to creep up her neck.
The scene before her was nothing like she had imagined. How could the intricate art of inscription symbols, demanding precise control of soul force and a delicate touch, coexist with this young man's seemingly crude task of meat slicing?
These two contradictory facets,the enigmatic elegance and the straightforward strength, clashed and left her momentarily mesmerized.
Just as Sam turned around, he sensed a shift in the atmosphere.
The kitchen was usually bustling with activity, but this time, he felt that all eyes were on him. It was as if someone had come to find him.
Upon seeing Hen Portia, he paused in surprise. Hen Portia? Why was she at the Great Clarity Pavilion? Had she come for him?
Hen Portia had taken note of the unassuming knife in Sam's hand—a bone knife less than a foot long.
While nothing about the knife seemed extraordinary, what astounded her was that Sam was using the back of the knife to make his cuts.
This revelation left her utterly baffled.
Her gaze drifted toward the perfectly sliced meat arranged before Sam.
Each section was consistent, even, and impeccably neat. Could he really have achieved this level of precision using the back of a knife?
"Miss Hen, were you looking for me?" Sam inquired, his gaze also falling upon Jonas, who exudes an aura of formidable strength.
It was clear that this old man possessed an overwhelming power, similar to an invisible force bearing down on him.
Jonas's background was likely that of a top-level powerhouse, possibly a master in the Pulse Condensation stage or even the rarer Houtian stage.
"Little brother, are you Sam?" the old man asked with a genial smile.
Sam nodded, unable to hide anything from a master of Jonas's caliber.
He surmised that their visit might be related to the sale of the two inscription symbols, which had evidently piqued Jonas's interest.
Although Sam had anticipated that his inscription skills would eventually attract attention, he hadn't expected it to happen so quickly.
This situation could be either a stroke of luck or a looming calamity.
If it was luck, his inscription symbols would gain widespread recognition and increase in value, affording him the wealth he needed to procure the necessary medicines for cultivation.
However, if it was calamity, his low martial strength would render him as vulnerable as a rhinoceros hunted for its horn.
Sam lacked the means to protect himself and might even be coerced into endless inscription symbol production by influential factions.
Before entering the auction house, Sam had contemplated these possibilities.
He had considered changing his identity and appearance, but he lacked the profound techniques required for such transformations.
Furthermore, at just fifteen years old, any disguise would be easily discerned.
Sam had realized that, sooner or later, his inscription skills would draw attention, leading major forces to seek his talents.
Trying to hide from these powerful spirits as a young child in the early stages of body transformation with no robust background would be futile.
As a result, Sam had decided not to hide his name and had developed a backup plan.