A few days later, Harry stood in his laboratory, the faint glow of the ritual table casting eerie shadows across the room. His movements were precise, almost casual, as he ran a blade across his forearm, allowing his blood to drip onto the engraved runes of the ritual table.
Before him lay the lifeless body of a bison, its massive form sprawled across the stone surface. As the blood activated the ritual, the intricate symbols etched into the table came alive, pulsing with a faint, otherworldly light.
The transformation began immediately.
The bison's corpse started to wither, its muscles contracting and shrinking as if drained by an invisible force. Its once-powerful frame grew brittle, curling in on itself until it resembled a dry, mummified husk. The air was thick with the hum of unseen energy, and Harry could feel it; the raw vitality siphoned from the bison flowing into him.
The surge of life force coursed through his veins like a roaring river, a sensation that was both exhilarating and addictive. His body responded instantly. Muscles strengthened, senses sharpened, and his entire being felt alive in a way that was almost euphoric. It was as though he were evolving with every pulse of vitality, his body growing stronger, denser, more powerful.
But then, something shifted. The flow of life energy began to taper off, the once-overwhelming surge dwindling to a faint trickle. The sensation faded, leaving Harry standing there, calm but pensive.
"The effect is getting weaker," he murmured, flexing his arms as he examined his body. The results were noticeable, but not as dramatic as before. The ritual's impact was diminishing.
He stepped back from the table, his mind racing. At first, he had attributed the weakening effects to the natural progression of growth. As his strength increased, it made sense that his body would require more potent sacrifices to continue improving. Mice and rabbits, which had initially provided significant feedback, were now useless to him. Larger sacrifices, like the bison he had just used, were necessary to sustain the ritual's effectiveness.
But this wasn't just a matter of quantity. The speed at which the effects were diminishing was abnormal, unnaturally fast.
Harry sat at the edge of the room, his sharp gaze fixed on the glowing runes of the ritual table. After several trials and meticulous observations, he had identified a pattern. The ritual's efficacy wasn't determined solely by the size or strength of the sacrifice. There was another variable: the 'type' of life form.
For example, the first time he used a rabbit, the effects were impressive, even though it was a weak creature. But if he repeated the ritual with rabbits multiple times in succession, the results quickly dwindled. In contrast, a fresh type of sacrifice; a bison, for instance; provided a much stronger boost, even if it wasn't significantly more powerful than previous sacrifices.
"It's not just about vitality," Harry muttered, his voice thoughtful. "The ritual seems… selective. It favors diversity."
This revelation made him uneasy. It was as if the ritual itself was designed to discourage repetition, demanding new and varied sacrifices to maintain its potency. But why? What purpose could such a design serve?
And then there was the issue of the energy loss.
Through careful calculations, Harry had determined that only about ten percent of the vitality extracted from a sacrifice was actually absorbed by his body. The remaining ninety percent simply vanished, seemingly dissipating into thin air.
At first, he had assumed this was due to inefficiencies in the ritual; natural losses that occurred during the transformation process. But the sheer scale of the loss was suspicious. Ninety percent wasn't just waste; it was deliberate extraction.
"It's like something's taking a cut," he said aloud, his tone laced with suspicion. He paced the room, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to align in his mind. "The ritual doesn't just transform vitality, it redistributes it. I'm only getting a fraction of what's being harvested. So where's the rest going?"
The answer, when it struck him, was both simple and chilling. The ritual wasn't just a tool; it was a 'system'. Something or someone was collecting the remaining vitality, siphoning it away in the process.
"It's like a pyramid scheme," Harry said bitterly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I do the work, gather the sacrifices, and someone else takes the share. All I get is the scraps."
The thought filled him with a mix of frustration and intrigue. Whoever or whatever had designed this ritual was operating on a grand scale, leveraging users like Harry to gather resources for their own benefit. The runes on the table, the glowing symbols that facilitated the transformation, they weren't just tools. They were conduits, channels that redirected the majority of the life force elsewhere.
And yet, even with this realization, Harry couldn't deny the ritual's value. Despite the losses, the power it granted him was undeniable. It was a means to an end, a tool that could elevate him far beyond what traditional training methods could achieve.
"The cost is steep," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But the reward is worth it… for now."
Still, the nagging sense of being manipulated gnawed at him. If the ritual was indeed a system designed to extract vitality, then whoever controlled that system was likely far more powerful than he could imagine. And if they ever turned their attention to him…
Harry shook the thought away. For now, the ritual was a tool, a dangerous one, but a tool nonetheless. He would continue to use it, but cautiously. The knowledge that something larger was at play only fueled his determination to grow stronger.
His gaze drifted to the desiccated remains of the bison, now little more than a lifeless husk. The ritual had worked, but it was clear that he would need to expand his resources. Larger, stronger sacrifices. More variety. Perhaps even… he stopped himself before the thought could fully form.
For now, he would experiment further. But as he prepared for his next trial, one thing was certain: the power he sought came with a price, and Harry intended to uncover the full truth behind it, no matter the cost.
Harry's thoughts churned as he stared at the glowing runes on the ritual table. The intricate carvings pulsed faintly, their strange light reflecting the ancient origins of the ritual he'd been using.
He hadn't forgotten where this ritual came from.
The 'Life' ritual, like many others of its kind, was rooted in the powers of gods and demons. It served as a medium for ancient fighters to draw on divine or infernal energies, a bridge that allowed mortals to grasp the edges of transcendence. But that connection came with strings attached.
"If someone's benefiting from this ritual other than me…" Harry murmured to himself, his brow furrowed. "Then it's probably the ancient gods and demons of this world. They could be siphoning vitality through rituals like this, clawing their way back to power."
The thought sent a ripple of unease through him, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of detachment. He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Doesn't really matter, does it?"
Harry wasn't from this world, after all. Whatever plots or hidden dangers lay within the ritual didn't concern him on a personal level. If these gods and demons wanted to regain their strength or even use this power to manipulate him, so be it. At worst, he could simply walk away. This body, this presence, it wasn't the real him it was just a simulation.
Still, he couldn't deny his curiosity.
The structure of the ritual fascinated him. It was an elegant system, designed to give just enough benefits to keep users hooked while siphoning off the lion's share of the gains. It was efficient, insidious, and… profitable.
Harry's mind wandered as he considered the mechanics of it. 'What if I could reverse-engineer this?' he thought. 'If I could create my own ritual… I could have others worship me, perform sacrifices for me, and I wouldn't have to lift a finger. I'd just take a cut from every offering.'
The idea was tantalizing but fraught with challenges. "If the methods of gods and demons were that easy to replicate," Harry mused, "they wouldn't be called the methods of gods and demons, would they?"
He spent hours studying the runes, tracing their patterns with his fingers and trying to decipher their secrets. The symbols were more than mere designs. They felt alive, their very structure imbued with a power that defied explanation. They weren't just tools; they were part of the ritual's core mechanics, holding the key to its function.
What made them even more perplexing was their exclusivity. Harry had attempted to delegate the carving of these runes to others, curious to see if the ritual could be replicated. But no matter how skilled the craftsman, none of them could complete the task. The runes resisted duplication. Even when others followed the patterns perfectly, their hands faltered, as if an invisible force prevented them from completing the carvings.
"It's a limitation," Harry realized, leaning back in his chair. "The ritual doesn't just require knowledge, it requires authority. And I must have gained that authority when I accepted the inheritance."
He recalled the moment he had stood in the land of inheritance, absorbing the knowledge left behind by an ancient fighter. Perhaps that was when his connection to the ritual had been forged, unlocking a privilege others lacked.
Satisfied with his reasoning for now, Harry rose from his seat and stepped toward a cabinet in the corner of the room. When he opened it, rows of neatly arranged bottles came into view, their contents gleaming faintly under the dim light. These were body-building potions; thirty, maybe forty bottles in total.
"These are the extras," Harry muttered, smiling to himself. The potions were part of the spoils he'd gained from the inheritance, alongside the ritual and the ancient training method. Mogao and Gro had paid handsomely to acquire copies of that training method, trading resources and artifacts that Harry now found himself enjoying.
He grabbed one of the bottles, uncorked it, and downed the liquid in a single gulp. A wave of warmth spread through his body almost instantly, radiating from his core and seeping into every muscle. The sensation was invigorating, a rush of vitality that made his body feel lighter, stronger, more alive.
Harry closed his eyes, savoring the feeling for a moment before sitting cross-legged on the floor. He focused inward, channeling the energy coursing through him as he began his nightly practice. His breathing slowed, his mind sharpened, and he fell into a rhythm, merging the benefits of the potion with the techniques from the ancient training method.
Hours passed, the night slipping away as Harry remained in his meditative state. By the time he finished, the moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light through the windows of the martial arts hall.
Harry stood, stretching his arms and shoulders, his body humming with renewed strength. He grabbed his coat and made his way outside, intending to head home for the night.
But as he stepped into the cool night air, his eyes caught movement. A shadow shifted at the edge of the courtyard, and his gaze immediately locked onto it. The figure was cloaked in darkness, their presence subtle yet unmistakable.
Harry's senses sharpened. He didn't move but let his voice carry through the still air, calm yet commanding. "Who's there?"
The figure hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the moonlight. It was a woman, her features partially obscured by a hood, but her stance was poised, her movements deliberate. Her eyes met Harry's, and there was a sharp intelligence in her gaze.