Hiss—
A faint sound, like water dropping onto a hot iron plate, broke the silence.
Jin opened his eyes.
In the pitch-black darkness of the cell, two faint reddish lights flickered within his pupils before disappearing.
'Morning.'
There was no sun in the underground prison, but Jin's body knew.
The internal clock, honed by years of waking up at the exact same time to avoid beatings, rang an alarm in his head.
Jin looked down at his body.
His ragged hemp clothes were damp, stained with a dark, foul-smelling substance.
It was sticky and smelled like rotten eggs.
'Impurities.'
The Asura Breathing Technique had burned through the night, scouring his insides.
The filth that had accumulated in his body from years of eating garbage and breathing stagnant air had been forced out through his pores.
Jin rubbed his arm.
Underneath the grime, his skin—usually rough and covered in frostbite scars—felt strangely smooth.
It was still pale, but the grayish tint of death was gone.
Gurgle.
A thunderous sound erupted from his stomach.
Pain twisted his gut.
It wasn't the dull ache of starvation he was used to.
It was a voracious, predatory hunger. The energy required to repair his body and fuel the Asura Qi was immense.
'I need food.'
The gruel provided by the prison wouldn't be enough. It was mostly water and sawdust.
If he didn't eat, the technique would start consuming his own muscles for fuel.
Creak.
Jin stood up.
His movements were light.
The chronic pain in his joints, a companion he had lived with for as long as he could remember, had vanished.
He picked up the empty wooden bucket.
It felt as light as a feather.
'Control.'
Jin narrowed his eyes.
If he walked too lightly, too confidently, he would draw attention.
He hunched his shoulders. He deliberately dragged his feet.
Scrape— Scrape—
He recreated the sound of the weak, dying boy he was yesterday.
He stepped out of the cell and began his morning routine.
The "Kitchen" of the Cold Hell was located on the first underground level.
It was a chaotic, steamy room where huge vats of unknown slop boiled over fires fed by coal.
"Move it, corpse-rat!"
A burly cook kicked Jin's shin as he passed.
Usually, Jin would have stumbled and fallen, bruising himself.
But today, his leg remained planted like an old tree root.
"Huh?"
The cook blinked, surprised that the boy hadn't toppled over.
Jin quickly corrected his mistake. He threw himself to the ground, curling up and trembling.
"S-sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Tch. Clumsy bastard. Get your bucket and get out."
The cook lost interest and turned back to his ladle.
Jin stood up slowly, keeping his head down to hide the cold light in his eyes.
He filled his bucket with the steaming, grey sludge.
It smelled of wet dog.
He dragged the bucket back toward the lower levels.
As he walked through the dim corridors, his senses expanded.
He could hear the breathing of the prisoners in their cells.
Wheeze…
Cough…
Mumble…
He could smell the iron rust on the bars, the mold in the corners, and the faint metallic scent of blood.
And he could smell something else.
Something alive.
Skitter. Skitter.
Jin stopped.
The sound came from a ventilation shaft near the floor.
A pair of red eyes glowed in the darkness.
A Frost Rat.
These weren't ordinary rats. They were the size of small cats, with white fur hard as wire and teeth that could chew through bone.
They were pests of the Northern Sea, infamous for biting sleeping prisoners and spreading 'frostrot,' a disease that turned flesh black.
Usually, servants like Jin ran from them.
Squeak!
The rat sensed Jin.
It didn't run. It smelled the blood on Jin (the impurities he hadn't fully washed off) and chattered its teeth aggressively.
It saw Jin as prey.
The rat tensed its hind legs and lunged.
Swish!
It moved like a white blur, aiming for Jin's throat.
Time seemed to slow down.
To Jin's eyes, the rat's movement was clearly visible.
He could see the saliva dripping from its yellow fangs. He could see the tensing of its muscles.
Jin's hand moved.
Not out of fear, but out of instinct.
Snap!
The sound of breaking bone echoed crisply.
The motion stopped instantly.
Jin was standing still, his arm extended.
In his hand, he was gripping the Frost Rat by the neck.
The creature flailed wildly, its claws scratching at Jin's wrist, but Jin's grip was like an iron clamp.
"Sque…!"
The rat couldn't breathe.
Jin looked at the struggling creature.
His stomach roared again, a painful demand for energy.
'Meat.'
The Frost Rat was dangerous vermin. But it was also muscle. It was protein.
In the Cold Hell, meat was a luxury only the guards tasted.
Jin looked around. The corridor was empty.
He squeezed his hand.
Crunch.
The rat went limp.
Jin didn't hesitate. He slipped the dead rat into the oversized sleeve of his hemp shirt.
It was still warm.
He grabbed the handle of the gruel bucket again.
Scrape— Scrape—
He continued walking into the depths of the prison.
He reached the lowest level, the area where he slept. It was a dead-end corridor used for storage and waste.
Jin sat in the darkest corner behind a stack of broken crates.
He pulled out the rat.
He had no fire to cook it.
And the smell of cooking meat would attract the guards instantly.
Jin stared at the carcass.
'The strong eat the weak.'
That was the law of the Northern Sea.
He brought the rat to his mouth.
Rip.
He tore into the tough flesh.
The taste was metallic and gamey, repulsive enough to make an ordinary person vomit.
But as he swallowed the raw meat, his stomach churned with delight.
The Asura Breathing Technique flared up instantly.
Whoosh.
The heat in his abdomen surged, wrapping around the food in his stomach.
Digestion happened at a terrifying speed.
The energy from the meat was extracted, refined, and pumped into his meridians.
Strength returned to his limbs. The dizziness faded.
Jin ate.
He ate with the focus of a monk praying.
Bone, gristle, meat. He left nothing but the tail and the fur.
When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
A faint red haze shimmered around his body for a second before vanishing.
Jin looked at his hand.
His fingernails had grown slightly longer, sharper, darker.
'It's not enough.'
One rat was just an appetizer.
To survive the training, to feed the Asura, he needed more.
Jin stood up.
His eyes scanned the dark ceiling of the prison, tracing the network of ventilation shafts.
The Cold Hell was infested with these rats.
Until today, they were the plague of the prison.
But from now on...
Jin's lips curled up slightly. A jagged, unfamiliar expression on his face.
They were his pantry.
[End of Chapter 3]