Isama enjoyed the food he had ordered with great appetite. He lifted his spoon, savoring the broth made from venison stock, its distinct flavor touching his tongue.
He put the bread into his mouth, spread with garlic sauce, the taste delightful, accompanied by a cup of tea.
"Isn't that Isama, the crippled noble?" A diner, noticing Isama's face while he ate, asked his companion.
"Yes, I'm surprised he's out of his mansion alone this time," his friend replied.
"That's true. With such a frail body, if he fell down the stairs, I'd be afraid his organs would shatter as well, hahaha." The diner laughed at Isama's thin frame.
"Hahaha, you're right," his friend joined in the laughter.
Isama heard their chatter but paid no attention, continuing to eat his meal.
"Ahh, finally full," Isama sighed with relief, feeling his stomach satisfied. He didn't linger long and went to pay for his meal.
A waiter approached Isama. "That'll be just 5 gold," the waiter said, telling him the total price.
Isama reached into his pocket and handed 5 gold coins to the waiter to pay for his meal.
"Thank you, please come again," the waiter said with a smile as he accepted the coins.
Isama stood up, grabbed his umbrella, and headed for the exit. Stepping outside, he saw the rain was still pouring down.
"How long will this rain keep falling?" Isama muttered, looking up at the sky. Opening his umbrella, he began walking toward a certain place.
It took him about ten minutes from the restaurant to reach a large building guarded by statues, each several meters tall, flanking both sides of the massive doorway.
Above the entrance, bold letters read: "Hall of Training," Isama read aloud.
The Hall of Training was a public place, open for anyone to hone their abilities.
Isama pushed open the heavy doors with his frail hands and stepped inside. He saw countless people training—some practicing swordsmanship, others channeling their magic.
Before going further in, he first needed to register to gain access to the facilities. Isama walked toward a woman seated at a registration desk not far from the entrance.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked with a smile as Isama approached.
"I want a private room on the second floor," Isama said.
"Alright, under what name?" she asked, preparing to write it down in the registry.
"Isama Ethuida," he replied.
"!" The woman stiffened in shock at the name. She knew it well—the crippled noble was standing right in front of her. Still, she kept her composure and remained professional.
"That will be 10 gold," she informed him of the rental fee for a private second-floor room.
Without hesitation, Isama handed her the coins. She quickly accepted the payment and gave him a key.
"Room number 3," she said. Isama took the key without a second thought and proceeded further inside the Hall of Training.
The first floor was vast, an open training space, the cheapest option, where dozens of people practiced their skills.
"Who's that skinny guy?" someone on the first floor asked, seeing Isama enter.
"No idea, maybe he's an outcast," another person remarked.
"I'd bet with that scrawny body, he couldn't even snap a twig, hahaha," someone else jeered.
Isama ignored the mockery as though it were nothing more than buzzing flies. He walked past them and headed for the stairs.
The second floor was much quieter, lined with dozens of doors. This level offered private training rooms, each equipped with its own "Dimension of Training," a magical creation of the great wizard Merlin.
"One… two… three." Isama counted the numbers on the doors until he reached room number 3. Sliding the key into the lock, he opened the door and stepped inside.
A faint fragrance filled the well-kept room. Various training equipment was arranged neatly, with a mat in the center and a practice dummy set at one end.
Isama took a set of spare clothes provided in the room and changed into the specially designed training outfit offered by the Hall.
Now, his true purpose began: strengthening his body. His frail, sickly frame was no longer the same burden as before. Plausability didn't cure his illness but suppressed its symptoms, preventing relapses. For that reason, Isama needed to accumulate as much Plausability as possible.
"From the start, I've realized a few things…" Isama murmured, staring at his hands.
"…About how to gather Plausability."
Unlike Mana, which was drawn from natural energy and stored in the body to cast spells, Plausability increased through certain actions—simple things like eating or bathing would raise it, albeit only a little.
What surprised him most was that when his rage exploded as he watched Olivia being beaten by Loco, his Plausability had surged dramatically.
"…Emotions and actions, both play a critical role," Isama realized. They were the essence of Plausability.
After pondering this for a moment, he began some light exercises—jogging around the room, push-ups, and sit-ups. Yet even after just ten repetitions, his arms and legs trembled violently.
"Hah… hah… hah…" Isama panted heavily, exhausted.
"I think… I've grown stronger," he said, noticing that his Plausability had increased through physical training. Without delay, he used it to permanently strengthen his body.
According to the book "Anarchy," Plausability could be used for anything, so long as an equal exchange was made. Those were the words inscribed on page 92: "Plausability can achieve anything, with a price of equal value."
As he channeled Plausability into his body, pain tore through him. His muscles and flesh felt as though they were being ripped apart, his skin peeling away layer by layer.
"AAAAAHHH!!" Isama screamed in agony, though no sound escaped the room—the Hall's chambers were soundproof.
Smoke rose from between his forming muscles, his skin slowly regenerating across his body.
"Hah…" he exhaled deeply as the process ended.
Collapsed on his knees, his body stronger now, muscles firmer, though still lean, he struggled to shake off the vivid memory of the torment. Looking at his sturdier hands, he drew a deep breath to calm himself.
"…This is harder than I thought," he whispered. Using Plausability to strengthen himself wasn't just about endurance—it demanded immense mental fortitude.
Standing again, he stretched. His body felt lighter, stronger, the lingering pain fading.
"Worth every bit of pain," Isama smiled, satisfied with the change in his body.