Over the next three hours, John delved deeper into the tunnels, his Spatial Awareness sweeping through the rocky earth like sonar.
Though the technique consumed some Qi, he managed it well by cycling his Slow Toad Breathing rhythmically.
Clink! Crack! Clink!
His pickaxe sang through the caverns as he discovered three more Xithril veins nestled behind fractured walls and beneath half-collapsed alcoves.
Each time, the silvery-blue metal resisted extraction, but John's persistence and experience from his days in the prison mines paid off.
By the time the third vein had been stripped, John's storage pouch weighed heavy at his side.
He took a step back and exhaled deeply, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Five hundred grams…" he whispered, looking at the dull glimmer of Xithril through the bag's mesh window.
He suddenly remembered Orin's words from earlier:
