Kaelen Vance kicked his heel against the rough bark of the pine, rocking his canvas hammock two inches higher into the mountain shade. Cold spring water purled through the stone basin below his toes. A breeze carried the bitter scent of wet moss, entirely unbothered by the troubles of the Iron-Crown Duchy.
He flipped to the next leaf of Book 7 of The Bandit King’s Secret Bride.
The print was smudged, and the paper smelled faintly of cheap mutton tallow. Still, the plot had reached the part where the bandit commander disguised himself as a traveling pickle merchant to avoid paying his carriage taxes. Kaelen nodded in silent approval. A man who understood the value of avoiding unnecessary labor deserved every bit of his romantic success.
A soft blue shimmer pulsed behind his eyelids, projecting neat lines of text directly into his sea of consciousness.
[The Fallow Slate: Stage 3] [Track 1 (Cultivation Vessel): 120 Hours Abstained | Multiplier: 121x] [Track 2 (Martial Combat): 120 Hours Abstained | Multiplier: 121x] [Track 3 (Alchemy & Comprehension): 120 Hours Abstained | Multiplier: 121x] [True Fallow State: Active. Aura-Contagion Field: 100 Meters.]
Kaelen closed his eyes for a second, savoring the cool stillness in his dantian. His Nine-Ringed Fallow Core rotated lazily in its golden sea, turning like a waterwheel in a stagnant pond. No friction, no heat, and most importantly, no sweating in a courtyard.
