Investing In My Three Crippled Wives Get 10,000x Times Return

Dexter woke up before dawn and let out a long yawn. He was halfway out of bed, his brain already running a checklist for the kitchen, before he caught himself. He wasn’t at the bungalow. There was no rice to wash, and no breakfast to scramble together for the girls.

Instead, he was staring at a fancy ceiling, in a hotel room that cost more per night than he used to make in a month.

Right. The Grand Meridian.

They were still stuck here. The monster outbreak had turned their neighborhood into a graveyard, and the Hero Association had put them here.

"Sigh. I could get used to this, right?" He smiled as he muttered.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

4:03 AM.

The room was silent, filled only with the hum of the air conditioner and the soft breathing of the three women in the massive bed behind him.

He felt a sudden, twitchy need to be busy.

Usually, every morning he was always busy by this time, Chopping vegetables, planning meals, but here, thwre was nothing to do.

Since sleep was a lost cause, he sat up on the couch and shook off the grogginess. He needed to be more Productive.

He closed his eyes and started the Starlight Meditation Technique.

A week ago, his mana affinity had been so low that trying to use it was like trying to drink water through a solid straw. He mostly did it back then just to keep calm his mind.

But things were different now. His affinity had jumped all the way to A-Rank, and the difference was like night and day.

The moment he triggered the technique, the mana in the room seemed to rush toward him. His body drank it up, his core filling like a dry basin under a waterfall.

So fast.

He kept his eyes shut, trying to keep his composure, but he was genuinely shocked. If he kept this up, he’d be able to stabilize his Tier 7 strength in no time.

After a few minutes of feeling that energy hum through his system, his mind drifted to the other thing he’d been putting off: the Demon Tempering Body Technique.

He’d gotten it as a reward, but he hadn’t had a second of privacy to actually try it out.

He stood up, gave his neck a quick crack, and cleared some space by pushing the coffee table aside.

The instructions were simple enough: 108 forms, extreme stress, and specific mana paths.

How hard could it be?

He kicked his legs up into a headstand, trying to twist his body into the required shape.

The first form was an absolute nightmare.

It was like someone had taken the worst parts of yoga and combined them with a medieval torture device.

"Aarhus is really difficult." Dexter grunted as he tired practicing the technique.

His hips screamed in protest, his spine felt like it was being twisted like a wet towel, and he had to keep his mana moving through twelve specific points at the exact same time.

He lasted ten seconds. Then fifteen. By twenty, his arms were shaking so hard he thought he might shatter his own floor.

He collapsed.

"Damn..." he wheezed, flat on his back, his shirt already soaked through with sweat.

[Ding!]

[Extreme Slaughtering Demon Body — Form 1: Complete]

[Strength Increased: +1%]

He stared at the ceiling, feeling like a fool, until the notification popped up. He sat up, blinking at the blue text hanging in the air.

"...Seriously?"

Twenty seconds of feeling like his bones were being rearranged, and he’d gained a full percent of raw strength. That was insane. If he kept this up, he’d be a monster in a few weeks.

Then he looked at his mana bar.

Half of it was gone. Just like that.

The technique didn’t just train his muscles; it was literally burning his mana to build them. That was a hell of a price to pay.

"This thing is terrifying," he muttered.

He wasn’t going to get any more training in without passing out, so he grabbed a fresh shirt and decided to head outside. The walls were starting to close in on him. He needed a run.

The hotel grounds were massive with green tall, grasses, leading the path and sculptures at the entrance. Dexter jogged along the perimeter, letting the cold morning air hit his face, burning off the restless energy that had been coiling in his gut for days.

He rounded a corner near the back garden, intending to finish another lap, when he saw something.

Five floors up, an old man was standing on a premium suite balcony.

He looked like any other retired guy in a tank top, white hair pulled into a messy knot, moving through some kind of slow-motion workout.

He was graceful, smooth, fluid, like he was moving through water as he practiced.