On our way to the Gate, I took out the wooden ring I’d gotten from the dungeon and slipped it on my finger. I checked my profile but didn’t see any change.
“The ring’s description says 2% constitution, but I don’t see anything different in my profile,” I ntioned to Lis, glancing over at him.
He turned to with an assessing look. “What is your Constitution at?”
“Forty-six.”
“Two percent of that is 0.9,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “It won’t appear on your personal information until it rounds up to a full point.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem like much of a dungeon reward,” I said, frowning at the ring.
“It isn’t,” he admitted with a nod. “As I ntioned earlier, it was a very young dungeon. The rewards improve as the dungeon matures.”
“What counts as a good reward?”
“A significant amount of gold or valuable magical items.”
“Such as?” I pressed.
“Jewelry with large storage capacities, enchanted weapons, unique potions, affinity stones, advanced spell scrolls, Magitech schematics—practical and powerful things.”
“Now, that does sound nice,” I agreed.
“It is,” he said with a faint smile of his own. “If you co across a dungeon like that, don’t collapse it right away. Let it regenerate and run it as often as possible without prematurely taking the core or resources. When you’ve reached the maximum number of runs, then empty it. And only take the core if you absolutely need it. Sotis, selling the location is far more profitable.”
“Maximum number of runs?” I asked.
“There’s a limit to how many tis a specific dungeon can be run,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with the weariness of a seasoned teacher repeating a well-known fact. “The number varies, and no one knows why. It could be as few as three or as many as a hundred—or even more.”
“So, what should I do with this ring?”
“Sell it to a front-line fighter,” he advised. “Their primary trait is Constitution, so they’ll find it far more valuable than you will.”
“Thanks,” I said, tucking the ring away.
He nodded, and we continued to the Gate. On the other side, we checked the ti and saw that twenty days had passed, so the five-day jump was consistent.
We called Lyura to pick us up and waited by the road. She arrived and took us to the four-bedroom apartnt she’d found in the center of Rovaniemi. We stayed there for a week to rest, and because I was voluntold to cook a lot of the bear and snake at.
After that week, we took a train from Rovaniemi to Luleå in Sweden. We toured the city a bit before taking another train to Gällivare. After a quick look around Gällivare, we rented a car and drove three hours to the Gate.
Travelers Gate #54816825
Destination: Asgard
Status: Integrated
Mana level: 76
Threat level: Lethal
When I touched the gate, I couldn’t help but exclaim, “Seriously?! It’s real?!”
The three of them turned to at the exact mont, like synchronized swimrs in a pool of confusion, their faces all with the sa baffled expression.
“There are legends and movies about this place,” I explained, waving a hand toward the Gate.
Lis nodded thoughtfully. “It makes sense.”
I frowned, tilting my head. “How exactly does it make any sense? How did they know about it?”
Lis, Mahya, and Lyura exchanged a glance before answering in unison, “Portals.”
I turned to Lyura, narrowing my eyes. “Those two are ancient, but how do you know about them?”
Lyura shrugged. “My mom told .”
“We all grew up with Traveler parents,” Lis said. “They taught us a lot. We didn’t learn everything on our own.”
Lyura’s expression darkened as she continued, “Actually, my mother never taught anything my whole life.” She clenched her fists, her voice hardening. “One day, she just told I’d be working as a nanny for a noble family and took to a Gate. It wasn’t until my mana awakened that she bothered to tell anything. I still want to kill her for that.”
Lis winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ouch.”
Lyura’s eyes flashed a deeper orange–almost red, her jaw tight and nostrils flaring. The air around her felt hot, like her anger was heating it. She clenched her fists so hard that her knuckles turned white, and they trembled at her sides as if she were barely holding herself together. There was a deep hurt in her expression, her lips pressed into a thin line that quivered just enough to give her away. Her shoulders rose with every sharp breath, and for a second, I thought she might just stomp off to her mother and finally let all that pain and fury loose.
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We exchanged uneasy looks, unsure what to do with the raw intensity rolling off her. None of us said a word, but we all got the ssage—wait it out. So we stood awkward and unsure, giving her space to pull herself together. The monts dragged, her breath hitching as she wrestled for control. Finally, after what felt like forever, she took a deep breath. As she let it out slowly, her shoulders sagged, the tension draining away. Her face flushed with embarrassnt as she glanced at us, then quickly looked down, an apologetic expression on her face.
Mahya stepped forward and hugged her. “It’s okay,” she said gently. “All of us have things we’re mad about. No need to be embarrassed.”
She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper as she mumbled, “Thanks.”
We beca invisible and popped in and out of the Gate. As we did, a thought struck , and I turned to Lis. “When we cross a Gate, it’s instantaneous, but when I was waiting for you in Shimoor, I felt the Gate activate for ten minutes or more before you crossed over. Why?”
“I was reading the world’s information.”
I blinked.. “Huh. I never thought about that.”
Later, during our train ride to Stockholm, I couldn’t help bringing up my subclass. “The description says it’s weaker, but it doesn’t feel that way—it’s actually aweso.”
Lis looked at with a smile. “That’s because you trained into it and got it for free at full strength.”
I hesitated. “Uh… no, I didn’t. I paid five points for it.”
His smile disappeared. “What?! Why didn’t you tell ?”
“You didn’t ask,” I replied, shrugging slightly. “Look, I considered it,” I continued, trying to explain. “I got Healer and Wizard for free because they are my thing. Actually, I got the Wizard for free because I didn’t want more unanswered questions when it was offered for points. Anyway, they’re classes I know I’ll rely on long-term. But I needed enough skill to defend myself in combat if things went sideways. I’m not planning to beco a warrior or spend my ti fighting unless absolutely necessary. So, I figured spending the points was worth it for the security. Better to have combat class now than wait to earn it for free, especially given how dangerous these worlds can be and us Gate hopping all over the planet.”
Lis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I understand your reasoning, but it still matters. With a paid class, you only retain the abilities you already had. You don’t gain anything new, apart from trait points as you level. A full-strength class grants you three abilities upfront and another every five levels. A mid-strength class gives you one upfront and another every ten levels.”
“Oh.” My earlier confidence fizzled out as his words hit ho. “That’s… a bigger trade-off than I thought.”
Lis let out a slow breath, his tone softening. “It’s not the end of the world. You’ve already got the class, so we’ll train to upgrade it. But next ti, ask before making decisions like that. There’s almost always more to it than what’s on the surface.”
“Got it.” I nodded, determined not to screw up like this again. More foresight and a few questions could’ve saved from this ss.
When we arrived in Stockholm, Lis suggested renting an apartnt instead of staying at a hotel. After a quick search on Airbnb, we found a four-bedroom place in the heart of the Old Town, with cobblestone streets and charming old buildings surrounding us. It felt like we’d stepped back in ti. Two days later, Lis found a closed gym for rent and told with a determined glint in his eye that I’d start training the very next day.
The following morning, he took to the gym. The space was dusty and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old sweat and worn leather. Without much ceremony, Lis took out two wooden swords and handed one of them. He looked straight in the eye and said, “Begin.”
Not wanting to disappoint him, I lunged forward, trying to attack with the sword. But before I could even register what was happening, he made a circular motion with his hand. The sword flew out of my grip as if yanked by an invisible force. My hand jerked to the side, and in an instant, he had the tip of his sword pressed firmly against my throat.
“Hey!” I protested, more surprised than hurt. “That’s not fair! You’re older and more experienced than . You’re supposed to teach , not trash in a second.”
“I am teaching you.”
I blinked, still trying to process how quickly he’d disard . “What am I supposed to learn from this?”
“Never attack soone stronger than you,” he said, lowering the sword but still holding my gaze. “Or if you’re unsure of your opponent’s strength. Fight defensively and look for openings.”
“Oh,” I muttered.
The next six months were pure torture. Lis trained for sixteen hours a day, pushing past my limits. No healing mid-training—he made sure every muscle ache stayed with until the end of the day. “Pain is the best teacher,” he’d say, like a mantra, while I fought to keep up.
It wasn’t just sword drills, though there were plenty of those. Lis had revisiting techniques I thought I’d mastered and then added new nightmares: dual-wielding with a long and short sword, balancing precision and speed. Then ca a sword-and-knife combo, which looked easier than it was, and “normal” swords of equal length, where fatigue turned every swing into agony. He capped it off with exotic blades—curved obsidian swords, bone-handled monstrosities, and translucent glass-like daggers that seed ready to snap in half. Each one ca with its own set of challenges, and Lis wouldn’t let up until I adapted.
By the ti we moved to Romania, I thought I’d earned a break. No such luck. Lis found another training hall, where he decided my staff skills needed work. I’d trained to level ten on Earth and used it in Shimoor, but Lis still tore my technique apart, pushing for speed, precision, and control. Bruises piled up faster than lessons sank in.
Then ca martial arts. My Krav Maga training gave confidence—for about five minutes. Lis’s unpredictability had hitting the mat more tis than I care to admit. Just as I started catching on, he brought Mahya into the mix. Now, I was fending off two relentless opponents, trying to keep up with their coordinated attacks.
The worst of it, though, was the paintball bow. I thought my level ten skills and perfect aim would impress them. Instead, Mahya turned into so gravity-defying nightmare, sprinting up cliffs, leaping between treetops, and dodging my shots like they were moving in slow motion. anwhile, her arrows hit every ti. By the end, I was a paint-covered disaster, barely able to move.
After months of training, it felt like I’d gone backward. But despite the bruises, exhaustion, and shattered confidence, I couldn’t deny it—Lis and Mahya were forcing to beco sothing sharper, stronger. And as much as I hated every second, it was working.
Finally, after an eternity of humiliation, they deed “passable.” Being too exhausted, I could only feel relief. Lis and Mahya decided it was ti to find a suitable Gate where I could “demonstrate my abilities in the physical world.”
Reflecting on the months of pain and frustration, I realized it was all my big mouth’s fault. Determined not to make the sa mistake again, I took a vow of silence from that mont on.
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