The Gate Traveler

I had just spent a thousand mana learning another book’s language to find more information about familiars when I heard Mahya cursing from the other room, “Stupid, archaic piece of junk!” Her voice was sharp with frustration, cutting through the otherwise quiet space.

And then Rue’s voice exploded in my mind, “Fix! Fix!” The urgency in his tone made me drop what I was doing and go to investigate.

“What happened?” I asked as I stepped into the saloon, noticing the tense atmosphere.

“We were watching the Avengers movie,” Mahya explained, her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently on the floor, “and the computer just died.”

Rue shouted telepathically again, “Movie! Movie!” His voice echoed loudly in my head, making me wince.

Mahya and I exchanged a quick, pained look, and I said, “Rue, buddy, we’re looking for a solution. Don’t worry. And please don’t shout so loud mentally.” Considering the mental pounding, my tone was as gentle as I could manage.

He hung his head, looking like a scolded puppy, and shouted, “Sorry!” The volume of his apology made us wince once more.

“No big deal, buddy, you’ll learn,” I said, trying to soothe him as I reached down to scratch his chin. His tail wagged slightly, but the worry was still apparent in his posture.

“Maybe it ran out of power?” I suggested, turning back to Mahya.

“No,” she replied, shaking her head as she inspected the dead computer. “It’s connected to the generator. It’s just dead.” Her fingers tapped uselessly on the keyboard, and she looked frustrated.

“Do you think it’s the rising mana levels?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair, “and the fact that we’re magical doesn’t help the situation.”

“I hope you didn’t lose any data from the computer.

“Of course not,” Mahya said. “It’s all on the crystalline disc.” She sounded offended that I asked.

I took out my computer and handed it to her. “We should buy a few more computers, just in case,” I suggested.

“Yeah...” she agreed, her tone trailing off as she looked at the backup computer with a hint of weariness.

I returned to the deck and checked the book I learned the language of, but still didn’t find an answer. I took out the next book, paid the mana, and looked at my regeneration. It went up to fifteen units per minute. There was no doubt about it; the mana level increased.

We all played CATAN Starfarers in the evening, and Rue won again.

This dog is a master cheater!

The next day, after seven books, I found something promising. I recognized the words Familiar and Wizard on the book’s first page, so I kept reading until I understood the language. The Wizard’s Crutch was the name of the book, and its tiny size made it impossible to call it a book––more like a booklet or pamphlet.

The author wrote the first chapter in a very flowery and complicated language, and after I deciphered it, basically the entire first chapter called Wizards that channel mana through their familiar, lazy, stupid, mediocre, and incompetent.

I glared at the book and muttered sarcastically, “Tell us how you really feel.”

My frustration was mounting as I slogged through the extensive second chapter, where the author droned on and on about the “crucial nature of a wizard’s skill in harnessing and utilizing external mana.”

“Yeah, I got that. Move on with it,” I muttered, flipping the page more forcefully than necessary.

Alfonsen, who had been quietly observing me, finally asked, “Who are you talking to?” His brow furrowed in mild concern.

“The book,” I replied, not bothering to hide my annoyance as I continued reading.

“Why?” He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled by my one-sided conversation.

“Because it’s annoying,” I said, tapping the page as if emphasizing my point.

“So stop reading it,” he suggested casually, clearly unfazed by my frustration.

“I can’t; I need to find answers,” I explained, my voice tinged with resignation as I forced myself to keep going.

He shrugged again and left, leaving me alone with the droning text.

I was really developing a hatred for magical books. Every single one of them exhibited a convoluted and ostentatious writing style. It was ANNOYING!

The third chapter was only three, three!! Paragraphs long. It explained that to channel through a familiar, one must be able to channel directly. Of course, it didn’t bother to elaborate on the process of channeling directly or through a familiar. Why should it? Somebody might learn something. I got so annoyed I threw the book into the river.

After a second, I retrieved it using telekinesis and channeled Heat with low mana to dry it.

After it was dry and 99 percent of the text survived, I read the fourth and last chapter, the longest in the book. In this chapter, the author explained ad nauseam how great, outstanding, extraordinary, amazing, and exceptional he was because he could channel directly. This time, I threw the book in the river, didn’t bother to retrieve it, and said to the fish, “Bon appétit.”

I heard Mahya laughing loudly behind me, the sound catching me off guard.

I turned to her, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. She grinned and said, “No wonder you and Lis are such good friends.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, wondering where she was going with this.

“You should hear him curse at a math book sometime. It’s a verbal masterpiece,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

She must have noticed the shift in my expression, because she quickly sobered, her smile fading. “I know he’s fine, and we’ll hear from him soon,” she added gently, trying to reassure me.

I just nodded, sighing, and took out the next book to spend mana on.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Three hours from Ma’anshan, we started seeing hot air balloons, blimps, and even a Zeppelin floating lazily in the sky. Mahya and I exchanged a glance, both of us intrigued.

“Why did we never think of this?” I asked, grinning as I admired the scene.

“We are thinking now,” Mahya replied, her eyes gleaming.

“We definitely are,” I agreed, nodding solemnly.

“You and Mahya are strange,” said Alfonsen, shaking his head in exasperation.

“We’ll need to stock up on gas,” I said, already planning ahead.

“Why?” Mahya asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“So we don’t run out!”

Wasn’t it obvious?

“We can buy gas on many worlds,” she said, giving me a funny look that made me feel like I was missing something.

“We can?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“Of course, it’s a natural resource,” she said with a chuckle, clearly amused by my ignorance.

“I thought all those societies in magical worlds were medieval or something,” I admitted.

“Of course not,” Mahya said, rolling her eyes. “Some are, but most aren’t.”

“Seriously?”

“They can’t develop electrical technology because of the mana, but they’re not idiots,” she explained, her tone patient. “Some are even more advanced than Earth, just on a different progression track.”

“So how come Lis needed Earth’s engineering?” I asked, still puzzled.

“The guilds guard the secrets of Magitech more diligently than any other form of magical knowledge.”

“Why?”

“Money and control,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, if we run out, you can always channel [Heat] until we resupply.”

“True,” I nodded.

When we moored in Ma’anshan, we learned that a week-long lighter-than-air show was taking place. Alfonsen wasn’t interested, so I found him three workshops to attend, and Mahya and I went shopping.

We quickly discovered that we had exaggerated dreams of grandeur. The cheapest blimp, with an open gondola that seats six people, cost $2 million. A nice one, with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room, started at $12 million. On top of that, they needed helium, not regular gas, to heat the air, which was apparently more challenging to come by in magical worlds.

We lowered our aspirations and looked for a hot-air balloon. We found a lovely, colorful balloon with an eight-person gondola for $30,000. After Mahya inspected the gas burner, she said we wouldn’t have any problems with it in mana worlds.

To make sure, I took Rue up on a balloon, and he had no problem with it.

“How come you have no problem with an E-foil or a hot-air balloon but refuse to go on a boat?” I asked, glancing at him.

“No! Boat!” Rue barked back and shouted telepathically, his tone filled with clear distress.

“I know, buddy, but why?” I pressed, genuinely curious.

“Wobble! No! Boat!” he insisted, his tail tucked between his legs as he shook his head emphatically.

“That’s your problem? That it wobbles?” I asked, blinking in surprise as I tried to process the simplicity of his fear.

“Yes!” Rue’s ears flattened, and he looked at me with wide, pleading eyes.

That surprised me; I thought the reason was more complicated. I reached out to scratch behind his ears, trying to soothe him.

After we landed, I told Mahya about the wobbling when a man in a crisp uniform approached us with a clipboard. His expression was all business. “Your hot-air balloon will be delivered in five days,” he informed us, his tone as formal as his appearance. “However, you won’t be able to fly it without a license.”

“How long does it take to get a license?” I asked.

The man glanced at his clipboard, then looked back at us. “It requires six months of training at a specialized school,” he replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

I felt my jaw drop slightly. “Six months?” I echoed in disbelief.

Mahya and I shared a look. Without missing a beat, she reached into her bag and started rummaging around. With a smirk, she pulled out a certificate and casually handed it to the man.

“Here you go,” she said, her voice perfectly calm as she showed him the hot-air balloon pilot certificate.

The man blinked in surprise, his composure faltering for a moment before he nodded and accepted the document without question.

During the five days of waiting, I organized five more workshops for Alfonsen. Mahya and I alternated going up on balloon flights to witness the gas activation, the take-off process, and the landing. We also visited the show area to witness the balloons’ opening, initial filling, and folding. We didn’t get an ability point, but we felt we understood the basics.

“When we sail to the US, we can train over the ocean on days without a strong wind,” Mahya suggested.

“Good idea,” I agreed, nodding. “I have no intention of spending six months on a course.”

“Me neither,” she said with a smirk, clearly on the same page.

Between balloon rides, Mahya and I walked around all the exhibiting companies and bought gas. We deliberately did it separately, each time at a different end of the exhibition, so that no one would understand how much we were buying.

The last day before we were supposed to receive the balloon, I went around the markets and bought $10,000 worth of food to fill my Storage some more.

We finally got our balloon, and all the gas we bought arrived at the marina. Alfonsen finished the last workshop, and we were ready to go.