Chương 283: B5—Chapter 3: Drifting Through the Sea of Green

It took us three weeks to reach the next Gate. Nothing interesting happened on the journey except the beauty of this world. Zindor might have been shattered, and nobody was doing anything to fix the situation, but it sure had magnificent views. The Map was green, green and more green, stretching endlessly, making it seem like the entire world was nothing but trees. However, flying in the balloon revealed a much more intricate terrain.

Sure, there were massive forests, their canopies rippling like waves in the wind, but they were only part of the scenery. From this height, the landscape unfolded like a living map. Forests transitioned into vast grasslands where herds of grazing animals moved like slow, shifting currents. Valleys carved by ancient rivers glistened with lakes that reflected the sky. At the same time, rocky outcroppings and rolling hills broke the monotony of the greenery.

We saw open plains where smaller creatures darted about, with larger predators hunting them. Even the forests themselves weren't as uniform as they seemed. Some stretched endlessly, their dense canopies casting deep, shadowy mazes below. Others were lighter, their trees spaced far enough to let sunlight reach the forest floor, making the ground sparkle like it was dusted with gold. Occasionally, ruins peeked through the wilderness—crumbling structures half-swallowed by greenery.

At first, they were easy to miss, just faint shapes blending into the forest. Still, once you spotted one, you couldn't unsee how nature was slowly but relentlessly reclaiming them. Every glance out of the balloon felt like uncovering a new secret, a reminder that this world, though shattered, was anything but lifeless. We saw monsters in two clusters of ruins, indicating dungeons, but Mahya wasn't in a hurry to clear them for a change.

When I asked her about it, she waved her hand dismissively and said, "Judging by the world info, this world has dungeons coming out of its ass. Since we're Gate-hopping, we'll come across a lot of them. Right now, I'm in a traveling mood, not a fighting mood." We mostly traveled in the balloon because of the speed, but occasionally, we used the Jeep with the monster wheels or the bikes and ATV. Flying monsters or mana beasts controlled some areas, and we didn't want to engage in an aerial battle.

On the fifth day after we left Rock, we landed in a breathtaking gorge carved by time itself. Towering basalt columns formed tall walls that seemed to scrape the sky, their edges so sharp they looked like an artisan had chiseled them. At the center, a powerful waterfall cascaded down in a silken sheet of white, its roar echoing like thunder against the canyon walls, mist rising from its base. The water fed into a rushing stream littered with angular boulders, their dark surfaces glistening with spray.

Green moss and tufts of grass clung to every crevice, a stark contrast to the charcoal hues of the stone, giving the scene a strangely alive and ancient feel all at once. Of course, I took a picture. On day eleven, we flew above a mountain chain with tall peaks covered in snow, even in summer. The warm and inviting sunlight caressed the jagged ridges, painting them in vibrant shades of gold and amber as they slowly moved across their rugged surfaces.

Between the towering summits, valleys of shadowed snowfields stretched like frozen rivers. Some peaks rose sharp and defiant, their jagged spires clawing at the clouds, the wind whistling past them, while others loomed broader, their slopes softened by the weight of countless years of snowfall, the silence broken only by the occasional rumble of an avalanche. A frosty clarity shimmered in the air, the scent of snow sharp and cold. Yes, the snow had a scent. It smelled cold and fresh, like Christmas morning.

The landscape appeared untouched from above—a timeless expanse of ice and snow, a world undisturbed by human hands. We spent most of the third week driving, switching between the Jeep and the bikes, thanks to giant predatory birds that resembled oversized black pelicans. We first spotted them from the balloon—dark specks circling far above us, blending with the clouds. At that distance, they looked harmless, maybe just large hawks or some local bird of prey.

But as we continued flying, the specks grew larger, and their calls broke through the hum of the wind. It wasn't the high-pitched cry of a hawk or eagle but a guttural croak, echoing in the open air like the growl of a distant storm.

"Those aren't hawks," Mahya said, her voice low as she took out a rifle. Her eyes stayed fixed on the circling shapes above. Al leaned forward, shading his eyes as he studied them.

"Look at their wings," he muttered.

"Too broad for hawks, and their feathers… black, almost glossy. They look wrong." As the creatures descended closer, we could finally make out their features. Their muscular bodies moved with predatory grace, their feathers so dark they seemed to absorb the light. Their wings looked rigid and unnaturally angular, and their long, serrated beaks gleamed in the sunlight. The gular sacs below their beaks stretched grotesquely, hanging low and swaying as if ready to engulf something—or someone—whole.

Then, one broke formation. It dove toward the ground with terrifying speed, a black streak cutting through the air. A moment later, its gular sac expanded as it snatched up an unlucky animal—a four-legged herbivore grazing in a clearing. The creature barely made a sound before disappearing into the bird's maw, the sac bulging grotesquely as it swallowed its prey.

"I think it's time to land," I said, gripping the edge of the basket. My voice was calm, but my knuckles had turned white. Mahya nodded, already cocking her rifle.

"We're sitting ducks up here."

"Agreed," Al said tersely, his gaze flicking between the birds.

"They have noticed us." The decision to land wasn't just cautious—it was necessary. When we set down and transitioned to the Jeep, the birds circled lower, their croaks echoing ominously. They didn't follow us, but their silhouettes lingered in the distance, a constant reminder of what could have happened if we had stayed in the air. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Later, when Mahya finally managed to shoot one down, we got a horrifying glimpse of their true nature. Inside the pouch were three rows of jagged teeth, perfectly designed to shred whatever they caught into unrecognizable mush. These weren't just oversized birds—but blenders with wings. I dispensed some poetic justice on the bird. After plucking its feathers, I barbequed it with brown sugar, honey powder, smoked paprika, soy sauce, and garlic. Even Rue was full from such an enormous bird.

He lay on his beanbag with his four paws in the air, and waves of contentment emanated from him. Unfortunately, Mahya couldn't shoot down another one. They were smart and fast. After she shot the first one, they flew away almost at the speed of sound the minute they saw the rifle. But we stumbled across a hidden gem thanks to the flying blenders and our reluctance to face them in the air. A cascading waterfall, nestled deep within the forest, spilled its tiers over moss-covered rocks into crystal-clear pools below.

Bright pink, orange, and purple flowers, smelling sweet and looking like they belonged in an enchanted garden, dotted the vibrant greenery around the falls, and the rushing water filled the air with its song. Dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating the water with moving patterns, and a light mist from the falls added a subtle, cool sparkle to the scene. It felt like we had wandered into a secret sanctuary, untouched and almost too beautiful to be real.

This forest was home to an extensive array of colorful birds. Some had vibrant feathers that looked like little bursts of rainbows flitting through the trees. I couldn't determine whether they were all the same species with different colors or different breeds. When I used Identify, all it told me was "Bird Level #." At first, I was surprised that birds even had levels. I mean, why would they? But it became just another part of this strange world after a while.

Curious, I experimented with Identify some more and discovered that it wasn't just birds—worms, butterflies, and other bugs also had levels. The idea of a "Worm Level 8" was mildly amusing, but it wasn't nearly as funny when I imagined something far worse. Thank the Spirits we hadn't run into mosquitoes at Level 20 or something equally terrifying. The thought of giant, high-level mosquitoes with blood-sucking powers gave me chills.

The forest was beautiful, sure, but it was also a constant reminder that even the smallest creatures here might be more dangerous than they looked. We followed the stream down until we reached a small lake with two pointy boulders on one of its shores. The water was so clear it mirrored the sky, with soft ripples catching the golden light of the evening sun. I opened the house with the intention of it fitting seamlessly into the scenery, and the result was even better than I expected.

The structure blended perfectly with the rocky outcrops, almost as if it had grown from the stone. Smooth curves and large glass windows reflected the surroundings, while the earthy tones of the walls harmonized with the natural grays of the boulders. You could see the water stretching out like a tranquil mirror from the windows. Even the greenery that sprouted from the rocky surface looked deliberate, framing the house with a touch of wild beauty.

Al wanted to transplant some flowers we'd seen into his greenhouse, while Mahya was determined to shoot down more of the flying blenders. She didn't say it outright, but I was pretty sure it was payback for the time one of them nearly scooped her up. If it hadn't been for her jumping ability, she'd have ended up as minced meat. Meanwhile, Rue was thrilled to have the lake to himself and spent every free moment zipping back and forth on his jet ski.

For three days, he zoomed around like an overgrown puppy let loose, leaving waves and splashes in his wake. I silently thanked my luck every day that a core powered his jet ski. Otherwise, I'd have been stuck playing the role of a walking charging station—and no thanks to that. I spent those three days trying to connect with the water. Sadly, I still achieved zero success. By now, I'd reached a point where achieving oneness was almost second nature.

I could slip into the state instantly and stay there as long as I wanted. It wasn't even strange anymore to feel the fish swimming through me or the currents carrying me along without my input as if I had become part of the water itself. But that was where my progress stopped. I tried everything—standing knee-deep in the lake, listening to its gentle lapping, sitting by the stream, tracing its path with my fingertips, and even submerging myself entirely, feeling the water flow around me like a second skin.

Each time, I could reach the same state of oneness as before. The fish swimming through me felt as natural as my own heartbeat, and I could sense the currents pushing and pulling, carrying me as if I were a leaf on its surface. But every attempt to go deeper, to break through that final wall, met resistance. It was like trying to dive into water that had suddenly turned to glass. No matter how many approaches I tried or how deeply I meditated, I couldn't break through the last wall to reach Unity.

"Stop forcing it," I whispered to myself, but the frustration built anyway. The irony wasn't lost on me—water is fluid, it adapts, it flows, and here I was trying to force something that by its very nature couldn't be forced. I knew my biggest obstacle was the annoyance, the stubborn grip on control. But even with that knowledge, I couldn't relinquish the last shred of effort I clung to. It was maddening—like trying to grab hold of the current.

Every time I thought I had it, it slipped through my fingers, drifting further out of reach. After three days, everybody was ready to move on. We used the balloon, and as a precaution against the flying blenders, Mahya and Al held rifles. Those birds were smart. A bird would come flying toward the balloon, see the rifles, and execute a perfect U-turn in the air. This scenario repeated over and over until we left their territory. Finally, after three weeks of leisurely travel, we reached the next Gate.

Travelers Gate #521684125925 Destination: Lishuan Status: Integrated Mana Level: 51 Essence Weaving Level: Low Threat Level: Moderate-High I turned to Mahya and Al.

"What the hell is Essence Weaving?"

"It's a different name for Artificing," Al replied, his tone matter-of-fact as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And that is…?" I pressed.

"You could say it's Magitech without cores," Mahya added, glancing at Al before looking back at me. Their explanation didn't exactly clear things up. I frowned, but decided not to push further. Whatever Essence Weaving was, I'd figure it out, eventually. Al tapped his fingers on his leg and glanced at me.

"Do we add the Gate to our count and move on, or should we explore for a while?" I shifted my weight, frowning slightly.

"The mana level is 51. Kinda high, don't you think? And 'Threat Level: Moderate-High' doesn't exactly sound inviting." He waved a hand dismissively, his expression calm.

"I come from Leylos, mana level 50, and the threat level there is the same. The world we are currently in is more dangerous than my home world. Don't take the numbers too seriously; they are misleading." Mahya shrugged, her gaze steady as she turned to me.

"I don't care either way. Whatever you decide works for me." I paused, mulling it over for a moment before shrugging.

"Let's explore. If it gets too dangerous, we can always turn invisible, and Rue and I can fly you back to the Gate." Rue wagged his tail enthusiastically, his ears twitching as he glanced at Mahya.

"Rue take Mahya to Gate. Mahya not worry," he said, brimming with confidence. We turned invisible and crossed the Gate.