Chương 296: B5—Chapter 16: A Sword to Soar By

On the other side of the Gate, Mahya looked at us, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Let's find another dungeon cluster," she said, her tone firm.

"I need to vent." Al and I exchanged a knowing smile, his brow lifting slightly as if to say, "Well, here we go again." Neither of us said anything—sometimes words were unnecessary. The next Gate was far away—two to three weeks in the balloon, by my estimation—with three city markers along the way. We took off, and I asked the wind for a push, hoping for a shorter journey. This time, I didn't watch the view beneath us or take pictures. I had something else on my mind.

My curiosity burned over the sword I'd taken from the last cultivator I killed. It didn't have runes, magic script, or embedded spells, yet he used it to fly! If I couldn't find literature on the subject, maybe the sword would reveal the secret. The sword stretched nearly a meter, its sharp, mirror-like edges on both sides catching the light. A wavy pattern ran its length like frozen water currents, interrupted by a narrow groove that drew the eye from the pommel to the tip.

The pommel, gold in color but clearly not made of gold, was studded with blue gems and felt cool and smooth beneath my fingers as I turned it, searching for hidden clues. Neither the design, the groove, nor the gems held any magic. I sensed mana coming from the blade itself—not from an enchantment or spell, but from the metal it was forged from. It took me a while to figure it out, but eventually, I recognized the familiar flavor: Wind.

I should have known immediately, but it wasn't pure wind; something else was mixed in. Probing it with my mana sense didn't help—it had some kind of addition that I couldn't identify. Closing my eyes, I sat cross-legged with the sword on my lap and just held it, trying to make sense of what I felt. For the first hour or so, it was just Wind with something extra I couldn't pin down. Slowly, as I sat there, my mind wandered.

I thought about our experience in the last world, the people we killed, and the cultural shock I'd felt. As a Traveler, I was mentally prepared to meet and learn about different cultures, but the last one gave me a cultural shock. It was so far removed from my worldview that I couldn't make sense of it. I could understand their actions from their perspective but couldn't grasp the perspective itself. To me, it was completely illogical.

"Might makes right" wasn't a new concept—I'd seen it many times before. From bullies in school to my father-in-law. Nothing new there. But what threw me was their need to demand submission. They didn't just want to be acknowledged as strong; they wanted people to debase themselves, to be openly subservient. Wasn't it enough for them to hold the power? Why force everyone to bow and scrape to prove it? My mind kept wandering, replaying what we had seen, until it finally quieted down.

Mental pictures of the birds from the occurrence floated through my thoughts. There had been so many of them. At least we were set with mana poultry for a couple of years—considering Rue's appetite. How did I get to the damn birds? My thoughts wandered again. On one hand, Zindor was depressing—the devastation, the monsters, the political mess. I wanted to leave this world behind and move on to somewhere more interesting or at least more positive.

On the other hand, the last world had only two Gates on a massive continent. This one had 38 on a single continent and another 21 on the nearby northern continent. It would be nice to be a bird, to fly between the Gates in just a few days, and escape this desolate place. Huh?! Where did this come from? My spidey senses were tingling. Why did I keep circling back to the concept of birds? I sank my awareness deeper into the sword. Wind. Soaring through the air. Seeing the world from above.

But the feeling wasn't the same as when I flew. It felt more like gliding on currents, effortless and free, rather than the constant mental control and precise calculations I needed to determine my direction and destination. Birds? How did they embed the concept of birds into a sword? I wrapped my fingers around the hilt and funneled mana into the sword. Before I could even process the reaction, a violent force yanked me upward. My stomach lurched as the sword tore me from the balloon like a fish on a hook.

Pain shot through my shoulder, the joint screaming in protest as it nearly wrenched out of its socket from the sudden, brutal pull. The wind roared past my ears, and the balloon shrank below me as I hurtled into the open sky, entirely at the sword's mercy. Stopping the mana flow, I stabilized in the air. Interesting. I maneuvered the sword under my feet, wobbling as I found my balance. It felt strange, like standing on a narrow plank suspended mid-air.

Letting out another small trickle of mana, the sword shot forward again, but this time, slower—manageable. My feet were glued to the sword, holding firm, despite the wind whipping against me. Experimenting, I tilted the tip of the sword upward. Instantly, it responded, rising higher into the air. I tilted it downward, and the sword dipped smoothly, a stomach-dropping motion that sent me closer to the balloon below. Grinning despite myself, I leaned to one side, like I was riding an E-foil.

The sword veered in that direction, curving in a wide arc. A bit shaky but effective. Pouring in a little more mana made it speed up, the rush exhilarating as I zigzagged through the sky. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. The control was simple—intuitive—but every movement required precision. Too much tilt or too heavy a trickle of mana, and I could already see myself spiraling out of control.

Still, there was something thrilling about it, gliding through the air with nothing but a blade and a bit of mana. When I returned to the balloon, Al stood there, his arms crossed but his eyes wide and imploring, an expression that could rival Rue's best puppy dog look.

"Yeeeees?" I asked, dragging the word out.

"Can you please watch over me in the air while I try the sword?" he asked, gesturing toward the blade still clutched in my hand. I arched an eyebrow and glanced at the landscape rushing by below.

"Won't it be better to experiment when we land?" He threw up his hands, then dropped them with a groan, his face pinching like a child told to wait for dessert.

"It will be hours!" he said, his voice bordering on a whine as he tapped his foot on the balloon's floor for emphasis. I laughed. The more Al relaxed and let his true character surface, the more he reminded me of an eager kid, bursting with excitement over a new toy, or an enormous garden of herbs. I handed over the sword.

"Fine, I'll supervise." Al gripped the sword's hilt, a grin splitting his face as he poured mana into it. The blade yanked him off the balloon with the same abrupt force I'd felt, but he didn't falter. His body tilted slightly, his free arm extended for balance, and he quickly maneuvered the sword beneath his feet.

"Not bad!" I called, hovering a safe distance behind him. He glanced back with a cocky smirk, tilting the sword's tip upward. The blade obeyed, lifting him higher into the sky. He shifted his weight forward, and the sword dipped, carving a smooth arc through the air. Leaning slightly to the left, Al executed a wide turn, the motion fluid and controlled. His movements grew bolder with each second, tilting the sword's tip downward to pick up speed before leaning back to level out.

"You're showing off already?" I shouted, grinning as I matched his pace. Al laughed, his voice carried by the wind. He pushed more mana into the blade, and the sword shot forward in a burst of speed. For a moment, I thought he might lose control, but he shifted his weight instinctively, the blade obeying like an extension of himself.

"Come on, keep up!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the open air as he tilted into a shallow dive. I followed, staying close enough to catch him if he wiped out, but it was clear he didn't need me. Al was carving through the sky like he'd been doing it for years, his turns sharp, his descents smooth, and his confidence growing with every maneuver.

"Show-off," I said, shaking my head as I stayed on his tail. Still, I couldn't help but smile. The sword might have been new, but the athletic bastard had already made it his own. After a few more daring twists and turns, Al leaned back slightly, bringing the sword to a smooth glide.

"You can head back; I do not need supervision!" he called, his voice carrying easily over the rush of wind. I hovered nearby, arms crossed, as I studied his balance on the sword.

"You're sure?" He turned to face me briefly, a huge grin splitting his face as he shifted his weight to steer into a graceful arc.

"Very sure," he shouted. In the balloon, I kept an eye on him, just in case. Even though he sounded confident, he stayed close to the balloon, circling it. That was smart—if he flew too far, I wouldn't have been able to react in time if something went wrong. My thoughts drifted back to the birds. After flying on the sword, I was even more convinced that the concept of birds was somehow embedded into it. But how? The image of that pipsqueak who wanted Rue's core flashed through my mind. Could that be it?

Do they use mana beast cores to create flying swords? I still had some beast cores left from the mana occurrence. I hadn't sold all of them—the buyer couldn't afford all our stock. Pulling one from my Storage, I held it and sank my awareness into it. Sharpness. Aggression. Anger. Biting. Durability. The sensations came one after the other, raw and unrefined, like the beast's essence was still alive inside. I took out another core and sank my awareness into it. Cold. Coiled. Patience. Poison. Tension. Striking.

Next core. Heat. Fury. Roaring. Swiping with claws. Relentless. Devastation. One more. Shadow. Silence. Stalking. Ambushing. Hunger. Precision. And another. Ice. Stillness. Glaring. Spikes. Crushing. Unyielding. The last one was the jackpot. Wings. Glide. Talons. Dive. Currents. Precision. Striking. Lifting into the air. It was different from the sword—but also not. It has the same essence of gliding on air currents but with a distinct edge of viciousness woven into it, like a predator waiting to strike.

"Mahya," I called, turning to where she was adjusting the balloon's controls. She glanced up, her expression curious.

"I discovered they create magical items with beast cores," I said, holding up the core.

"Any idea how they do that?" She straightened and raised her eyebrows.

"How should I know?"

"Because you create cool stuff with cores," I said, gesturing toward the modifications she'd made to the balloon.

"Yeah, with runes," she replied, crossing her arms.

"You said they don't use those."

"No, they don't," I admitted, tapping the core in my palm as if it might reveal its secrets.

"Still, any ideas?" She frowned and looked off into the distance, chewing her lip.

"Melting and mixing, maybe?"

"Yeah, I thought of that too," I said, nodding, "but the cooling boxes were made from wood. No melting involved there." She mulled it over a little longer, then shook her head, her braids swinging behind her.

"No idea. Sorry." Al landed back in the balloon, his hair wild from the wind and a huge grin lighting up his face.

"Do you need the sword, or can I take it?"

"You can use it," I said.

"But I might need to examine it again later."

"Thank you," he said, his grin widening as he cradled the sword like a prized treasure.

"I will appreciate not having to climb onto your back to fly anymore." Rue stared at the sword with an intensity that only he could muster, then let out a loud huff, and his tail drooped.

"What's the matter, buddy?" I asked, tilting my head at him.

"Sword too small. Rue too big," he grumbled telepathically, his tone carrying just enough pout to make me smile.

"You can already fly. What do you need a sword for?" Al asked. Rue glanced at him, his ears flicking.

"Al playing on sword look fun," he said simply, then turned back to me. His huge eyes widened, and he tilted his head just enough to sell his best attempt at a cute puppy impression.

"John make Rue flying sword?" I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing.

"When I figure out how they make these things, the first one will go to Mahya so we can all be airborne. The next one's yours, I promise." That was all he needed. Rue pounced on me with enough force to knock the wind out of me, his tail wagging furiously as he showered my face with slobbery affection. I sputtered and laughed, trying to fend him off, but there was no stopping the love slobbering.