Chương 81: B2—Chapter 13: Me and My Big Mouth

On our way to the Gate, I took out the wooden ring I'd gotten from the dungeon and slipped it onto my finger. Nothing changed on my profile. I nudged Lis's arm with my elbow as we passed between two leaning trees.

"The ring's description says plus two percent Constitution, but I don't see anything different in my profile." He slowed a half-step and looked over at me.

"What's your Constitution at?"

"Forty-six." He nodded, adjusting his stride to match mine.

"Two percent of that is point nine. It won't show up in your personal information until it reaches a full point." I turned the ring on my finger, studying the faint grain in the wood.

"Well, that doesn't seem like much of a dungeon reward."

"It's not. As I said, it was a very young dungeon. The rewards improve as the dungeon matures."

"What counts as a good reward?"

"A lot of gold, or luxury magic items."

"Such as?" I prompted.

"Jewelry with large storage space, magical weapons, unique potions, advanced spell scrolls, Magitech schematics. Things like that." I let out a low whistle.

"Now that does sound nice."

"It is," he agreed, his tone turning more serious.

"If you come across a dungeon like that, do not leave the area. Wait for it to regenerate. Run it repeatedly without taking resources until you hit the maximum number of runs, and only then empty it. And if you can, avoid taking the core. Selling the location can be more lucrative, unless you need the core for something specific."

"Maximum number of runs?"

"There's a cap on how many times a specific dungeon can be run," he said.

"The number varies. It can be as low as two or three, or as high as over a hundred. No one has figured out the formula yet." I glanced down at the ring again, then closed my hand around it.

"So what should I do with this thing?"

"Sell it to a front-line fighter," he said, shrugging.

"Constitution is their primary trait." On the other side, we called Lyura to pick us up, and she took us to the four-bedroom apartment 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 meat. 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, 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 exclaimed, "Seriously?! It's real?!" The three of them turned to me at the exact same moment, their faces all wearing the same 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.

"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 at her.

"Those two are ancient, but how do you know about them?" Lyura shrugged, looking off into the distance.

"My mother told me."

"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.

"Actually, my mother never taught me anything my whole life." She clenched her fists, her voice hardening.

"One day, she told me I would be working as a governess for a noble family and took me to a Gate. It wasn't until my mana awakened that she bothered to tell me anything. I still want to kill her for that." Lis winced.

"Ouch." Lyura's eyes flashed darker orange, her jaw tightening as her nostrils flared. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the knuckles turning white. Tension vibrated through her whole body, as if every muscle was coiled and ready to spring. A field of hot air materialized around her and grew by the second, forcing us to take a few steps back. We exchanged uneasy looks, caught off guard by the intensity of her emotions.

None of us knew what to do, so we just stood there, waiting, allowing her to calm down and get hold of herself. The moments stretched on, her breath hitching as she fought to regain control. Finally, she took a deep breath. As she exhaled slowly, her shoulders gradually relaxed, and the hot air pocket collapsed. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she glanced at us with an apologetic expression. Mahya stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a comforting hug.

"It's okay," she said gently.

"All of us have things that get us mad. No need to feel embarrassed." She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper as she mumbled, "Thanks." We became invisible and crossed the Gate. The other side was halfway up a mountain, with an immense city in the distance that reflected the light. For a moment I thought it was built from glass, but remembering all the legends about Asgard, figured it was probably gold or something like that.

Tall, narrow towers stood between long rectangular halls, all arranged in stepped layers up a mountain. As we crossed back, a thought struck me, 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."

"Huh. I never thought about that." Later, during our train ride to Stockholm, I brought up my new subclass.

"The description says it's weaker, but it doesn't feel that way—it's actually awesome." Lis smiled at me.

"That's because you trained into it and got it for free at full strength."

"Uh… no, I didn't. I paid five points for it." His smile disappeared.

"What?! Why didn't you tell me?" I shrugged.

"You didn't ask." He looked pissed and opened his mouth to say something, but I stopped him with a raised hand.

"Look, I considered it," I said, trying to explain.

"I got Healer and Wizard for free because those are my main things. They're classes I know I'll rely on for the long term. But for combat, I just needed enough skill to defend myself if things went wrong. I'm not planning to be a dedicated warrior or spend my time fighting unless absolutely necessary. So, I figured spending the points was worth it for the immediate security. Better to have some combat ability now than wait to earn it for free, especially given how dangerous these worlds can be."

Lis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I understand your reasoning, but it's not that simple. A full-strength class gives you three abilities upfront and another every five levels. A mid-strength one, the one you pay half price for, gives you just one ability upfront and another every ten levels. In your case, since you took it for full price, it only lists the abilities you've already earned and helps you level them, without receiving additional bonuses from the Guidance."

"Oh," I said.

"That's… a bigger trade-off than I realized." He let out a slow breath, his frustration easing.

"It's not the end of the world. You've already got the class, so we will just train to upgrade it. But from now on, ask before making decisions like that. There's usually more to consider than what's immediately apparent."

"Got it," I said, nodding sheepishly. When we arrived in Stockholm, Lis suggested we rent an apartment rather than stay at a hotel. After a quick search on Airbnb, we found a four-bedroom place nestled in the heart of the Old Town, with cobblestone streets and charming old buildings surrounding us. It felt like we'd stepped back in time. Two days later, Lis found a closed gym for rent and told me with a determined glint in his eye that I'd start training the very next day.

The following morning, he took me 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 me one of them. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Begin." This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. 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 smooth, circular motion with his wrist. The sword flew out of my grip, my hand jerked to the side, and in an instant, he had the tip of his sword pressed against my throat.

"Hey!" I protested.

"That's not fair! You're older and more experienced than me. You're supposed to teach me, not trash me in a second."

"I am teaching you." I blinked, still trying to process how quickly he'd disarmed me.

"What am I supposed to learn from this?"

"Never attack someone who's 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." Thus began six months that I could only describe as absolute torture. Lis trained me for sixteen hours a day, pushing me to my limits and then some. He didn't let me heal my muscles during training, insisting I wait until the end of the day. Every muscle in my body screamed for mercy, but Lis wouldn't budge.

"Pain is the fastest teacher," he kept saying.

"That is how muscle memory forms. Repetition reinforced by pain." I didn't know whether he'd learned that phrase on Earth or in some alien world, but "Pain is the fastest teacher" quickly became my most hated saying. It echoed in my head as I pushed through each grueling day, taking on a life of its own. It haunted every muscle ache and every bruise, followed me into exhaustion, and showed up in my dreams. Yes, I heard it there too, far more times than anyone should.

I'm pretty sure no one in Sweden's entire history has ever sweated as much as I did during that bitter Swedish winter, not even in a sauna. The air outside might have been freezing, but inside that gym, it felt like I was training in the pits of some fiery underworld. We started with the basics, revisiting the swords I already knew until he was satisfied. I felt smug for about five seconds. Then he introduced the next challenge, and dual-wielding became my new nightmare.

He handed me a longsword and a short sword and expected me to balance strength and speed well enough to use both simultaneously. That, apparently, was only the beginning. Next came a sword-and-knife combination. The knife was deceptively light, which made me think it would be easier. It was not. Lis used it to drill precision and speed into me, and every time I thought I had the pattern down, he changed the routine, adding another layer of complexity. Then came the "normal" swords. Two blades of equal length.

Now he insisted on balance and fluidity, repeatedly. Each swing made the swords feel heavier than the last as my muscles burned, but Lis didn't ease up. He barked corrections, his voice cutting through the fog of fatigue. Just when I thought I had finally wrapped my head around the whole double-wielding mess, Lis handed me a pair of swords that looked vaguely like Katanas, though shorter in both hilt and blade and clearly not from Earth.

They demanded a different grip and sense of balance, and my brain protested hard. Strangely enough, those swords became my first real bright spot at the end of the suffering tunnel. I lay on my back, breathing hard and staring at the ceiling. Lis walked over and nudged me with his foot.

"Ready to continue?" I tried to wave him off, but my arm felt too heavy and dropped back down.

"Give me a few more minutes." Once I was steady enough to stand, I picked up the swords again and settled into the starting stance. Lis looked me up and down, then nodded to himself.

"We're done with those." That caught me off guard, but I didn't argue and handed them back.

"I really like those. They feel good. Natural, almost. Like my hands know what to do without me thinking about it." Lis paused, studying the swords in his hands, then handed them back to me.

"They're yours." My eyebrows shot to my hairline. He laughed.

"Don't look at me like that. I was waiting to see which weapon you'd feel most comfortable with." The next challenge was a giant sword, requiring one hand on the hilt and the other on the blade's middle. The sheer weight of it was enough to make my arms tremble after an hour of training. It felt more like wrestling with a beast than wielding a weapon. Once I finally got past that hurdle, he moved on to blades with shapes, lengths, and hilts straight out of the most vivid fantasy tales.

One was a slender, curved sword that looked as if it had been forged from a single piece of obsidian. Its hilt was wrapped in dark leather that seemed to swallow the light, and despite its elegant look, it was the heaviest weapon I'd ever wielded. Another blade was nearly as tall as I was, with a jagged edge and a hilt made of bone inlaid with gold. It looked familiar for a moment, until I remembered he'd used it to cut the mama snake so I could process it.

I handled a short, broad sword that was so light I struggled to control its momentum and kept overreaching. The blade was etched with runes that seemed to twist and shift as I moved. One sword had a hilt encrusted with strange, iridescent stones that shimmered in a hundred colors, while the blade itself was so thin it looked almost translucent, like a deadly shard of glass. This one needed a completely different approach. When you don't see the blade, it's kind of hard to control it.

Then Lis pulled the cherry on top of his multiversal collection. I blinked. That was the weirdest thing I'd seen so far. It had a wooden handle in the middle, maybe thirty centimeters long, with double-edged blades on both ends, each ending in a wicked, pointy tip.

"What's that supposed to be?" I asked. Lis held it up.

"A death star." I raised an eyebrow.

"Like in Star Wars?" He stared at me blankly. I sighed and waved a hand.

"I'll stream it for you tonight. You need to watch it. But seriously, what is this thing?"

"It's a sword, of course." I gave him a flat look.

"No, it's not. It's a pointy, dangerous staff. That's not a sword." Lis laughed and took a step back, the grin never leaving his face.

"I will have you know, it's the most common sword on Marketus. I will show you." He gripped it with both hands at the center and started spinning it, first with small flicks of his wrists, then faster, letting the weapon flow in controlled arcs around his body. The blades blurred as he pivoted in place, carving figure eights through the air on both sides of him. The hum of the spinning blades was downright spooky. I definitely understood the death part of the name. The star, not so much.

Still, just in case, I took a cautious step back. Then another. And one more for good measure. Sure, Lis was a master swordsman, but if that thing ever slipped from his hands, I'd end up a shish kebab. Then it was my turn with the thing. Fighting with it felt less like swordplay and more like wielding a baton, and I had to relearn everything I thought I knew about balance and movement just to keep the damn thing under control. After six months of relentless training, Lis decided it was time to move.

We drove to the Gate that had brought us here in the first place, and it led to Asgard again. This time, the other side was a massive cliff that blocked any view beyond it. From there, we took a plane to Romania. The change in scenery did nothing to soften his drive to torment me. In Bucharest, we rented a villa in Cotroceni, a quiet, upscale neighborhood with tree-lined streets and a bit of old-world charm.

Any thoughts of relaxing in our new surroundings evaporated fast when Lis, with his uncanny talent for locating torture facilities disguised as gyms, found another closed one nearby. This time, he introduced me to the staff. I had plenty of experience with it and considered myself something of an expert. I'd trained it up to level ten and had even used it in Shimoor, so I expected that to count for something. It didn't. Lis, as usual, was unimpressed.

He pushed me harder than before, demanding more speed, more precision, more control. The staff training was grueling in ways I hadn't expected. He didn't even have the staff skill, dammit. My muscles burned as he drove me past techniques I thought I'd already mastered. Every day, he added new layers of complexity, testing both my understanding and my limits. And, of course, he still wouldn't let me heal myself.

My body turned into a battlefield of bruises, each one a reminder that no matter how much I thought I knew, there was always more to learn. After two months of this relentless regimen, just when I thought I might finally meet his impossible standards, Lis switched things up again. He added martial arts to the mix. I'd trained in Krav Maga and reached level ten before leaving for Shimoor. Again, I stepped onto the mat feeling pretty confident. I thought I knew what to expect. Lis had other ideas.

Despite my background, I quickly learned that Lis's approach to martial arts involved sending me flying across the gym far more often than I found acceptable. My Krav Maga training, which had always served me well, suddenly felt woefully inadequate under his harsh tutelage. Lis didn't rely on brute force alone. He mixed it with fluidity and an unsettling unpredictability that kept me constantly off balance.

Every time I thought I'd adapted, he changed tactics, or sometimes the entire technique, forcing me to stay sharp both mentally and physically. It was humbling, to put it mildly. Lis chipped away at my confidence piece by piece, pushing me further than I'd ever been pushed before. He broke down what I'd thought were my strengths and forced me to rebuild my understanding of combat from the ground up.

After another two months of this torture, just when I thought it couldn't possibly get worse, Lis decided it was time to raise the stakes. He brought Mahya into the mix. Now it was not just Lis attacking me. It was both of them. I had to defend and counterattack using every weapon and technique I knew, while their coordinated strikes kept me constantly on edge. They pushed me to the brink, forcing me to think faster, move quicker, and react on instinct alone.

The real test, though, came when they introduced a paintball bow and arrows. Before leaving for Shimoor, I had trained extensively with the bow, reaching level ten, and I considered myself quite skilled. I'd always taken pride in my accuracy and reflexes, especially after putting all those bison down with clean shots straight through the eye. I figured I could handle whatever challenge they threw at me. Maybe even impress them a little.

So when Mahya suggested we head to the mountains for some target practice, I went along eagerly, confident that I was finally about to get a chance to shine. Yeah, right. Mahya turned into something straight out of a nightmare on that mountainside, moving with a speed and agility that flat-out defied logic. She didn't just run. She sprinted up vertical cliffs, dashed along sheer rock faces as if gravity were optional, and leaped from one precarious ledge to another with the ease of a mountain lion.

Tree trunks became springboards, and she leapt from treetop to treetop like a dancer who never quite touched the ground. At one point, she jumped fifteen meters straight into the air, landed lightly on a narrow outcrop, leapt from there to a treetop, and loosed an arrow at me while still airborne. All of that happened before I even had time to draw my bow. I was supposed to hit her with my arrows while dodging hers. Instead, it felt like trying to pin down a deranged demon.

Every shot I took missed by a mile, my arrows clattering uselessly against rock and bark, while hers found their mark with infuriating precision. She was untouchable, weaving through the terrain with an almost supernatural grace, always one step ahead of me. Meanwhile, I turned into a walking canvas. Paint splattered across me with every hit, and the thicker the layer of paint became, the harder it was to move, which only made it easier for her to hit me again. And again.

And of course, the vicious imp didn't let me cast Clean to peel off the paint. All those months of practice, all my supposed expertise, suddenly felt laughable. Mahya wasn't just outpacing me. She was operating on an entirely different level, and I scrambled to keep up as my confidence shattered with every missed shot. One day, after what felt like an eternity of humiliation on the mountain, they walked around me and examined me like some statue in a museum.

Considering the five centimeters of dried paint coating my clothes and skin, the analogy to art wasn't that far off the mark.

"So," Mahya said, tilting her head and folding her arms, "what do you think?" Lis scratched his chin, eyes flicking over me.

"How much progress did the skills make on your Personal Information?"

"Unarmed Combat, Ranged Weapons, and Polearm Mastery rose to Junior, and Bladed Weapons rose to Medior." He nodded to himself.

"Passable." I sagged where I stood, too tired to argue, too tired to even react properly.

"Yes, I think so too," Mahya said with a satisfied nod.

"Now we just need to find somewhere he can demonstrate his abilities for the upgrade."

"We've got a list of Gates," Lis said.

"I'm sure we will find something." Looking back on that year of pain and frustration, I realized it was all my big mouth's fault. Determined not to repeat that mistake, I took a vow of silence from that moment on.