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 mentioned to Lis, glancing over at him.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "What's your constitution at?"

"46."

"Two percent of that is 0.9. It won't appear in your personal information until it reaches a full point."

"Well, that doesn't seem like much of a dungeon reward," I said, frowning at the ring.

"It's not," he admitted, glancing up at the sky as we walked. "Like I said, it was a very young dungeon. The rewards get better as the dungeon matures."

I looked at him, curiosity piqued. "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." He ticked off each item on his fingers.

"Now, that does sound nice," I admitted, imagining the possibilities.

"It is," he agreed, his expression serious. "If you come across a dungeon like that, don't leave the area. Wait for it to regenerate, run it repeatedly without taking any resources until you've hit the maximum number of runs, and only then empty it. And if you can, don't take the core. Selling the location might be more lucrative unless you need the core for something specific."

I frowned, processing this. "What do you mean by the maximum number of runs?"

"There's a limit to how many times you can run a specific dungeon. The number varies; it could be as low as ten or fifteen, or as high as over a hundred. No one has figured out the formula yet," he explained, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

"So, what should I do with this ring?"

"Sell it to a front-line fighter. Their primary trait is Constitution."

"Thanks," I said, storing the ring.

He nodded, satisfied, and we continued to the Gate. On the other side, we checked the time 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 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 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 me at the exact same moment, like synchronized swimmers in a pool of confusion, their faces all wearing the same baffled expression. They'd have scored a perfect 10 for synchronized bewilderment if there had been a scoreboard.

"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 slightly. "Those two are ancient, but how do you know about them?"

Lyura shrugged, looking off into the distance. "My mom 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 as she continued, "Actually, my mother never taught me anything my whole life." She clenched her fists, her voice hardening. "One day, she just told me I'd be working as a nanny 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, rubbing the back of his neck. "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 as if she was barely holding on. Tension seemed to vibrate through her whole body, as if every muscle was coiled and ready to spring. A deep hurt shadowed her expression. Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. For a moment, it looked like she might storm off, her shoulders rising with each sharp breath. She looked like she was ready to march straight to her mother and finally unleash all the pain and fury she'd been holding inside. I could feel a field of hot air around her, like her fury warmed it.

We exchanged uneasy looks, caught off guard by the intensity of her emotions. None of us knew what to do, but we understood each other without words. 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, after what felt like an eternity, she took a deep breath. As she exhaled slowly, her shoulders gradually relaxed, the rigid tension easing away.

Her face flushed with embarrassment as she glanced at us, an apologetic expression softening her features. 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 popped in and out of the Gate. As we did, 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."

I blinked, the realization dawning on me. "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 awesome."

Lis looked at me, his smile faint. "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 me?"

"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 those are my main things. They're classes I know I'll rely on 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 naturally, especially given how dangerous these worlds can be."

Lis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His frustration was clear, but his tone stayed calm. "I understand your reasoning, but it still matters. Paid classes only give you abilities you've already earned. A full-strength class gives you three abilities upfront and another every five levels. A mid-strength one? You get just one upfront and another every ten levels."

"Oh," I said, my earlier confidence deflating as his words sank in. "That's… a bigger trade-off than I realized. I thought I was being practical, but I didn't think about the long-term limitations. I guess I was too focused on the immediate benefits."

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'll 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 as I resolved to be more careful with my choices in the future. I hated the thought of making another mistake like this, especially when I could've avoided it with more foresight and some questions to know the difference.

When we arrived in Stockholm, Lis suggested we rent an apartment instead of staying 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.

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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."

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

Lis didn't budge, his gaze calm and unwavering. "I am teaching you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

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."

"Oh," I muttered, feeling a mix of frustration and reluctant understanding.

Thus started 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 myself or my muscles during training, insisting I wait until the end of the day. Every muscle in my body screamed for mercy, but Lis was relentless.

"Pain is the best teacher," he kept saying, his voice almost a mantra, as he watched me struggle through each grueling session.

I didn't know if he'd learned that phrase on Earth or in some alien world, but "Pain is the best teacher" quickly became my most hated saying. It echoed in my mind as I pushed through each grueling day, the words taking on a life of their own as they haunted every muscle ache and bruise. 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 the sauna. The cold air outside might have been biting, but inside that gym, it felt like I was training in the pits of some fiery underworld.

Lis was merciless. He'd push me through rigorous drills, forcing me to master every type of sword technique I'd already practiced, and then some.

We started with the basics—revisiting the swords I was familiar with—but Lis quickly escalated things. Dual-wielding became my new nightmare. He handed me a long sword and a short sword, expecting me to learn how to balance the strength and speed needed to wield both simultaneously. The short sword felt awkward in my off-hand, but Lis didn't care about my discomfort. He drilled me over and over, pointing out every tiny flaw in my stance or swing.

But that was just the beginning. Next, he introduced a sword and a knife combination. The knife was deceptively light, making me think it would be easier, but Lis used it to teach me precision and speed. Every time I thought I'd caught on, he'd switch up the routine, adding a layer of complexity that left me frustrated and exhausted.

Then came the "normal" swords. Lis had me practice with two swords of equal length, emphasizing balance and fluidity. The weight of each sword seemed to increase with every swing, as my muscles grew more fatigued, but Lis didn't let up. He'd shout corrections, his voice cutting through my fog of exhaustion like a blade.

Just when I thought I couldn't handle more, Lis handed me a pair of swords that resembled Katanas but with shorter hilts. They required a different grip and balance, and my mind struggled to adapt to the changes. My hands ached from gripping them too tightly, but Lis insisted on perfection. He met each mistake with a swift reprimand or a sharp whack from his own sword, driving home the lesson in both pain and practice.

The next challenge was a giant sword that required holding the hilt with one hand and the middle of the blade with the other. The sheer weight of it was enough to make my arms tremble after an hour of training, but Lis demanded control and precision. It felt more like wrestling with a beast than wielding a weapon, and every time I faltered, Lis was there to correct me with an almost brutal efficiency.

He wasn't content with just Earthly weapons either. Lis introduced me to swords from worlds I couldn't even name—blades with shapes, lengths, and hilts straight out of the most vivid fantasy tales. There was a slender, curved sword that looked like it had been forged from a single piece of obsidian, its hilt wrapped in dark leather that seemed to absorb the light. Another blade was nearly as tall as I was, with a jagged edge like the teeth of some massive, otherworldly beast, and a hilt made of bone inlaid with gold. I handled a short, broad sword that felt unnervingly heavy for its size, the blade's surface etched with runes that seemed to twist and change 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 seemed almost translucent, like a deadly shard of glass. Another was a double-edged sword with a long, spiraling hilt designed to be held with both hands, the blade curving slightly to give it a wicked, almost serpentine appearance.

Each weapon was unique, and mastering them required me to rethink everything I knew about swordplay. Lis pushed me to learn the balance, weight, and feel of each blade, making me adapt to their differences in ways that were both frustrating and exhilarating. The experience was a trial by fire, and I could feel it shaping me, much like the swords themselves had been forged in the heat of some distant, mysterious world. My hands became calloused and raw, my muscles constantly sore, and yet, the training never let up.

Day after day, I battled exhaustion, pain, and frustration. Day after day, he pushed my mind and body far beyond what I thought was possible. The relentless repetition, the physical toll, the constant corrections—it was enough to make anyone crack. But Lis kept me going, his expectations unwavering, his belief in my potential somehow motivating me to endure the torture.

I'd never felt so broken, yet so determined. Every night, as I collapsed into bed, too tired to even think about healing my wounds, I knew that Lis's training was reshaping me. The pain, the sweat, the relentless grind—it was all forging me into something tougher, something sharper. And as much as I hated every grueling second, I couldn't deny that it was working.

Then Lis pulled the cherry on top out of his Storage. 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 relatively short, 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 to me. "A death star."

I raised an eyebrow. "Like in Star Wars?"

He looked at me with a blank expression.

I let out a sigh and waved a hand. "I'll download 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 and dangerous staff, not a sword."

Lis laughed and took a step back, the grin never leaving his face. "I'll have you know, it's the most common sword on Marketus. I'll show you."

He held it with both hands in the middle and began spinning it, first with small flicks of his wrists, then faster, turning it like a cheerleader with a baton. The blades blurred. He pivoted slowly in place, carving figure eights in the air on both sides of his body. The hum of the spinning blades was downright spooky. I definitely got the death moniker, but wasn't so sure about the star part yet. Still, just in case, I took a cautious step back—then two more for good measure. Sure, Lis was a master swordsman. But if that thing slipped from his hands…

After six months of relentless training, Lis decided it was time to move. We drove to the Gate that had initially brought us here, which also led to Asgard, and then took a plane to Romania. The change in scenery did little to soften the blow, though. In Bucharest, we rented a villa in Cotroceni, a quiet, upscale neighborhood with tree-lined streets and old-world charm. But any thoughts of relaxing in our new surroundings quickly evaporated when Lis, with his uncanny knack for finding torture facilities, located another closed training hall nearby.

This time, he introduced me to the staff. I had quite a bit of experience with the staff and considered myself something of an expert. I'd trained until level ten, and used it in Shimoor. So I thought it would count for something. But Lis, as usual, wasn't impressed with what I brought to the table. He pushed me harder than ever before, demanding more speed, more precision, more control. The staff training was grueling in a way I hadn't expected. My muscles burned as he forced me to go beyond the techniques I thought I had perfected. Every day, he added new layers of complexity, challenging my understanding and skill. And, of course, he still wouldn't let me heal myself. My body was 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 introduced martial arts into the mix. I had trained in Krav Maga, reaching level ten before leaving for Shimoor, so I felt pretty confident stepping onto the mat. I thought I knew what to expect—brutal, efficient techniques designed to take down an opponent quickly. But Lis had a different approach.

Despite my training, I quickly discovered that Lis's idea of martial arts involved sending me flying across the mat far more often than I was comfortable with. My Krav Maga experience, which had always served me well, suddenly felt woefully inadequate under his harsh tutelage. Lis didn't just rely on brute force; he combined it with fluidity and unpredictability that kept me constantly off balance. Every time I thought I had adapted to his techniques, he'd shift tactics, changing the rhythm or the rules, forcing me to stay on my toes, both mentally and physically.

It was a humbling experience, to say the least. Lis slowly chipped away all the confidence I had in my abilities as he pushed me further than I had ever been pushed before. Lis pushed me beyond my limits, testing and often breaking what I had considered my strengths, forcing me to rebuild my understanding of combat from scratch.

After another two months of this torture, just when I thought it couldn't get worse, Lis decided it was time to up the ante. He brought Mahya into the mix. Now it wasn't just Lis attacking me—it was both of them. I had to defend and counterattack using every weapon I knew, with their coordinated strikes keeping me constantly on edge. They pushed me to the brink, forcing me to think faster, move quicker, and react instinctively.

But the real test came when they introduced a paintball bow and arrows. Prior to leaving for Shimoor, I had trained extensively with the bow and arrow, achieving level ten. I considered myself quite skilled and had always prided myself on my accuracy and quick reflexes, especially after hitting all those bison dead center in the eye. I thought 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 was eager and confident that I'd finally get a chance to shine.

Wow, I couldn't have been more mistaken.

Mahya transformed into something out of a nightmare on that mountainside, moving with a speed and agility that defied logic. She didn't just run—she sprinted up vertical cliffs, dashed along sheer rock faces as if gravity didn't apply to her, and leaped from one precarious ledge to another with the ease of a mountain lion. She used tree trunks like spring boards and jumped from tree top to tree top like she was skipping on stones in a stream. At one point, she soared fifteen meters into the air, landing gracefully on a narrow outcrop, ready to fire another arrow at me before I even had time to draw my bow.

I was supposed to hit her with the arrows while dodging hers, but it was like trying to pin down a deranged demon. Every shot I took missed by a mile, my arrows clattering uselessly to the ground, while hers found their mark with unerring accuracy. She seemed untouchable, dodging and weaving through the terrain with an almost supernatural grace, always a step ahead of me. Meanwhile, I quickly became a paint-covered mess, each splatter marking another failure. The thick layer of paint that coated me after every missed shot made it harder and harder to move, each misfire compounding my frustration and humiliation.

All my months of practice, all my supposed expertise, seemed laughably inadequate in the face of her relentless assault. 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 failed attempt.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of humiliation, they deemed me "passable." Being too exhausted, I could only feel relief. Lis and Mahya decided it was time 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 same mistake again, I took a vow of silence from that moment on.

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