The Gate Traveler

The other side of the Gate was a serene garden. The air felt cool and carried the faint, sweet aroma of blossoms in full bloom. Paths of neatly placed stepping stones wound between lush greenery and vibrant flowers, leading toward elegant wooden gazebos with intricately carved roofs. Beside the paths, a pond reflected the delicate pink trees above, its surface rippling softly as fish glided underneath. The scene was alive with color—pink and magenta blossoms mingling with bursts of yellow and orange from clusters of flowers, all framed by the deep green of meticulously trimmed bushes and towering trees.

I looked behind me, and the Gate anchors were two standing stones. Each looked weathered and ancient, their surfaces etched with faint patterns, as though the wind and rain had carved stories over centuries. Both stood on stone slabs, while vibrant bushes in shades of pink and green framed them like a living canvas. The path between the stones, paved with irregular slabs of smooth stone, led further into the lush garden, where the air seemed to hum with an almost reverent stillness.

"Beautiful," I sent to the team telepathically, my tone full of awe at the tranquil scene around us.

"Yeah, but don't turn visible. There are probably people here," Mahya sent back in a clipped tone.

We walked along one of the stepping stone paths, each step light to avoid announcing our presence. I scanned the garden, my gaze drifting between the vibrant blooms and the quiet elegance of the pavilions, searching for an exit. As much as I wanted to stay a while and soak in the serenity, the thought of explaining our sudden, uninvited presence to whoever might be here kept me moving. I didn't feel like answering questions like, "Who the hell are you?" or "How did you get here?"

The garden was extensive, and after ten minutes of walking around, I told the team, "Wait here. I'll look for the exit from the air."

From above, the full scope of the garden became visible. It was enormous, stretching at least two or three kilometers in every direction and surrounded by a forest. There were also people here. Men sitting in a lotus position with their hands clasped on their knees occupied many pavilions. Gardeners worked in various areas of the garden, trimming bushes and sweeping the walking paths. One man fished out fallen leaves from a pool with a long-handled net, and others were watering the flowers.

A tall stone wall surrounded the entire garden. I found the exit gate, but two guards stood inside the garden, while five more stood on the other side, holding spears. That way out was barred.

I landed and said, "We'll have to fly out, but I need a minute before that."

Nobody was close to us, so I took out my camera, became visible and invisible again, and snapped a few pictures. I couldn't pass up the chance. Then Al climbed onto my back while Mahya got on Rue, and we flew out of the garden. As we ascended, I described to them what I had seen.

"Blech," Mahya said with an exaggerated tone of disgust, her thoughts practically dripping with disdain. "Cultivators."

"Why do you sound so negative?" Al asked, his curiosity clear. "I read about them in my family's archive. They sound smart and interesting."

"They might be interesting, but the lot of them are totally insane," Mahya shot back. "They're crazier than wizards. Wizards are at least mostly harmless, but those nut jobs only look for fights."

We flew over the wall and left the garden. I spoke aloud, "I read something like this in the Archive. There weren't a lot of explanations, only that cultivator worlds appear above mana 50 and that all of them were crazy. I read some cultivation stories from Earth, but I'm unsure if they're accurate. Is there something we need to know?"

"Look for the article in the Archive called On the Madness of Cultivator Worlds. You'll have to dig a lot to get to it, but it's worth it," Mahya said, her tone amused for some reason. "When I traveled with my parents' friends to high mana worlds, they always avoided cultivators. Shakuk told me that the article's writer might be an idiot, but he knew what he was talking about."

"So you personally never visited a cultivator world?" Al asked.

"No," Mahya replied, shaking her head. "After reading about them, I wasn't enthused about the idea."

"Let's find a place to open the house," I said, looking around for a suitable spot. "We'll find the article and then decide if we should travel here or cross back and look for a better world to visit."

We flew for about ten minutes and reached a lake surrounded by pagodas. The lake was calm, its surface reflecting the buildings like a mirror, broken only by the occasional ripple. The pagodas varied in size and design, each one unique. One was small, with a single tier and bright red pillars, its roof edges curling sharply upward like a bird ready to take flight. Another was much larger, three stories tall, with balconies around each level and intricate wooden carvings lining the railings. A smaller one sat closer to the water, its base built directly over the lake on sturdy wooden stilts, connected to the shore by a narrow bridge.

The largest pagoda stood further back, with five tiers. Its roof tiles were deep green, and golden accents gleamed faintly in the sunlight. All the pagodas looked empty but well-maintained, as if the owners had stepped away for a while. The surrounding trees framed the scene, their blossoms occasionally drifting down into the water. It was peaceful, but the absence of people made the place feel slightly eerie, like walking into someone's home when you know they're not there.

I dropped off Al and took a closer look at the pagodas. Sure enough, they were empty, and not "nobody's home for the afternoon" kind of empty. No, these places had been vacant for a while—weeks, maybe even months. I couldn't pinpoint exactly what gave me that feeling, but it was there. I just knew I was right.

Despite that, the pagodas didn't look abandoned. Not even close. There wasn't a speck of dust on the wooden railings, no stray leaves littering the floors, and the lake breeze hadn't so much as dislodged a single tile on the roofs. Everything was immaculate, almost unnaturally so. It felt like someone had been here to clean up—except I knew nobody had. I suspected these buildings were enchanted to stay spotless, but I wasn't ready to jump to conclusions. Still, the feeling lingered: no one had been here in a long time.

It looked as good a place as any to open the house, so I told the core to open it to match the surroundings. I got a cute, small pagoda that, in my opinion, was the prettiest of the bunch. And no, I wasn't biased—it really was the best.

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The new pagoda nestled perfectly by the water's edge, its golden-yellow walls glowing warmly in the afternoon light. The roof's elegant curves mirrored those of the other pagodas, but the polished, dark tiles had a subtle sheen that caught the eye. Delicate details lined the wooden railings and pillars, adding a refined charm. Blossoms from the nearby trees framed it on both sides, their soft pink petals drifting lazily onto the pagoda's pristine steps. The reflection in the still lake made it look as though it had always been part of this serene landscape, blending so seamlessly that the place wouldn't look complete without it.

After a pleasant lunch of stir-fried huge black pelican breasts with vegetables and some mushrooms—added as a nod to Al's passion—I dove into the Archive. This time, I didn't linger on other things, just scrolled page after page searching for the article Mahya mentioned. I noticed in passing that the demands for me to give the Gate chain to Zindor had now grown to seven pages long. Lis still blew me out of the water, though. The questions on his posts had now reached triple digits. He was still ignoring them, so interspersed among the questions were a lot of curses. Those curses were so varied and colorful that I made a mental note to come back to them later when I needed a good laugh.

Finally, I found it, and oh boy, it was a doozy. The title alone, "On the Madness of Cultivator Worlds," practically screamed of someone who'd reached their limit with these so-called cultivators. The opening paragraph? Even better—it read like a mix of a scholarly critique and an unhinged rant. I had to stop myself from laughing out loud as I skimmed the first few lines. This was going to be good.

I sat for a while, thinking it over, and eventually decided that, yes, I did want to travel this world of lunatics. At the very least, it would be interesting.