The Gate Traveler

We returned to the wilderness and, after an hour of walking, found a quiet clearing to set up camp. As I erected the tent, my hands began to shake while tying one of the poles.

I killed somebody today.

All my life, I'd worked to save people, not end their lives. And now… I didn't know how to deal with that.

I killed somebody today. And helped the guard kill the other two.

I sat down hard, trembling as I tried to process. Stretch came over and rested his head on my lap. I began petting him, letting the simple motion calm me. Every time my thoughts started spiralling again and I stopped petting him, he nudged my hand with his nose until I continued.

Smart wolf.

Eventually, I pulled myself together enough to make dinner, and we settled in for the night. I lay there, staring up at the stars. The archer's face kept flashing in my mind, and the image of the two dead men stayed with me, lodged behind my eyes. I kept thinking about what I could have done differently, if there had been another way. The guilt was suffocating. I wanted to travel and see beautiful places, not kill people. I trained to protect myself, not to harm. It was wrong to kill people, no matter the reason, and I couldn't shake the gnawing sense that I had crossed a line.

But despite everything, and much to my surprise, I didn't have nightmares.

The next morning, my mind felt clearer. Not fixed. Just... more objective. I sat with my coffee and let myself think it through properly for the first time.

The arrow had whizzed past my ear. I was the target. The archer had intended to kill me. If Stretch hadn't run to protect me, the shots would've kept coming. He might have hit me, or even killed me. They were bandits. That much was obvious. Not desperate travelers or some ragged group just trying to survive. They had weapons, a plan, and an obvious target. And if they were bold enough to ambush a guarded carriage in broad daylight, it probably wasn't their first time. It probably wouldn't have been their last, either. The archer with the knife hurt Stretch. And he would've done worse if I hadn't stopped him. I acted not by choice, but instinct. Fast and final. Still, I kept circling back to it. The way he dropped. The sound his neck made when it broke. The stillness after.

I'd spent my entire life trying to keep people alive, and now I'd taken a life. Three, really, if I counted helping the guard. It wasn't a clean mental switch. I didn't suddenly feel justified or heroic. Just ... torn.

But some of what I kept telling myself wasn't just for comfort. The archer could've killed me. Could've killed others. He shot and almost killed the coachman. The other two had swords and charged. It wasn't justice or vengeance. It was survival. Even the law made allowances for defense—either of self or of another. Going through everything in my mind helped. But despite that, we stayed in that clearing for two days while I figured out how to live with it. With myself.

Stretch didn't mind. He caught up on food and sleep, sprawled in the sun. Every time I froze up, staring at nothing, he'd nudge me with his nose or flop against my legs until I reached down and scratched his ears. That helped more than anything else. The bison helped too. Well, it helped Stretch. Since I "harvested" it, Stretch was less than impressed with the goat meat. Every time I offered it, he sniffed it and gave me a side-eye. But the bison? That got tail wags and eager chomping. Apparently, now he also had gourmet standards. Great.

Spoiled wolf.

But I had to admit that his antics improved my mood bit by bit.

After two days, I came to a decision: if I let that nasty noble change my plans, he'd win. I wasn't about to give him that power over me. So, after packing up the camp, we headed back to the road.

Once we reached it, I stood there for a minute, looking down the long stretch of dirt and gravel. I really didn't feel like walking again. So, I took out a bicycle and realized that I'd always had a Luck stat; it was simply hidden. When I bought my first bike and all the gear that came with it, the salesman insisted that I get a trailer. I refused at first; it felt unnecessary. But then he mentioned using it to haul groceries, and I thought, "Okay, I could use it to carry shopping to a discreet location before storing it." So I bought it.

Now?

Now, I wanted to send that guy flowers. And chocolate. Maybe even a fruit basket. The second I hooked up the trailer, Stretch hopped in as if it were always meant for his highness, tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive.

I checked the Map. The road stretched endlessly in both directions, dotted with occasional towns. Both ends led to a city with a crown icon. I picked north and started pedaling. We rode like that for about three hours, and I enjoyed the ride. With the wind in my face, the temperature was perfect, and the quiet around let my mind rest, now free of haunting thoughts hounding me. The road was smooth by wilderness standards, packed dirt with occasional gravel patches, wide enough for two cars—or maybe wagons in this world—to pass, but just barely. Grass grew wild along the edges, and clusters of yellow wildflowers showed up now and then like scattered decorations to liven up the day.​

Every couple of kilometers, narrow dirt tracks branched off the main road, disappearing behind trees or rolling into the open fields beyond. Curiosity got the better of me, and I checked out the first one. It led to a small farmstead tucked between low hills. A wooden fence bordered the fields, though a few boards leaned at odd angles, weathered and gray. Rows of leafy vegetables stretched in neat lines beside a patch of grain, swaying gently in the breeze. Plump gray birds pecked at the dirt near a crooked coop, and a fat, woolly animal with curled horns stared at me with suspicion. A squat farmhouse stood in the middle, made of pale stone and clay, its roof thatched with long reeds. Smoke rose from the chimney, carrying the scent of burning wood and baked bread. No one came out to greet me or check what I was doing. I turned back and rolled on.

More dirt roads followed. Each one led to another farm or cluster of buildings, some better maintained than others. There were neatly painted fences and healthy woolly animals in one, while another had half-collapsed sheds and a field overrun with weeds. Some had laundry lines swaying with bright cloth, while children ran barefoot, chasing birds or dogs. Others sat silent, windows shuttered tight.

It was almost easy to forget I wasn't on Earth anymore.

After another hour of pedalling, I saw smoke in the distance. When I got closer, I realized it wasn't smoke but dust. A long caravan stretched along the road. Wagons moved in a loose formation, pulled by the same mini-bison I had hunted. Riders on horseback flanked the wagons. Fabric awnings in every color fluttered in the breeze, strapped to the tops of the carts to shield passengers and goods from the sun. The air carried the mingled scents of sweat, leather, dust, and spices. It didn't look like a trade caravan. It looked more like traveling gypsies, at least based on movies. And it looked like I was about to meet them.

I considered storing the bike. But then again... might as well see how people react to it. Their response would give me a good read for future encounters.

As I got closer, I saw this wasn't just any caravan. It was huge, with over fifty carts, in all shapes and sizes. Some were massive, six to ten feet wide and at least sixteen feet long, with eight wheels and four mini-bison pulling them. Others were smaller, pulled by this world's version of a horse. Same mane and tail, same long face, but the body was stockier, lower to the ground, and each had two small horns curling forward like on bulls.

Many people walked alongside the carts—men, women, and a surprising number of children. They looked Middle Eastern, with light brown skin, dark eyes, and thick black hair tied back or covered in scarves or hats. As I passed, the kids waved. I waved back. Stretch was an instant hit. Judging by the excited shouts and pointing fingers, he might as well have been a celebrity. He seemed to know it too. His tail smacked the trailer like an overexcited percussionist, soaking up every second of the attention.

When I arrived at the front of the caravan, a man on horseback veered toward me. I stopped and waited. He pulled up beside me, kicked his leg over the saddle, and dismounted in one fluid motion. Stepping forward, he held out his hand. "You're a healer? Thank the Spirits. How much do you charge? We've got sick and wounded." His voice sounded relieved, and his eyes scanned me like he couldn't quite believe I was real.

"No...

shit, how do you say fee?

… no need to pay."

He gave me a strange look. Eyebrows pulled together with an expression of "what the hell?"

How did he even know I was a healer?

Then it hit me, and I facepalmed. I was a complete idiot. I'd gotten the Identify ability and experimented with it for maybe an hour back on Earth. Got shit results, decided it was useless, and forgot it even existed. I'd read about MCs using it constantly, but it never even occurred to me to use it myself.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

While I was realizing my stupidity, he shouted something to the caravan, and the wagons slowed. He beckoned me toward a cart. A man lay sprawled on a blanket, limbs twisted unnaturally and muscles clenched in what looked like unbearable pain. As I got closer, the stench of sour sweat and festering illness reached my nose. One look was enough to suspect tetanus. His locked jaw, arched back, and stiff limbs were classic symptoms of the condition. I cast Diagnose and confirmed it.

Neutralizing the infection took three casts. Even after that, the damage left behind needed five casts of Healing Touch before his body relaxed. As the healing progressed, his cheeks hollowed, and his body lost mass. He looked almost starved.

I turned to the woman at his side. "A lot food and water. When he feel better, tell me, I heal again."

She leaned forward and clutched my hand. "Thank you. I didn't think he'd make it. You're a blessing."

I nodded, acknowledging her words, then turned to my guide. "Take me another person."

The next patient looked like a guard. He wore armor and a sword, and maintained a stiff posture, but his face was contorted with pain. A nasty cut on his upper arm had gone red and swollen.

"What happened?" I asked as I inspected it.

"Training accident," he grunted, sucking in a breath when my fingers gently probed the wound.

Compared to tetanus, this was a walk in the park. I placed my hand over the injury and cast Healing Touch twice. The first cast cleared the infection. The second closed the wound itself, sealing the skin until only a faint pink mark remained.

"Eat, drink, rest," I told him.

He flexed his arm, eyes wide. "Thank you," he said, sounding relieved.

I turned back to my guide. "Next person?"

He nodded, already walking.

This time, it was a child. A cough rattled through his chest, shaking his whole body. I knelt and touched his shoulder lightly before casting Healing Touch. The ragged breaths smoothed out, and the wheeze faded. I diagnosed him and cast twice more to clear the illness completely. Then I pulled out a lollipop. The moment he saw it, his eyes sparkled. He grabbed it like a treasure, grinning with a gap where his front teeth used to be.

"Next person?"

He led me to a cart I had to climb on. An elderly woman sat on a low stool, her face twisted in pain. Her leg was stretched out in front of her, wrapped in strips of cloth. I knelt and peeled them back gently. She had broken her leg, and the bone had pierced through the skin. The cut looked okay, not infected or anything, but the break was another story. It had healed incorrectly, leaving her leg crooked. If left like this, she would limp for the rest of her life.

"I need open leg, break the bone one more time, and then heal it correct," I explained, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "No cutting. No breaking. I will wait. It will heal."

My guide stepped in, lowering his voice. "Can you wait a moment? I'll speak to her."

I nodded and climbed off the cart to give them space.

They spoke for a while, and he joined me, looking troubled. "It's not the healing that frightens her. It's the pain. She doesn't want to experience the pain of being cut open and having the bone broken again."

I groaned and facepalmed, rubbing my forehead. I'm an idiot. To me, it was obvious the procedure would be done with anesthesia. She had no way of knowing that. It was my responsibility to explain.

I dropped my hand and looked up at him. "I speak with her and explain."

I climbed up and knelt beside her again. "You won't feel the pain," I said gently. "I will put you to sleep with magic, fix your leg, and you wake up with good leg."

She stared at me, lips trembling. "You promise I won't feel the pain?"

I squeezed her arm in reassurance, hoping it would convey my sincerity. "I promise. You sleep, and wake up with good leg."

She looked into my eyes for a long moment, then finally nodded.

I climbed down and walked away from the main road. There wasn't exactly a clearing, but more of a patch of long grass before the tree line. It was good enough. I pulled out the biggest table I had and covered it with a sheet. Another smaller table became my instrument stand. While setting everything up, I looked around. "Do you know where my wolf is?" I asked the guide.

He blinked at me. "What wolf?"

"The one I had with me. You saw him," I said, growing slightly concerned.

"I apologize, but that is not a wolf. It is a bushland dog," he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

I stared. "Huh? What do you mean a dog? I found him in the forest."

"Yes, a wild dog," he said, nodding. "But people do domesticate them if they can. If you manage to befriend one or raise it from a pup, they bond with you for life. Loyal to the end. Smart, too."

I rubbed my chin. "Huh. Learn something new every day. And yeah, I noticed the smart part."

He gave me another strange look but didn't say anything.

"So... do you know where my dog is?"

He chuckled and pointed. "Playing with the children."

I relaxed. "Oh, no problem then."

Three women helped the injured lady climb down from the cart, and the guide and I helped her onto the table. Her face was pale and her jaw clenched, but she didn't resist. I cast Clean and Purify over the whole setup, including my hands, tools, and the patient.

The first time I partitioned my mind, I almost broke it. The second time was easier, but still took effort. This time, it was easy as pie. Bolstered by the progress, I tried for a third split. One to channel Anesthesia, one for Control Blood, and one for the healing. I failed the first five tries. Each time, it felt like my skull shattered into a million pieces and then got squeezed into a tiny tube. The sixth time, it clicked.

It was hard.

It was very hard.

It was very, very, very hard.

But it worked.

With the scalpel in hand, I made a clean cut along the outer part of her leg. Blood welled up right away, but I held it back with the spell to keep the area clear. Bit by bit, I worked my way down until the bone was exposed, and yeah, it was definitely crooked.

I grabbed the tools I'd laid out earlier—a small chisel and a field mallet—lined up the chisel against the bone, right where the old break had fused together, and gave it a few careful taps with the mallet. Just enough to weaken the spot. Then, with one last solid hit, I felt it give. The bone cracked with a dull snap. I was thankful she couldn't hear it.

I shifted the pieces gently, lining them up as they should have been in the first place. Once everything looked right, I cast Heal Bone. Mana poured into the leg, fusing the bone back together. It started deep. First the marrow, then the bone itself, until it was one solid piece again. It took three casts of the spell, but the result was perfect. The bone looked like it had never been broken. As the last step, I cast Healing Touch twice. The muscles stitched themselves up, and the skin followed, closing over everything neatly and smoothly. The leg looked as if nothing had ever happened, except a thin pink line that looked more like a scratch than a scar.

I woke her gently. She sat up slowly and looked confused, but when she looked down at her leg, her face lit up and a smile broke out.

"Drink, eat, rest," I told her, guiding her down from the table.

She gave me a quick hug and said, "Thank you."

I patted her back. I didn't know how to say you're welcome, so instead I said, "I'm happy I helped."

While I cleaned everything after the surgery, my guide stared at me, wide-eyed.

I felt woozy, so I checked my mana: 180/4200. Yikes.

Rubbing my face, I let out a long breath. "I can't heal anybody else right now. Mana too low."

He smiled, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. "That was the last person. Rest and regenerate. Thank you again, Grand Master Healer."

I gave him a tired smile. "I'm no grand master, but thank you. I'll check on the first patient later."

I slumped onto a nearby rock, letting gravity do the work of getting me to sit down. My eyes drifted closed, and I breathed in deeply, focusing on pulling in mana. Then I thought of something. I hadn't even thought twice about taking out or storing gear in front of my guide. He'd seen it. Twice. Maybe more. And hadn't reacted at all. That was good. It meant this sort of magic was common.

I looked around and finally spotted Stretch. He was flat on his back, tail wagging furiously while three little girls rubbed his belly, and a boy scratched his ear. The picture of canine bliss.

The boy I'd healed pointed at me, and the girls swarmed over, eyes gleaming.

"You give Puty candy?" one asked.

I nodded and instantly found myself surrounded by tiny outstretched hands and hopeful faces. It was a good thing I bought a lot of candy. Watching them squeal and laugh made me grin. Whether their parents liked the sugar rush wasn't my problem.

I walked over to Stretch, who lifted his head and gave me a lazy tail thump.

"So you're a dog, huh?" I asked.

He looked up at me and wagged harder.

I cast Identify and got a BIG surprise.

?!?!?!?!?!?!

My mind went completely blank. I didn't even know from what end to approach the subject to start thinking about it.

As my guide approached, something clicked. I hadn't asked his name. Hadn't even introduced myself. My manners had apparently stayed behind in the wilderness with the rest of my brain.

Oops.

I straightened and held out a hand. "Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name's John. What's your name?"

He gave me that same puzzled look as before, his brows knitting together and shooting up toward his hairline, like I'd just asked him to explain the color blue.

What am I missing here?

I tilted my head, watching him. "Why did you look at me like that when I told you my name and asked yours?"

"I know your name. When the Spirits of Old showed me you were a Healer, they also revealed your name. Do you not know how to receive answers from the Spirits?"

I rubbed my neck in embarrassment. "I didn't think to ask. My mistake."

He shook his head with a chuckle. "That was not a mistake. It is not considered polite to ask about everyone you meet. However, as the caravan leader, it is my responsibility to ensure you have good intentions. I thought Healers asked the Spirits about everyone who requested their help. No?"

I bluffed, hoping my face didn't give me away. "Yes, but... I was not healing you. I only asked about those who needed help."

He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "I understand. We will continue on the road now. It would be a great honor if you could join us at camp tonight so we can properly express our gratitude."

I shrugged, keeping it casual. "You don't have to thank me. I'm a healer. That's what I do."

Now he gave me an even stranger look—like he was seeing an alien.

Oh well. I am an alien. What did you expect?

The absurdity suddenly caught up to me and almost made me crack. I could feel laughter bubbling up in my chest, threatening to break loose. I had to get out of there before I started giggling like a lunatic in front of this very serious caravan leader. I turned on my heel and headed straight for Stretch. He was still lying on his back, tongue lolling, soaking up belly rubs. I dropped beside him, buried my face in his fur, and let out a muffled snort.

The ridiculousness was too much. I was an alien. I giggled uncontrollably into Stretch's fur. The mental soundtrack kicked in: "I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien, I'm an Englishman in New York..."

Stretch thumped his tail lazily, unaware of my existential identity crisis.

God, my life is so, so strange.