The Gate Traveler

The phone buzzed on the table, and I stalled before answering. The lawyer's name flashed on the screen, a reminder of all the loose ends still needing to be tied up. Finally, I swiped and held the phone to my ear.

"Good afternoon," he said in a businesslike tone. "I'm calling to let you know that Liberty Mutual has released the life insurance. I will transfer the funds to your account shortly."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued before I could get a word out.

"There is another matter," he said, now sounding unsure. "Your in-laws have filed a lawsuit. They're attempting to gain control of your wife's trust fund."

Eyes closed, I released a slow breath. "Figured they might do something like this."

"We anticipated it, yes," he said. "Your wife had the foresight to make her intentions clear. We've put measures in place, but I wanted to inform you immediately."

I leaned back, nodding even though he couldn't see me. "Thanks. I'm ready for whatever they throw my way."

"Good," he said, his tone firm. "We're prepared."

The phone stayed pressed to my ear long after the call ended. Memories of Sophie filled my mind, each a mix of warmth and sorrow. Her parents, too, but not in a pleasant way. No, I remembered their visits during her last days, how they'd talked about the money all the time, as if Sophie was some cold financial transaction rather than a person.

How could they have looked at her like that?

Each time they left, Sophie would cry quietly, tears soaking the shoulder of my shirt. It wasn't about the money. I couldn't care less about it. But watching her suffer from their cruelty, seeing her heart broken by her own family… my hands shook just thinking about it. I drew a deep, shuddering breath. They hadn't cared about her illness or her pain. Just the money and jewelry. I begged her, again and again, to give in to their demands just to buy herself some peace. But Sophie was stubborn. Sometimes she got something into her head, and nothing could make her budge. No pleading, cajoling, or asking could help. She dug her heels in, and that was that. She'd simply shake her head, look up at me with stubborn eyes, and say, "They're not getting anything."

After a while, the anger cooled and my mind could return to business. If I were going through with this, there were things I needed to do and plans I needed to make. So, I turned my focus to my preparations for the journey.

One of the first decisions I had to make was about weapons. That demanded some thinking. I combed through articles and LitRPG books, treating them as manuals, and looked for ideas and suggestions. Swords and knives, though popular choices, didn't strike a chord with me. Truth be told, they made me uneasy. I'd handled scalpels with confidence, but wielding a weapon in a fight? That was a different story. The memories of all the knife wounds I treated in the ER didn't help much, either. The staff seemed to have potential, and there were always the classic bow and arrows. After some consideration, I settled on those two and signed up for training.

In the evening of the first day of training, by the time I reached the hotel, my body was on the verge of quiting on me. Two Staff-Fighting classes in one day. What was I thinking?

After the first class, my muscles ached, but it felt like the kind of soreness I could shake off. By the end of the second, though, I practically limped. My legs were noodles, and my arms were dead weight. Every step shot a lance of pain up my legs to my butt. Raising my hands to scan the door card and grab the handle was a heroic feat.

Climbing out of bed the following day was a survival challenge. As I eased one leg over the side, a wave of pain shot through my thighs, like someone had swapped out my muscles for lava. With a groan, I stumbled toward the bathroom, clinging to the walls for balance, every muscle protesting like it had been personally betrayed. By the time I reached the sink, I just wanted to crawl back into bed.

"Well, that was genius, wasn't it?" I asked myself, practically whimpering as I turned around. The ache lanced through my legs with every step, reminding me how long it had been since I'd done any serious physical activity. Not since my university days had I pushed my body like this—back when jogging around campus once a week was part of my routine. Now, my body was paying the price for years of neglect.

Archery was on the schedule that afternoon, but the thought of lifting a bow, let alone drawing it, felt laughable. One quick email later, archery was officially off the table. I spent the rest of the day sprawled on the couch, every tiny shift of my body a fresh reminder that maybe, just maybe, I should've stretched… or started with something a little less intense than two hour-long back-to-back Staff-Fighting classes.

The first spell I ever cast did absolutely nothing. I didn't expect miracles. After all, it was called Minor Heal. But I did expected something. Nothing. Zero change. My body still hurt all over, just as it did a second ago. I wanted to argue with the spell out loud, but stopped and tapped on it to re-read the description. "Mends broken bones, cuts, scrapes, and common ailments like colds."

This time, I did argue with the screen out loud. "The rips in the muscles from over-exercising are like cuts! So why isn't the spell helping?"

It didn't respond. I almost gave up on the spell and refunded the ability point, but stopped myself. It might be useful in other situations.

After an hour of drifting between self-pity and disappointment, an idea struck me. I'd learned how to sense my mana system—to see it in some strange, internal way. The flow of energy. The channels. The pulsing cores. It took time, but I'd managed it.

You're a doctor, I reminded myself. If anyone can figure out how to heal without relying on some pre-packaged spell, it should be you. What if I could look inside my body in the same way? My medical training kicked in, and I began sketching out the possibilities in my mind. From skin to sinew, muscle to bone, I knew the anatomy of each layer. I just needed to figure out how to see it. With my eyes closed, I mentally pictured my body like an MRI, carefully tracing through each layer. I tried to "look" at the tissue under my skin in the same way I looked at my mana. But as hard as I concentrated, it was a blank, an endless void of nothing. I didn't get any magic sight or a sudden awareness of the inside of my body.

Okay, maybe not that simple.

But I knew I could do this; I just needed to be patient. I tried again, digging into the muscles layer by layer, focusing harder, pressing my awareness along the aching lines of pain that were practically begging for attention. Still nothing.

I clenched my fists.

Ouch.

That was a mistake with aching muscles.

Shifting my focus to the most painful spots, I thought of the actual fibers, how they'd likely torn under the stress, tiny rips my body would naturally heal over time if I let it. Gradually, as my focus sharpened, a strange sensation passed through me. I couldn't see the tears exactly, but there was something. A faint awareness, like a shadowed outline, tracing each sore line. The sensation was barely perceptible, like trying to see a faint shimmer at the edge of my vision.

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Getting somewhere.

Bit by bit, I sensed those damaged fibers, like a faint impression.

Alright. Now what?

I mapped the sensation along the lines of pain, feeling out each section until I could pinpoint the areas where the damage felt the worst —a dull throb that intensified when I moved. With focused effort, I pictured those muscle fibers knitting back together and coaxed each tiny micro-tear to close up. I tried to will the pain away and smooth over each torn fiber with sheer mental effort. Nothing happened.

Maybe I'm missing something?

Healing in the books always involved mana, after all. I knew it powered spells; maybe it was the missing key. If mana could flow through channels, it could also reach the muscles. Worth a shot, right?

Drawing mana from my core, I guided it toward the nearest muscle, trying to ease it into the fibers. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my arm, almost like someone had jabbed me with a hot knife. I let out a strangled shout, instantly recoiling.

Okay, that's a hard no!

I clenched my teeth, feeling the sting from channeling mana still vibrating through my arm. Alright, think, I told myself, giving my shoulder a rub. You're a doctor, not a masochist. There's got to be a gentler way.

I took a steadying breath and tried again, channeling mana through my hands, directing its flow carefully. It's like applying a bandage from the outside, I thought, guiding my hands over the sore spots and resting them lightly on my shoulders. Focusing intently, I coaxed the mana to stream from my hands and into the aching muscles beneath, willing it to seep into the tissue and soothe the pain. There was a faint warmth; the mana poured from my hands and reached the muscles. But it didn't change anything.

Fine, I thought, unwilling to back down. I experimented again, returning to the faint awareness of the damaged fibers. I concentrated on each micro-tear, picturing it as vividly as possible, imagining the fibers knitting back together in minute detail. This time, I didn't just let the mana flow freely. I nudged it while giving it precise instructions and visualizing the healing down to each muscle fiber.

And then it happened. A small warm pulse rolled from my hands through my muscles. Didn't fix everything, but it took the edge off. Enough to tell me I'd actually managed something. My body straightened slightly, and my shoulders relaxed a bit. Yeah… that felt better. It worked. I allowed myself a triumphant smile. It actually worked. I wanted to fist pump but was afraid it would still hurt. With each attempt, the effect improved and became more pronounced.

Casting spells was a paradox. The action was both instinctive and deliberate at the same time. The process wasn't something I had to analyze step by step consciously, yet it required clear intent. It was a bit like flexing a muscle, except it was about "flexing" the mana channels instead of physical effort. To make it work, I had to focus on the pathways leading to my palms, shaping the energy with precise instructions. An intention that dictated what the mana would become and what it would do.

My red light began to blink.

YES!!!

It took about ten castings of the spell on different parts of my body, but eventually, I was fine. I regretted canceling the archery, but didn't want to call back and look like an undecisive idiot. So, I started looking into hand-to-hand combat instead. After checking out a few options and watching numerous YouTube videos, I settled on Krav Maga. It seemed the most appropriate for the circumstances. Based on my reading and the videos, this discipline dealt with practical, real-world defense. The techniques looked straightforward and utilized the environment, rather than flashy exhibition elements, which was exactly what I needed. I called and signed up for classes.

Three months blurred together in a loop of training, and more training. My mornings started with Krav Maga at a dojo, my muscles still stiff as I worked through defensive drills. Archery came next, followed by staff training at another center by noon. Each strike and block left my arms aching, but the steady burn told me I was getting stronger. A quick lunch and a few healing spells got me back on my feet, pushing through lesson after lesson until evening and dinner. The only real change after two months was winter settling in completely. Now, I had to trudge through Stuttgart's snow-covered streets, shivering between sessions.

I got the official skills in the system quickly, and my trainers kept complimenting me, calling me a natural. My Staff-Fighting reached level 5, my Krav Maga reached level 5, and my Archery reached level 3. I moved to Berlin and trained in various centers as an advanced student. I didn't want to raise suspicion with too fast progress.

My healing spell had eventually reached level 10, and I noticed a significant improvement. I could cast it faster, it affected a larger area, and used less mana, dropping from 30 to 25 units per cast. The improvement was sudden, between one cast and the next. A milestone that took me by surprise. Encouraged, I set my sights on bringing all my skills to that level.

Over the next two months, I trained relentlessly. Krav Maga and Staff-Fighting reached level 10 sooner than expected, thanks to a fresh start as an "advanced student" to blend in. But one stubborn skill lagged behind, no matter what I tried. I frowned at the status screen, frustrated as Archery stayed fixed at a stubborn "7." Despite hours at the range and practice at three different centers, it refused to budge.

Alright, back to the drawing board.

I turned to my collection of LitRPG books, searching for tips and techniques on Archery, and found three titles, each featuring an archer character. For the next few days, I looked for tips between plot twists and power-ups. The best Ideas I found involved shooting while moving at a static target or standing and shooting at a moving target, or, at the most advanced level, moving while shooting a moving target. But that one seemed too complicated. I searched online, hoping to find a center that trained archers on the go, but the closest I got was a video. On the screen, a guy in full hiking gear demonstrated his skills, switching smoothly from walking to jogging to sprinting, all while nocking and rapidly releasing arrows.

That might work.

Within hours, I'd stocked up on enough arrows to equip a Mongolian raiding party straight out of Genghis Khan's era, along with camping gear, food, and water. Fully loaded, I set out for the Taunus mountain range, eager to put the method to the test. For the next three weeks, I trained relentlessly, settling into a rhythm—the crunch of snow beneath my boots, the snap of the bowstring, and the soft thud of arrows finding their mark. Or missing entirely and vanishing into snowdrifts or the underbrush. I switched between running, walking, jumping over rocks, and ducking under low branches, gradually feeling the movement become more natural. By the end of each day, I was winded and drenched in sweat despite the cold, but my visible improvements kept me going. At the end of each day, I checked my status screen, and after three weeks, it finally happened. A grin spread across my face as I saw the change in the number. Archery reached level 10. On the same day, I got a pleasant surprise. My red light was blinking. It was strange since it never blinked before when a skill upgraded.

Guess all that running and jumping paid off.

When my eyes skimmed over my Profile, I noticed the two spells I'd bought—Mana Dart and Mana Shield—didn't have any numbers next to them. Maybe I need to use them?

Casting the shield spell triggered a faint flicker of mana around me. It was invisible, but I could feel it encasing me in a thin layer of mana, like outerwear made of humming spandex. It stayed for about seven or eight minutes and then dissipated. Still, the spell didn't have a number beside it. Another cast. Still nothing. A few more casts didn't change the situation. No matter what I tried, the spell didn't progress at all. The only thing on my profile was the name, with no number beside it. By the fortieth cast, I had a strange feeling, like my insides were empty, and I got lightheaded. Curious, I checked my mana.

750 out of 3000.

I stared, blinking in disbelief. "Wow," I muttered, rubbing my neck. That's not good. I cast it again and watched my mana drop by another 50. I already discovered that my mana regenerated about ten units a day. Now I understood how slow it was.

No wonder the Traveler complained about low mana regeneration.

The only solution I could think of was going to a Gate to regenerate. I looked at the map of Germany online and saw that Frankfurt was closer than "my" Gate in the Black Forest. But to locate the Gate, I had to buy the Travelers' Map ability. Thank God I still had an ability point. The Frankfurt Gate mentioned in the World Information was indeed very close to the city. With the decision made, I packed up my gear and determined to head there first.