TravelingDreamer
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B7—Chapter 9: Pi’s Hug and Other Shocks
🕑 Added 2025-08-28 15:51:07 +0000 UTCOn the way to the post leader, Mahya glanced sideways at Rabban. “Where is the closest Magitech guild?”
Rabban shook his head. “They don’t have guilds here.”
Mahya blinked at him. “No guilds?”
“No.” He spread his hands. “I told you. Everything is controlled by nobles.” He jabbed a finger toward a centipede-like vehicle rumbling past, its segmented body clattering. “House Jook, the one that controls this outpost, builds the Ironcrawlers.”
He shifted his hand toward a truck with long caterpillar treads. “House Matan, which has a long-standing alliance with House Jook, builds the Heavy Loaders.”
He pointed again, this time at the truck with the pilates balls instead of wheels. The strange machine rocked slightly as it adjusted its balance. “House Erfon builds the OreRunners, and its ally, House Djaba, builds the Dunehoppers. Those are bikes on balls.” He tilted his chin toward one. “Oh, here is one.”
Mahya gave a small nod. “Yeah, we saw them.”
Rabban pointed once more at the ironcrawler creaking along nearby. “House Tubar, the one that controls Outpost Seventeen and is fighting with House Jook, builds the heavy mana cannons mounted on the crawlers.”
“Why are they fighting?” Al asked.
Rabban smirked. “One of Archduke Jook’s wives slept with Archduke Tubar.”
“So they’re fighting over it?” I asked, incredulous. “Why not divorce the wife?”
Rabban lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “They don’t have divorce here. The Archduke did kill his wife, but now he is fighting with the other one because he knew she was his wife and slept with her anyway.”
I shook my head in dismay. “You said one of his wives.”
Rabban nodded.
“How many does he have?”
“I think four or five,” Rabban said, squinting as if trying to recall, “but I’m not sure.”
“This world is crazy,” I said, throwing my hands up.
“Why?” Mahya tilted her head at me, genuinely curious.
“Five wives. Killing one of them for infidelity. Having a house war over it. Take your pick.”
The three of them exchanged a look, then turned their eyes on me with pity.
“What?” I asked, spreading my arms wide.
“All of those things are very common,” Al said, his voice matter-of-fact. “My father also has five wives. He would not kill one of them for indiscretion, only throw her out, but this too is common in the universe.”
“What about the house war?” I asked, my voice rising in disbelief.
Mahya waved dismissively, as if brushing a fly away. “Nobles always fight about something.”
I looked between all of them, searching their faces for some sign that they shared even a fraction of my outrage. Nothing. Their expressions stayed steady, almost bored. My mouth opened, then closed again, words failing me. Maybe I was the strange one. I could understand that this was common across a lot of worlds, and I knew we couldn’t and shouldn’t do anything about it. But what shook me was how casually they accepted it, as if it were just part of the weather. To them, it was normal. To me, it was insane.
Al patted my back. “You are progressive in some of your views, such as accepting my preferences without difficulty, yet rigid in other aspects. The multiverse is vast and endlessly diverse, filled with countless traditions and societal norms. If you learn to experience it without judgment or preconceived ideas, you will find much greater enjoyment in your travels.”
That stopped my mental outrage. He was right. I nodded at him and let the words sink in. My thoughts spun inward, busy examining the set preconceptions I had been carrying with me. Yeah, I needed to get rid of them, or at least loosen their grip, but that was easier said than done.
“You should be careful,” Rabban said to Al, his tone carrying a note of warning. “This world is deeply religious. Your preferences are not illegal, but you might be attacked.”
Al inclined his head slightly. “Thank you. I shall be cautious.”
“What church?” Mahya asked.
“They worship fertility and nature,” Rabban said. “Anything that might be seen as hampering fertility is viewed as wrong. That is also the reason for the numerous wives.”
“Do they have serfs here?” I asked.
Rabban frowned, tilting his head. “What are serfs?”
“They’re like slaves, but not exactly,” I said, spreading my hands as I tried to explain. “On Earth, they lived in towns or villages instead of compounds, but they were tied to the land. A noble owned the land, and the people couldn’t just leave without permission. They worked the fields, paid taxes in crops, and were bound by law to stay where they were born. Not free, but not bought and sold like slaves either.”
Rabban scratched his jaw, thinking it over. “No. People here don’t belong to anybody and are free to go wherever they want.” He gestured toward the busy outpost, where workers carried crates and shouted over the rumble of machines. “Of course, if one noble steals an expert from another noble, the first will see it as an insult and may try to kill him for it. Sometimes they’ll even go to war over such a theft. But the person’s still free to choose where to go. The nobles may fight, but no one can force a man or woman to stay where they don’t want to.”
We reached the main administrative building of the outpost. It was bigger than the rest, rising three stories instead of the single level most buildings had, but that was the only difference. The structure was still plain and square, with small, tightly set windows and stone walls that gave it a heavy, unwelcoming appearance.
Before going in, Rabban turned to us, lowering his voice. “You should change your names in the Personal Information. All the names in this world are very short. Mine is Ra, Sonak uses So. You can probably be Jo and Ma. Your name is fine,” he added with a nod to Al.
“Mine is Alfonsen,” Al said, lifting his chin with dignity.
Rabban blinked, then shook his head. “Definitely change it.”
Inside, Rabban led us up the stairs to the third floor, waving now and then at people stepping out of offices or disappearing into them. The place carried the same soulless atmosphere as every office building I’d ever seen. A long corridor stretched ahead, lined with identical doors. A gray carpet muffled our footsteps, and dark gray walls rose to shoulder height. From there, a lighter gray carried the rest of the way to the ceiling. Lamps were set at regular intervals, with gray glass coverings for a splash of color.
The third floor felt a little more welcoming. Everything was still gray, but a big brown leather couch with blue pillows broke the monotony. Behind an enormous desk sat a secretary in a bright red dress, the color standing out like a flare in the gloom. After all that gray, my eyes locked on her the way they would on water in the desert.
The minute she saw Rabban, her whole face lit up, and she smiled widely. “Ra! I’m so happy to see you! Did you finally decide to leave the Cleaners and join us officially?” She leaned forward on the desk, hands clasped, eyes shining.
He laughed, shaking his head. “Hello, Ya. No, I came to introduce some friends to Lord Mass.”
Her gaze flicked to us, running from head to toe, sharp like a merchant sizing up goods. Then her eyes lost focus for a moment. My stomach tightened, and I quickly checked my profile to see which class I was displaying. Healer. Phew!
“Are they joining the Eliminators?” she asked, directing the question to Rabban instead of us.
“No, they’ll join the Cleaners like me.”
Her smile fell flat, and she made an unhappy face, tapping her fingers on the desk. “So why did you bring them?”
“They gathered some herbs on the king’s land and wanted to show their appreciation to Lord Mass.”
She sighed and stretched out her hand with a snap of her fingers. “Give it to me and I’ll tell Lord Mass.”
We glanced at Rabban. He gave a small nod.
Al stepped forward and placed two health potions in her palm. Her eyes narrowed immediately, zeroing in on his hands. She turned the glass vials over, then looked back up at his face with suspicion.
“Pretend to have a storage item,” Rabban sent telepathically.
Al gave the tiniest nod, then lifted his sleeve to show her his bracelet as if it explained everything.
Her expression smoothed out, suspicion fading. She gave him a curt nod.
Finally, she turned her gaze on me and Mahya, studied us for a second, then flicked her hand in dismissal. “You can go. I’m busy.”
We left without a word and kept quiet on the way down the stairs, the muffled thump of our footsteps filling the silence. Outside, Rabban turned to us, kicking at the dirt. “Sorry I forgot about the storage thing. Put on some rings or something.”
“What’s with her attitude?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
He let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging. “Sonak and I made the mistake of sleeping with her.”
Mahya burst out laughing.
Rabban’s face turned bright red. He fidgeted for a moment, then gave in and chuckled too. “Happens,” he said with a shrug, trying for nonchalance.
That set me off laughing too, unable to hold it in. Al, on the other hand, stayed stoic.
He led us to the Cleaners’ office, talking along the way about the various portals and dungeons they’d cleared during the couple of years they’d spent in this world. His voice carried a note of pride as he listed them off.
“We were getting ready to leave, but now maybe we’ll stay longer,” he said at last.
“Are you sure Sonak will share your intention?” Al asked.
“He will,” Rabban said forcefully, his jaw tightening. “He has to make it up to John.”
I waved him off. “I don’t need anything from him. The best compensation would be for him to stay away from me.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “We gathered some interesting materials.”
I gave a curt nod.
Mahya kicked my leg.
“What?” I snapped, glaring at her. “Stop kicking me.”
She looked up at me with wide puppy eyes, then made a rolling motion with her hand. “Interesting materials …” she hinted. “You know … my spaceship and all that.”
“You can collect our own,” I shot back. “If it means I have to listen to his religious bullshit, I’ll pass.”
Rabban sighed, shoulders slumping, and shook his head.
“What?” I asked him, annoyed.
“No, no. Everything is fine,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I understand your viewpoint. I’m disappointed, but I understand.”
In the Cleaners’ office, we were greeted much more warmly than at the admin building.
The local manager, a broad man with a neat beard and a bright smile, stepped forward to shake Rabban’s hand. “Ra, so good to see you again.” He clapped Rabban on the shoulder, then turned to us with a welcoming nod. “Hello, I am Manager Fu, enchanted to meet you.”
We introduced ourselves in turn, and once the formalities were done, he gestured for us to sit on the leather chairs opposite his massive desk. He leaned forward slightly, folding his hands.
“To join the Free Cleaners, there is a standard registration fee of one hundred gold per person,” Fu explained, his voice smooth and professional. “Additionally, every portal or dungeon you purchase access to, you will pay ten percent of the price to the Cleaners’ office.”
Mahya raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are we paying for?”
Fu smiled as though expecting the question. “These fees grant you legal protection. Once you are registered, no lord can accuse you of trespass or interfere with your work inside the zone. It also covers healing if you do not have a healer in your party, and it allows you to use the Center’s vehicles to reach the zone. Naturally, transport is not free, but it is guaranteed access.”
I wasn’t sure we needed all that, but in the end, I capitulated. A hundred gold was a drop in the bucket compared to what I had.
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll register.”
Fu’s smile widened, and he slid the thick tablet-like device across the desk toward us. “Excellent. Then let us get your information recorded.”
I paid quickly for the written language and took a moment to read through the entire form, using it as practice to familiarize myself with the script. Once I was confident I had it, I filled in my information, writing my name as ‘Jo’ and my class as ‘Healer,’ of course.
When I handed the pad back, the manager’s eyebrows shot up. “A healer? We’ve been desperate for one. We have more wounded than we can handle, and not enough Cleaners with the class to keep up. Would you consider working in the center for a while?”
I hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Sure. If you’ve got people that need healing, I’ll help.”
“Good,” he said, sounding relieved. “We will, of course, pay for each person.”
I gave another nod, keeping it short.
When Al handed in his pad, the manager’s smile widened. “Perfect. We’re short on potions and have barely any alchemists. Would you consider working as an Alchemist? You’ll have full access to our labs in the Center, of course, and anything you brew can be sold directly to the Cleaners. The Center will take ten percent of the sale price to cover lab use. In return, we’ll also sell you gathered herbs and rare materials at a fixed rate, so you won’t have to waste time hunting them down yourself. Naturally, if you prefer to gather your own, that’s allowed as well, but the potions you sell to the Cleaners must go through the Center first. That way, everything is properly documented and no noble can claim you’re operating illegally.”
Al inclined his head, his voice even. “That arrangement suits me.”
Mahya looked gloomier and gloomier.
“Is something wrong?” the manager asked.
Mahya’s eyes flicked to me, then to Al, then back to Rabban. “I didn’t come here so my team could get tied up in other people’s business. We need to gather materials. That’s the whole point.”
The tension in her voice was sharp enough to cut the room in half.
Rabban held up his hands in a calming gesture. “Easy. We’ll get to the materials. Before So and I leave, I’ll run a few portals with you myself. We’ll make sure you get what you need.”
Mahya looked at him for a long moment, then exhaled and nodded, though her shoulders stayed tight. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”
The manager leaned forward across the desk, his brows lifting in mild surprise. “You are still leaving? I had hoped, with your friends arriving, you would stay longer.”
Rabban spread his hands. “We will. We are not leaving in a few days as planned, but we will not remain here indefinitely either.”
Fu nodded, took a pad from the desk, and opened the same list Rabban had shown us before. The screen lit up, columns marching neatly across it.
“You see,” Fu said, tapping the first column, “this lists the portal or dungeon number with its corresponding color. Each color reflects the threat level.” His finger slid to the next line. “Here, you’ll find the location, usually with markers or landmarks so you don’t waste time stumbling around.”
He moved on to the third column. “This is the most important: the estimated time until breakout. I always recommend that when you register, you choose the one with the longest time till clear. If you pick something too short, you’ll find yourselves rushing, and rushing gets people killed.” His gaze sharpened, and he gave us a meaningful look.
He tapped the fourth column. “Estimated resources. Not exact, of course, but usually close enough. Herbs, ores, monster hides—whatever can be pulled from inside. That number is why most Cleaners run these in the first place.”
Finally, he let his finger rest on the last column. “And here you’ll find who has already registered to clear it, and by when they must complete it.”
He set the pad down. “When you’re in the zone, you might come across portals or dungeons that don’t appear on the list. Be thorough when you’re checking. The order isn’t by location but by appearance date, which means two neighboring portals can be dozens of pages apart. I’ve seen parties waste half a day clearing a portal, only to discover it was already registered to somebody else, who then came in and took all the resources without lifting a finger. Or, in worse cases, they had to hand everything over to the Eliminators and pay a fine on top, since they’d encroached on noble property.”
He pulled a disgusted expression. “The king entrusted the nobles with the responsibility of protecting peaceful citizens from monsters and essenceborn alike. That’s why he gave them portions of the zones to manage. But the nobles act as though the king handed them ownership of the portals, the dungeons, even the land itself. As if it were all a source of income rather than a duty to protect the people. Greedy bastards.” His lip curled. “They strip what they can, sell the rest at the highest price possible, and call it duty.”
He paused, fingers drumming lightly on the desk as his gaze flicked toward the closed door. When he spoke again, his voice dropped just enough that it made us lean in to catch it.
“Now… the law says certain things must be handed in. That’s how it works. Everything tidy, accounted for.” He gave a little shrug, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. Then, almost idly, he slid a pen across the desk, let it stop just short of the edge, and tapped it back into place.
“Of course,” he went on, his tone casual, “sometimes items slip through the cracks. Paperwork is never perfect. Some things don’t get a chance to get on the list, and records get muddled. It happens. And if something valuable happens to… stay with the hands that found it—well, who would even notice? The important thing is that the work gets done, the danger disappears, and life goes on. Everyone’s happy.”
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach, eyes half-lidded. “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting anyone hold back what belongs elsewhere. But if something is never written down…” He trailed off, lifting his shoulders in a slow shrug that said more than words ever could. His gaze met ours briefly, with a faint smile on his lips.
With a sigh, Fu pushed the pad across the desk toward us. “So. Study the list carefully. Take the longest time slots. Check for new ones, especially dungeons.” He gave us a pointed look and slid the pen across the desk again. “And above all, don’t let the nobles trick you into thinking you’re trespassing on their land. The zone belongs to the king, not to them, and if something isn’t on the list, they can’t prove it ever existed.”
We all nodded.
“How much for the pad?” Mahya asked.
“Twenty-five mithril. You can get one from the Eliminators for twenty, but they have built-in trackers.” He gave us another one of his pointed looks. “The tracker notes when somebody disappears from the map, as if they’re in a portal or dungeon.”
We bought the pad, and Rabban led us outside.
“He was pretty obvious,” Mahya said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Isn’t he afraid?”
Rabban gave a small shake of his head. “When we first met, he didn’t tell us what he told you. But in the time Sonak and I have been here, he’s learned to trust us. He knows we aren’t spies for the nobles, so he spoke freely—” Rabban gave a wry smile, “or as freely as he could.”
Somebody suddenly leaped on my back and hugged my neck so tightly I almost choked. A high-pitched squeal exploded right in my ear, so piercing that my head rang even after it stopped. Startled, I nearly threw the attacker off, but before I could, a torrent of words followed.
“You’re Cleaners too! I knew it! Only Cleaners can be good people. We must clear portals together. I’ll tell my group. I’m so happy to see you. We should go eat together. Or maybe we should—no, first we’ll clear something, then eat! How do you know Ra? Do you know So too? Did you meet them through—no, wait, did you save them too?”
She jumped off my back before I could answer, darted around to peer at me from behind with eyes shining, then grinned like she’d just won a lottery. Clapping her hands, she bounced on her heels, then spun in a half-circle. “I’m going to tell the rest—no, I’ll drag them here right now—no, no, I’ll just tell them. See you!”
And off she dashed, shouting at the top of her lungs, her voice carrying down the street.
It was the healer we’d met by the portal. I stood there dizzy from the verbal assault, still processing the hug, the squeal, and her abrupt disappearance, all before I’d managed a single word. I looked at the others, stunned. “What… was that?”
Mahya doubled over laughing, while Al shook his head, shoulders trembling with suppressed amusement.
Rabban only smiled knowingly. “That was Pi. She’s a… unique person. You’ll get used to her. Eventually.”
Comments
TravelingDreamer
As a person from Earth, you are absolutely right. Just because something is common does not make it right. But as a Traveler who will encounter countless different societies, I am not so sure it is always that simple. History shows us that what is considered “right” or “wrong” changes over time, even within one culture. For example, in the past divorce was condemned, homosexuality was outlawed, and relationships involving more than two people were taboo. Today, in many parts of the world, these things are relatively normal and even protected. On the other hand, practices once accepted as ordinary, such as burning people alive as punishment, slavery, or public executions as entertainment, are now considered horrific. And that is just within our single world. Imagine the diversity of traditions and values across dozens or even hundreds of different worlds. This is not about pretending murder or cruelty are acceptable. John will never see killing as “right,” though he has taken lives when forced to. Instead, it is about flexibility of thought—recognizing that some things we find shocking may be ordinary to others, and some of our values may look just as strange to them. If we walk into every world rigid and outraged, judging by our own standards alone, we may blind ourselves to learning anything new. Preconceptions are inevitable; they help us make sense of the world. But if they are too rigid, they can close us off. Flexibility does not mean abandoning morality. It means knowing which values are truly core, like opposing cruelty for its own sake, and which are shaped by culture and circumstance. A Traveler cannot and should not accept everything. But loosening the grip of certain preconceptions makes it possible to navigate the vastness of the multiverse without collapsing under constant outrage. It is about survival, yes, but also about growth.
Danielle Warvel
“ I could understand that this was common across a lot of worlds, and I knew we couldn’t and shouldn’t do anything about it. But what shook me was how casually they accepted it, as if it were just part of the weather. To them, it was normal. …..You are progressive in some of your views, such as accepting my preferences without difficulty, yet rigid in other aspects. The multiverse is vast and endlessly diverse, filled with countless traditions and societal norms. If you learn to experience it without judgment or preconceived ideas, you will find much greater enjoyment in your travels.” That stopped my mental outrage. He was right. I nodded at him and let the words sink in. My thoughts spun inward, busy examining the set preconceptions I had been carrying with me. Yeah, I needed to get rid of them, or at least loosen their grip My thoughts spun inward, busy examining the set preconceptions I had been carrying with me. Yeah, I needed to get rid of them, or at least loosen their grip” I completely disagree with this entire segment in its entirety. Just because something is common doesn’t make it right or mean you should accept it, either as the way things are or something that is acceptable. Some things should be judged, not in the negative sense or connotation the word is often used, but as right or wrong, appropriate or inappropriate even if you can’t do anything about it, because without making moral judgments about things you are often the same as abandoning your own morality or ethics regarding a topic. And there is nothing wrong with preconceptions as long as you try not to let it blind you. You need preconceptions to form opinions and your own understanding of things based on your own ethics and beliefs. This entire conversation sounds like cope to me. A way to avoid feeling bad about the depraved behavior these nobles are constantly engaged in.
