TravelingDreamer
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B6—Chapter 64: The End of Another Adventure
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 16:54:14 +0000 UTCI spent the entire day in the warehouse, watching Mr. Stobor, the Sales Master, in action. He was the best salesperson I’d ever seen. His class registered as Supplies Expert, level 49, but the man practically oozed Merchant. Watching him praise a ceramic figurine of a cat pawing at a ball of yarn was pure poetry. He spun a story about that silly cat so effortlessly, I almost bought it myself. Considering the fact that it was mine to begin with and I had no use for the damn thing, it was highly impressive.
He was absolutely worth the five percent commission.
But what really sold me was how sharp he was. At one point, he led a gaggle of fashionistas—draped in floating fabrics, exaggerated collars, and enough jewelry to blind a bird—through the fabric section like a general guiding troops. He let them make their selections, nodding and complimenting their taste. Then, just as the excitement began to die down, he pulled up a box and casually mentioned, “Ah, and I nearly forgot… zuppers.”
I didn't correct his pronunciation.
He took one out, demonstrated how to open and close it, then held up a black women’s dress with a zipper on the back and showed them how it worked.
That was it. Chaos. A full-blown zipper frenzy. They started shouting over each other, trying to yank the box out of his hands. It teetered on the edge of a fashion-fueled brawl. But Mr. Stobor didn’t flinch. He clapped his hands, smiled wide, and announced, “Auction time, ladies and gents!” Right there, on the spot.
The box sold for eleven mithril. Eleven! For a pile of mismatched zippers!
When the dust settled and the fashionistas swept out, throwing murder glares at the winner of the auctions, I walked up and pointed toward the corner. “There are more boxes of zippers over there.”
He followed my gaze, then turned back with a sly smile. “I know,” he said. “But I have more Fashioneers coming.”
I just stood there, grinning. Hands down, he was the best Merchant ever.
The following day was Al’s turn, and then Mahya’s again. This time, she was better about it. She still sighed and grumbled, but there was no trace of fire. Whether it was the potion doing its job or Mahya accepting her lot, I didn’t know. But it was good either way.
It was my turn again, and when I arrived, there was already a group waiting with Mr. Stobor near the entrance. And what a group it was. The most conservatively dressed among them wore skin-tight black pants, a blinding pink crop top, and a floor-length black jacket that tied only at the neck with a stiff collar taller than his head. I was slowly getting used to the dress code in Saa, but I was still taken aback occasionally.
Mr. Stobor spotted me and pointed straight at me.
They swarmed.
“Yes?” I asked, stepping back as they closed in on me.
“Please show these distinguished Fashioneers how to use the hooks,” Stobor said.
So, I held a crochet class.
I located a crochet needle and yarn and started with the basics. How to hold the hook, where to loop the yarn, and how to make a chain. Once they had the basics down, I taught them the double crochet and half double crochet stitches. That was the extent of my knowledge from the workshop, and honestly, I didn’t think it was much. But judging by their reactions, I might as well have unlocked the gates of heaven.
One of them kept making this delighted sound every time he managed a stitch. “Oooo! Oooo!” Over and over, like an owl. The round, oversized glasses perched on his nose only added to the effect.
I patiently explained the same things over and over, guided their hands, corrected their tension, and quietly wondered how the hell I had ended up teaching crochet in a magical world to a crowd dressed like the lovechild of a runway and a fever dream.
But not everything was bad, or more precisely, strange. After the improvised crochet lesson, they bought all the knitting needles, both straight and crochet, and every last skein of yarn.
When they left, Mr. Stobor gave me his now-familiar sly smile. “I knew it would work.”
Best. Merchant. Ever.
By the end of the day, the “fashion” warehouse was empty. Not a stitch left. The other one didn’t clear out as fast. The glow-in-the-dark paint sold during Al’s shift, and the office supplies were moving out at a good pace. Some other things, like makeup and costume jewelry, also sold well enough. But some items were stuck, and he had to work hard to sell each piece—mainly the decorative knick-knacks and the glassware.
Mr. Stobor stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the unsold items. After a long moment, he shook his head slowly. “We need a different approach. Otherwise, it will take me too long to sell everything.”
I glanced at the shelves, then back at him. “What?”
He tapped a finger on his nose, eyes narrowing in thought. “I have an idea. We should present it as art, not as merchandise.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How?”
He snapped his fingers. “We need to rent a gallery. Meet me here tomorrow morning. I’ll take care of everything.”
The next day, I switched shifts with Al. He agreed to cover one of mine in return, and I met Mr. Stobor at the warehouse early in the morning. He barely greeted me before launching into his plan, rattling off what to bring with us. I loaded everything he mentioned into my Storage and followed him out toward the city’s art district.
He had already rented a gallery in the crafts sector, tucked between a mosaic workshop and a sculptor’s studio. From the outside, it looked modest, with tall, narrow windows and a carved wooden sign hanging over the door. Inside, it was much bigger than I expected. Not an expanded dungeon dimension, but still surprisingly spacious. The main display hall had a somewhat triangular shape, with the pointed tip facing the street. The base of the triangle, the widest part in the back, stretched at least fifty meters across.
The floors were polished wood that gleamed under the lights, with a slight reflective quality. The walls were lined with adjustable mana-crystal lamps, mounted both on the surfaces and suspended from the ceiling with metal arms that could be tilted and extended. Over a hundred stands, in various sizes and heights, filled the space.
A group of over ten assistants waited for us inside, buzzing with energy. The moment I pulled the first crate from my Storage, the place came alive. They swarmed like a choreographed storm, lifting items, arranging them on pedestals, draping cloth, adjusting lighting, and exclaiming over every other piece. Within minutes, what had looked like a bare gallery transformed into a curated exhibit.
Mr. Stobor moved among them like a conductor, giving subtle nods, pointing, and occasionally stepping in to adjust the angle of a vase or reposition a stand. He paused just long enough to introduce me to Mr. Anshab, a thin man with perfectly slicked-back hair and a relatively modest outfit in blue, green, yellow, and red stripes, who would be managing the gallery. Then, with everything in motion, we left.
Back at the warehouse, Mr. Stobor picked up right where he had left off, selling off the remaining inventory with his usual cunning. In the evening, we returned to the gallery to check on the results.
They did one hell of a job. All the items they arranged that morning—the decorative glassware, the carved trinkets, the painted vases—were gone from the pedestals. In their place stood new arrangements, carefully lit and artfully staged. I peeked into the back room. The pile of boxes was less than a third of what we had brought.
Mr. Stobor nodded, arms crossed, and a satisfied expression on his face. “I knew it would work,” he said, then walked over to speak with Mr. Anshab.
A minute later, he returned and handed me a pouch with coins—sixty-three mithril and fifty-one gold.
Best. Merchant. Ever.
It took Mr. Stobor another three days to sell everything. I didn’t get any levels in Merchant from all the sales, probably because I wasn’t the one selling directly, but I didn’t mind at all. After splitting the money, my personal haul came to 453 mithril for items that, in my opinion, weren’t even worth that amount in gold.
What I did get from the experience was a glimpse of what heights my Merchant skills could one day reach. Right now, I was honestly a bit embarrassed even to show him my Merchant class. It felt too unworthy in comparison.
The money reminded us we still had a mithril door tucked away in Mahya’s Storage, one we had planned to feed to my house to get coins. I opened the house portal against the wall in my hotel room. Technically, it was called an inn, but I couldn’t bring myself to call it that. It was a hotel. A very posh and expensive one, even fancier than the first place we had stayed at in this world.
Mahya took out the door, and I let the house eat a mithril coin first. Then, I told it to eat the door and convert all the mithril to similar coins. A few seconds passed, and a small pile of coins rose with a clink from the floor.
Thirty-seven coins.
After we counted them, the three of us stared at the sad little stack in silence. The door had been big. Really big.
Al folded his arms and tilted his head. “Your house appears to have appropriated our loot,” he said.
“Yeah,” Mahya added, eyebrows raised. “Your core is a glutton.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, defending it. “I’m sure there’s another reason for the small number.”
“Like what?” Mahya asked, hands on her hips.
I frowned and said out loud. “Give me back whatever’s left of the door.”
A large slab of wood, about the size of the original door, rose from the floor and began falling. I had to catch it to prevent the boom.
I pointed at it triumphantly. “You see? My core is a good girl. Not a thief.”
Mahya walked over and gave the slab a sharp kick. “The stupid dungeon conned us.”
The teleporter wasn’t up yet, but they were working on it. I was terminally curious to see what exactly they were doing behind those closed doors. Curiosity got the better of me, and I turned invisible, activated Stealth and Malith’s medallion, and crept toward the door.
I barely made it within a meter of the entrance before something flared to life. A shimmer in the air rippled across my vision, and a strange tingling crawled up my skin, raising every hair on my arms. An energy field. Whatever enchantments they used, they were strong enough to punch through my Stealth like it was paper.
Before I could react, alarms sounded, and a wave of pressure hit my ears. Security burst into motion, footsteps pounding as they rushed toward my location with surprising speed. I didn’t wait around to find out what their response involved, but flew off in due haste.
There wasn’t really anything to do in Saa. The entire city was obsessed with art and fashion, and everything revolved around them. I had no desire to spend my days hopping from one fashion show to the next from sunup to sundown, and after one day of touring the galleries, I understood that I didn’t get their art.
To be fair, I never really got most art. Here and there, whether back on Earth or during my travels, I had come across a painting or a statue I thought looked nice, but that was about the extent of it. And in a lot of cases, the impression of “nice” usually had more to do with something else, and not how the piece actually looked. Like the glowing bear statue in Liliatas, for example. That one stuck with me because I couldn’t figure out what the point of the mana in the statue was.
There were plenty of restaurants and cafés—called Orbos Houses here—and I visited a lot of them. Mostly with Rue, sometimes with Mahya or Al. But that was it. The only truly interesting thing I came across in the city was the self-cleaning streets.
During our first visit, I had noticed how exceptionally clean everything looked, but I hadn’t given it much thought at the time. This stay, though, I got to see the process in action. One day, while walking with Rue, a delivery tricycle veered off course and smacked into a street vendor’s stand. The stand sold fried dough balls filled with meat or vegetables, which Rue and I had been in the process of sampling.
What followed was a loud, animated shouting match between the vendor and the tricycle driver, with both of them letting loose a string of alien curses that were pure gold. The tricycle driver was more direct, calling the vendor things like “throwaway bastard,” “rotten desert worm,” and “crooked swindler.”
The vendor, on the other hand, was far more creative. “May your mana shrivel into static,” “go kiss a stone toad in heat,” and my personal favorite, “I wish a mana portal swallows you and spits you out as a stinky rodent.”
It was hard not to laugh.
But the truly fascinating part came during the argument. The spilled food and scattered oil remained on the pavement for about half a minute before the street itself responded. Mana gathered along faint glowing lines, forming a pattern under the mess. In the next breath, the spilled food evaporated into mana eddies, just like grime did when I used my Clean spell. Once the area was spotless, the mana receded along the same lines it had gathered, leaving no trace behind.
I stared at the place for a good minute, trying to understand what just happened and whether I could somehow replicate the effect to improve my Aggressive Clean spell.
No such luck.
Mahya visited the Magitech Guild once and came back with a stormy expression. I asked what happened, but her only response was, “They’re worse than the rest of the crazy lot here.” I left it at that.
Al had a bit more success at the Alchemy Guild. Despite being an Alchemist, that didn’t guarantee automatic acceptance. He had to go through a few tests, mostly brewing potions, before they granted him provisional membership. Still, that was enough for him to start filling out requests and earning guild points. With those points, he browsed the guild boards and even found a recipe he wanted to try to "improve" our alcohol.
Mahya was impatient, but sadly for her, he was missing two key ingredients, and the ones available for sale cost more guild points than he had. He was also confident he would be able to find them in Zindor, since they came from carnivorous plants from dungeons.
To make up for the delay, we got drunk two evenings in a row.
The first night, we ended up at a bar, where we fully embraced bad decisions. Rue had to herd us home like misbehaving livestock. The next day, he glared at us nonstop, tail twitching with annoyance, and kept calling us “stupid wild cats.” Not even two generous servings of smoked crab were enough to win him over. Well, they did improve his mood a little, but not enough to stop the glaring. He kept sulking, occasionally sighing like a disappointed parent.
To escape Rue’s wrath, we decided to get drunk the following evening in the privacy of our suite at the hotel.
I woke up sprawled on the dining room table, drooling onto a cloth napkin. Mahya and Al woke up in bed together. Naked.
Both of them swore nothing happened, especially after Al, red-faced and mortified, muttered that he could not even “make it rise” for a woman. Still, they acted awkwardly around each other the entire day, avoiding eye contact and bumping into furniture while trying not to bump into each other.
Rue and I spent most of the day snickering every time they crossed paths and flinched with a hop back like spooked cats. For once, I started to see where Rue’s feline references came from. I still wholeheartedly disagreed with his opinion that I turned into a “stupid wild cat” when drunk, but I could admit that in some cases, the comparison fit.
Two days after we finished the sales, we all had had enough of Saa. Some places, you can only take in small doses.
We gathered around the dining table in the suite, empty mugs and snack crumbs pushed to one side. I channeled a trickle of mana into the Map, and it shimmered into view above the table. All of us leaned in, trying to decide our next move.
“Balloon?” Mahya asked, resting her chin on her hands.
“Do we know what kinds of flying beasts exist around here?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the broad open stretch of land between us and the Gate.
“There are some dangerous varieties,” Al said.
Mahya turned to him. “How do you know?”
“The Alchemy Guild sells their parts,” he replied. “Several types, and none of them are small.”
I let out a breath. “The river will take us at least another month. I don’t really feel like sailing for a month straight.”
“The trick with us inside the house worked great,” Mahya said, perking up a little. “You covered a distance of three days in less than one.”
I nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the Map. “The most direct route would take me about two to three days. But look,” I pointed at the blank stretch on the projection, “there are almost no towns or cities along the way. I can fly straight through it, but I’m not sure I want to.”
“So open the house,” Mahya said with a shrug. “What’s the problem?”
“Remember the enormous bears in the forest near the Gate?” I asked, glancing at her. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not in a rush to meet one of them.”
She winced. “Right. Fair point.”
“How long will it take if you follow the river?” she asked, eyes back on the Map.
I did a few rough mental calculations. “Four or five days.”
Mahya looked over at Al. “Sounds good to me.”
Al gave a single nod. “It is the best option.”
The first day of my flight passed without any special incidents. I soared over fields and forests, the wind rushing past me as birds crossed my path. Some were small, others impressively large. In the distance, I spotted something massive with wings gliding along the horizon, but it was too far to make out clearly. I kept my distance.
By evening, I spotted a relatively large town near the river and landed in a quiet clearing just outside its borders. I let the others out, and we walked the rest of the way together. Dinner was simple but satisfying, followed by a few hours of solid sleep. Before dawn, I was airborne again.
Day two passed the same. Flight, town, dinner, sleep, back in the air.
The third day started much the same—calm skies, steady progress—but in the early afternoon, something shifted. I felt it in the mana. A subtle ripple, like a shiver running through the world’s makeup. Faint, but familiar. My instincts flared. I tightened my grip on my mana and dropped lower toward the river, scanning the waters below.
Then came another wave. Stronger. The pulse hit with a soft whomp, and for a moment, my mana jolted like it was about to twist out of control. I held on, just barely, flying low over the water as I tried to pinpoint the source.
A third wave rolled through, accompanied by another whomp. My control slipped. My foot skimmed the river’s surface before I managed to right myself, teeth clenched and mana locked down as tight as I could make it. But the contact with the water helped. The instant my magic touched the water, I felt it. The damn thing was hiding beneath the surface. I didn’t give it another chance. With a sharp pull, I yanked the creature out of the river in a tight water bubble and hurled it toward the shore. The spell held just long enough for it to slam into a jagged rock. The impact shattered the bubble and the thing inside it, leaving only a large, wet stain on the rocks.
Huh. That was easy.
I flew for another half an hour and reached the intersection of the two rivers I had been aiming for. We needed the one heading west, toward the Gate. This river flowed along the same desert we had crossed on foot on our way to Outpost Seven. There were no towns along the way. Just water meeting endless sand.
I kept flying until early evening, then did a slow flyby along the bank to check for uninvited guests. Everything looked quiet. Still, remembering how those worms had jumped out of the sand when the train passed, I took out a rifle and fired a couple of shots into the sand. Nothing jumped out.
Satisfied, I opened the house and went inside to cook dinner.
We ended up spending three days in that spot. It was hot—around 40 degrees—but we swam most of the time, which helped keep us cool. The place had its own kind of charm. This particular river didn’t have any boat or ship traffic, so we had it all to ourselves.
Rue zoomed around on his jet ski or dove into the water for long swims. I mostly swam too, played a bit on the E-foil, and practiced water magic. I focused on refining attack spells such as the water bullets I first created against the crabs and water spears, and on perfecting the massive water column I had used against the ship that dropped bombs on us.
Al tended to his greenhouse and transferred some cuttings to the new one he had set up inside his own house. Mahya alternated between swimming, sunbathing, reading, and eating. Every now and then, she would rub her hands together and remind us about the string of ruined towns with all the “neglected” cores waiting for us on the other side of the Gate.
It was a fun and peaceful last stop before heading back to the depressing but dungeon-rich land of Zindor.
Before we closed the house and I flew the last stretch to the Gate, they wrote an Archive entry about this world. My contribution was mentioning the great obstacle course and the single point I had gained in Agility. Other than that, I didn’t have much to add.
In the morning, I closed the house, with them in it, and flew the last stretch to the forest housing the Gate. We didn’t know if I would be able to cross the Gate with them inside the house. They were Travelers, so logically yes, but we didn’t want to take any chances.
In the forest, I weaved between the branches and vines until I reached the Gate, passing above quite a few murder bears. Spirits, they were huge. The biggest was larger than an elephant. There was a bear too close to the Gate, so I flew a bit away and opened the house against a tree. Everybody came out, turned invisible, engaged Stealth, and we headed to the Gate.
Zindor greeted us with a hailstorm. We all cursed in unison as I opened the house right beside the Gate and rushed everyone inside.
What else could I expect? It was Zindor, after all—the land of endless doom and gloom.
Comments
TravelingDreamer
here's the link to 58: https://www.patreon.com/posts/134714489 it's on the main page like the rest. Maybe close the app and re-open it.
Randall
I can't find chapter 58. All I can figure out is they fought a ship and al almost died
TravelingDreamer
Thank you
N Johnson
Thanks for the chapter. I truly enjoy your work.
TravelingDreamer
😹😹
Angela Roberts
John was the luxury airline cruise.
