TravelingDreamer
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B6—Chapter 44: Path of the Bruised and Wet
🕑 Added 2025-06-23 18:01:56 +0000 UTCTwo days after I finished with the library, Rue and I reached the southern outskirts of the city. We took our time, wandering along the riverside path, with the breeze carrying the briny scent of the river. Boats floated lazily on the water beside us, their hulls casting gentle ripples that shimmered in the sunlight.
Along the way, we sampled food from a few street vendors. Crispy fried dough balls filled with meat and dusted with spicy salt, skewers of something that tasted suspiciously like eel but sweeter, and, by far the best, the dessert worms. Lightly glazed and served on a stick, they were warm and chewy, with a caramelized crunch on the outside and a soft, nutty filling that melted on the tongue. Rue licked his chops and demanded seconds, thirds, and fourths.
Curious, I asked the vendor what they were made of. With a shrug, he explained they were desert worms. A little more digging, and I realized—with no small amount of horror—that they were the same worms that had attacked the train. Apparently, once you removed the venom sacs and cooked them right, they were a local delicacy.
Rue didn’t seem to mind. On second thought, neither did I.
Up ahead, a huge white marble dome stood as the last building in that part of the city, its walls gleaming in the afternoon light. And there, right by the entrance, was a sign. That was new. So far, this world had been practically allergic to signs.
Path of the Proven
Curious now, I gave Rue a nudge and stepped inside.
The sound of rushing water echoed through the entrance hall, and as we stepped into the main space, a sprawling obstacle course came into view, built over a diverted channel off the river. Water surged beneath it in a steady, controlled stream. Platforms, beams, and swinging ropes crisscrossed the deep blue channel. Some sections shifted and rotated; others sprayed bursts of water or flared with short-lived flames before resetting.
A few people leaned over balconies above, watching. Only one person was currently on the course, leaping from a narrow pole to a suspended ladder. They climbed quickly, then jumped onto a long beam and sprinted across, dodging logs tied to ropes that swung toward them with nasty intent. The last one caught him square in the chest and sent him tumbling into the water below. A chorus of disappointed groans and excited shouts rose from the balconies.
A tall man in layered leather stood near a wooden counter, arms crossed and face sunburned. I made my way over.
“What is this place?” I asked.
He nodded toward the course. “Training ground for high-level individuals. Strength, balance, and reflexes. Not for the faint of heart.”
“And the cost?”
He shook his head. “No cost to enter. But people place bets on or against you. If you fall, you walk away with nothing. If you make it to the end, you get whatever was bet against you.”
I glanced back at Rue, who was already trotting over to a sunny ledge with a clear view of the course, his ears perked up like he was settling in for a performance.
“Alright,” I said, stretching my neck. “Let’s see what I’m worth.”
The entire obstacle course shimmered with swirls and eddies of mana in hundreds of colors and shades, shifting constantly like liquid glass. It was an ever-changing, psychedelic kaleidoscope. Colors pulsing, twisting, and folding into one another in dizzying patterns. For the first couple of minutes, I stood there mesmerized, caught up in the beauty of it. But it didn’t take long before the shifting waves of color started messing with my head. A lightheaded fog crept in, followed by a wave of vertigo that made it feel like the ground was tilting beneath me.
It took a few tries and some blinking to clear my head before I realized what was wrong. The overload wasn’t physical. It was my sight. My mana sight. I saw too much. The details, the layers, the movement. It was all too amplified.
So I did what I’d done before, back when my nose got overwhelmed. I focused, centered myself, and gradually reduced the sensitivity of my mana vision. It took a bit of trial and error, but eventually, the chaos settled into something I could actually process without falling over.
One person was ahead of me in line, but he didn’t get far. He slipped off the second swinging rope and splashed into the water. I frowned. How could he fall so quickly if this course was intended for high-level individuals?
Either way, it was my turn now.
The minute I stepped onto the starting platform, I understood. Gravity pulled me. My knees bent under the weight, like I was carrying Rue on my back after an extra good meal. At least double gravity. Maybe triple. There was also pressure from above. Not exactly air pressure, maybe reverse gravity pressure? Either way, I was pulled from one end and pressed on from the other. Very unpleasant.
No wonder the guy before me had wiped out so fast.
A bell rang, and the course began.
The first obstacle was a narrow wooden beam, slick with water that sprayed at me from every direction. Thin streams jetted from the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling, and it was aimed low, high, and from various angles to throw me off. I moved slowly, arms stretched out, feet sliding one cautious step at a time as I leaned and twisted to counter each unexpected hit. The weight of the extra gravity didn’t help. My balance was all over the place, and every muscle in my legs burned with the effort just to stay upright. Still, step by step, breath held, I reached the end.
Next came spinning wide, flat boards suspended over the water, each one rotating in the opposite direction of the one before it. They looked simple enough from a distance, but the moment I jumped onto the first, it jerked hard beneath me. My footing slipped, and I dropped into a low crouch, grabbing the edge to keep from being flung off entirely. It spun faster than I expected, tilting just enough to mess with my balance.
I waited for the right moment, then lunged for the second, reaching for my Jump skill, hoping to cheat a little. Nothing happened. The skill didn’t activate at all.
By the third plank, my thighs were screaming. The fourth had me teetering on the edge, one arm windmilling for balance. I made it to the fifth by sheer stubborn will, then collapsed onto the end platform, gasping and sprawled out like a wet towel.
The third obstacle was a series of thick ropes dangling over short gaps. It looked simple in theory, but was brutal in execution. I jumped and caught the first, the sudden weight of my own body nearly yanking my arms from their sockets. The added gravity from above made it feel like I had iron for clothes. Every muscle in my shoulders and arms screamed in protest as I swung forward.
I reached for the second rope and just barely caught it, the coarse fibers biting into my palms. The third was worse. My fingers slipped, caught again, then slipped once more. I snagged it with two fingers and clenched hard, teeth gritted.
On instinct, I reached out to the Wind, hoping to cheat just a little. Hover, lighten myself, something.
Nothing.
Not even a flicker of mana. It was as if the Wind completely ignored me.
Somehow, by raw grip and stubbornness, I managed to hold on and swing to the final platform. I landed in a heap, breathing hard, arms shaking, my whole body trembling from the effort.
Obstacle four was a long, narrow seesaw plank suspended over the channel, and it tilted sharply with every step. With arms out for balance, I moved inch by inch as the whole thing shifted beneath me. Each footfall made the plank lurch enough to throw me off center, and I had to constantly counterbalance to stay upright.
As if that wasn’t enough, sharp gusts of wind slammed into me from the sides, and thin streams of water shot from hidden nozzles, aimed with just enough pressure to mess with my footing. The spectators didn’t help either. Gasps, oohs, and the occasional snicker drifted down from above every time I wobbled too close to the edge.
Then came the fun part.
The last stretch had pressure plates that triggered bursts of flame. My approach evolved into a bizarre little dance: step, jump back, step, step, jump back, all while trying to time my movements between flare-ups. Somehow, I made it across. Not with any grace or dignity, but I did make it. It’s hard to look composed when you’re flailing around like a drunk kangaroo.
I climbed the suspended ladder that tried to throw me off and landed on the long beam at the top. Then came the swinging logs. Five of them were tied to ropes, arcing unpredictably. I hesitated. Timed my dash. Ran. One missed me by a breath. Two more I ducked under. The fourth clipped my shoulder, spinning me sideways, but I stumbled through.
The fifth log hit me square in the ribs with the force of a battering ram. I didn’t just feel the impact. I heard it. A sickening crack snapped through my chest, sharp and unmistakable. Pain shot through my side like someone had shoved a hot iron between my ribs, and my breath vanished in an instant. I doubled over mid-fall, the world tilting as my body registered what had just happened. A few ribs, maybe more, definitely broken.
I slammed into the water with a full-body splash, sank deeper than expected, and kicked back up sputtering. The cold hit me second, right after the searing pain in my side. My ribs screamed with every movement, sharp and ragged, and I knew something was wrong. I grimaced, pressed a hand to my chest, and tried to cast Heal Bone.
Nothing.
No glow, no warmth, no shift in the pain. Just dead silence where magic should have been. I tried again, this time more slowly, focusing harder, and even reciting the words. Still nothing. The spell didn’t take.
From the balconies above came a mix of groans and laughter.
I crawled out of the water, every breath stabbing through my ribs, and tried to cast again. Still nothing. The spell fizzled before it even formed, like my mana couldn’t get past the air itself. Gritting my teeth, I kept moving, dragging myself forward on all fours across the slick wooden edge of the channel. Each step felt like a punch to the chest. I kept crawling until the pressure in the air shifted, and something invisible let go. Only then, just beyond the boundary of the obstacle course, did the spell finally take hold. A familiar warmth bloomed under my palm, and the pain began to ease as the healing spread across my ribs.
By that point, I was lightheaded from the pain and the failed casting attempts. My vision swam, and I slumped onto my side with a shaky breath, clutching my chest as the last of the healing settled in.
I lay there for a while until I felt better, but then my competitive side woke up. Truth be told, I didn’t even know I had a competitive side, but it turned out I did.
I stood slowly, tested my ribs with a few shallow breaths, then looked back at the course.
“Again,” I said to myself and walked over to register.
The gravity hit just as hard as before, but now I was expecting it. My knees bent automatically, absorbing the weight, and I moved with more control. The narrow beam, still slick and still spraying water like a fireman’s hose, didn’t throw me this time. My movements weren’t any faster, but I wasn’t fighting to stay upright. I adjusted to the pressure, anticipated the jets, and kept my center low. I reached the end with burning legs and dripping clothes, but no flailing.
The spinning planks came next. They still tried to throw me, but I remembered their rhythms. I hit the first and crouched low without hesitation. Jumped to the second during its slow arc. My legs still ached, and my arms tensed with every landing, but I wasn't at war with the course anymore. I rode the motion instead of bracing against it. By the fifth, I was sweating buckets, but managed to stay upright.
The ropes were just as brutal. My grip screamed in protest, but this time, I didn’t waste effort fighting the swing. I let it carry me and kept the momentum going. No desperate flailing, no last-second saves. Just grit, pain, and forward movement.
The seesaw plank was still awful. The gusts still knocked me off balance, the water still blasted my shins, and the flames were as rude as ever. But I knew their pattern now. My timing wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. I made it across with fewer close calls and no kangaroo impressions, but with a slightly singed butt.
Then came the swinging logs.
I tensed but stepped forward anyway. The first swung wide, and I ducked under it clean. The second and third passed behind me. The fourth brushed my sleeve but missed the meat of me. And the fifth? This time, I wasn’t there when it came through.
I cleared the platform and exhaled slowly, chest tight from effort. My ribs throbbed in memory.
The next part turned out to be the easiest so far. A long line of slender poles rose from the water, each moving up and down. Compared to swinging logs and flame jets, this looked almost kind.
I jumped onto the first pole, wobbled but found my balance, and waited for it to rise. When it was above the next one, I stepped down with a slight hop and repeated the process. The timing was key, but the motion was steady enough to predict. One by one, I made my way across all ten poles.
The real challenge wasn’t the movement. It was the poles themselves. Each one was no more than five centimeters across, barely wide enough for the arch of my foot. Balancing on them felt like standing on broom handles over open water. Every small shift in weight sent tiny tremors through my legs, and I had to windmill my arms to keep my balance. Somehow, I kept it. At the end of the section, I metaphorically gave my Agility trait a pat on the back and resisted the urge to strike a pose. For the first time on this course, I actually felt like a champ.
The next obstacle looked deceptively simple at first. Just a series of innocent, narrow stone tiles floating in the air, spaced unevenly and arranged in a long arc. Then they flickered with magic, strong enough even with my reduced mana sight, and I realized each tile pulsed with magic and shifted its position every few seconds. Some moved farther apart. Others dipped lower or rose higher. It wasn’t just about jumping. It was about timing, guessing which tile would still be there when I landed.
I leapt to the first tile and nearly missed it as it dropped a few centimeters mid-jump. My foot landed on the edge, the entire platform tilting slightly before stabilizing. I hesitated too long on the second, and it jerked sideways beneath me with a sudden pulse of mana. I stumbled, arms flailing.
The next tile blinked out just as I jumped.
And then I was in the air.
And then in the water.
Again.
Growling, I climbed out of the water, clothes dripping and ribs still sore despite the earlier healing. I trudged back toward the registration desk, wiping water from my eyes and trying not to limp from muscle strain.
The man behind the counter raised an eyebrow as I approached. “Determined, aren’t you?”
“I want another shot,” I said, already bracing to step forward.
He held up a hand. “Two attempts per day. That’s the rule. Come back tomorrow.”
I stared at him for a moment, still catching my breath, then let out a long sigh. “Fine.”
The minute I walked into the house, Mahya's eyes got wide. “What happened to your clothes and hair?”
I peeled a soggy sleeve away from my arm and gave her a tired look. “Gravity, water, fire, and humiliation.”
She tilted her head. “You fought with the elements?”
I flopped down on a stool, still wet. “Obstacle course in the south end of the city. Built over water. It's magical, evil, and I want a rematch.”
Her eyebrows climbed. “Let me guess—you lost?”
“Twice,” I said, holding up two fingers. “Second time, I nearly made it. Then a tile blinked out under my feet, and I did an elegant swan dive into the water.”
She smirked. “And naturally, your first thought was, 'Mahya would love this too'?”
“No,” I said, pointing at her. “My first thought was, 'ouch.' My second thought was, ‘I want a rematch,’ but my third thought was 'Mahya would love this.' Come with me tomorrow. You’re light, quick, and reckless enough to enjoy it.”
She tapped her chin, pretending to consider. “Do they have a leaderboard?”
“Don’t know,” I said, wringing out the end of my sleeve. “But I’m pretty sure someone’s betting on us.”
Mahya’s grin spread slowly as she crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “Fine. I’m in. But if I beat you, you owe me a foot massage.”
“If you beat me, I’ll cook.”
She narrowed her eyes, smile still in place. “You always cook.”
I shrugged and gave her a tired smile. “Yeah, but I’ll cook something special.”
She pretended to think about it, then gave an evil smile. “Fine, but you’ll owe me choux éclairs. You haven’t made them in ages.”
I nodded, and we shook on it.
Comments
Angela Roberts
Fun!!
