I had five stat points—just enough to convert into an ability point. My eyes flicked over the screen, a tight feeling in my chest as I scrolled through the endless Spells and Skills lists. Each line felt like a lifeline, a slim chance of finding something to reach her, to find something to at least contact her. My heart pounded as I skimmed through the descriptions, words blurring in my rush to find anything that might work.
But the more I searched, the heavier the disappointment grew. Every category was just another dead end. No spells to bring her back, no secret path to even reach her. My shoulders slumped as that flicker of hope dimmed with each swipe. And then I hit the Necromancy section.
The titles alone made my skin crawl—"Raise Undead," "Drain Life," "Dark Influence." The words on the screen seemed to pulse, dark and heavy, as if warning me to look elsewhere.
NECROMANCY
Grasp of the Grave
Channel the arcane arts to wield the power of necromancy and command the forces of death.
· Raise Undead: Summon skeletal warriors or spectral guardians to serve you. The number and strength of undead raised depends on your skill level and mana expenditure.
Cost: 3 Ability Points.
· Drain Life: Channel negative energy to siphon vitality from living beings, replenishing your own health. The potency of this drain increases with the level of mastery.
Cost: 3 Ability Points.
· Dark Influence: Infuse nearby shadows with necrotic energy, cloaking yourself and your allies from detection. The radius and duration of this concealment expand with skill levels.
Cost: 3 Ability Points.
Mana Cost: Varies based on the complexity and power of the necromantic spell.
Murmur of Death: When wielding necromantic power, you perceive an eerie whispering from the realm of spirits and the domain of death. Outsiders hear a faint, chilling murmur emanating from your vicinity, yet they cannot decipher the sinister utterances exchanged within your necromantic sphere.
With a shudder, I pulled back, letting out a long, shaky breath. The hope that had felt so strong just a short while ago was gone, leaving me staring at the screen in silence, my chest hollow and aching. I needed to clear my head.
A little while later, I found myself in the armchair by the window, staring out at the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. My coffee sat cold on the table beside me, ignored for hours as I went through the same thoughts, over and over, trying to make some sense of it all.
One minute, this surge of excitement would hit me, like a jolt to the system. This was my chance to step into the unknown, a life most people couldn’t even imagine, full of worlds and possibilities that made my pulse race. I could go places no one on Earth even knew existed, pick up skills that’d make me look like something out of a comic book, be more than just some guy wandering around, drifting between memories. The thrill was almost impossible to ignore—finally, a shot at really living, at doing something that might actually make me feel alive again.
But then the doubt would creep in, and that excitement would fade, replaced by something darker, something that was harder to shake. What if it’s too much? What if I get out there and I’m just... lost? The thought of standing alone in some strange place, surrounded by people who didn’t speak my language, didn’t share my world, made my stomach twist. Out there, I’d be on my own. No backup, no safety net, just me and whatever skills I picked up. If things went south, I’d have no one to lean on, no one to help if things went sideways. And I knew better than most just how quickly things could go wrong.
And then there was the guilt, a constant presence lurking around, no matter what I thought about. Sophie should’ve been here for this. She would’ve been the first one to dive in, dragging me along, pointing out all the reasons this was worth it. But she wasn’t here. Her grave was. Just like my mom’s. Every time I thought about leaving, it hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d convinced myself that holding on was a way of honoring them, that staying kept them close somehow. But what was I really holding onto here?
A heavy silence settled around me as I thought it through, really thought it through. It was almost funny in a way that everything tying me to this world could be reduced to two graves. My mom’s. Sophie’s. That was it. And they weren’t here anymore, not really. Their lives, their voices—all of it had left this place long before I ever thought about leaving. I’d been clinging to memories, thinking they’d keep me grounded. But all they’d done was keep me stuck, circling back to the same places, the same routines, like I was trapped in a loop I couldn’t break.
The emptiness of it all hit me then, sharp and clear. I’d been clinging to something that wasn’t there, trying to hold onto memories that only made the loneliness louder. What did I even have left here? No job—that was gone, thanks to Sophie’s father, who’d made sure of that. And friends? Not really. We had a few couples we’d go out with, grab dinner or catch a movie, but they were Sophie’s friends more than mine. Real friends, people who’d be there even now? I couldn’t think of a single one.
Family? That was a joke. My mom’s parents had tossed her out the second she got pregnant with me, and when she died, they didn’t want me either. I bounced around foster homes until I was old enough to take care of myself. No one who felt like home, no one who’d miss me.
And there it was—the blunt reality that I’d spent too long ignoring. I had nothing here. Not really. All this time, I’d been acting like I was staying for something, holding on out of loyalty to a life that had moved on without me. But all I’d been doing was spinning in circles, clinging to memories that couldn’t change anything.
I took a deep breath, feeling the tension ease, like letting go of something heavy I hadn’t realized I was carrying. It’s time. For once, the decision didn’t feel like a risk. It felt like the first actual choice I’d made in a long time, something I actually wanted. I didn’t know what lay ahead, but whatever it was, it was better than this half-life I’d been stuck in.
I stood up, stretching out, feeling a strange calm settle over me, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. I didn’t have a plan, didn’t know what lay ahead on the other side, but for the first time, that didn’t worry me. Maybe stepping into the unknown was exactly what I needed. A life that was finally mine to shape, without all the shadows of the past trailing after me. I was ready to find out what might be waiting.
I turned my attention to the abilities list. If I was going to travel, understanding different languages would be essential. The thought of picking up languages on the fly, of blending in without barriers—it felt like the first real, tangible step forward. I used my free stat points to gain an extra ability point, then unlocked the Local Adaptation ability. Just knowing I’d be able to talk to people in new worlds, understand them without fumbling, gave me a strange sense of confidence. One thing settled, I thought, feeling that steadying sense of purpose spread.
Curious, I tried converting another 5 stat points from my Vitality, hoping to gain an additional ability point. But nothing happened. I frowned, squinting at the screen, wondering if I’d missed something. Maybe it was because those points were already part of me—or maybe the system only allowed conversions with free points, something I’d have to look into. There was a lot to learn, and I needed every advantage I could get.
I shifted my focus to the Archive, eager to dig through anything useful. The world information section showed only Earth for now, but there was a general knowledge section—an entire library of notes and tips, like breadcrumbs left by others who’d traveled before me. I dove in, reading every line, every detail, piecing together what it might mean to navigate this life.
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I kept scrolling, taking in bits and pieces, when I stumbled onto something that stopped me cold: the “Tips & Tricks” section. This wasn’t just some general advice. No, this was the inside knowledge you’d only get from people who’d been out there, who knew the actual risks. My pulse quickened as I scanned the first few lines, and then I saw it—the game-changer. I didn’t actually have to jump into the unknown right away. I could just… stand by the Gate, touch one of the portal stones, and get information on what was waiting on the other side. No need to risk my life on a blind leap just to get the lay of the land.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Maybe I sounded overly cautious, even to myself, but the thought of blindly walking into some world full of gods-know-what wasn’t exactly appealing. This, though? This was a relief—a way to feel out the terrain before diving in. It was like having a safety net, something I didn’t realize I’d been desperately hoping for.
The more I read, the more little nuggets of wisdom I found. One tip was borderline genius: if I learned a skill the hard way, as in really learned it—through sweat and experience—I could convert it to an ability point later on. I’d keep the knowledge but lose the perks unless I leveled it up again. Sure, it came with a warning, but the sneakiness of it made me grin. I loved it. Just the idea of squeezing out every last drop of advantage, bending the system a little, made this whole adventure seem less daunting.
And then there was the trading advice—like a masterclass in how to game the worlds for profit. The suggestion? Buy cheap, mass-produced stuff from tech worlds—things like knives, sturdy pots, bright fabrics, or even wooden toys—and sell them for a fortune in undeveloped or mana-heavy worlds. Apparently, cookware and colorful fabric were worth their weight in gold when you brought them somewhere primitive. And it worked both ways; buy handmade swords, bows, or other “rustic” gear in a low-tech world, then sell it off as “authentic” or “vintage” in a high-tech one. I couldn’t help but laugh, already imagining the look on some fancy collector’s face as they handed over a small fortune for a basic sword labeled as “traditional craftsmanship.” The idea of flipping worlds for a profit? Yeah, I could get behind that.
There was practical advice, too—the kind of stuff that’d save me a whole lot of trouble later. Things like always having transport options for different terrains, gear to survive in the wild, and a range of clothes for any weather. Oh, and apparently, tech didn’t work in mana-heavy worlds, so I’d need to plan around that. These tips were like having a seasoned traveler whispering in my ear, nudging me toward survival instead of rookie mistakes. I was eating it all up.
Then there was a tip about carrying funds across worlds. No surprise, cash didn’t exactly transfer between realities, but small jewelry did the trick—rings, chains, pendants, that kind of stuff, preferably in silver and gold. And coins, too, but I’d have to rough them up a bit, make them look worn so they’d pass as “foreign” currency. In tech-heavy worlds, I’d need to stick to jewelry, selling at small pawn shops to avoid any red flags. It was oddly thrilling, learning the ins and outs of multiversal finances. I could practically see myself haggling over some dusty silver ring in a back-alley shop, passing it off as an exotic piece.
Every few lines, different Travelers kept circling back to the same advice: learn how to fight. Apparently, it wasn’t optional. I needed to get skilled with at least one weapon, learn some basic hand-to-hand combat, and, if I was smart, invest points in a defensive spell, a ranged attack, and at least one healing spell. I couldn’t help but smile. They’d practically written out my starter pack for me.
I started racking my brain for a general skill I could sacrifice to score an ability point. Problem was, I didn’t exactly have a lot of skills I was itching to part with. The only thing that came to mind was tennis. It wasn’t like I’d picked up a racket in years, and I didn’t exactly plan on wowing interdimensional aliens with my backhand. After a couple of quick calls, I managed to book a lesson at a tennis center two days from now. Not exactly the training I’d expected to be doing, but hey, a point’s a point.
To “farm” ability points, I started searching for private courses that could teach me specific skills and abilities. And, of course, I gave myself a mental pat on the shoulder for using the correct jargon.
* Making handmade pasta — I would like to learn this for myself; I love cooking.
* Ceramic workshop — a strong contender.
* Pencil sketching workshop — one more in the bag.
* Macramé workshop for jewelry making — I will never need this skill.
* How to make beer workshop — this I might need on my travels, worth checking out.
* Painting on vinyl records workshop — one more point.
* Flower weaving workshop — and another point.
* Iron wire sculpture workshop — definitely another point.
* Gift basket weaving — one more in stock.
Seeing all the options lined up was more satisfying than I’d expected, and with my list of phone numbers in hand, I started making calls. By the time I was done, my schedule for the next week was packed tight. I couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride—I was really making this happen.
The next morning, on my way to the tennis lesson, I tested out Identify. I aimed it at everything I passed: people, signs, anything that caught my eye. It wasn’t exactly impressive. Every person showed up as “unintegrated human male” or “unintegrated human female.” Not exactly groundbreaking information. The objects fared little better, just labeling themselves as “Door,” “Stairs,” and “Street Sign.” Useful in a magical world, maybe, but right now it was just cluttering up my view with the obvious.
When I finally stepped onto the tennis court, it was a different kind of challenge. Fifteen minutes in, and I’d only just scored my first point against my opponent. But as soon as I did, the rted light started blinking.
You have learned the Skill [Playing Tennis]
Immediately, I clicked it with my mind, with the intention of giving it up.
Would you like to give up the Skill [Playing Tennis] and convert it to an Ability Point?
Y/N
I clicked Yes.
You have 1 new Ability Point.
Yes! It worked! Bless you, anonymous Traveler.
During the following week, I attended all the workshops and learned the Skills. The class description wasn’t kidding; it was easy to learn skills. I kept the pasta, beer, and pencil sketching since I liked it, but converted the rest.
I had 6 additional ability points, so I first purchased the skill [One of the Crowd].
Thinking about protection, I purchased the spells [Mana Dart] and [Mana Shield]. At first, I wanted to get the fireball spell but eventually realized that avoiding any potential fire hazards might be prudent.
MANA DART
Description: Mana Dart is an offensive spell allowing the caster to conjure a dart of pure magical energy. This potent spell, often wielded by battle mages, sorcerers, and magical warriors, delivers precise and powerful attacks against opponents. The number of darts and their potency increase with the caster’s level.
Cost: 1 Ability Point.
MANA SHIELD
Description: Mana Shield is a defensive spell that envelops the caster in a protective barrier of pure magical energy. This vital spell, often utilized by wizards, sorcerers, and magical guardians, provides a robust defense against physical and magical attacks. The shield absorbs incoming damage, safeguarding the caster and allowing it to withstand otherwise lethal blows. The shield’s power rises with the level.
Cost: 1 Ability Point.
In addition, I invested another ability point into my Storage. Based on everything I read in the Archive and the books, I would need the space. Now I had 512 m³.
Many Travelers in the Archive recommended buying a healing spell, and as I scrolled through the options, that advice stuck with me. Minor Heal stood out—a quick fix for injuries and common illnesses. It was exactly what I needed, a real safety net.
Minor Heal
Description: Minor Heal mends minor injuries and alleviates simple ailments. Adventurers, healers, and anyone venturing into dangerous territories frequently use this essential spell. It effectively treats cuts, scrapes, broken bones, and common illnesses like colds, providing swift and reliable relief. While it doesn’t cure severe injuries or complex diseases, its utility in everyday scenarios makes it a valuable addition to any spellcaster’s repertoire. The spell’s effectiveness slightly increases with the caster’s proficiency.
Cost: 1 Ability Point.
But something in me resisted. I paused, staring at the spell description, and all my years of medical training flashed through my mind. The all-nighters, the crammed study sessions, the knowledge that was a part of me. My white coat wasn’t just clothing; it was a proof of everything I’d worked for. Using a spell to heal would feel like bypassing all that, like throwing away years of experience. Could I really do that?
And yet, the pull was strong. I thought about the dangers out there, the risks that even medical knowledge couldn’t fully prepare me for. A quick heal would make an enormous difference.
But in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to take it. Not yet. I’d rely on the skills I knew first, keep myself safe, avoid injury. If I ever needed it, the spell would still be there. For now, I let the decision settle and moved on.
With that settled—for now, at least—I left the healing spell on the list and turned my focus to getting prepared to protect myself.