The Gate Traveler-Chapter 32B7 - : Applied Field Dynamics: Reconciling Einstein, Newton, and Mana

Mahya burst into the house, eyes wide. “What the fuck?”

I looked at her over my shoulder, still holding the coffeepot. “What?”

“Where the hell are we?”

“Ashara. Mana 27. Threat level low,” I said, finally pouring myself a cup. The rich aroma rose with a promise of salvation, and I closed my eyes for a second, inhaling in pure euphoria. Starting the morning with a flight and no caffeine was a travesty.

“Huh?” she asked, blinking as if the words hadn’t registered.

I took a long sip, savoring the warmth spreading through my chest. “Perfect,” I murmured.

“How did we get here, and why is it so spooky?”

“I crossed the Gate with you in the house,” I said, turning to lean against the counter. “Wanted to test if it was possible, and it worked! So yeah, crossed with you in it, and the rest you know. Nothing dramatic.” I shrugged, setting the mug down and cracking a few eggs into a pan.

She kept staring at me, completely dumbfounded, like I had sprouted a second head. The eggs hissed in the pan, and the smell of butter filled the kitchen.

Al entered a moment later, looking slightly mussed, his shirt collar askew. “John, would you kindly explain what has occurred? I am rather confused.”

“The train stop was only ten minutes,” I said, waving the spatula for emphasis. “You were out cold. Couldn’t wake you, so I just sealed the house and flew with you in it.”

“Yes, I am aware of that part,” Al said, running a hand through his hair and straightening his collar. “Mahya and Rue explained it in great detail. What I fail to comprehend, however, is our current location.” His tone sharpened on the last words, irritation slipping through the usual calm.

“That’s where the Gate leads,” I said, flipping the eggs in the pan. “Since it’s low mana, I figured it was harmless, and I needed coffee.”

Al and Mahya exchanged a glance, still looking bewildered. I couldn’t understand what was so hard to grasp. Sure, the place looked spooky. No argument there. But it was low mana. I mean, come on—how dangerous could it be? All I wanted was breakfast and five minutes of peace with my coffee.

Rue padded in, tail swishing lazily as he sniffed the air. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, buddy, coming right up.”

Mahya marched over and smacked the back of my head. I spun around and swatted her twice with the spatula, just to make sure we were even.

Al sighed and sat at the bar, folding his hands neatly. “Breakfast is indeed a good idea.”

Mahya froze and stared at him. She had been doing a lot of staring this morning. Still, the shock kept her quiet long enough for me to enjoy my cup of heaven in peace.

When breakfast was finally on the bar and everyone had taken their seats, she started again. “What do we do now?”

I shrugged. “Whatever you want. We can go back to Quassior, but the next Gate is about two weeks away. Or we can find a way out of this underground city and explore the surface. The next Gate here is closer. I checked.”

Her gaze unfocused as she pulled up her Map. “Yes and no,” she said slowly. “It is closer on the Map, but I doubt this world has trains, so distance is… relative.”

“We have the motorcycles, jeeps, and my RV,” Al said, placing deliberate emphasis on my with pride. “Distance should not pose an obstacle.”

Mahya crossed her arms and tilted her head. “And what about the local population?”

“On a low-mana world?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “They can’t hurt or rob us.”

She frowned and leaned closer. “Did you even look for a way out?”

“No. I checked the surroundings to make sure there were no monsters or other creatures, then opened the house. I told you, I needed coffee.”

“Did you check the mana level of Quassior?” Al asked.

“No, didn’t think of it. I’ll do it after breakfast. I’m curious.”

“Me too,” Mahya said.

Al nodded and hummed.

After breakfast, all of us went to check the Gate.

Travelers Gate #25891523164

Destination: Quassior

Status: Integrated

Mana Level: 50

Magitech Level: High

Threat Level: High

“You think the Gates in the red zones disappeared because the world passed the threshold from medium to high mana?” I asked.

“I believe that is the case,” Al said, “although I do not have confirmation from my family’s Archive.”

“Makes sense,” Mahya said and kicked a stone that tumbled down and down for a long time. The place was so quiet we could hear it for over a minute. “I just wish it hadn’t happened so fast.”

I put an arm around her shoulder. “I know you're disappointed, and I’m sorry, but you have to admit Zindor was too depressing. We can find dungeons in other places that are much more pleasant.”

“Yes, but those would be either controlled by guilds, nobles, or other governmental entities,” she said, folding her arms. “And the wild ones are usually too young. It's rare to find dungeons whose cores have matured without oversight.”

“Not that rare,” I said. “I mean, we found three in Lumis, and I found another one on my own, so it’s not that rare.”

She gave me a look that clearly said, Seriously?

“What?” I asked.

“We took one under the noses of the gold adventuring team, and you swiped one from under the adventurers. It’s not exactly without oversight.”

I waved her off. “Details.”

At least she chuckled and looked a little less gloomy.

Next, we went looking for a way out. I took the top part, Mahya and Al went through the middle layers, and Rue checked the bottom. Only when I hovered over the city did I realize how big it really was. The place seemed to go on forever, spreading out in every direction. It wasn’t just a few buildings but entire districts stacked on top of each other, with wide streets and open squares buried under debris. In some areas, monumental structures, which appeared to have been markets or government halls, stood, while other areas contained smaller houses and workshops. My night vision had improved with the rise in my Perception, but it was still too dark to see clearly, even with high traits. Still, as I flew up past buildings and squares, they were clear enough. The place had probably held tens of thousands of people back in its time, and now it just sat there, silent and empty.

The way out wasn’t through the top. I did three circles around the city and didn’t see any openings. The faint light that kept the place from total darkness came from patches of glowing moss. There wasn’t much of it, mostly in damp spots, and the glow was weak, but it was enough to give me a rough sense of the scale. I had my Light Ball, of course, but it was more of a hindrance than a help here since it ruined my night vision.

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After four or five hours, I came back without finding anything. Nobody had returned yet, so I set up the barbecue outside and started grilling, figuring the smell would draw them in—or maybe something else lurking around this place. With the mana levels so low, I wasn’t too worried.

While grilling, I checked the Map again. Earlier, I’d only glanced at it to get a rough idea of where the closest Gate was and how the city was laid out. The area around the Gate was clear and detailed, understandable since Travelers had likely mapped that section, but the rest was still grayed out. While flying earlier, a thought had crossed my mind: if Travelers had been here before, they must have found a way out. It should appear somewhere on the Map.

I zoomed in, tilting and rotating the projection, trying different angles until three sections sharpened into view. None of them screamed “exit,” but they looked promising enough to check.

Al returned first, looking altogether too pleased with himself.

“I gather you found a way out,” I said.

He folded his hands behind his back with exaggerated dignity. “How did you know?”

“The wave of smugness coming off you,” I said, flipping the meat.

His chin lifted slightly. “I am not smug.”

“Whatever you say, buddy. Whatever you say.”

He looked scandalized. “I am not a buddy.”

I chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Sure thing. Anyway, how did you find it?”

“I examined the detailed sections on the Map,” he said, his tone clipped but proud.

“Yeah, had the same idea here,” I said, passing him a plate.

Rue padded in next, tail wagging and nose twitching as he sniffed the air, while Mahya arrived half an hour later. Once everyone was fed and watered, we packed up and headed toward what we hoped was the exit.

The deeper we went, the clearer the city’s structure became. It wasn’t just built inside a single mountain but stretched through several, each forming a vast hollow cone filled with layered terraces and stone galleries. The lower parts between these mountainous chambers acted like underground valleys, connecting one to another through long tunnels and sloping corridors. Many of the bridges that once linked the higher levels had collapsed, leaving only rubble-strewn paths and uneven routes along the base where water had long ago carved its way through the rock.

On the way, we passed through two areas filled with towering mushrooms. And when I say tall, I don’t mean knee-high. I mean tall enough to stand under. Their pale stems rose like pillars, and the wide caps hung overhead like parasols.

“Those are edible,” Mahya said, stopping to inspect one.

“How do you know?” I asked, stepping closer and brushing a hand against the spongy surface.

“Identify.”

Rata Mushroom

“It only gives me the name,” I complained.

“You do not use the skill enough,” Al said. “At a higher level, it provides more information.”

“I’m with Al,” Mahya said.

I let out a low harrumph and turned away to study another cluster of mushrooms instead of admitting they were probably right. Since they were edible, and I was always on the hunt for new tastes and smells, I chopped two of them down and stored them. And yes, chopped down was the right phrase. They were so big I actually had to swing like I was cutting trees.

Al led us to a long corridor where the moss had thinned away completely, plunging us into total darkness. I conjured a small Light Ball. Shadows jumped and swayed as we moved, revealing carved reliefs worn smooth by time.

“Watch your step,” Al said, his voice echoing off the walls. The tunnel stretched for more than a kilometer, and in several spots we had to climb over heaps of fallen stone. The ceiling hung too low for flight, so we crawled and squeezed through tight passages until the air grew fresher and a sliver of daylight appeared ahead.

When we finally emerged, I straightened up and took a deep breath. A vast mountain chain sprawled before us, some peaks so high they disappeared into the clouds, a thin layer of snow coating everything in sight.

Rue growled low in his throat.

“You have booties, so stop complaining,” I said.

He growled again, louder this time.

I just shook my head. One day, he’d come to terms with the existence of snow, but apparently not today.

There were towns and cities scattered on both sides of the range, though all of them were a good distance away. The city to the north looked closer, so we turned and flew in that direction. Less than ten minutes into the flight, before we even cleared the range, snow began to fall.

“We should land until the snow clears,” Mahya sent.

When I opened the house, Rue trotted straight to the fireplace and nudged it with his nose. The fire sprang to life. He dropped in front of it with a long, contented sigh.

We laughed, and I shook my head again. He was a mountain of fur that hated the cold.

The snow kept falling for a week. It wasn’t heavy, just small flakes drifting down nonstop, but they piled up enough to make flying a pain. Rue refused to stick his nose outside the house, Al vanished into his lab, and Mahya disappeared into her workshop.

After two days, she started running the forges again, and Rue promptly relocated there, claiming he wanted to keep her company. Sure. More like he wanted to keep the forges company.

I shook my head at the thought. Just imagining being in that heat while covered in fur made me sweat, but apparently, he didn’t have that problem.

I reread the book about Earth magic. Not all of it, just the sections that caught my attention. The part that interested me most was about using Earth magic to fly. I went over it twice, following the author’s instructions step by step, but it didn’t work.

After three days of mounting frustration, I sat under a thick old tree whose branches were heavy enough to block most of the snow. The air was quiet, the kind of stillness that made thinking easier. I stared at the ground, trying to make sense of what I was missing.

The author’s explanation of Earth magic spoke of “canceling the pull of the land” and “resisting the attraction of the world beneath.” It sounded poetic enough, but when I tried to apply it, nothing happened. Not even a twitch. My mana flowed fine, my control was steady, but something refused to connect. It felt like pushing against a wall that didn’t exist.

The most frustrating part was that I intuitively knew I was the problem. Something in me resisted the magic. Or maybe not the magic itself, but its expected effect.

What do I know about gravity?

I broke it down like a problem in physics instead of mysticism. What exactly did I fight? Gravity wasn’t some mystical tether from the earth. It was a result of mass and the shape of space itself. The planet’s mass bent space around it, creating a curve that everything near it naturally followed.

The book's words about the “pull of the land” and "attraction of the world beneath" didn't align with that. Maybe that was where I went wrong. I had taken the words literally, as if the ground itself was the thing holding me down.

We didn’t stay on the surface because the planet spun; we stayed there because space bent around its mass, keeping everything moving along that curve. The rotation only added a tiny outward push—centrifugal force—but that barely changed anything. The real anchor wasn’t motion. It was the planet’s mass that shaped the space I moved through.

And that’s when it clicked. If Earth magic worked by “resisting the pull of the land,” then I had been trying to fight the wrong thing. It wasn’t the ground I needed to oppose. It was the shape of space itself. I wasn’t supposed to push against the earth. I had to slip out of the pattern that kept me moving with it. Only then could the magic take hold.

Realization aside, putting it into practice wasn’t that easy. How the hell do you resist the push of space? I didn’t have the Space affinity, and the author had been an Earth Wizard, not an elemental one, so it had to connect to the earth somehow.

I sat there, staring at the frozen ground, trying to bridge the gap between what I knew from physics and what he wrote from a magical standpoint. Earth magic was about stability. The essence of things that stayed where they were. Maybe it wasn’t about pushing against space at all, but about shifting how the world defined me within it?

If gravity worked because the planet’s mass curved space, then maybe Earth magic let me adjust how much of that curve I followed. Not to break it, but to slip slightly out of sync with it. I focused on that idea, visualizing the invisible lines that pulled everything toward the planet’s center. Instead of resisting them, I imagined loosening their grip, letting them flow around me like water.

I pushed mana downward through my legs and into the ground, feeling the rough texture of stone beneath the soil and the slow pulse of the earth. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the faintest shift. Like my body had grown lighter by a single breath.

I held my focus, adjusting the flow until the pressure beneath my feet eased. The pull that had always felt absolute began to soften. The world still existed, still held its weight, but it no longer claimed all of mine.

My boots left the snow.

For a heartbeat, I floated barely five centimeters above the ground, the connection flickering and fragile. Then instinct kicked in and my balance wavered, the link snapped, and I dropped back down with a soft crunch of snow.

I grinned despite the failure. It wasn’t flight, not yet, but it was proof that the idea worked. The weight of the world wasn’t unbreakable after all. Now came the harder part, figuring out how to use magnetism as a directional force.

The author hadn’t called it magnetism, of course. He described it as “the divine pull from the top and bottom of the world.” But he repeated that phrase, top and bottom, several times, which made me think he meant the poles. From what I remembered from my college days, Earth had a magnetic field running between its north and south poles, created by the movement of molten iron in its outer core. That field wasn’t just a compass trick. It extended far into space, forming the planet’s magnetosphere and guiding charged particles along invisible lines.

If Earth magic reflected the natural forces of the planet, then magnetism had to be part of it. Maybe the “pull of the land” the author wrote about wasn’t only gravity, but also the magnetic field anchoring everything, maintaining the planet’s balance between the poles.

I pictured those invisible lines stretching from north to south, flowing through the stone and soil beneath me like thin streams of power. If I could align my mana with those lines, I might be able to draw on them, letting that “divine pull” guide my movement instead of fighting against it.

The air felt charged, or maybe it was just in my head. Still, the idea made sense in a way the old text never had. Magnetism, gravity, mana—they were different ways of describing the same invisible structure that held the world together.

At least, I hoped I was right.