The Gate Traveler
B6 - Chapter 28: Almost Feels Like Home. Unfortunately

I jolted awake, eyes blinking against the soft morning light as I lay there, trying to figure out what had yanked me out of sleep.

“If you believe that, you are lying to yourself,” Al’s voice floated in from the living room.

“Oh, shut it,” Mahya snapped, her tone sharp and furious.

“I know the truth is sometimes difficult to confront, but I advise you to do so.”

A clatter followed—something bumped or knocked over—then a door slammed.

What the hell is going on?

I dragged myself out of bed and followed the scent of something fried. In the living room, the dining table was covered with food. Bread, eggs, some kind of sizzling cheese thing, a totally illogical number of salads, and a pitcher of juice sat between Al and Rue. Al was calmly eating, his posture relaxed. Rue had his head buried in a bowl, tail swishing in slow contentment.

“Where’s Mahya?” I asked.

Al didn’t look up. He just gestured toward her bedroom door with his fork.

“What happened? I heard her shouting.”

He paused to chew and swallow before answering. “I prefer to leave the subject of the discussion between me and Mahya.”

I hesitated—me and my cursed curiosity—but let it go. With a nod, I grabbed a plate and joined them at the table. A few minutes later, Mahya joined us, looking like nothing had happened.

The trip to the dungeon was strangely interesting. I expected to drive out of the city, or at least run there. But no. We walked out of the second mall entrance, crossed the street, and entered another building that looked like a collection of balloons with tall spires on top. I already expected the expanded space inside, but it still amazed me.

The space inside was way bigger than the neighborhood I visited, and it was more terraformed. The entrance was on top of a high hill, with a zigzagging path leading down into a vast plain, surrounded by more of the same hills. It took me a minute to realize those other hills were entrances too. People occasionally popped in on top of them, just like they did on ours.

The plain below housed a city. That was the only way to describe it. Buildings sprawled across the space in every shape and size—from compact shops packed into narrow two-story structures, to monstrosities that looked like they had anywhere between seven to fifteen floors, and each floor was easily the size of a city district.

The streets were full of people, but the vibe was completely different from outside. A few tricycles rolled by here and there, but the number of riding lizards was on another level. And not just them—there were way more animals in general. Cats moved through the crowds, weaving between people like they belonged there more than anyone else. Hunting birds perched on shoulders or strutted beside their handlers, heads high and eyes sharp.

The people were different, too. Some wore flowy clothes over their armor, but most didn’t bother hiding it. Every type of armor was out in the open. Full metal suits that clanked with every step, robes made of chainmail, lightweight leather sets, cloth lined with metal or leather accents, and even what looked like carved wood. And apparently, long braided beards were the height of fashion here. Ridiculously so. Out of the thousands of people around, I saw maybe ten without one.

When we passed someone in full wooden armor, I stiffened in surprise. The armor was alive. After that, I started paying more attention to the wooden people, and sure enough, every single one of those armors was alive. One of them even extended a few tendrils to scratch its wearer’s back. I felt a stab of jealousy. There’s always that one spot on your back you can’t reach. This guy had a built-in back scratcher!

Mahya led us toward one of the monstrosities. Up close, it was even more overwhelming. I tilted my head back, trying to take in the height, and gave a low whistle. The place was massive. It stood about twelve floors tall, and each floor covered an area of well over a square kilometer.

She gestured toward the towering structure. “This building handles everything connected to the Lord of Lightning Dungeon,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to make sure we were following. “After the run, we’ll sell all the stuff we don’t need here.” She paused for a beat, then added, “Oh, and we can’t strip the dungeon.”

I frowned. “You mean we can’t feed it to my core?”

"Yes, but we can’t physically strip it either." She turned to face me. "We’re allowed to gather resources but not to tear the place apart."

“What’s the difference?” I asked. “You said everything in a dungeon is a resource.”

“Yes and no. We can take plants, trees, metals, mana crystals, and obviously rewards. But we’re not allowed to rip out every last stone and blade of grass. That’s illegal.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Because it takes the dungeon instance too long to regenerate. More specifically, it’s illegal if we didn’t pay for full rights. We only paid for basic resource gathering. So we take what we’re allowed and leave the rest.”

I craned my neck again and stared at the building, my eyes following the lines of its structure up into the sky. “Why is it so big, though?”

Mahya tilted her head, considering. “I’m not sure,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t study dungeon theory. But I think it’s because you can’t put an expanded space inside another expanded space. So the building has to be this big for real.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “We opened my house in dungeons.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, nodding. After a moment, she shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Neither did I.

Inside was a massive lobby, open and bright, with counters spread out across the space, and people rushing around as if their lives depended on the paperwork. Mahya walked straight toward a counter with the sign Intake. She pulled out four small gold discs, handed them over, and received four completely different gold discs in return.

I blinked. It was so weird.

Our usual routine was to find a portal of doom, dive in, kill everything that moved, grab a reward, feed everything inside to my core, and watch the portal collapse like it was never there. Simple.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Here? It felt more like we were in some kind of dungeon-themed office building. The place had the same sterile, slightly soul-crushing vibe as a cubicle farm. The only difference was that instead of rows of little gray boxes, it was divided into neat square counters, each with a glowing number hovering above it and a person in the middle looking entirely too official.

Before I could ask what those new discs were for, Mahya was already heading to another counter across the lobby. The lines weren’t exactly long, but the sheer number of counters made my head spin. It was like watching someone navigate a maze with invisible rules.

At the next station, which had the sign Authorization, a bored-looking clerk held out his hand without a word. Mahya handed over the four new discs. He slotted them into a tray, tapped something on a crystal panel, and then looked up at us for the first time.

“Personal Information,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow but channeled mana into my Status Screen to make it pop into visibility. Mahya and Al did the same. The man studied mine for a moment, then let out a small grunt of acknowledgment.

“Healer confirmed. Access granted.”

That was it. No explanation, no smile, not even a nod. He just gave us different discs, as if we were part of a conveyor belt.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

Mahya and Al exchanged a smile.

Al patted me on the back. “Fully immerse yourself in this experience.”

At the next counter, labeled Legal, Mahya passed over the new discs. The woman behind this counter put four pages on it and looked up with an expression that said she’d given this same speech a hundred times and didn’t care about a single word.

“This document confirms that if any member of your party dies inside the Lord of Lightning Dungeon, the Masarwaso Empire cannot and will not be held responsible. You also agree that your families, dependents, spouses, bonded companions, summoned entities, familiars, or any other personal, spiritual, or contractual connections will not hex, curse, bind with vengeance spells, declare magical or conventional war, register a blood feud, summon justice spirits, submit grievances to higher planes, or initiate any other magical, legal, or extradimensional action against the Masarwaso Empire following your death," she said in a tone that bordered on robotic. “Sign here.”

She slid a small mithril slate toward us. I took the stylus, scrawled my name in the box, and tried not to think about how casually we were agreeing not to blame anyone if we got electrocuted into ash. She checked the signatures and gave us a new set of discs.

From there, we shuffled over to another counter, this one marked with an overly polished sign that read Familiar Declaration and Registration. The man behind it glanced up, then at Rue. He blinked twice.

“Familiar?” he asked, deadpan.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yours?”

“Yes.”

He eyed Rue again, this time longer. “Species?”

That one caught me off guard. I reached for the local word for dog and came up blank. My brain tried wolf. No dice. Canine? Still nothing.

What the hell?

The clerk wore the kind of exaggeratedly patient expression that suggested he dealt with idiots daily, and fully expected me to be one of them.

“They don’t have canines here,” I told the group telepathically. “Ideas?”

“Miniature bear,” Mahya said aloud without missing a beat.

He squinted. “That’s a miniature bear?”

“Yes!” all three of us answered, a little too quickly.

The man stared at Rue, who blinked at him, yawned, and flopped down onto the polished floor with a heavy sigh.

“He’s a special variant,” Mahya added, straight-faced.

The clerk didn’t look convinced, but eventually gave a slow, tired nod. “Fine.” He reached under the counter and slapped two forms onto the surface. “Familiar registration and species declaration.”

As I picked them up, he leaned to look over the counter. “Carnivore?”

“Yes.”

Another form was added to the pile.

“Telekinetic abilities?”

“Yes.”

He pulled out another.

“Spells?”

“Yes.”

Two more forms.

“Mental attacks?”

“No.”

He slid over another one.

I frowned. “I said no.”

He didn’t even blink. “I can hear without impediment.”

Rue snorted.

“Flight?” the clerk asked.

“No.”

Another form.

“Teleportation?”

“No.”

Another form.

“Sentience?”

I hesitated. “Define sentience.”

He scribbled something and added two forms this time.

“Emotional attachment?”

“Yes.”

Another form.

“Will it speak for itself or through the contract holder?”

“Telepathy,” I said.

Three more forms.

He finally stopped and gave me a look that somehow combined exhaustion, disapproval, and mild pity. “You'll need to initial on every page and sign the last three. Also, you’ll need a witness for section seventeen and a magic signature stamp for section nine.”

“Of course I do,” I muttered, flipping through the ever-growing stack. “What happens if I forget one?”

“Your familiar will be classified as a wild magical hazard and denied reentry to city limits.”

Rue gave a soft growl.

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll make sure your paperwork’s in order.”

Mahya handed me a pen with a smirk. “Lean into the experience.”

The man added another document. “You must sign here, here, and here, confirming that if anything happens to your familiar, the Masarwaso Empire will not be held responsible. And that no hex, curse, vengeance spells, magical or conventional war, registered blood feud, summoned justice spirits, or any other magical, legal, or extradimensional action will be initiated against dungeon staff or the Empire.”

I looked down at Rue. He wagged his tail.

With a sigh, I found a table and sat down. Reading through the stack took hours, and I silently thanked my elevated Intelligence trait every few minutes. Without it, I wouldn’t have stood a chance at understanding half of this stuff. The language made the mortgage agreement look like child's play.

Once everything was signed, initialed, and properly witnessed, Mahya led us to yet another counter and handed over the newly acquired discs.

This counter had a sign: Mana Signature Matching.

The woman behind it pulled out a long glass tube filled with something that looked like glowing smoke. She asked us to each touch a crystal ball. When we did, the smoke twisted into patterns, then froze. She nodded without explanation, put a disc on each tube, waited a moment, and gave us the discs.

After that came the Magic Use Waivers, then Area Exit Restrictions, followed by Emergency Exit Privileges, and Spell Misfire Liability. Then came Aura Compatibility Screening, which apparently tested whether our personal mana fields clashed too much with dungeon resonance. I still have no idea what that meant, but we passed.

There was also Companion Relocation Permissions, for anyone planning to summon, dismiss, or pocket-dimension a party member mid-run. Mahya muttered something about a guy who once lost his cleric that way.

Then we hit Post-Mortem Message Authorization, where they offered me a form to pre-approve any farewell message I might want broadcast to my allies if I died heroically. I declined.

Next came Storage Items Verification, where we had to argue for over half an hour that no, we really didn’t have any storage items. They scanned each of us with a wand—at least ten times, even Rue—and still didn’t believe us. Naturally, we didn’t mention our actual Storage or my Inventory skill. Just imagining the number of forms that would trigger was enough to render all of us conveniently deaf and mute on the subject.

Next, we waited in line at a counter labeled Preemptive Loot Tax Declaration, where some poor guy argued that the dagger he hadn’t found yet shouldn’t be taxed because he might not pick it up. We just signed everything without reading. We were exhausted, and they didn’t have a way to prove we pulled out anything. I really wanted to do a villain laugh.

Then we reached a counter where we had to list any known allergies.

“Allergies?” I asked, dumbfounded.

The man behind the counter didn’t even blink. “Dungeon flora can trigger reactions.”

“I’m a healer.”

“If you can show me the Heal Allergy spell listed in your Personal Information, you can skip this step.”

“Right,” I said in a resigned tone, wrote None, and wondered if being allergic to bureaucracy counted.

We had to get magically scannable entry bands, renew them at the Wrist Tag Authentication desk, and get a health screening that included magical and physical diagnostics.

Eventually, we reached the final counter—at least, I hoped it was the final one. Mahya handed over the last glowing disc. The woman behind the desk slotted it into something that hummed and handed us key-like tokens.

“These are your dungeon access tokens. They are keyed to your mana and valid for one entrance. If you die, a matching token will blink red.”

Mahya handed out the tokens and stretched. “We’re done.”

“Seriously?”

She grinned. “For now.”

I felt like I had the hardest dungeon run of my existence.