Chapter Eleven: Crossing Over

PS: Twelve consecutive draws have failed again, and it seems I’m one step closer to a moonless night. Shouldn’t you all give me some recommendation votes to comfort me?

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The Gate Between Worlds was still the same as ever, but now there were hundreds of upperclassmen either sitting or standing nearby. Yet all shared the same vacant gaze, their minds clearly immersed within the portal.

The Gate Between Worlds had become an essential tool for traversing dimensions in this era, but it hadn’t existed from the beginning. In the earliest days, humans needed someone with spatial abilities or an Origin to open a path. Back then, those with spatial attributes either became the strongest of their generation or were kept as tools by those stronger. As time passed, however, substitutes—props or abilities that could fulfill a similar function—began to appear.

The predecessor of the Gate Between Worlds was, in fact, the Anywhere Door brought back by a strong traveler who had entered a rule-level dimension: the world of Doraemon. (Don’t think the Doraemon world is simple; all those god-level gadgets are just toys for children. Imagine what actual military equipment would be like. Moreover, that world has a Time-Space Administration Bureau. Picture someone who’s not supposed to exist in history suddenly appearing in the ancient era of that world, without protagonist-level luck like Nobita. The Bureau would come knocking in minutes. You’d either spend the rest of the scenario in their prison or face an army of black-tech soldiers.)

However, since the Anywhere Door required coordinates to traverse, it could only be used to travel between previously visited, undestroyed worlds. In this way, the advantage of foreknowledge of the plot disappeared. (Note: The Trial Missions use this technology to send students to worlds previously developed by the Academy for training.)

Thus, humans began collecting all objects and abilities with world-crossing functions, attempting to refine and modify them through the laws of reality.

After countless years, humans finally succeeded in summarizing and consolidating these various tools into the current unified form—the Gate Between Worlds.

But improvement was ongoing; even now the Gate had many flaws. Nonetheless, it was leagues ahead of what existed tens of thousands of years ago.

Feng Xue approached the Gate, linking his consciousness with this secret treasure of the Great Age of Traversal. Countless lines of colored text began to float before his eyes, almost all of them chaotic and nonsensical.

These messages all originated from demi-planes, randomly snatched bits of information from worlds the Gate connected to.

But this wasn’t as simple as plucking a random line from any world. The Gate targeted lines based on fate, extracting information from places and people favored by destiny—so these snippets were often used to judge the nature of a world.

Yet more important than the text itself was the color of the text.

The color represented the world’s level.

That’s right—level. Don’t think that simply knowing the world means you can judge its rank. After all, these demi-planes are born of human imagination, and different people imagine differently. Some think Yue Buqun is a villain, others believe he’s only a victim of circumstance; some see Dragon Ball as high-martial, high-tech, others see it as low-martial, high-energy; some believe Da Qian Tian is a weakling, others see him as a god. All these fantasies directly or indirectly affect a world. The God of Cookery world, for example, is ordinarily a mundane-level world, but if the Bodhisattva appears at the end, it could rise to mythic level. The system of color recognition protects travelers from perishing due to these subtle yet immense differences. (Due to the underlying principles of world formation, plot-worlds, regardless of level, will follow their core plot unless influenced by external forces—so there won’t be new worlds created just because someone read a fanfic. Still, outside the plot, variations may occur.)

White denotes Mundane; Green, Uncommon; Yellow, Extraordinary; Blue, Heroic; Red, Epic; Purple, Legendary; Silver, Saint; Gold, Demigod; Black, True God; and as for Rule-level, it’s multicolored.

Within each rank, there are shades—deeper hues denote greater power at that level.

“‘The portside barrage is too thin’? This Gundam world is actually white! Too bad technology is worthless in this era. (Since the Gaia Council exists on Earth, any potentially dangerous power is destroyed at the source. As a result, low-level tech is inferior to the arcane, while high-level tech can’t be used at all—a frustrating predicament.)”

“‘Demacia’? That’s a gold-ranked League of Legends world! You’d die the moment you entered.”

“Damn, ‘Yangquan Restaurant’ is actually tricolor! That’s insane!”

Feng Xue muttered to himself as he identified the worlds behind each entry.

He couldn’t help but complain. As a traveler who had chosen Gourmet Cells as his foundation, his path to power was twofold: exceptional ingredients, or remarkable culinary skill.

Ingredients were common enough, but great chefs were not, so Feng Xue decided to take up a side profession—chef.

There were only a handful of worlds suitable for honing culinary skills. After much effort, Feng Xue finally found an entry relating to the “Cooking Master Boy” world. Yet who could tell him why that world was rule-level? “Cooking Master Boy” had little more than internal energy, how could it be rule-level? Even if it was just Operative-level, that was still the realm of laws!

(Why did the Cooking Master Boy world become rule-level? Because gathering the Legendary Cooking Utensils allows for the creation of immortal dishes, which can break through physical and soul limits. The Legendary Utensils manipulate time: the Eternal Spirit Knife can reverse the age of ingredients, the Dragon Pot and Holy Demon Vessel accelerate time, the Hidden Spirit Vault can pause it—all time laws. The Jade Dragon Pot unifies their powers, pointing to fusion or harmonization laws. Whoever forged these utensils must possess crafting laws; whoever masters them to create immortal dishes must possess culinary laws. There are also lesser versions of this world, but then immortal dishes merely extend life rather than transcend limits. The Legendary Utensils’ effects degrade from time laws to time attributes—don’t be deceived, the difference between a law and an attribute is like the difference between a single point of attribute in WoW and one in DnD—where a single DnD attribute point is worth a third of your total.)

So Feng Xue was daunted. At his peak Uncommon rank, if he entered a rule-level world, he’d be lucky to survive, let alone participate in the plot. The ambient spiritual energy alone could make him explode.

The idea that an Earthling’s body would feel comfortable in a high-energy world is nonsense. Energy means radiation; in a world thick with spiritual power, the energy alone would kill a human from a low-energy world like Earth. Don’t assume all good things are harmless—humans need oxygen, but try placing someone in a pure-oxygen environment!

“Looks like there’s no suitable world for me today…” Feng Xue sighed, but still found a place to sit, keeping his eyes on the Gate, afraid to miss a single passing world.

He wasn’t worried about food. The Gate Hall had maids responsible for meals, also from Maid Academy. Unlike Xiao He, who was an intern in her third or fourth year, these maids were second-years still in professional training, and serving travelers in the Gate Hall was part of their coursework.

But none of this really mattered, as every student in the hall was staring intently at the Gate, not sparing the maids a single glance.

More and more entries flashed by—at least a dozen “Toriko” worlds, five or six “Cooking Master Boy” entries, but, alas, not one below Extraordinary.

Feng Xue remembered Xia Mi’s advice well, and wouldn’t pick a world above his level. In these self-initiated traversals, the Academy offered no protection from death! Dying once would cost you ten years of lifespan at best. What if you were unlucky? Then you’d vanish without a trace.

Three days passed in a flash, but Feng Xue wasn’t anxious. Many who arrived before him were still there. Traversing was a technical endeavor; there was no room for haste. Even ten mediocre traversals couldn’t match one perfect world.

Casual traversing? That was just squandering your life.

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Just as Feng Xue was about to yawn from boredom, the light curtain from the Gate flickered—another world refresh. Normally, the Gate could link to a hundred worlds at once, refreshing only once per day. But the Central Traversal Academy’s Gate refreshed a hundred times daily.

That meant every fifteen minutes there was a new selection.

But traversers also had to judge, within that quarter hour, whether any of the hundred entries were worth entering.

Without hesitation, Feng Xue shifted into his imaginary form, dramatically increasing his information processing speed. In these three days, although he hadn’t found a suitable world, he’d grown much more adept at switching between his imaginary and real forms.

“‘I am Swordbone’—Fate, red epic level. I’d love to, but it’s impossible!”

“‘For the Horde’—Warcraft, purple legendary level. The recipes are tempting, but I can’t go!”

“‘Peach blossoms fall, shadow flies, divine sword; the blue sea rises, a jade flute plays’—either Legend of the Condor Heroes or Return of the Condor Heroes. Huang Rong’s dishes are great, but it’s yellow extraordinary, so I can’t go!”

“‘Let the heavens never again block my eyes’—silver mythic level, Journey to the West: The Legends of Wukong. Even if I could go, I wouldn’t!”

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“‘Sorry for the poor hospitality’—pure white, mundane middle rank. Too low… Wait, what’s this?” Feng Xue paused, immediately made his choice, and vanished in a stream of light before the Gate. The other students only glanced at him enviously before returning to their own search for destiny.

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“It really is Food Wars!” Feng Xue stood at the entrance to Totsuki Academy, glancing at his watch—

World: Food Wars (pure white)
Identity: Transfer student recommended by the Cloud Hidden Restaurant (with identification and one million yen in startup funds)
Exit task: Reach the summit of Moonlit Heaven

“Cloud Hidden Restaurant? Why not just call it Shilin Temple?” Feng Xue muttered, but his gaze was locked on the six characters listed after the exit task—Reach the summit of Moonlit Heaven.

“Damn it! Do I have to take out Soma Yukihira and rely on blood-red fate to leave?” Feng Xue grumbled darkly.

The so-called exit task was the requirement for leaving a demi-plane.

Generally, there were only three ways to exit a demi-plane. First, see the plot through to the end. But many plots are long, and time spent in the world consumes your lifespan (though your bone age won’t change—you won’t age, but your lifespan shortens), so this method is usually reserved for short scenarios. Second, destabilize the plot—but this requires fundamentally altering the trajectory of the world, not merely the story. For example, in Legend of the Condor Heroes, killing the Five Greats, wiping out the Zhongnan lineage, or turning Guo Jing into an ordinary man isn’t enough. Unless you destroy the Mongols and rewrite history, it won’t count. Third, kill the protagonist, inherit blood-red fate, and survive three rounds of fate backlash. Of course, if you’re strong enough, you could capture the entire world and convert it into a semi-permanent demi-plane, like the Academy’s entrance exams (this requires at least epic-level mastery over your own domain).

Blood-red fate is a type of destiny. The protagonist is the condensation point of a world’s fate; killing them lets you inherit their destiny. But blood-red fate only gives you the protagonist’s “opportunities,” not their “fortune.” For instance, if you kill Duan Yu at the start of the plot, you’ll still end up falling from Mount Wuliang into the Sword Lake Valley, just like he did. But since you’re an outsider, the world won’t protect you; after each encounter with the protagonist’s fate, you’ll suffer a backlash (like Final Destination). Only after surviving three such backlashes can you return. Some might argue that you could get the Northern Darkness Divine Skill just by going to Mount Wuliang without killing Duan Yu, but the world’s will won’t let you exploit loopholes. Without enough fate, you simply won’t find the Sword Lake Palace. Even if you entered, perhaps Li Qiushui would be there reminiscing. And if you could defeat Li Qiushui… well, if you’re that strong, what use is the Northern Darkness Divine Skill?

So, for most traversers, the usual method is to pick a short-term plot and use the first method to exit. But the Central Traversal Academy is different. Their grandmasters, using main god fragments obtained from conquering the world of Infinity Terror, developed student ID cards and used the main god’s mission system as a template to create the mission-return system. The advantage is less risk and greater operability, but it has its downside: sometimes the randomly generated tasks are so outrageous that they’re worse than the other three methods!

“Sigh, Soma really doesn’t have much opportunity worth stealing, and carrying the backlash isn’t worth it…” After considering the risks of blood-red fate, Feng Xue finally sighed and, ignoring the curious stares of other applicants, walked toward an inspection window.

No wonder everyone was surprised—one glance told you there were no students like Feng Xue arriving on their own. Most were chauffeured in luxury cars; those driving merely “decent” cars had to park far away.

And around the applicants, butlers and bodyguards were a common sight.

After all, most were heirs to major culinary groups. Compared to them, Feng Xue’s one million yen in startup funds suddenly seemed rather meager indeed.