Strength Based Wizard

Chapter 18

How to Win Friends & Level Up, Part III (Who would want this?)

I yank the backpack shut, practically punching the zipper closed.

“Brrrrrrzzzzt…!”

Jelly Boy vibrates angrily, the muffled noise somewhere between a dial-up modem having a seizure and a pissed-off beehive.

My heart is still hammering. How the hell did he even get in there?! Was I just walking around with a slime stowaway this whole time? I rack my brain trying to think how the little jell-o mold could have even pulled it off.

I throw a wild glance around.

I’m pretty sure nobody saw. Good.

Across the site, I spot salvation—a row of bright blue port-a-potties lined up like a row of plastic soldiers.

I make a break for them, trying my best to look calm, normal, but who am I kidding? Workers mill around, chatting, checking equipment, too busy to notice me sprint full speed toward the piss booths like a man about to have a catastrophic bowel event. If anyone sees me, they’ll probably just think I’m moments away from shitting my breeches moments before my first official Gate job.

I grab the first door with a green ‘available’ sign above the handle, yank it open, and dive inside.

Jesus, it’s hot in here. The air is thick. Smells like urinal cakes and despair. No amount of blue mystery liquid can cover that up.

I unzip my backpack and Jelly Boy immediately wobbles upward, staring at me with those big, glassy, deeply stupid—but oh, so adorable—eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss.

Jelly Boy vibrates in confusion, like I just asked a goldfish to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. I keep my voice to a whisper. “Look, buddy. I’m at work. You know? Work? The thing people do to not starve to death?”

The slime bobs slightly. I take that as affirmation.

“It’s dangerous out here. I can’t have you bouncing around in public. You get that, right? You’re a slime. People out here, er—aren’t a fan of you guys.”

Jelly Boy tilts to the side.

“No, not me. Of course, I’m a fan.” I sigh again. It’s too late to change course now. I lift my backpack so that we’re eye-to-eye. “Stay. Hidden. Stay. Quiet.”

A long pause.

Then, a soft, humming buzz.

I take that as a yes.

“Good.”

I reach beneath the sentient Jell-O cup to grab my safety vest and hard hat—both of which are now cold and wet.

I make a face. “Thanks.”

Jelly Boy vibrates happily.

I throw on the vest, slap on the hard hat, adjust my safety glasses, and hoist my now-occupied backpack over my shoulders.

Then, taking a deep breath of urinal-scented air, I step out of the port-a-potty and back into the real world.

The portal looms ahead, a massive swirling vortex of blue light, its edges flickering like broken television static.

Workers mill about, but one group stands out—a cluster of freelancers, like me, decked out in neon vests and hard hats, some chatting, some stretching, others checking their gear. I’m assuming that’s the Extraction Team.

I approach the group, taking a place near the back. A quick head count confirms there’s nine of us in total.

A guy with a clipboard approaches. Younger than the guy running the site entrance. Heck, younger than me, even. Maybe nineteen, tops. He’s got the energy of a stressed-out intern who got promoted way too fast. His safety vest is slightly too big, like it’s swallowing him whole, and there’s a streak of portal dust on his cheek. Someone so young being my supervisor… It makes the whole thing seem kinda silly.

He tucks the clipboard under one armpit and claps his hands together, already talking before the sound even finishes.

“Okay, Extraction Team! Let’s get this started.”

His voice is weirdly peppy for a guy sending us into a dimensional rift. To think, not even half a year ago this would have seemed only possible in the pages of a Science Fiction novel.

“We’ve received confirmation that the Exploration Team has just completed the third Dungeon for this Gate and have met the criteria to seal it. They’ll be pressing forward for a final Dungeon dive, which means we have approximately four hours to enter and clear the material. We’ll have three squads today.”

He’s all business, rattling this off like he’s reading from a script tattooed onto his eyeballs.

“First squad! A Squad!”

He calls out three names, and three people step forward—a mix of veterans and fresh faces. Clipboard Guy hands them a tablet, its screen glowing faintly.

“You’ll be responsible for extracting Serenity Shards from the Level 3 Dungeon. Their locations are noted on the Map.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A ripple of interest moves through the remaining freelancers. Serenity Shards are big money. Expensive. Rare. I recall folks on the Discussion Channels whining about never seeing them in their Gates. Most Gates contained common type mana shards—like Fire or Wind Shards. And, if you were lucky, sometimes some uncommon type mana shares—like the Star Shards I had received after my first Gate. But even those weren’t anything all that special.

Clipboard Guy doesn’t pause.

“Here’s the map that a member of the Exploration Team detailed.” He nods to the tablet. “It’s a bit spotty, so stick to the entrance area and do not proceed further until the Exploration Team is on their way back. They can act as guides and additional security.”

The first group nods and heads toward the portal. The blue glow washes over them, and then—they’re gone.

Clipboard Guy doesn’t waste time.

“Next squad. B Squad!”

Three more names.

“You’ll be extracting Gold Leaves from the Level 2 Dungeon, along with any cores left behind in the monster remains. Our report shows the locations of the confirmed kills—this device has your map.”

Another tablet passed over. Another set of workers stepping forward. This group looks seasoned—calm, quiet, the kind of people who don’t need to be told twice.

They step through the portal.

That leaves us.

Clipboard Guy finally looks up at the three stragglers left standing.

The first?

A tall dark-skinned black guy with lanky ass arms that extend from his body like one of those inflatable waving arm guys that used to be seen outside of car dealerships and other businesses. His face is all sharp angles—tired-ass eyes outlined with deep, dark bags, and long, neat braids. He’s got the “I stayed up until 4 a.m. for the tenth night in a row” look going on. There’s a thin mustache, like he’s been growing it out since middle school and refuses to give up. Ironically, he’s wearing a button-down shirt tucked into slacks, complete with a narrow-ass tie that makes him look like he just got off work at a call center.

The second?

Short. Really short. Like, five feet at best. She’s got a pear-shaped frame, full lips, and long curls of black hair barely held together by a scrunchie. Another scrunchy was on her wrist. She’s in a pair of overalls, one strap undone, a faded tee-shirt underneath. The kind of outfit that suggests confidence—like she’s about to fix a spaceship with nothing but duct tape and attitude.

And me?

I’m standing there, backpack full of contraband slime, hard hat slightly askew, an anxious smile plastered on my face, perfectly rounding out this motley crew.

Clipboard Kid clears his throat and reads the first name off the list.

“Clyde Richmond!”

The tall, lanky dude lopes up, moving like a guy who’s perpetually one bad decision away from a nap. He grabs the tablet with the mapped-out area on it and gives Clipboard Kid a lazy nod.

Next name.

“Veronica Sampietro.”

The short woman strides forward, arms crossed like she’s already annoyed at something. She’s got a backpack slung over one shoulder—almost identical to mine—and a look that says she could probably break someone’s knee with a bat if she had to.

“And Joseph Sullivan.”

That’s me!

I step up beside them, my backpack shifting slightly. There’s a quiet, irritated buzz from inside. Jelly Boy is still pissed about getting stuffed back in there. Too bad, buddy!

Clipboard Kid tucks his namesake away and claps his hands together, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Third and final squad. C Squad!”

No one reacts.

Clyde just raises an eyebrow. Veronica stares at him like she’s debating whether or not to drop-kick him on principle.

I, however, am excited as hell.

Finally. Let’s go.

Clipboard Kid, undeterred by our collective lack of enthusiasm, revisits his clipboard, glances down at his notes.

“You’ll be extracting Wind Shards from the Level 1 Dungeon.”

The barely-disguised patronizing tone is not lost on me.

“Looks like this will be the first Gate for two of you,” he continues, eyeballing me and Veronica, “so we’re leaving you guys with the easy extraction. All the monsters should have been cleared from the designated areas, so just stick to those areas and you shouldn’t have a problem.”

Clyde gives a lazy salute. “You got it.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes into another dimension.

No monsters means no XP.

Which means no leveling up.

Which means I’m going to have to get creative. I begin to formulate my plan. I don’t care if it’s the “easy” job. I’ll do what I have to. It might have taken me a while to get here, but once I am determined to do something, I sure as hell get it done.

We step toward the Gate, and my fingers start tingling—like I just rubbed them on a balloon. The air thickens, heavy with static as we approach the precipice, and then—

WHUMP!

A force yanks me forward, like a fishing hook just lodged itself behind my navel and reeled me in at light speed. My vision explodes in a white-hot flash, and for a moment, I’m nothing—just a stray thought hurtling through existence.

Then, just as suddenly, I slam back into reality.

I’m standing on soft, springy ground, surrounded by towering white-barked trees with pale pink leaves. Sunlight filters through the cotton-candy-colored canopy, casting rosy shadows over the moss-covered floor. Everything smells sickly sweet—like I just wandered into one of those high-end chocolate shops that sell tiny sculptures for way too much money.

A ping echoes in my head.

Entering Dead World #72.

Dead World #72, I think.

I know that number. I’ve seen it pop up in the Discussion Channels.

People have started recognizing repeating Gates, talking about their experiences in the Realms beyond, giving them nicknames even. This one?

This one’s called Candy Land apparently.

Clyde clicks around on the tablet, his eyes flicking over the screen. “Alright, looks like we head down this path to the right-hand side. Stick to that path, and most of the veins of Wind Shards are there. Simple enough.”

Veronica mutters something under her breath.

I barely hear her.

Because I’m grinning like an idiot.

Candy Land, huh? I crack my knuckle and follow Clyde, who’s already heading down the designated path, head down into the tablet.

We trudge along the candy-colored forest path, the ground squishing softly beneath our boots like damp cake. Every step releases a puff of sickly-sweet air, and I swear I can taste marshmallow and vanilla just from breathing. It’s surreal.

Veronica breaks the silence. “So, what’s your guys’ Discipline and Level? If you’re working with me, I’m guessing you don’t have your Class yet.”

Clyde chimes in first, casual as hell. “Harvester Discipline. Level 8.”

Veronica lets out a low whistle. “Level 8? You manage to climb that high taking on Extraction jobs? Must be a little more dangerous than they let on.”

Clyde yawns. “Nope. I did a couple of Gates on my own before they really started cracking down. Cousin of mine is still doing time for doing one rogue Gate too many.”

Damn. Level 8. That’s double my Level.

And yeah, sure, Clyde’s situation sucks. But what pisses me off is that he, or his cousin, actually got punished. Meanwhile, people like Silver—people with money, connections, and a whole entourage of goons—were breaking into Gates whenever they damn well pleased. And what was their punishment? Only handed over a License to run a whole damned Guild. You didn’t get power-leveled monsters like Sarah and her new entourage without having been illegally opening Gates before the Guild system was officially implemented. Assholes.

I clench my fists, but keep my mouth shut. Not the time. Instead, I take in a deep breath through my nose, slowly exhaling through my mouth.

Veronica shakes her head. “Sorry to hear that. About your cousin. I didn’t take the risk after my first Gate. Was too freaked out. I’m Warrior Discipline, Level 6. Like this guy.” She jerks her thumb in my direction.

I blink. “Uh, I’m Spellcaster Discipline, Level 4.”

Silence.

Then both Clyde and Veronica stop walking and turn to stare at me. Their eyes flick down to my biceps, which are very much not what you’d expect from a fragile little wizard boy.

I sigh, then flex. “You can’t tell by my frail, wizardly physique.” I flex my chest muscles, letting them dance up and down.

Clyde actually laughs. “Nice.”

“But really, I’m a Spellcaster.”

Veronica smirks. “Good one.”

She and Clyde turn and keep walking.

“Wait, I’m serious…!”

But they’re already moving on.

I shake my head, then hurry to catch up.