Wormhole Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 1: Three Years Later (Patreon)

Three years is not such a long time for a cultivator, but for me it was almost half a lifetime, counting from the moment I first appeared in this world.

Three years ago, a seventh-stage xeltar master offered my master the chance to become his disciple.

He had his own relatively sincere reasons for doing so, but, like everything that was happening back then, the offer came wrapped in layers upon layers of politics.

Given the personal power and political influence both figures possessed, it could hardly have been otherwise. First, they belonged to different states; second, to different species; and third, we had just carried out a rather impolite operation on Federation Ka territory that demonstrated their utter incompetence despite their overwhelming strength.

It was rather like a provincial sheriff's deputy, merely passing through the capital, catching a gang of notorious burglars, then falling out with the owner of the burgled house and keeping the recovered valuables for himself.

The awkward situation demanded a solution, and Novak becoming Master Aoran's disciple became part of that solution — just one of the many, many layers of the political game being played by both the Federation and ourselves.

We desperately needed allies in our struggle against the demons. The Federation, however, did not regard them as demons at all. To them, the Clan Union was simply one of many interstellar states and a rather unpleasant neighbour, but certainly not demons.

Even so, pricking and weakening such a neighbour, especially at another neighbour's expense, was, for the Federation, practically a matter of honour. We signed no alliance, and they would not fight on our behalf, but offering assistance and helping arm us for the battles to come? Why not?

Especially since we were doing a respectable job of managing our own technological revolution after capturing the ships of the space nomads, who had been those very burglars.

They even devoted considerable effort to hunting down the last nomad vessel we had failed to catch, ensuring it could not spread the word to the demons that their prey had unexpectedly made a major technological leap and left the star system to which it had been confined.

Over the course of three years, rumours spread regardless. Even at my college, people had begun to suspect that I was not quite who I claimed to be.

Black Hole College. Black seemed to follow me around, as did grandiose names. My new grandmaster arranged my transfer as soon as we had brought our interfaces into line with Federation standards. My master remained on Verdis, preparing to break through to the sixth stage, while I set off to earn my certification as a portal technician and study several fascinating space techniques.

Portal theory, spatial stabilisation, warp-shift compensation — everything that was still in its infancy back home had long since become common knowledge here. I received not only a record of completing the courses in my interface, but also a physical piece of plastic covered in colourful stamps and signatures, which would one day make an excellent coaster.

Well, on a more serious note, a Federation technician's diploma was considered roughly equivalent to a doctorate back home. In other words, I'd managed to complete what amounted to ten years' worth of work in just three. During that same period, I'd also brought my cultivation to the very end of the stage.

The Federation's internal cultivation techniques cost next to nothing, yet provided an enormous boost. Then there was the money Novak had paid me for taking part in the operation to capture the praxi ships. One hundred and thirty million Earth units converted into three million Federation credits. The exchange rate felt like a knife to the balls. Forty-four to one. Still, prices were proportionally lower, so I was returning from college not only with my cultivation fully completed, but also with a complete set of excellent materials and medicines for breaking through to the fourth stage.

I intended to make my breakthrough back home. By local standards, my cultivation level, late third stage, was already extraordinarily high for someone of twenty-five. The Federation believed that rushing breakthroughs was in very poor taste. A cultivator was expected to spend time growing accustomed to their current stage, understanding it, and drawing out its full potential before advancing.

Well, they lived in their peaceful little corner of the galaxy. They weren't waiting every day for an alien invasion.

The fourth stage would probably be where I met that invasion, considering rumours about Earth had already begun to spread. The moment the demons realised we were growing stronger than expected, they'd rush to put an end to this nuisance.

So I'd rather skip lingering at the third stage and focus on refining the fourth instead. I'd already bought many of the techniques I needed — at least those related to Space. As for offensive, cutting-and-blowing techniques, I'd have more than enough of those back home.

Strangely enough, after three years at Black Hole College, I still hadn't made a single true friend. Plenty of acquaintances, but not one friend. Perhaps I simply couldn't shake the feeling that there was a gulf between me, with the very real risks I'd faced, and the carefully sanitised, precisely measured dangers of the college's training spars.

As I travelled back to Verdis, I even wondered whether I'd gone soft.

I'd hate for Bao to kick my arse, or for Gunter or Dubois to wipe the floor with me.

Though, at the very least, Bao had also received an invitation to one of the Federation's colleges. Everyone who had taken part in the operation against the praxi had.

The portal carried me from Anita's surface to the station beside the wormhole leading to Shakti. From Shakti to Lomnankatudur, then Wolf 908, Wolf 1301, and finally Sol.

After Lomnankatudur, normal passenger services and scheduled connections came to an end. Nobody was going to open a wormhole just for me. Only military transports and emergency couriers travelled through. Courier ship required the appropriate clearance, so I waited for the next scheduled transport, passing the time aboard the space stations clustered around those same wormholes. At Wolf 908, however, fortune smiled on me, and I managed to join a large delegation of scientists heading for the research station in Wolf 1301.

Scientists they most certainly were not. It was yet another delegation of diplomats and military officers bound directly for Earth. I travelled with them all the way to Verdis, where they descended to the planet while I headed for the halls of my alma mater.

Again, by portal.

It was almost strange how ordinary portal travel had become throughout the Solar System over the past four years. Our portals were different from those I'd studied at Black Hole College, though.

Ours were copies of praxi portals and, in some respects, they were even more energy-efficient than the Federation's.

The Federation's portals, however, were more stable. Now I didn't merely know that — I could feel it in the fluctuations of Space Qi.

Well, they couldn't harm me any more. I could pass through them without issue and, if necessary, even keep a portal from collapsing on someone's head.

I could also create my own spatial pockets now, although that wasn't my primary speciality and required an absurd amount of time and effort. I'd get around to it once I ran out of money and all the little treasures I'd brought back from the Federation to trade. For the time being, I already had a massive five-hundred-litre pocket I'd acquired from the praxi, and it was packed to the brim with medicines and techniques stored on single-use chips. I'd emptied my account almost completely before leaving and intended to refill it by selling exotic goods brought from the other side.

It was convenient that there was effectively no customs control between Earth and the Federation. Nobody confiscated anything or slapped taxes on it.

Or perhaps they simply considered me too important to bother. On the Federation side, I'd travelled with the delegation, and here my Black Hole graduate's jumpsuit looked much like the uniform worn by Black Lotus personnel.

I'd have to change into the grey cadet's one before one of the senior masters decided to start asking awkward questions.

First things first, though. I needed to let my master know I'd returned.

I opened my interface and called Novak.

"Jake!" he greeted me cheerfully.

"Good to hear your voice, sir," I replied.

"So, are you tired, or have you still got the energy for a cup of tea?"

"It doesn't take much energy to drink tea," I said. "Besides, from Wolf 1301 onwards it was portals all the way, with hardly any waiting."

"Excellent. Then I'll be waiting for you."

I headed down into the metro, watching cadets hurrying about their business. Almost none of them were wearing armour. At least, no one above the third stage was. That felt a little unusual. Back in the day, the underground had been full of senior cadets in armour, carrying weapons and riding jet boards.

The introduction of spatial pockets to the general public had transformed the metro into a much more civilised place. These days, the only people still clanking around in armour were mostly first-years who hadn't yet mastered Space or couldn't afford a spatial pocket.

By the time the train reached Novak's station, the carriage was almost empty. Only three people got off onto the platform from the entire train, and that was already considered a crowd. The elite lived above this station, and you needed clearance just to access the lift. Fortunately, mine was still active.

The door to the apartment was exactly as I remembered it. Somewhere inside me, nostalgia stirred — for that sharp sense of danger my first visits to my master had always inspired.

I even shook my head.

Careful what you wish for.

If I was already feeling nostalgic for that kind of adrenaline, then the past few years really had been peaceful. I had a feeling that was about to change.

I opened the door and breathed in the familiar scent: caramel, charred wood, and chocolate — Novak's favourite bourbon. Missing, however, were the aromas of herbs, fruit, and honey that meant he had prepared tea for me.

Back then, I could judge how serious a conversation would be just from the smell. This time, though, there was no tea on the low table, only a black bottle with gold embossing and a glass.

Novak stood by the panoramic window, another empty glass in his hand. Behind him stretched the familiar view: towers, domes, winding paths and gardens between the academy buildings, and, far in the distance, the flickering lights of the training grounds.

The view outside had changed very little. My master looked almost exactly the same as well, apart from a slightly warmer smile than I was used to seeing.

Having returned to Verdis, he had once again exchanged his regulation jumpsuit for a spotless white shirt and a classic waistcoat, though that was only the outward appearance.

What I saw clearly in my interface above his head was the name: V. Novak.

"Another communicator, or did you finally get an interface?" I asked.

"An interface this time," he said, walking over to the table and pouring two fingers of bourbon into each glass. "We cracked the technology a few months before my breakthrough," he added, handing one of them to me.

"Congratulations!" I said sincerely, raising my glass in salute.

"Thank you." Novak lightly clinked his glass against mine.

"So, how many sixth-stage cultivators do we have now?" I asked, taking a sip of liquid fire.

"Thirteen," he replied.

"Enough to deal with a demon raid?" I asked.

"That depends on who they send." Novak shrugged. "At the moment, we have no intention of letting them reach Earth. A major military base has already been built near the wormhole leading into their territory, and we're preparing to give them a very warm welcome. But those are only plans."

"And, as always, every plan eventually reaches the point where everything goes to hell."