Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Returning to the Past (2)
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003
1장. Returning to the Past (2)
3.
When the Mystic Gate first appeared in the world, someone said this.
“Mystic Gate is packed with conveniences for adventurers. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet—the gate's color tells you the difficulty level beyond it. The maximum number of entrants is displayed on the gate, and once you're inside, the right number of monsters for that difficulty shows up along with a boss monster. You don't even have to beat the boss; find the exit, and you're out. It's like someone designed it just for adventurers.”
From an adventurer's perspective, the Mystic Gate was the ultimate stage—nothing left to wish for.
“But you can't let your guard down.”
Of course, that didn't make the Mystic Gate a walk in the park.
On the contrary, adventurer death rates had never been higher than after the Mystic Gates appeared.
The reason was simple.
“No one knows what's waiting beyond the Mystic Gate.”
The sheer number of monsters you could run into beyond a Mystic Gate was beyond description.
“And when you exit through the gate inside the Mystic Gate, it vanishes right then and there.”
Scouting it first and coming back with info to strategize? Impossible.
“The real kicker is that every Mystic Gate has a hard limit on how many adventurers can enter.”
Most critically, Mystic Gates weren't spots where adventurers could just form parties on their terms.
You had to assemble within that entry cap.
“The bigger headache is filling those limited slots entirely with adventurers—it ain't easy.”
Even then, full-adventurer parties were rarer than you'd expect.
“Adventurers are rare? Nah, it's 'cause more adventurers means smaller cuts for everyone.”
Adventurers always crunched the numbers for maximum profit.
“Bait slaves, though? Dirt cheap.”
That's how bait slaves were born—wretched souls tossing their lives for pocket change, pathetic beyond words.
These bait slaves turned out way more useful to adventurers than anyone figured.
For starters, they were gold when hunting monsters. True to the name, they could steer monster paths exactly as planned.
But where they really shone wasn't during hunts.
“We tossed the bait!”
It was when hightailing it from a monster swarm.
“Everyone, run!”
The day El Pam remembered had gone down just like that.
The party that dragged him in as bait slave was a total amateur mess. Cornered, they ditched the bait and bolted.
Naturally, bait slave El Pam ended up stranded right in the thick of it—facing down an orange mushroom horde.
“Uwaaaak!”
Along with five other bait slaves.
Fighting? Not even on the table.
The five slaves scattered every which way, and the horde split to chase them down.
Hundreds turned to dozens per group.
‘Just like back then.’
Staring at the exact scene from his memory, El Pam was convinced now.
‘It's definite. I went back in time.’
No dream, no illusion.
‘I don't know how or why.’
Sure, it was insane.
El Pam the mage knew full well—regression, defying time itself? Utter nonsense.
So he shoved the question aside for now.
Way beyond his pay grade.
Thud thud thud!
More pressingly, over twenty orange mushrooms were hot on his tail right that second.
Chased by mushrooms? Sounds hilarious.
But anyone from Victoria Island knew better. These fungi were no joke.
Sizes all over the map—some bigger than full-grown men.
Thud thud thud!
Two-legged sprint speed? Matched a grown man easy.
Hunt style was straightforward: charge, body-slam the target flat, then gnaw like mad with those teeth.
Individual hits lacked punch, but here's the rub—they were mushrooms.
Spore-spreading meant packs ballooned from dozens to hundreds, thousands anytime.
Bodies? Pure fungus. No blood, no bleed-out.
One weakness: smash the core!
Or pulverize the whole thing!
Good luck with either.
Adventurer nightmare, flat out.
‘Orange mushrooms are the wimpiest of the bunch, but still no pushovers.’
El Pam knew it better than most.
This exact moment back then? He'd clawed for survival, fleeing like hell against them.
That was pre-time-travel El Pam.
‘Not my problem anymore.’
This El Pam, pre-regression? Mushroom kill count in the hundreds of millions.
Skills still sharp as ever.
Hence.
Fleeing El Pam snatched a fallen spear from the dirt.
Swish!
Gripped it—and stopped dead.
El Pam's hunt was on.
4.
Orange Mushroom.
Weak sauce among mushrooms. Strategy? Core shot.
Simple in theory, brutal in practice.
“Mushrooms? Piece of cake—just poke the core. It's usually smack between the eyes. Only hitch? Sizes all over the damn place.”
As noted, wild size variance. Hunter's worst nightmare.
“Big ones at least? You spot 'em. Tinies? Good luck seeing 'em.”
Then the spore pups—dog-sized pests. Stomp 'em dead, but the mushy corpses gum up the fight bad.
Hence the nickname.
“No matter the training, zero experience means panic city. Rookies? Forget it.”
Rookie Killer.
Put another way: experience made 'em a non-issue.
Thud thud thud!
Fatal wounds? Nah. Body slams hit light for their bulk—less than a man's weight—and teeth? Human-bite level, tops.
Speed? Adult male pace, maybe slower.
Not a real threat.
For El Pam? A joke.
He demonstrated.
Stab!
Every thrust nailed the gap between eyes dead-on.
Crack!
Deep enough for core pierce, no more.
Pffft!
Yank it free, pivot to the next—fifty centimeters smaller—same flawless move.
Stab!
Zero margin for error, brow pierced clean.
Thud thud thud!
Backpedaling against the onrushing pack, footwork poetry.
Stab!
Combat straight out of legend.
Wilder still? El Pam was a mage. No warrior, thief, or bowman.
Yet his melee game crushed most of 'em.
No passion project.
Just survival byproduct—mates dropping left and right, facing hordes solo till you leveled up.
Stab!
Twenty orange mushrooms? Barely a warm-up.
‘Tough only on F-rank scrubs.’
Nothing special, really.
Why Adventurer Association rates orange mushroom packs F-grade monsters.
F-ranks gotta handle twenty-plus no sweat.
‘Era's lousy with unqualified hacks, though.’
The party using El Pam as bait? Not even F-rank material.
Couldn't hack real adventurer status.
Mystic Gates changed that.
Adventurer basics: skill-loaded gear. Mana circles to trigger 'em.
Pre-Gates? Skill items unicorn-rare.
Low-tiers couldn't dream.
Post-Gates? Maple World drowning in loot.
Sudden flood let any mana-circle chump snag gear easy.
Not the end of the world.
Kicker: greenhorns fumbling unmastered skills inside Gates.
Chowing magic stones from kills to pump circles. Snagging Gate loot.
All greed, nothing else.
‘Most couldn't even flee right—ended up corpses.’
Predictable wipe.
‘Those clowns too.’
El Pam's captor party? Same story.
That's why he tracked 'em now.
Not for rescue.
Truth? El Pam loathed bait-slave users. Past hatred.
Three years as one drilled it home—scum unfit for company.
Simple motive, though.
‘Loot recovery.’
They packed items.
Nailed it.
‘There.’
Mushroom-mashed corpse in robes—a mage. El Pam scored.
‘Staff.’
Obvious first grab: the staff.
‘Fire Arrow for sure.’
Knew the skill cold. Dude demo'd it threatening bait slaves—unforgettable.
‘Solid pick.’
Prime 1st Circle fire spell. Top fave.
Mana-thrifty, packs punch. Shreds mushroom flesh like tissue.
‘Perfect for me now.’
Left wrist check: lone black ring, thread-thin.
1st Circle newbie tier. Even basic 1st Circle spells a slog.
Why push Gates too hard.
Magic stones from kills? Fastest circle-grow juice.
Circle-ups (1st to 2nd)? Talent, epiphanies, flukes. El Pam? Meh.
‘I've run it plenty.’
Big win: spell matching his level.
‘More where that came from.’
No stopping here.
Junk fine—items still cashed heavy.
‘No downtime.’
Monster wars restarting? Pennies mattered.
Foes expanded now, too.
‘Black Mage followers. Gotta watch 'em.’
El Pam knew.
All world chaos? Their fingerprints.
Fight incoming.
Ransacking the dead mage pro-style.
He was a pro.
Post-monster era? El Pam's bread-and-butter: stripping wiped adventurer corpses for gear.
Norm then.
‘Pockets for trash. Good stuff? Shoe-stashed.’
Off come the shoes. Score.
‘Ring.’
Slid it on, mana pulse.
Staff auto-lifted.
Telekinesis.
Prime magic. Manipulate objects at will? Peak versatility.
Zero hype, though.
Why? Aptitude rarer than hens' teeth—one per hundred mages, maybe.
Tough cast, too. Even naturals struggled lifting basics.
Dead mage? Hid it, too chicken to try.
Thud thud thud!
‘More orange mushrooms inbound.’
Regretful waste.
“Fire Arrow.”
El Pam? Zero sweat.
‘Telekinesis this quick? Lucky break.’
Greatest Telekinesis Mage. One of his titles.