"A door?"
Dudley shook his head, his mind clearing up a bit.
When he came to, he realized he wasn't in his bedroom anymore. It was like his soul had slipped out of his body, and in the blink of an eye, he'd landed somewhere unfamiliar.
"Where am I?"
Dudley scanned his surroundings. Everything was a blinding white, like a fog so thick he couldn't make out a thing. Behind him, more of the same endless white.
But when he looked straight ahead, one thing stood out, sharp and clear in his vision.
A door.
A stone door.
An ancient, weathered stone door, etched with the marks of time.
Dudley couldn't help but take a few steps forward, drawn to the massive door.
The stone was carved with what looked like an enormous magical array. Ten circular wheels branched out like tree limbs, split evenly on both sides of the door. At the base, ten wing-like shapes mirrored them, fanning out symmetrically.
The Kabbalistic Tree of Life.
"I think… I know where this is."
The Gate of Truth.
The place every alchemist dreamed of reaching.
"Before the gate stands the alchemist; behind it lies the truth."
Legend said that pushing open this door would reveal the ultimate truth—a concept akin to the "Root" that mages in the Type-Moon world chased their whole lives.
Standing before the gate, staring at the weathered marks of age, Dudley heard a faint voice whispering in his ear.
"Come on, push it open. Everything you want is on the other side."
"Anything you desire can be yours."
"Money, fame, power, beauty, strength!"
"An endless supply, yours for the taking."
"Just open the door, and you can become an all-powerful god."
The voice was seductive, dripping with temptation, enough to make anyone's heart race.
But…
"Nah, I'm good," Dudley said calmly, completely unfazed by the voice's allure.
"I'm not exactly a proper alchemist."
Sure, Dudley knew alchemy, but that was mostly thanks to his system. He wasn't some traditional alchemist, steeped in years of study.
His stance on alchemy was clear: "To me, it's just a tool."
Without a second thought, Dudley turned and walked away. He didn't even spare a glance at the gate that countless alchemists would've killed to see, no hint of hesitation in his steps.
"Now, how do I get back?"
"Wait… don't you want something?" the voice called out again, clearer now, no longer vague and misty.
"Don't you have any desires?"
A translucent figure, its features blurred, appeared at the base of the Gate of Truth, shouting at Dudley.
"Of course I do," Dudley said, pausing but not turning around.
Opening the Gate of Truth came at a steep price. Some lost limbs, others their entire bodies, or even their sight. But the things the gate offered? Dudley could get those with his own two hands—it'd just take a little time.
Money, fame, power, strength—he wasn't exactly lacking in those departments.
And the things he did want? The gate couldn't give him those.
"Can you turn me into a Super Saiyan?" Dudley's voice floated back casually.
"…"
The figure went silent.
"Or how about Ultra Instinct?"
"…"
"Fine, what about the 72 Earthly Transformations? The 36 Heavenly Transformations? Immortality to rival the heavens?"
"…"
"Maybe just a Star Platinum to make do?"
"…"
The figure met each of Dudley's requests with silence.
Equivalent exchange was real, but only if the gate understood what it was being asked for. Super Saiyans, Ultra Instinct, Star Platinum—these were beyond the gate's comprehension.
In theory, the Gate of Truth was omniscient and omnipotent. But that was only relative to its own world. Step outside its rules, and it wasn't so all-knowing anymore. Different worlds, different rules—like trying to use a sword from a fallen dynasty to execute a minister in the current one.
For example, the Gate of Truth couldn't bring back the dead. But in the Dragon Ball world, the Dragon could. Plenty of worlds had ways to pull off resurrection.
"If you can't deliver, don't make such big promises," Dudley said coolly, not worried about offending the gate.
Or rather, he didn't care at all.
"Other… worlds."
The translucent figure at the gate seemed to catch onto something, its tone buzzing with excitement.
"Exploring unknown worlds… gathering unknown knowledge… worth the exchange."
It muttered to itself, as if trying to justify its own reasoning.
Then, without anyone touching it, the stone gate creaked open just a sliver.
You're a mature Gate of Truth now. Time to learn how to open yourself.
In the next moment, Dudley felt the world shift around him. The Gate of Truth faded, and the endless white void vanished with it.
When he snapped back to reality, he was sitting in his chair, wand in hand, as if nothing had happened.
He glanced at the clock.
Less than ten seconds had passed.
It felt like a hallucination—but it definitely wasn't.
Something new clicked in his mind, a spark of insight into alchemy. He snapped his fingers lightly.
A red flash sparked in the air.
Boom!
An explosion erupted in the room, appearing out of nowhere and vanishing just as quickly.
This was a form of alchemy—manipulating air density to create an explosion. The kind of trick a certain flame-wielding colonel might use.
More importantly, Dudley hadn't used an alchemical array or tapped into the Philosopher's Stone. He'd just… done it.
This was the mark of someone who'd seen the Gate of Truth. They could wield alchemy without arrays. The difference? Everyone else who'd faced the gate came back missing an arm or a leg. Dudley? Not a scratch.
"Pretty handy," Dudley muttered, turning his attention to the pile of materials on his desk.
The Gate of Truth had been a weird little detour.
But now, he had more important things to do.
He clapped his hands together, activating his magical crafting skill. The chunk of mithril on the desk seemed to come alive, melting into a liquid and slowly coating his wand in a shimmering silver-white layer.
Too bad he didn't have more mithril—he would've loved to reshape his wand into something like Gandalf's staff. A wand for casting Lumos by day, a club to knock out enemies by night.
He etched intricate magical arrays along the side of the silver-white wand, giving it an air of mystery. Next, he embedded a faintly glowing emerald in the wand's center. Then came the mana-infused sapphire, the wand's core, which he set at the base.
Thanks to his crafting skill, everything went off without a hitch.
Soon, a new wand lay before him—silver-white, simple yet elegant, radiating a faint chill. He picked it up and gave it a light flick. A rainbow arc shimmered in the air.
Just like Harry's wand had done back then.