Chapter 25: What Is After Here
Northern's eyes slowly fluttered open. At first, everything was a blur, but as his vision came into focus, an unfamiliar scene materialized before him.
He found himself lying on a rugged bed of red stone that undulated like petrified waves across the cavern floor.
A dank, earthy aroma permeated the air, assaulting his nostrils and churning his stomach. Though the space resembled a cave, an ominous gray sky loomed openly overhead.
To his right and left, ancient iron bars blackened by time and decay enclosed the area, their once sturdy forms now corroded and crumbling.
A feeling of unease washed over Northern as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings.
Where was he and how did he get here?
His head hurt the moment he tried to think, but it did not impede his thoughts. Northern remembered well - the horror he encountered just a few minutes ago.
'I thought I died.'
Northern stood up slowly from the stony ground; he looked around trying to figure out where he could be, but there was no information whatsoever that could hint at his location.
It wasn't like he knew anywhere in this rift. At least the sky felt familiar, and the land was not a sea of red.
Instead of that murky one, this seemed like red stone that had precipitated over time.
The next thing that bothered him were the iron bars that stood on both ends of his vision.
Then the sound of metal caught his attention, making him turn to the back, which he hadn't noticed since he woke.
Another thick wall of iron barricaded the back, its door opened slowly, creaking eerily as it did.
Northern paled, staggering backward as he saw a grotesque monster walk through the door.
The foreboding critter walked on two trunk-like legs, its presence a chilling blend of terror and martial might; each step thunderous and deliberate, shaking the very ground beneath its weight.
Its skin a patchwork of scars and thick, leathery hide, a testament to battles and the harshness of its existence, conveying a sense of fear.
The monster's body was grotesquely muscular, with bulging limbs that seemed to twist and contort in ways that defied nature.
Its hands, if they could still be called that, clutched a weapon forged not by the finesse of human craftsmanship but in the fires of savagery and necessity.
It wielded a crude axe, its surface pitted and stained with the remnants of past conflicts.
Northern's heart trembled as the monster got closer to him. Had he survived that terror only to get maimed by another?
After several steps, the crude creature stopped, looking down on him.
Its eyes burned with a feral glow, set deep within a face that was more snout than nose, with jagged teeth protruding from its maw.
But there was something strange about the look in the eyes of this monster.
Northern gulped as he stole a glance at the grotesque face. He lowered his head, paralyzed by the quaking fear in his body.
The monster turned, walking towards the iron bars affixed to the far end of the right wall.
While that happened, Northern's head screamed for him to run, to save himself while the monster walked towards the wall.
But his legs could not move. Northern tried to prompt himself into motion, but it was utterly futile.
Having experienced the same situation perhaps day after night, Northern's nerves were frozen from the manifestation of fear.
He could not move.
Until the monster got to the bars, bent down and picked something up, and came back.
The monster dropped a brown metal object on the ground with a thud ringing through the air.
Northern looked at the metallic rod. It was like an axe, however, a menial one.
The monster looked at him with a slight frown on its horrific face.
An understanding dawned on Northern as the monster stared at him, waiting for him to do something.
Northern, slowly and fearfully picked up the metal. As he did, the monster walked forward. It paused after two steps, looking back at Northern who was still standing in the same spot.
Northern tentatively hurried forward, following the monster at a careful distance as it trekked further.
After a while, they stopped at the first hill of waves that marked the landscape.
The monster looked at him, yanked the axe from him and with a spin, hammered it onto the hill.
A deafening ring streaked across the air, trembling Northern's bones.
With that one heavy strike, the hill cracked. And as the monster raised the axe and struck it a second time, splinters of red shards sprang out, falling around.
The monster pointed the axe at Northern. Shakily, Northern received it and watched the monster retrieve all the shards of red crystals that broke out of the red stone.
A deep confusion contorted his pale, dirty and bloodied face. Northern stared in ambiguity.
'What is this... what is going on?'
The monster put all the shards at one point and turned to Northern, frowning its face.
Northern, with the axe in his hands, fear in his heart and millions of questions on his mind, gripped the axe.
The first strike... sloppy was a praise. Northern almost tripped from his own swing.
The moment he carried the axe, its heaviness fell on his muscles. He wasn't expecting it, and it was too much for his scrawny muscles to handle.
Plus, belatedly realizing its weight, Northern's coordination faltered, and he ended up scraping the side of the axe against the hill's slope, staggering to the side and almost tripping.
The monster stared indifferently, but Northern took a glance back. In that cold stare, he could feel the shrewd disappointment lurking behind it.
He picked the axe up again, biting his teeth. He struck the hill; his second trial was a bit better than the first but equally sloppy and lame.
The monster moved the moment splinters of the red rock flew out from Northern's impact.
After that, it would return to its original position, petrified and unfazed by anything that happened.
Consistently, it felt like Northern was being watched by death itself as he persistently smote the rock with the black axe in his hands.
Night came, and further nights came. The sound of Northern's axe smiting the rock soared like the sound of a novice blacksmith forging the night into a weapon of sound.
Chapter 26: The Miner
Rifts were cracks in space that embodied entire dimensions. It was impossible to predict or get used to the environment inside a rift.
Since they tore apart multiple dimensions and merged them into Tra-el's space, these rifts revealed entirely unique worlds with climates and conditions never before seen by humans.
Some even had strange, unnatural laws tied to their worlds. But the most dangerous aspect of the rifts was the ranks of monsters that existed within them.
They represented a level of uncertainty and danger that should have made every drifter hesitate to venture into such realms. However, the rewards matched the vicious risks they faced in these places.
Through enduring such hardship, a drifter gained more soul essence, allowing them to progress through the ranks of their soul.
Of course, the higher they climbed, the harder it became to ascend—that's why the highest recorded soul rank for a drifter in this era was the Paragon, even though other ranks clearly existed.
Everyone now viewed those higher planes as the realm of immortals... untouchable by ordinary mortals.
Those ranks had surpassed even the strongest mortal limitations. It would take unimaginable willpower to reach such heights.
At that level, perhaps they would become monsters themselves. After all, the power of a Paragon was already overwhelming.
They could shake the plains with just a stomp of their foot or send earthquakes rippling through mountains with a release of their spirit.
Paragons were forces of nature that couldn't be contained. Very few stood at the pinnacle of power.
Despite the dangers lurking inside, drifters were still drawn to rifts by the treasures they could discover.
Martial arts, spell arts, body cultivation techniques, spiritual release arts—grimoires of skills that could dramatically boost a drifter's abilities, giving even those with low talents a chance to grow.
A world of fairness… or at least, it once was. Now, that fairness was bought and manipulated by the elite, leaving ordinary people with only scraps and expecting them to be grateful.
Resources found in rifts were highly sought after. These materials fueled the advancement of Tra-el's civilization: monster carcasses, minerals, and crystals.
When these resources were brought back, they could be sold for vast sums of money.
Items were another rewarding part of exploring a rift. When monsters were slain, or ruins were explored, Ul rewarded the drifters with items tied to the fate of the fallen monsters.
These items were created from the strings of fate that controlled the monster and its connection to the rift.
Each item's existence and enchantments were linked to its source, and they came in different grades, each more powerful than the last.
Yet, despite these enticing rewards, drifters died like insects in the rifts.
Many retired early, gave up on the dream of becoming stronger, and spent the rest of their lives as lower-tier drifters, explorers, private tutors, or instructors.
This was why someone like Rughsbourgh saw the need for a stronger generation of drifters, forged through hardship and in the fires of difficulty.
In a world where survival wasn't guaranteed, there were still things even Rughsbourgh could never foresee or predict.
Time became meaningless to Northern. He was consumed by suffering, fear, unanswered questions, and endless hunger.
Northern couldn't tell how much time had passed. The sky hung endlessly above him, night followed night, and there was neither a moon nor a sun in this realm. Everything looked the same to him.
Over and over, the poor boy kept mining red crystals.
At first, he wondered why all he did was mine crystals. When the pile of crystals grew large enough, his overseer would collect them and leave Northern's mining prison.
That was the only time Northern could rest his sore muscles. It was also when strange food was thrown over the iron wall that barred the door.
The food he received was unpleasant. The first and second times he ate it, Northern vomited.
It seemed like some kind of round, baked bread, but Northern guessed it wasn't made from flour like his mother used. He didn't know what it was, but it churned his stomach every time he ate it. Eventually, he got used to it, which frightened him.
He would have preferred his roasted monster meat, but since waking up in this strange place, Northern hadn't seen his bag or shirt.
He had been working shirtless, but thankfully the weather wasn't too harsh.
There were nights when the cold was unbearable, and the monster would stand behind him, a deep scowl on its face, its hand gripping its ax tightly.
Northern slowly grew used to the monster's presence and the routine of mining. He slept less, ate terrible food, and abandoned his natural curiosity.
As night followed night, he gradually lost hope. He began to look forward to the times when the monster would leave—so he could finally sleep, eat, or rest.
When the monster was around, Northern's hands never stopped moving. His blisters would burst and then form again in the same spots.
It happened repeatedly, even when his legs shook and his hands trembled. The monster would scowl at him, as if testing how close he was to death.
Everything became meaningless. There was nothing Northern could do but mine crystals… until one day, something happened.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
200+ Power
Ranking 
616 Power
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