The sun was high by the time I left the Iron Perimeter. Emre pressed against my spine like a warm stone—heavy enough to make my knees ache, but light enough that I could walk for miles without stopping. The dirt road wound through barren fields, dotted with the occasional grey glow of a dormant Dust Rift. Every few steps, the Voice of the World chattered in my head like a digital assistant with too much to say.
<
<
I'd wrapped Emre in two layers of thick cloth to keep it hidden—but even so, people stared. A group of Rank F hunters passed me on horseback, their eyes narrowing as they spotted the bulging bundle on my back.
"Hey, dirt!" One of them called out, reining in his horse. "What you carrying there? Stolen scrap metal?"
I kept walking. Back on Earth, I'd ignore jerks like this too—no point wasting time on people who only know how to look down.
<
The hunter hopped off his horse, blocking my path. He was built like a brick wall, his hands wrapped around a crude iron sword. "I asked you a question. You got ears, or did the mana-wasting disease eat those too?"
I stopped, looking him in the eye. His breath reeked of cheap ale and dried heart gems. "It's a club. For clearing rifts."
He laughed—loud and harsh, making his friends snort. "A club? You couldn't lift a real weapon if you tried! Let me see it—maybe I'll trade you a rusty dagger for it." He reached for the cloth wrapping Emre.
<
I caught his wrist before his fingers touched the scabbard. My grip wasn't tight—but the moment our skin made contact, a jolt of power pulsed from Emre through my hand. The hunter's eyes went wide, then rolled back in his head. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
<
His friends scrambled off their horses, drawing their swords. "What did you do to him?! You cursed bastard!"
I could end this right now, I thought, feeling Emre hum against my back. Just shift my weight, let the aura touch them. They'd be out cold before they could swing. But then I pictured Kazuto's village—how they'd be labeled as "cursed" if word got out I'd knocked out a hunter.
<
"I didn't do anything," I said, stepping around the unconscious man. "He tripped. Hit his head on a rock."
The hunters looked at the flat dirt road, then back at me. They didn't believe it—but something in my eyes made them step aside. I kept walking, their shouts fading behind me.
If I drop it, everyone dies. If I draw it, existence ends, I repeated to myself, adjusting the straps holding Emre in place. So I have to be careful. Every single step.
The Union Knight Registry rose from the outer ring like a fortress carved from solid stone. Massive gates stood forty feet high, etched with symbols for every rank—from -F at the bottom to Z at the top, glowing with faint golden light. Hunters streamed in and out, their badges gleaming: iron for F-E, bronze for D-C, silver for B-A, and rare gold for S.
<
<
I pushed through the crowd at the gates. The air inside was thick with the smell of mana potions, polished steel, and roasted meat from the merchant stalls lining the main hall. A massive board hung on one wall, covered in mission slips—color-coded by rift tier: grey for F-E, rust for D, blue for C, violet for B, gold for A, crimson for S, and empty black slots for Z.
Every slip here is for rifts that pay enough to feed families for weeks, I thought, my jaw tight. But the Iron Perimeter never gets anything above grey.
I made my way to the registration desk, a long marble counter staffed by knights in polished steel armor. The woman behind it—her silver badge marked her as Rank B—didn't look up from her papers as I approached.
"Name," she said, her pen scratching across parchment.
"Voldius Kazuto."
"Rank."
"-F."
The scratching stopped. She looked up, her eyes sweeping over me—my worn clothes, the bulging bundle on my back, the lack of any mana aura around my body. She let out a sharp breath. "-F. You know what that means, right? No assigned rifts above Dust Tier. No access to mana potions or training facilities. You'll be lucky if you can even get a spot in a party."
<
"I'll register solo first," I said. "Then find a party."
She shook her head, sliding a form across the counter. "Solo -F hunters don't survive their first week. The last one tried to clear a Dust Rift alone and got torn apart by a Scrap Wolf. Sign here—we'll assign you to a group that'll take pity on you."
Before I could sign, a voice cut through the noise: "Wait a minute. I'll take him."
I turned to see a young man with messy black hair and an iron badge marked E leaning against the counter. He wore a torn noble's coat over his hunter gear, and his eyes—sharp and calculating—were fixed on the bundle on my back.
<
The registration woman raised an eyebrow. "Kamoto? You want to add a -F to your party? You're already on thin ice as it is."
Danjiro grinned, pushing off the counter. "Thin ice is more interesting than solid ground. Besides… I think he's hiding something. Something that doesn't run on mana."
He's not wrong, I thought, feeling Emre thrum as if in agreement.
Before I could respond, a cheerful voice bounced over: "Oh! A new hunter! I'll join too!"
A girl with pink hair tied in pigtails practically skipped over, her bronze badge (Rank D) gleaming on her chest. She held a stack of papers, her face split into a wide smile.
<
"Mia Hearth, at your service!" She extended a hand to shake mine. "I've been looking for new party members—everyone else is too stuck up to work with lower ranks. Plus, you look like you need someone to watch your back!"
I shook her hand—her grip was firm, and warmth flowed from her palm. She's genuine, I realized. Not just taking pity—she actually cares.
"Three people make a party," the registration woman said, tapping her pen on the counter. "You need one more to be official."
"Four, actually!" A lanky young man stumbled over, his arms full of gadgets and wires. He wore an iron badge marked -F, and his glasses were crooked on his nose. As he got close, one of his devices let out a high-pitched whine, then sparked and went dark.
"Ah! Not again!" He yelped, dropping the gadget. It hit the floor and exploded in a puff of blue smoke.
<
"Sorry!" He said, waving his hands to clear the smoke. "My mana-meters go crazy around… well, you, apparently. I'm Jace. I've been trying to find a party that'll let me test my new gear—everyone else says my stuff is 'too unstable.'"
Danjiro clapped him on the shoulder. "Unstable is exactly what we need. Welcome to the party."
The registration woman sighed, pulling out a new form. "Fine. Party name?"
I looked at the three of them—Danjiro, the noble who saw more than he let on; Mia, the healer who wanted to help; Jace, the technician whose tools couldn't handle my presence. We were all misfits, all labeled "trash" by the Union.
"Call us the Trash Party," I said.
The woman raised an eyebrow but wrote it down. "Alright. Trash Party, registered. Your first mission will be assigned by the Rift Allocation Office. Come back tomorrow morning for your slip."
<
<
We decided to stay in the Registry's cheap inn for the night—four of us crammed into a single room with two beds and a pile of straw in the corner. Mia immediately started unpacking healing herbs and bandages, while Jace spread his gadgets across a rickety table, muttering as he tried to fix the one that had exploded.
Danjiro pulled me aside, leading me to the window overlooking the main hall. "Let me see it," he said, nodding at the bundle on my back.
"I told you—it's a club."
"Bullshit." He leaned against the wall, his voice low. "When you touched that hunter earlier, I felt it—a wave of power that didn't feel like mana. It didn't push or pull… it just was. Like gravity, or time. What is that thing?"
<
I looked at him—his eyes were serious, no trace of the grin he'd worn earlier. "It's a weapon. But if anyone else touches it, they'll be out cold for three days. And if I ever take it out of its sheath… well, let's just say we'd all stop existing."
He stared at me for a long moment, then laughed—a quiet, genuine sound. "I knew it. You're hiding the Ultimate Physical Truth—power that doesn't rely on mana at all. The Union says only gifted ranks can be strong… but you're proof they're wrong."
Kazuto wanted to protect his village. But maybe that means more than just clearing rifts, I thought, looking out at the golden badges of Rank S hunters moving through the hall. Maybe it means changing the system that leaves people like us behind.
Suddenly, Jace shouted from the table: "Guys! Come look at this!"
We crowded around as he held up a cracked mana-meter, its screen glowing with static. "I managed to pull some data before it fried. Look—when Kazuto's nearby, my device doesn't read low mana… it reads no mana. Like, not just zero—it's like mana itself doesn't exist in his presence."
Mia's eyes went wide. "That's impossible! Everything in Luminous Pangaea has mana—even rocks and dirt!"
<
As we talked, a shadow passed over the window. I looked up, and my breath caught. Standing in the main hall below was a figure in black armor, their outline blurry—as if space itself was bending around them. A gold badge marked with a Z gleamed on their chest.
<
Exodus stood still for a moment, their head tilted as if looking up at our window. Then, with a flicker, they were gone—swapped with a stone pillar across the hall.
"Did you see that?" Jace whispered, pressing his face to the glass. "That was one of the 12 Pure Gifted Ones! What's a Seat Holder doing here?"
<
<
Danjiro clenched his fist. "The Pure Gifted Ones think they own this world. They clear the big rifts, get all the glory, and let the rest of us starve."
I looked down at the spot where Exodus had stood, feeling Emre hum against my back. They're strong. Stronger than anything I've ever imagined. But then I thought of the goblin I'd taken down with a single brush of the scabbard—of the power that lay dormant in the sword I couldn't even draw.
So are we, I realized.
The next morning, we gathered at the Rift Allocation Office. The man behind the desk—Rank A, his silver badge gleaming—handed us a mission slip without looking up.
"Trash Party. Your assignment: Iron Vein Rift, located 5 miles north of the outer ring. Tier D. Report back with at least 10 heart gems by sundown."
Mia's eyes lit up. "An Iron Vein Rift! That's Tier D—we'll get enough gems to feed a whole village!"
The man finally looked up, his expression cold. "Don't get your hopes up. That rift's already eaten three Rank D parties. The monsters inside have armor infused with dungeon mana—nothing short of Rank B can break through. You're being sent there because nobody else will take the job."
<
<>
We left the Registry and headed north. The Iron Vein Rift glowed rust-red in the distance, its aura thick and heavy—like breathing in molten metal. As we approached, Jace pulled out a modified mana-meter, his hands shaking slightly.
"Okay… the rift's consciousness is active," he said, his voice tight. "It's already starting to drain my mana. Mia, you might want to keep your healing light ready."
Danjiro drew his sword, mana flaring along the edge until it glowed white-hot. "I'll take point. Kazuto, stay behind us—if things go bad, you run."
Run? I thought, adjusting the straps holding Emre in place. I haven't run from anything since I saved that kid on Earth.
We stepped through the rift's entrance, and the world shifted. The walls were made of solid iron plates, which moved and shifted to form new corridors as we walked. The air was hot and still, smelling of rust and burnt metal.
<
A roar echoed down the corridor. A Steel Scavenger—four-legged, covered in plates of black iron—charged at us, its claws glinting like knives.
"Everyone back!" Danjiro shouted, leaping forward. His sword slammed into the beast's armor, sending sparks flying—but the plate didn't even scratch. The Scavenger snarled, swiping its claws at his chest.