Chapter 81

  Raime was already on his third rift cleanup within the perimeter of the town.

  The work followed a pattern now, one that had been informed about even before he ever set foot back on Earth. Locate the distortion. Clear the immediate surroundings. Enter the rift. Hunt down whatever monsters still prowled inside. Defeat the highest-tier guardian anchoring the instability. Extract the rift core. And exit before the space collapse.

  Standard procedure—at least according to the scripts preserved in the Ithurians’ royal library.

  They had dealt with countless rifts that way before their own world had failed its trial.

  That was precisely what unsettled him.

  For a planet as weak as Earth to already host this many active rifts was absurd. Worse, the System had thrown unprepared inhabitants against threats they had no business facing. According to the tutorial parameters, early rifts were supposed to spawn only Tier II entities at most. Anything higher was an anomaly.

  And Ithural had been profoundly wrong.

  Raime had come to understand that much with painful clarity. A place like that didn’t just happen. It was curated. Twisted. Nudged into existence by a guiding hand that didn’t care how many lives were crushed along the way.

  The Administrator, he thought, the name sour in his mind.

  What troubled him most was the implication. If one Ithural existed, there could be others. Scattered across the globe. Hidden. Waiting.

  That would be a disaster.

  Still, for the moment, he had time—time to think, to plan, to weigh his next steps. And there were decisions he had already made, even if they sat heavy in his chest.

  He would not free the Ithurians sealed within the cube. Not yet.

  He would keep his promise to Neimar.

  The thought of his teacher tightened something deep in him, a quiet ache that never fully faded. Neimar had been patient, curious, and kind in a way that had nothing to do with weakness. He had earned his authority through overwhelming power, yes—but he had wielded it with restraint, guided by an idealism that felt almost na?ve in hindsight.

  The people trapped in the cube were not Neimar.

  They could be anything. Tyrants. Fanatics. Survivors twisted by the fall of their civilization. Raime wasn’t foolish enough to assume the best simply because he wanted to. If even one high-tier entity inside turned hostile, the consequences for Earth would be catastrophic.

  So he would wait.

  Until he was stronger. Until he reached at least Tier III. Until he was absolutely certain that, if something went wrong, he could stop it.

  He was already powerful for his tier—extremely so—but raw power without a stable foundation was an invitation to disaster. He needed control. Depth. The ability to counter the unknown.

  Only then would he open that cube.

  Raime slowed midair and scanned his surroundings again, his perception brushing across the warped geometry near the rift’s mouth. A cluster of creatures clung to the edges of a half-collapsed street nearby, their bodies were the size of a pony, a grotesque fusion of slime and flesh. They looked like an unholy cross between bloated toads and massive slugs, skin glistening wetly as they pulsed and convulsed.

  They opened their mouths and spat.

  Blobs of translucent acid screamed through the air, impacting stone and asphalt alike. Wherever they landed, the material hissed and dissolved, eaten away in seconds.

  Raime narrowed his eye.

  He had studied acids back in school—basic chemistry, nothing advanced—but even that was enough to know that nothing on Earth behaved like this. No natural substance dissolved stone so completely, so quickly.

  Their bodies, ironically, were fragile. A direct hit from even a modest attack would rupture them. But the magic fueling their acid was potent. Lethal.

  A single hit would kill any normal human, he thought calmly. And they’ll die in extreme pain, then, just… dissolve into nothing.

  Fortunately, none of that mattered to him.

  His telekinesis brushed the incoming projectiles aside with effortless precision. The acidic blobs warped and dispersed, their enchantment unraveling the moment his psionic field touched them. Mana and psionics didn’t simply clash—they interfered, disrupting one another in ways that still defied clean explanation.

  And then there was the light.

  Raime raised his hand slightly and released a thin beam from his core. It lanced forward, piercing straight through one of the creatures. The monster didn’t even have time to react before its body collapsed in on itself, the light burning a perfectly clean hole through its center.

  The efficiency of it still surprised him.

  Leaving aside the absurd ratio of energy to output—something he still hadn’t fully pinned down—his light simply didn’t behave as light should. It didn’t refract. It didn’t scatter. It didn’t obey the rules he had once learned.

  Earlier, out of idle curiosity, he had tested it on a mirror in an abandoned shop. The beam hadn’t bounced. It had punched through, leaving a smoldering hole, and exited through the far wall as if neither obstacle had meaning.

  Is it my affinity or the core structure resposible for this? he wondered. Or something else entirely?

  He needed time to study it properly. To catalog what he could do, what he couldn’t, and what price each action carried. But since returning to his family, most of his time had been spent on them—training, protecting, preparing.

  He didn’t regret it. Not even a little.

  Still, it was something he had to account for.

  I’ll compartmentalize, he decided. Train them with one part of my mind. Study the tablets with another. Like Neimar taught me.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The thought felt natural. Comfortable.

  He finished clearing the immediate area around the rift and marked its location on his map. A few concise notes followed—creature type, attack patterns, primary threats. Enough information that, with preparation, the townspeople might stand a chance if they had to face the monsters.

  Then he moved on.

  Not far from the outskirts of Brenta, he encountered something new.

  The creature stood nearly a meter and a half tall, its body supported by four thick legs. A rough, chitinous armor plated its form, dull as sand and uneven, like overlapping slabs of stone. Its mandibles chittered constantly, grinding together with a sound that was grating on Raime’s nerves.

  One of them had latched onto a streetlamp.

  The metal pole bent—and then snapped—as the creature bit clean through, then started to munch it.

  Raime raised an eyebrow.

  “Noted,” he murmured.

  He hit it in the head with a precise strike, when it did not kill the monster he hit it again, then again. And again. As he worked, he adjusted his approach, probing for weaknesses. Eventually, he found it—an organ buried deep within the creature’s body, alien enough that he couldn’t identify its purpose. Damaging it caused the monsters to collapse instantly, their limbs twitching as whatever animated them shut down.

  Central node, he guessed. Brain or equivalent.

  He followed the trail of bodies, tracking the highest concentration of the creatures back toward their source.

  And then he stopped.

  Because someone else was already there.

  A knight stood in the middle of the street.

  A literal knight.

  He wore full plate armor, battered and scarred, and wielded a long kriegsmesser with practiced ease. The blade flashed as he moved, his form a blur of controlled violence. He dashed from one insect to the next, each motion fast, precise and economical. Every slash crippled or killed. Every strike removed a threat.

  The creatures tried swarming him—and failed.

  Dozens already lay dead around him, their armored bodies split and broken. Raime hovered at a distance, deliberately holding back, watching.

  The knight wasn’t merely strong.

  He was skilled.

  After several more minutes of relentless combat, the last insect fell. The knight staggered slightly, planting his sword into the ground to steady himself. His breathing was heavy, exhaustion clear even through the armor.

  Raime felt a flicker of something like approval.

  So there are others, he thought. Good.

  He descended slowly, letting his boots touch the cracked asphalt. The knight noticed him immediately but didn’t raise his weapon. Instead, he reached up and removed his helmet.

  The man beneath was in his mid-thirties, with messy, long brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His brown eyes were sharp despite the fatigue.

  He squinted up at Raime, then raised a hand.

  “Oi!”

  Raime stopped a few paces away and inclined his head. “Hi. I’m Raffaele, nice work here.”

  The man barked out a short laugh between breaths. “I know who you are. Nobody’s talking about anything else since yesterday.”

  He straightened a little and extended a gauntleted hand. “Nereo. Pleasure to meet you.”

  Raime decided not to comment on what he said, instead he only shook the man’s hand. “You fight well, these monsters are not the kind to let you rest for a second.”

  Nereo snorted, wiping his brow with the back of his gauntlet. “No, they don’t.” He glanced down at one of the bisected insects, mandibles still twitching faintly. “If you stop moving, you die. Simple as that.”

  Raime nodded. “You were targeting something specific,” he noted. “Their core organ. Most people will go for the head.”

  “That thing isn’t a head,” Nereo replied immediately. “It’s a decoy. First one I fought nearly took my arm when I tried that.” He tapped the side of his breastplate, where fresh scratches marred the metal. “After that, I cut off the legs and dissected one, I found the weak spot deep into the thorax. That’s where I try to cut.”

  Raime’s remaining eye sharpened, interest flickering. “Smart,” he said. “I want to ask you somethng, why are going around killing giant bugs by yourself? Don’t they created a group to sweep around?”

  Nereo shrugged, finding his breath again after sitting down for a moment. “Yea, no thank you. I don’t really go along with the militia bunch, I’m not here for the city, I’m here for getting levels and skills. No offence, but I’m not really a team player.”

  “You’re alone?” Raime asked.

  Nereo followed his gaze, then nodded. “Wasn’t supposed to be. The group I started with… well.” He didn’t seem like he wanted to finish the sentence, jaw tightening. “Some ran. Some died. I was the only one who kept going.”

  Stubborn, Raime thought. With enough power to back it up though. Aloud, he said, “What class?”

  “Frienzied Vanguard,” Nereo answered without hesitation. “Close combat, momentum-based skills. If I stop moving, my buffs decay. If I keep pushing, they stack.”

  “That explains your style,” Raime said. “And the exhaustion.”

  “Yeah.” Nereo gave a crooked grin. “Feels great right up until it doesn’t.”

  Raime considered him for a moment longer, weighing options. He hadn’t planned on meeting anyone like this—not here, not yet. But reality rarely respected plans. “There’s a rift nearby,” he said finally. “These insects are coming from it. I was tracking them.”

  Nereo straightened slightly, fatigue momentarily forgotten. “Good. I was hoping that was the case. Means this wasn’t pointless.”

  “It isn’t,” Raime agreed. “But going in alone is still a bad idea.”

  Nereo studied him now, really looked at him—the missing arm, the faint, unsettling pressure that radiated from him when one paid attention. “Are you offering help,” he said carefully, “or warning me off?”

  Raime met his gaze evenly. “Both.”

  A bark of laughter escaped the knight. “Figures.” He slid his helmet back under his arm. “Look, I’m not suicidal. Just… tired of waiting for things to get worse.”

  So am I, Raime thought. He glanced once more toward the invisible tear in space. “I’m going to organize a containment around the town,” he said. “Clearing portals, setting perimeters, making sure people don’t stumble into things they can’t handle yet.”

  “And you want me to fall in line,” Nereo said.

  “Why everyone think I want to become a tyrant?” Raime said. “Nevermind that, what I want, is competent people. I can’t be the only one going around and actually closing the portals, I could, mind you. But if I do, everyone else will not get strong enough, and the System will just up the difficulty more and more, if nobody rise up to the challenge we’re screwed.”

  That gave Nereo pause. He scratched at his jaw, eyes flicking back to the carnage, then to Raime again. “Well,” Nereo said, exhaling, “if you’re saying there’s a smarter way to do this…” He shrugged. “I’ll listen.”

  Raime felt something settle into place. Not relief—something colder, more deliberate. “Good,” he said. “Then listen here.”

  He stepped closer, as he outlined the portal-clearing procedure: the perimeter sweep, the draw-and-isolate tactic, the necessity of removing the rift core intact. Nereo listened intently, interrupting only to ask pointed, practical questions. No bravado. No disbelief.

  When Raime finished, the knight let out a low whistle. “That’s… a lot more information than what I’ve been going on with. If we could get some more people on it… we could manage to really secure the area.”

  “We need to,” Raime replied. “This isn’t a one-time thing. It’s a process.”

  Nereo nodded slowly. “Alright. Then I’m in. At least for now.” He hesitated, then added, “So, what do you want me to do now exactly?”

  “Come with me, I’m going to speak to the city today. This kind of organization is ridiculous, and the people are too weak. We need more elites combatants and you can help with that. You’re strong, but I advise you not to enter the rifts for now, a Tier II will demolish you. For now we need to clear up the city as best we could and map out all the rifts, then close them one by one. Build a wall and defences and keep all the monsters outside for completing the quest. As for your role in particular, I won’t ask you to join any team if you’re not confortable, but having your strenght at disposal will be a great boon.”

  “Soo… What is going to change from now, I can do my things anyway right?” Nereo looked confused.

  “In practice, yes, but knowing that you’ll take care of a rift, while the other focus their efforts in another will make everything run more smoothly. Especially if we divide the rifts based on the right match up, this insect filled rift would be hard for you to face, but another one could be a piece of cake based on the kind of monsters you’ll have to face.”

  “Ok, so we organize groups, scout, and then divide the job to those capable… yea, right, I can get along with that, but don’t put me in the middle of some politics or conflicts with other faction and all that shit, I’m telling you now I won’t deal with that.” Nereo was serious as he told me the last part.

  “Trust me, I won’t deal with that either, I’m not here for some politics, just to make the town my family lives in safer.”

  “Then we have a deal.” The man raised to his feet and gave me his hand again, and I squeeze it, he had a strong grip and was just a little shorter than me, and much wider. I was glad to have met some no-nonsense guy who could really help making a difference.

  The world is changing. It’s about time some of its people changed with it.

  “Let’s go, I’ll tell you more as we go back.”