Chapter 15: History of Rifts
That entire situation on the street was just twisted.
Walking down the pavement, Terrence’s eyes narrowed into a cold, bitter glare. His chest tightened as frustration burned in his throat.
He knew how this city worked. The more weak and defenseless you appeared, the more bottom-feeders crawled out of the woodwork to kick you while you were down.
Yet, mockery was the only source of power for the weak.
They couldn’t fight actual threats, so they trampled on anyone lower than them, drawing a cheap, sick thrill from watching someone else suffer. To Terrence, it was completely pathetic.
Yet, that exact mindset was the root of the world’s imbalance. His own family was built on that very similar foundation. The Lee Family paraded their strength, placed chains around the necks of others, and forced the vulnerable to bow. They mocked the weak until those people truly believed they were born to be stepped on.
Terrence clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms. He hated everything about it, but a dark, suffocating guilt pressed against his heart.
He couldn’t deny reality—he was a direct product of that corrupt system. He had grown up pampered by a family that prospered through blood, oppression, and hidden atrocities.
He let out a heavy, tired sigh, forcing his hands to unclench as he looked across the busy street.
The Contribution Agency’s massive headquarters came into view.
While pedestrians mindlessly crossed the wide plaza, chatting with their peers, and hover-cars zoomed along the asphalt behind him, Terrence stood frozen, staring at the sheer scale of the establishment.
The building was breathtaking.
While most structures in Suran City were built with dull, gray slab panels and cheap sheet metal—lazy, boxy blocks slapped together purely for fast defense and low costs—the Contribution Agency seemed to exist in a completely different dimension. The surrounding city blocks felt rushed and tasteless, built with a tragic lack of proper craft.
In stark contrast, the Agency clearly ignored all budget constraints.
It stood as a monument of pure, unyielding grandeur. Towering white stone pillars surged skyward, anchoring sweeping arches that carved elegant curves into the hazy air. Delicate, soaring spires reached high into the clouds, crowned with shimmering metallic tips that caught the sunlight and gleamed like sharp, beautiful needles piercing the sky. Intricate gold and blue engravings swirled across every stone surface, preserving artwork and design techniques that dated back to the lost era before the first rifts ever tore open.
It was a neutral organization spanning every major mega-city on the continent, famous for guarding ancient historical records that no government dared to touch—and its magnificent structure made sure no one ever forgot it.
Terrence took a cautious step off the curb to cross the street, his mind still preoccupied.
SCREECH!
THUMP!
A sleek, obsidian-black luxury sedan clipped his side. It was moving slowly, but the impact sent Terrence tumbling forward across the hot pavement.
He instinctively tucked his chin and rolled, distributing the force across his back and shoulders. Pain flared along his ribs. Gritting his teeth, Terrence spat out a mouthful of dust, his eyes darting toward the vehicle with raw annoyance.
He threw both hands into the air, shrugging violently as he prepared to yell at the driver.
"What the hell?!"
The driver’s door burst open immediately. A middle-aged man in a formal suit rushed out, his face pale with absolute panic.
"I am so sorry, sir! Are you alright?!" the driver stammered, bowing repeatedly, his hands trembling as he reached out, not daring to touch Terrence.
Terrence blinked, his anger deflating slightly at the driver’s genuine terror. He rubbed his sore elbow.
"I’m fine... but I’m definitely not okay with getting hit by a car. Look where you’re driving!"
"I am deeply, deeply sorry! Please forgive me!" The driver bowed even lower, his eyes wide with desperate plea.
Seeing the man genuinely sweating in fear, a tiny pang of guilt poked at Terrence’s conscience, even though he was the victim. He exhaled slowly and waved his hand dismissively.
"Forget it. No harm done. Just go."
"Thank you, sir! Thank you!" The driver practically sobbed with relief, bowing one last time before scrambling back into the driver’s seat.
Terrence shook off the dust from his new tactical jacket and finally stepped onto the sidewalk across the street.
’My luck is completely cursed today. One insane event after another.’
As the luxury car smoothly pulled away into traffic, the heavy tinted window of the rear passenger seat remained closed.
Sitting in the back was a young man around Terrence’s age. He had wavy, eyebrow-length blond hair and striking blue eyes. His face possessed an angelic, delicate beauty, but the expression twisted across his features was utterly opposite, a cynical smile.
Reflected in his cold blue eyes was Terrence’s retreating back.
The young man’s smile stretched wider and wider until it looked unnatural. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, beating with a sickening, intoxicating surge of joy.
Overwhelmed with excitement, the young man licked his upper lip and bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing a tiny bead of blood.
"Wow..." he whispered, his voice trembling with dark euphoria. "I finally found a perfect sacrifice."
He turned his gaze back toward the driver’s seat, his manic expression vanishing instantly, replaced by a flat, emotionless tone.
"Keep tabs on that guy," the young man ordered quietly. "Make sure I am notified the exact second he registers to enter a rift."
"Yes, my lord," the driver replied without hesitation.
***
Dungeon rifts were inherently lethal environments. Each structure differed from the next—some were endless labyrinths of damp caverns, others were vast, open green plains, and a few took the shape of ancient ruined castles.
Their difficulty relied entirely on their rank and internal density of Mana—the fundamental ambient energy that beasts tap into to cast their skills and to determine their rank.
To clear a dungeon, a tamer had to eliminate its anchor—the dungeon boss holding the dimension’s spatial integrity together. That diversity was common knowledge.
However, the strict laws forbidding anyone from entering a rift without official registration, proper individual gauging or biometric monitoring were rooted in a dark historical tragedy.
When rifts first tore open across the world, humanity was exposed to Mana Miasma—the lethal, corrupting disease caused by raw, unfiltered Mana overwhelming an unprotected human system.
Think of raw Mana Miasma like deep-sea water pressure. A human body without proper gear or adaptation cannot handle the crushing weight of the ocean depths; without a buffer, the sheer pressure will crush them from the outside in.
Because early humans possessed no natural immunity or physiological filter for this volatile energy, entering a rift unassisted meant absorbing pure, unfiltered toxicity.
The miasma corroded the human mind, wiping out higher logic and basic self-control. Victims transformed into rabid, bloodthirsty savages—and in severe cases of physical corruption, their bodies warped into hideous, mutated abominations.
Mana Miasma was a degenerative disease that stripped away a human’s sanity, turning them into a feral monster if their physical body couldn’t handle the rift’s energy level.
The earliest pioneers knew nothing of this danger. The few who made it back alive were extremely rare exceptions—people born with unusually strong bodies or natural resistance that allowed them to endure the crushing mana without breaking down.
During those desperate battles, these survivors made a monumental discovery: The Beast Taming Talent.
When a survivor physically dominated and subdued a wild beast, the creature’s instinct forced it to surrender. In that moment of submission, a mental bridge snapped into place—a telepathic contract linking tamer and beast. The contracted beast acted as a biological filter, insulating the human mind from the surrounding miasma.
Over generations, as these original survivors expanded their bloodlines and rift overflows flooded the atmosphere with trace amounts of mana, humanity adapted. Physical resilience and taming affinities became dominant genetic traits, eventually evolving to the point where every living human possessed the potential to become a tamer.
Standing before the massive reinforced doors of the Contribution Agency, Terrence felt a chill run down his spine.
After realizing that his system’s Skill Share placed immense physical strain on his unconditioned body, he knew he couldn’t afford to play hero in high-rank rifts anymore. If he pushed past a C-Rank rift right now, his own muscles would tear apart. He needed to register properly and stick to the rules.
He raised his hand to push open the heavy glass door, but his fingers froze mid-air.
The door swung outward, and a young man stepped out onto the marble steps.
The young man had cold, arrogant blue eyes and soft brown hair brushing his eyebrows. He wore a pristine, high-rank uniform bearing the proud, golden emblem of the Lee Family.
The moment his eyes fell on Terrence’s face, a cruel, mocking smirk tore across his face.
"Oh... what an absolute coincidence," the young man drawled, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "If it isn’t my former big brother... Terrence... Ah, wait, my mistake. Just Terrence now, isn’t it?"
Lucas Lee stood on the stairs, looking down at him like a piece of dirt on his shoe.
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