The seven-day countdown was screaming toward zero.
For every student thrust into the Initiate’s Rift, this was the hard ceiling. Seven days of blood, sweat, and leveling before the spatial anchors snapped and forcibly ejected everyone back to reality. It was a one-shot deal—a literal once-in-a-lifetime crucible that defined the rest of an Awakened’s career.
Outside the Rift’s shimmering exit, the atmosphere was a volatile mix of anxiety and ego. The principals of Verdant City’s top high schools had gathered in the observation plaza, flanked by crowds of pacing parents and hovering reporters.
"Well, well! Look at all my dear brothers! Long time no see, I’ve missed your ugly mugs!"
The voice arrived long before the man. Principal Victor Gao of Verdant High strolled toward the group, his grin so wide it looked painful.
The other principals felt their collective blood pressure spike. For the past week, Victor had been a plague. He’d dragged them to "casual" dinners just to spend four hours gloating about his school’s dual SSS-rank miracles. Even when they blocked his number, he’d just start a new group chat under a pseudonym to drop more "humble" brags.
"Don’t come any closer, Victor," one principal snapped, his face darkening like a bruised plum. "We saw you yesterday. 'Long time' my ass."
"Nonsense! As the ancients say, a day apart feels like three autumns. By my math, we haven’t spoken in decades!" Victor squeezed into the circle, rubbing his hands together with conspiratorial glee. "So, have you heard the news? About my school’s two SSS-rank Awakened?"
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush a man.
"So what if they’re SSS-rank?" Principal Sutton of Prodigy High finally muttered, his voice dripping with salt. "Level matters more than potential in the short term. A Level 10 A-rank will gut a Level 5 SSS-rank every day of the week. Don't forget that."
"Exactly!" another chimed in, desperate to deflate Victor’s balloon. "If Class was everything, everyone else might as well jump off a bridge now. Every few years, an SSS-rank comes out of the Rift only to get humbled by someone who actually worked for their levels."
"He’s right," a third added. "The record for Verdant City is Level 11, held by an S-rank. That record hasn't been touched in years."
The group turned toward Sutton, who wore a mask of stoic pride. "Indeed," Sutton said. "Talent is the spark, but effort is the fuel. That student is now a Level 65 powerhouse. One of the few men in this city you don't cross."
The principals nodded in somber respect. A Level 65 Awakened was a titan, a living deterrent.
"I doubt the record breaks today," Sutton continued. "It’s been tied, but never surpassed."
"I have faith in my kids!" Victor barked, his competitive streak flaring.
"Victor," Sutton said coolly, "you aren't the only one with an SSS-rank student this year."
Before Victor could retort, a figure appeared beside them. He hadn't walked up; it was as if he’d simply coalesced from the shadows.
"Quite the lively debate, gentlemen. Room for one more?"
The principals jumped, spinning around to see a man in a crisp trench coat. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and a gentle, harmless smile that didn't match the predatory grace of his movement.
"Lord Ashford!" Sutton’s voice lost its edge, replaced by immediate deference. "Please, join us. We didn't realize you were coming in person."
In Verdant City, Caelum Ashford was an anomaly. He was an SSS-rank Astromancer—a man who could read the stars to glimpse the future. Powerful men traveled across provinces just to beg him for a single prophecy. He was, without hyperbole, the most important man in the city.
"I’m just a father waiting for his daughter," Caelum said with a polite inclination of his head. He looked at Victor. "Principal Gao, I hope my Nira hasn't caused you too much trouble?"
"Trouble? She’s the pride of Verdant High!" Victor beamed. He still didn't know why Caelum had chosen his school over the elite Prodigy High, but he wasn't about to ask questions.
A sudden flare of light erupted from the Rift's gateway.
"Someone’s out!"
The crowd surged forward. It was early; the first students shouldn't have been exiting for another few hours unless they were wounded or forced out by a failed encounter.
A tall, graceful figure stepped through the white veil. Nira Ashford looked as though she’d spent the week at a spa rather than a monster-infested dungeon. Her skin was glowing, her gear pristine.
"Dad!" She broke into a run, throwing herself into Caelum’s arms.
Caelum chuckled, patting her head. "You’re early, Nira. What happened? Did you run out of potions?"
Nira pulled back, pouting slightly. "No. It was just... boring. I got tired of waiting, so I left."
The principals stood frozen. Boring? The Initiate’s Rift was the greatest leveling opportunity of their lives, and she’d walked out early because she was bored?
"And your level?" Caelum asked, adjusting his glasses.
Nira gave a mischievous smirk and toggled her status visibility.
[Nira Ashford | Pyromage | Level 12]
A collective gasp rippled through the plaza.
Level 12. She hadn't just tied the city record; she had shattered it—and she’d done it while leaving hours of potential grinding on the table. The other principals turned glares of pure envy toward Victor, who looked like he was about to have a heart attack from sheer joy.
Only Caelum remained calm. "Nira, if you’d stayed, you might have hit 13. Why the rush?"
"I told you, I was bored," she said, though her eyes shifted guiltily. She couldn't tell him the truth: that she wanted to be the first one out so she could camp the exit and find the mystery man—Ashveil. The man who had one-shotted a Dragonblood Colossus.
I know you're in there, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the portal. And I'm going to see your face.
Inside the Initiate’s Rift
"A-choo!"
Ethan Lyle rubbed his nose, looking around the desolate wasteland of the Rift’s deep zone. "Strange. It's not cold. Is someone talking about me?"
He shrugged and kept moving.
Seven days of systematic slaughter had changed him. He was now Level 15. In the logic of this world, that was impossible. But Ethan wasn't playing by the world's rules. To him, a Level 1 mob and a Level 10 mob were the same: a single lightning strike away from being loot.
The problem was the scaling. On day one, he’d gained four levels. On day seven, he hadn't even gained one. The experience requirements were ballooning, and more importantly, the monsters seemed to be... missing.
"Are they seriously hiding from me?" Ethan muttered.
He hadn't seen a mob in two hours. He was in the deepest part of the Rift, the Level 10 danger zone, yet it was a ghost town.
"If you won't come to me, I’ll come to you."
Ethan’s eyes flashed.
"Forbidden Incantation: Samsara Burn."
"Forbidden Incantation: Blink Dance."
The first spell sent his stats into the stratosphere. The second was more visceral.
[Forbidden Incantation: Blink Dance — The caster sacrifices a vital organ. In exchange for the 'importance' of the organ, gain up to 10x base Agility for one hour.]
For anyone else, this was a suicidal "last stand" move. For Ethan, it was a Monday.
He sacrificed his brain.
It was the most "important" organ he had, so the ritual maximized the output. Thanks to his Undying Constitution, his brain matter simply restructured itself faster than the sacrifice could consume it, though he felt a bit... lightheaded. Or rather, he stopped thinking altogether and moved on pure, unadulterated instinct.
With a base Agility of 225, the 10x multiplier—plus the buffs from Samsara Burn—launched his Agility to a terrifying 2,475.
He didn't run; he blurred.
Ethan became a localized teleportation event. In a single stride, he cleared a kilometer. When he finally skidded to a halt, he saw the "problem."
High in the air, three Galewind Mantises were hovering. Each one was carrying a Trioptic Dire Boar in its claws.
Ethan stared, his logic-starved brain processing the scene. The Mantises were fast but near-blind. The Boars were slow but possessed a third eye that could track heat signatures from miles away.
The monsters had formed a primitive early-warning radar system. The moment Ethan entered a zone, the "eye" spotted him and the "wings" flew them away to alert the rest of the floor.
The local ecosystem had literally evolved cooperation just to survive him.
"Clever bastards," Ethan grunted. "Too bad I brought the thunder."
"Forbidden Incantation: World-Rending Tempest!"
A pillar of violet lightning, a hundred feet wide, erased the "radar" and the surrounding forest from existence.
With the surveillance system down, the buffet was back open. Ethan went back to work.
Outside, the flow of students was becoming a flood.
Exhausted, battered, and covered in monster filth, the graduates stumbled into the sunlight. Teachers hovered with clipboards, recording levels and classes for the national database.
Nira Ashford stood like a sentinel, her eyes darting between every male student who exited. She’d checked with the principals—none of them had an "Ashveil" on their rosters.
He’s a ghost, she thought. Or he’s hiding.
She watched as Level 7s and 8s limped out, looking like heroes in their own minds. She ignored them all. She was waiting for a man with the aura of a god and a mask on his face.
"Ashveil," she whispered, her grip tightening on her staff. "Where are you?"