BXBX NOVEL Chapter 26 The Miner
Chapter 26 The Miner
Some with uncanny conceptual laws tied to their worlds. Of course, the more foreboding thing about rifts was the ranks of monsters that existed in them.
They posed a level of uncertainty and danger of the unknown that should make every drifter not want to venture into such realms. However, the rewards were equal compensation for the vicious risks that they experienced in them.
A drifter, through such hardship, gains more soul essence, gradually progressing through the ranks of their soul.
Of course, the higher they climb, the harder it is for them to climb—that is why the highest soul rank of drifter recorded in this day and age was a grandmaster. Even though other soul ranks clearly exist.
Everyone had now considered those the planes of immortals... untouchable by mortals such as they.
Those ranks have surpassed even the broken limitations of the strongest mortals. It would take unearthly resolve to reach such ranks.
Perhaps, at such a point, they become monsters themselves. Because the might of a grandmaster is already dangerous enough.
Being able to upheave plains with just a stomp of their foot, make earthquakes swim through mountains with just a spirit release.
Grandmasters were tremendous powerhouses that could never be contained. They... very few of them stood at the pinnacle of it all.
Another thing that gave drifters the courage to venture into drifts, even with the dangers that lurked within, were the varieties of discoverables.
Martial arts, spell arts, body constitution arts, spiritual release arts.
All of them, grimoires of skills that boosted the drifter\'s arsenal by leaps and bounds, gave them more areas to which their talent ability was applicable, and made it so that even a drifter with a low-class talent was still given a lot of chance to grow.
A world of fairness... of course, that fairness in and of itself was now being bought, manipulated by the upper echelon, leaving the plebeians with nothing but scraps and expecting them to be grateful for it.
Resources cultivated in a rift were tremendously sought after; those valuables had become the raw material for the progression of Tra-el\'s civilization: monster carcasses, minerals, and crystals.
These resources, when brought back to their home world, could be sold for hefty amounts of money.
Items! Items were another part of exploring a rift that brought an overwhelming sense of achievement and compensation for their hardship.
When monsters were killed or ruins were explored, Ul rewarded the slayer with an item woven from the fate of the slain monster.
The items had the foundation and source of existence created from the strings of fate that controlled the monster and its connection to the rift.
Their details of existence, enchantments were all related to their source.
And they were available in different grades, each one more detrimental than the former.
Even though all these perks were enticing, drifters died like insects every now and then inside rifts.
So, yes, many more retired at an early age, gave up on the dream of becoming stronger, and treasured the rest of their lives as lower-tier rifts drifters, explorers, private tutors, and citadel instructors.
And that was why someone like Rughsbourgh saw a need for there to be a stronger generation of drifters, forged through hardship and in the scorching flames of difficulty.
In an unfair world where there was supposed to be no chance of survival. However, there are some things even Rughsbourgh never predicted or expected.
The passage of time became irrelevant to Northern\'s existence: sufferings, plights, unanswered questions, his fears, and never-satisfied hunger.
Northern did not know how time passed; the sky hung stubbornly above his head. Night followed nights and nights; there was neither a moon nor a sun in this realm. Everything looked just the same before his eyes.
Over and over again, the poor boy continued to mine red crystals.
At first, he questioned why the only thing he was doing was mining crystals. When the crystals had piled up to a certain degree, his watchdog would pick up the crystals and go out of Northern\'s mining prison.
That period was the only time he had to rest from sore muscles. It was also the time a strange food would be thrown over the wall of iron that held the door.
The meal he was given was very inconvenient; eating it the first and second time, Northern puked.
It seemed like a baked round bread, but Northern\'s guess was that it was not baked using flour like his mother would do it.
He didn\'t know what it was, but the thing churned his stomach every time he took it. Of course, he soon got used to it—which was very frightening to him.
He could have turned to his roasted monster meat, but since he woke up in this strange place, Northern had not seen his bag or his shirt.
He had been working shirtless, but the fortunate thing was that the weather was not too harsh.
There were nights that were unbearable, and the monster would stand behind him, a deep scowl on its face, and its hand clenched tightly on its axe.
For Northern, he slowly got used to the monster staying around and got used to mining too, having fewer hours of sleep, eating shitty food, and abandoning the common sense of inquisitiveness.
As night climbed upon nights, he slowly lost hope and became enchanted by the expectation of looking forward to the times the monster would go away—so he would at least be able to catch some sleep or eat... or rest!
When the monster stayed around, his hands never stopped moving; blisters burst on his palms and reformed on areas they had burst.
It happened over and over again, even when his legs shook, hands trembled, the monster scowled at him like he was testing the imminent scythe of death.
Everything became null; there was nothing he could do except mine crystals... However, one day, something happened.