Chapter 1
The city groaned under the weight of abandonment. Broken concrete buildings leaned precariously against one another, their skeletal windows staring like dead eyes. Dust swirled through the air, catching in shafts of dying sunlight, while the stench of rotting food and stagnant water clung to every corner. A stray cat, thin as a skeleton, darted across the street, its hiss fading as Alex passed. Cracked streets and twisted metal littered the ground, a silent testament to humanity's collapse.
Alex Rim trudged along a narrow alley, the bundle of supplies on his back heavier than his frail frame could bear. He moved silently, but every footstep kicked up clouds of dust threatening to betray him to scavengers or rift creatures. At sixteen, Alex looked no older than fourteen. His black hair hung in tangled strands over eyes that had grown sharp from years of observation, hardened by being unseen, ignored, and attacked. Dirt smeared his pale skin, and a faint scar ran along his left jaw—a souvenir from a gang that had tried to rob him months ago. His clothes hung loosely, patched with frayed fabric, faded from endless washes in river water.
Even here, among ruins and monsters, Alex knew the harsh truth: he had no blessing. Every other human wielded god-given mana—fire, water, light e.t.c—while he could do nothing. That deficiency had marked him as weak, a target. He had been beaten, mocked, and discarded countless times.
Yet he survived. How? By working as a helper for adventurer parties, running errands, delivering notices, and carrying supplies. Today, like every other day, he had four different bundles: arrows, rations, potion crates, and a set of reinforced armor. Each step reminded him of the bruises on his ribs from yesterday's minor skirmish with a rift creature. He gritted his teeth, forcing his back straighter under the weight.
The guild hall appeared at the end of the alley, tall and proud against the ruins. Steel beams reinforced broken stone, and banners, faded but proud, displayed the clawed hand reaching for a star—the symbol of the Adventurer Guild. Inside, veteran adventurers lounged, trading stories and sharpening weapons, while newer recruits polished armor and tested swords.
"Move faster, boy!" barked a burly adventurer, tossing a crate of potions at Alex's shoulders. "Do you want to die before we even leave?"
Alex swallowed hard. "Y-Yes… sir," he mumbled, bending under the weight. His hands shook slightly as he adjusted the load.
Another adventurer, a wiry man with a crooked smile, leaned against a pillar. "Careful, runt! Don't drop my arrows. Or do, and maybe I'll get some entertainment." He laughed, and the others chuckled along. Alex forced a small nod, focusing on not spilling a single item.
As he moved toward the supply room, snippets of conversation floated to him:
"…the rift north of the river is growing again…"
"…if anyone dies, that's not my problem…"
"…better keep him out of my way; don't want the kid messing up my haul."
Alex's stomach tightened. Not that anyone cared—he was supposed to matter as little as possible. But he endured. Every insult, every shove, every bruised rib only reminded him of one thing: he was still alive.
A young recruit passed him, smirking. "You really carry all that yourself? Don't you have any friends to do it for you?" Alex said nothing. Speaking up only drew more mockery.
By the supply room, Alex paused, resting his bundle on the cold stone floor. He leaned against the wall, letting his muscles relax for a moment. "I don't belong here," he thought, staring at the worn banners swaying in the weak wind. "I'll never have mana. I'll never be like them. But I… survive. Somehow."
He placed the supplies on shelves and prepared the posters for delivery: notices of bounties, supply requests, and warnings about rift activity. These posters were his main job, but the adventurers always added extra burdens—sometimes a heavy pack, sometimes a crate of potions—and Alex bore them all in silence.
"Hey, Rim!" one of the veterans barked. "You forgot this crate." He dropped a heavy chest of armor in front of Alex. It clanged loudly, making Alex wince. "Pick it up before it melts into dust!"
"Yes… sir," Alex said, pushing the crate onto his back. Sweat dripped down his neck, mixing with dirt and grime, and he stumbled slightly under the weight. He didn't complain; complaints earned nothing but laughter.
Stepping back into the ruined streets, Alex kept his head low. Somewhere in the distance, a faint hum vibrated through the air. The rifts were stirring again. The monsters waiting to emerge would be stronger today, hungrier, and more dangerous. He tightened his grip on the load. He might be powerless, but he would survive—and somehow, he would leave a mark on this cruel world.