“Let me get this straight. You want us to go into a wild Rift and do all the hard work while you, what, supervise?” Trevour asks. His incredulity keeps rising as he stares at me.

  He’s repeated a variation of this same question three times now, and still can’t seem to wrap his mind around the idea. I’m starting to wonder if I misjudged his interest.

  Even so, I nod along, murmuring wordlessly and agreeing with his sentiment. “Do you want to challenge yourself or not?”

  “But you’re the savior of Halmuth! The supposed professional. You could clear this Rift out risk-free. We’re manual laborers. You really think we have a chance?”

  I grin cheerfully. “Yep.”

  He groans, but his teammates seem excited about the idea based on their whispering, so he caves. “Fine. Better not be any spiders.”

  “Oh, now you’ve done it,” Marta teases, nudging him with her elbow. “You can’t tempt fate like that, you big lummox! Now we’ll have to fight some giant brood mother spider in there, sure as the sun rises.”

  She shivers, but it doesn’t escape my notice that she talks about participating in the Rift delve like it’s a foregone conclusion.

  Oh, yeah. She’s definitely hooked.

  “Count me out, Marta,” the woman to her left says. She glances over her shoulder, in the direction of the caravan. “Need to get back to my boys. A delve’s too risky for me.”

  “You’re welcome to ride a pony back,” I offer, but she blanches and shakes her head.

  “Walking has served me just fine so far, Sir [Mage]. I wouldn’t mind an escort, though. I’m not much of a fighter, and I don’t want to run into any monsters that made it past us.”

  “Understandable. I assure you that I’ve tracked each one,” I promise solemnly. “You won’t be in any danger. Even so, to be safe, I’ll send you back with a pack of hounds. Anyone else joining you?”

  Another man nods nervously. “I wanted to see what you could do, and I’m glad I came. I’ll have stories to tell my grandchildren. But this isn’t the life for me. I’m a simple [Laborer], not a mighty [Warrior] or [Mage]. ‘Sides, master Yuvaan will be wondering where we went.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll smooth things over with the [Caravan Leader],” Nicanor pipes up, joining the conversation for the first time since his promise of making me train harder. “I’ll return with the two of you, as well.”

  “Thank you!” the young mother breathes out, relief clear as the lines of her face smooth out and her tension gives way to a grateful smile.

  Trevour makes a choking sound. Her relief is his terror. “You’re leaving us? What about the Rift?”

  “What about it?” Nicanor grunts. “It’s just a baby one. Nuri can handle this in his sleep. After all, he’s a professional now.”

  With that dubious vote of confidence in me, the trio departs. A few eyes watch them go with a look of regret, but I know they’ll change their tunes once they see the upside of sticking with me in the wild Rift. Maybe we’ll come back with some treasure.

  “All right, let’s get moving, people,” I bark out in my best imitation of Nicanor. They jump, then fall into line and look at me expectantly.

  “Walking is a lot slower than our noble steeds. At their current pace, Nicanor and the others will take an hour to bring the news back to the caravan that the infestation is cleared out. That means everyone will start packing up to hit the road again soon, and then another hour to get back here. I reckon that gives us almost three hours to finish things and rejoin the caravan.”

  “Don’t Rifts take days, or even weeks to fully clear?” Trevour protests. He glances over at the pulsing portal of darkness and swallows audibly.

  “As Nicanor said, this is a baby Rift. Newly formed. By yourselves it might take days, but with me, you’ll finish on time.”

  Klaarson brandishes the belt knife I made each of the caravan workers, smiling slightly as he admires the way the sunlight catches the glass blade. “We’ll get to use these, right?”

  I shrug. “Use whatever you’d like. This isn’t some sort of test, just an opportunity to push yourself. Rewards tend to come from challenges.”

  The other worker I don’t know, a scruffy man with a graying beard, squints at me. “You saying that if we don’t use your magical beasties to clear things out, we’ll earn more magic in the end? Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”

  “Well, you’re not guaranteed to earn any new Skills,” I say, hedging my bets. I don’t want to disappoint the only few workers of the bunch who stayed behind. “But you’re almost certain to rank up a Skill. Maybe even two. And, you might find that clearing a Rift and handling raw mana pushes your Class in a new, unexpected direction.”

  “I do like the sound of that,” he admits. He slips a sturdy mace out of its leather holster at his hip and slaps it across his chest with a dull, meaty thud. “Club, by the way. On account of my trusty club.”

  He offers no other name or explanation, but I’m too intrigued to leave well enough alone. Peering into his core space with a quick Viewing confirms that, like Smoke, he likely left behind a life of crime. [Cudgel Enforcer] isn’t a Class I’ve seen before, but it’s not hard to imagine how he got it before joining the caravan. Hired muscle, most likely.

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  Who am I to judge? Thuggery is probably more honest work than spying on people’s cores and toppling governments across Densmore.

  Am I . . . am I the bad guy?

  I shrug off that uncomfortable thought and smile brightly at my team of fresh recruits. No sense dwelling on impossible questions!

  “I’ll keep this simple. Go in, kill anything that moves, and follow the mana flows to the core. If I say to stop, then stop immediately.”

  Marta pokes her new knife into the trunk of a stunted tree nearby and flinches when the blade slides right through with barely any resistance. “Uh, you said it’s a baby Rift, but you’re making it sound pretty terrifying right now.”

  “Good,” I say, nodding at her. “Rifts are dangerous. Even with me to guard you, going in is still a risk. Don’t be foolhardy. Listen, if you’re lost, ask for help right away. We’re on a time limit, so no shame in admitting your mana senses are confused, though I’d like you to try at first. Keep alert, keep near me, and we should be fine.”

  Club squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. “C’mon, lads and lasses. Time’s awasting. Let’s go bonk some beasties.”

  Klaarson gestures at Marta. “Ladies first!”

  “Oh, now you finally discover chivalry?” Marta snaps back sarcastically. “Convenient.”

  He huffs. “Better late than never.”

  While they’re still bantering nervously, Trevour steps forward. He’s gripping his knife too tightly, which will only slow him down, but he seems to take courage from the weapon, marching toward the Rift with steady strides. That’s the kind of confidence I admire.

  “Good man,” I cheer him on.

  The others fall into line after that, following Trevour to the portal. The closer we move, the more the fine hairs on the back of my neck and my arms stand on end, but I’m used to the strange, prickling sensation, and I talk the others through their fear.

  A few seconds later, we link hands to keep together during the crossing of dimensional planes. We hold our collective breaths, plunge through the Rift portal, and enter another reality.

  “Eww!” Marta screams as we stumble onto the rocky, alien ground inside the Rift. She lets go of Trevour’s hand and wipes at her arms frantically. “What was that? Walking in here felt like taking a shower in cold, gelatinous beef fat.”

  “Not gonna ask how you know that from experience. Sorry, I should have warned you about it, regardless,” I say, wincing as I remember my first time stepping through a Rift portal.

  She side-eyes me, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “It’s like that every time?”

  “Every time. Never get used to it, although it does become easier to bear when you’re familiar with the weird sensation.”

  “Right. Remind me never to listen to crazy [Mages] again,” Marta mutters. She sighs in exasperation, then turns her head around as she takes in her first glimpse of a Rift.

  As far as first introductions to other dimensions go, this one is boring. Disappointingly normal, if I’m honest. But before I can apologize that the experience isn’t as exotic as it should be, a skittering, bone-white bug four or five times the size of the grubs outside bursts out of the ground and charges us.

  Mandibles a foot long drip with the same nauseating green acid its younger larval form possessed. Strange symbols decorate its head, like jagged wounds cut with a dull knife. They glow faintly with raw, chaotic mana.

  I’m about to intervene when Club steps forward, showing off how he earned his name. His weapon triples in length and grows small studs, thanks to some weapons Skill at work. He swings down at the insectoid monster in a lazy arc, almost like swatting a fly, and crushes the beast into the stone floor.

  I tense, poised to marshall my mana and pull the two apart as soon as the monster tries to bite him in half, but nothing happens. After a beat, I realize that it’s dead. The tiny cluster of chaotic mana in its core is dispersing back into the aether, and a tiny strand of it goes to Club. Victory is always a sure path to growth.

  “Huh. Not so bad,” Club mutters.

  I walk over and clap him on the shoulder in congratulations. “You’re a natural!”

  Emboldened by their co-worker’s success, the other three advance with knives out. They jump when another bug emerges from its hiding spot in a cleverly-disguised tunnel nearby, but Trevour and Marta take turns drawing its aggression while the other dashes in and carves off a limb with the impossibly-sharp knives I created.

  Is it just me, or is my connection with sharpness stronger than before? My first imbued blades didn’t cut like that. They were solid weapons, but these are close to masterworks. I set aside that thought for later, watching their fight in case I need to intervene.

  Once again, they’ve got it handled. A few cuts later, and the second monster is dead at their feet. They whoop and slap their hands together in celebration.

  “All right, I admit it. I could get over the gross portal if Rifts are this exciting,” Marta says, grinning at her friends.

  “That’s the spirit!” I encourage them. Then I click my tongue. “Just stay alert. No stupid deaths on my watch, got it?”

  “Got it, boss,” Trevour says.

  The next hour goes by much the same. Led by Trevour, who has the most sensitive nose for mana, it turns out, we walk across dirt and stone under a fairly normal sky. Overcast and sunless, but minimal chaos storms for a new Rift. The majority of its energy seems spent already, likely to create the pocket reality in the first place.

  The colors match what I’m used to in the outside world, and even the monsters aren’t as grotesque as some I’ve encountered. Part of me feels let down that I can’t give them the same initiation that I received with Tem several years ago, but it’s probably for the best that I’m not ushering the four caravan workers straight into the maw of an ancient eldritch deathtrap.

  Stupid, Nuri. Don’t tempt fate.

  The stern admonishment rings in my mind, but I dismiss it with a soft laugh. We’re safe enough down here. I’ve already scouted out the rest of the Rift, and I had to take care not to crush the fragile core with my Domain. Most of the energy pouring through from other realms went into the mutation of the monsters. We’re here at the perfect time to strike.

  Still, I constantly preach vigilance to the workers. I’m not going to let them die on my watch. No sense letting them build bad habits, even if they never delve again.

  Two bugs attempt to ambush us as we round a bend in the dirt path. Club smacks one in the side, spinning it into a wall, while Klaarson ducks under a clacking bite and drags his knife all the way through the underbelly of the second.

  He stabs the monster in the head twice more before it stops twitching, then turns to help his friends with the beast Club stunned, but Marta and Trevour have already finished it off.

  They’re breathing hard, despite the short fight, with grins all around. Before they let their guard down, Trevour points to a patch of scree ahead and motions Klaarson forward while he flanks the potential trap.

  “Good instincts,” I praise him quietly.

  This time, when the bug explodes out of its tunnel, the two young men skewer it before it’s able to attack. Their knives flash in the gloomy half-light of the Rift, slicing the monster into ribbons.

  Working together, they handle another half dozen bugs on their own, and I finally start to breathe a little easier. They might be new to delving, but they’re used to working as a team. With my imbued knives and careful oversight, they’re ready to face down the Rift’s final guardian and challenge the core.

  They’re going to do great, I just know it. I can’t wait to watch them grow.