The rift pulsed like a wounded heart.

  Each breath it took bled purple light over the plaza, staining the pavement and the faces of the people who dared to stay close. A.R.E.S. barricades hummed loudly, their blue barriers straining under the unstable mana density.

  Hunters kept arriving in waves.

  Some ran, some swaggered, some were already filming themselves for their channels. Their weapons glowed faintly—mana-hardened steel, magitech staves, enchanted fists.

  “Rank D party incoming!”

  “Team 07-F reporting!”

  “Let us through! We’re qualified!”

  A.R.E.S. officers continued shouting over the chaos.

  “Stay behind the barrier!”

  “No entry permitted!”

  “The dungeon is unstable! Back up now!”

  But the hunters saw opportunity instead of danger.

  The rift widened for a heartbeat—just long enough for five hunters to sprint past the A.R.E.S. blockade, slip through a weak point, and dive into the dungeon.

  Cheers erupted from some spectators.

  Complaints from others.

  “They made it in!”

  “Lucky bastards!”

  “What’s A.R.E.S. doing?! Let us in too!”

  “This is monopolization!”

  An A.R.E.S. officer slammed a stabilizer rod into the ground and snapped, “The portal is at capacity! Dungeon closed itself after five entries! Do NOT attempt to breach the barrier!”

  The hunters didn’t listen.

  Several pushed against the energy wall, shouting.

  “You’re just holding the dungeon for your elites!”

  “This is public territory! You can’t lock us out!”

  “We need the loot!”

  “What if there’s a boss chest?!”

  Civilians whispered nervously.

  “Why did the portal close?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Someone said the last team that went in earlier never came out…”

  A scientist adjusted his mana scanner, frowning deeply.

  “The dungeon is reacting to internal deaths,” he announced to the captain. “Mana concentration rising… 14%... 26%... 41%—it’s climbing too fast. The boss is evolving.”

  A silence rippled outward.

  Even the loud hunters paused.

  If a boss inside ate enough challengers…

  It could reverse the portal, tear open reality, and emerge into the city.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  A hunter near the front swallowed hard. “Wait… they all died in there?”

  Another muttered, “Damn… if that’s true, we got a C-rank spike on our hands…”

  But excitement drowned out fear.

  “C-rank? Good!”

  “That means better loot drops!”

  “Let us in!”

  “We can handle it!”

  A.R.E.S. planted additional barricades, sealing the entire street.

  “Nobody enters until the dungeon stabilizes!”

  “Orders from HQ!”

  “We will not risk a portal break!”

  The hunters erupted again.

  “But five went in!”

  “You can’t stop us!”

  “They’re stealing a head start!”

  “This is rigged!”

  Metal clanged.

  Mana crackled.

  Tension spiked until even the neon signs seemed to flicker in protest.

  Through all of this, Azhareth stood several meters back, leaning against the vending machine with all the urgency of a man browsing a grocery aisle.

  He glanced at the rift once.

  It pulsed.

  Walls shook.

  Hunters screamed.

  Then he looked at his empty cola bottle.

  “Something much more important now,” he murmured. “My drink is finished.”

  He slid his hand into Raine’s pockets, rummaging for spare change with more determination than any of the hunters shouting about loot.

  No coins.

  Not even a single rusty copper.

  The vending machine hummed mockingly.

  Azhareth stared at it, betrayed and personally attacked.

  “This world… surely has committed a crime.”

  Behind him, the dungeon roared—a deep, thunderous sound that made everyone jump back.

  Hunters gasped.

  Civilians screamed.

  A.R.E.S. officers shouted for backup.

  Azhareth only muttered, “Quiet. I’m thinking.”

  The vending machine blinked cheerfully at him with rows of glowing drinks.

  He closed his eyes for a moment.

  The rift pulsed again.

  Mana surged so violently that the entire barrier shivered.

  Several hunters took a step back.

  Some still tried to push forward.

  “Let us in!”

  “We can take it!”

  “I need the credit rewards!”

  “Open the damn gate!”

  Azhareth didn’t watch them.

  He was still searching Raine’s pockets, patting every corner with single-minded focus.

  Nothing.

  He sighed with the weight of six hundred and sixty-six lifetimes.

  “I have battled heroes, angels, armies, gods,” he whispered. “But nothing… nothing is more tragic than an empty pocket.”

  An A.R.E.S. officer stumbled near him, yelling into a communicator.

  “The dungeon is turning volatile! Mana density hitting critical! We need higher division support!”

  The plaza boiled in fear and adrenaline.

  Azhareth stepped away from the vending machine, looked at the glowing portal tearing itself apart, then looked at his empty cola bottle again.

  “…I suppose this is the price of reincarnation.”

  He wandered toward a bench, sat down calmly, and crossed his arms, ignoring the growing storm in front of him.

  “Chaos can wait,” he said quietly. “Cola cannot.”

  The entire plaza was in panic.

  The dungeon was evolving.

  The world trembled.

  Azhareth pouted.

  Truly, a tragedy worthy of history.