Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 103 training

The next day, outside the city in the open field.

The old man silently watched Zaber for a while. The wind gently swayed the dry grass across the dusty open ground; the marks left on the earth bore silent witness to more than thirty rounds.

"Enough, kid," Larden finally said. His voice was quiet, yet left no room for argument. "We end it here today."

Zaber clenched the soil beneath his knee tightly. Dry earth trickled between his fingers.

"I refuse," he said in a low but firm tone. "It doesn’t end until I say it does."

The old man took one step forward. His shadow completely enveloped Zaber.

"I’m the master here, not you," Larden said. "Analyze everything that happened today. Where you were slow, where you left yourself open, where you didn’t think at all. Tomorrow you’ll attack better."

Zaber took a deep breath and stood up. As he brushed the dust from his clothes, his muscles still trembled faintly.

"Fine," he said in a calmer voice. "Then shall we head back to the cabin?"

Larden didn’t answer. He grabbed Zaber by the wrist and took one step forward.

Space bent.

The scenery Zaber saw stretched and rippled as though reflected on water. In the next instant, he realized he was standing in front of the cabin. His heart seemed to skip a beat.

He looked at the old man.

"I’ll return to the inn. I’ll come back in the morning," he said.

But Larden was already walking toward the cabin.

"You’re cooking for me today," he said casually.

Zaber fell silent for a moment.

"Me... cook?"

After a brief pause he shrugged.

"Alright—"

The sun was setting. The sky was painted in red and deep orange; the clouds looked as though they were burning. Inside the cabin, however, dim half-darkness reigned.

Zaber stepped into the corner that served as a kitchen and began preparing food. Though he had never cooked before, some strange inner confidence guided his hands.

Larden sat at the table, watching him silently. His gaze was sharp, but his face showed no expression.

After about an hour the aroma of food began to spread through the cabin.

Zaber ladled the dish into bowls and brought them to the table. Larden looked at the bowl in silence for a moment, then pushed it toward Zaber.

"You eat first."

Zaber didn’t hesitate. He took the spoon and ate several mouthfuls.

In the next instant his face lit up.

"Wooo! Whoaaa!" he exclaimed, voice rising.

His hands trembled as he stared at them in astonishment.

"Me...? I actually made something like this? This... this is delicious!"

Larden observed Zaber’s reaction with cool detachment, then took the bowl from in front of him and began eating.

After a few spoonfuls the old man’s expression changed.

He spat the food out.

"My shit tastes better than this," he said in displeasure.

Zaber grinned.

"Hahahaha! Old man, didn’t you say one must always be prepared for anything?" he laughed. "Hahaha!"

Larden slowly rose. In the next moment the round table flew toward Zaber.

"Are you laughing at your master?" he said in an icy tone.

Before Zaber could respond, Larden seized him by the hair, lifted him abruptly, and slammed him into the floor.

Thud! Crack! Crack!

Dust rose.

Zaber, head pressed to the floor, was yanked back up. Blood streamed from his nose.

Larden smiled faintly.

"Like I said—be prepared for anything, kid," he remarked, returning to his seat.

He took some bread and water and began chewing calmly.

Zaber wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve and sat back down.

"Not just me, Master," he said quietly. "You too."

Larden glanced at him and replied softly,

"Patch the floor tomorrow."

Zaber nodded. He quietly resumed eating what remained—taste no longer mattered much to him anyway.

Larden watched Zaber eat for a while.

"Did he actually trick me?

Impressive..." he thought to himself.

Silence filled the cabin. But it was not an empty silence.

The next morning, before dawn had fully broken, Zaber finished repairing the floor and set out with Larden toward the wide field outside the city.

The place was open. No high walls anywhere—just dry grass swaying lightly in the breeze and the distant line of the horizon. There could be no better spot for training.

This time Zaber held a sword in his hand.

Though the blade looked ordinary, it fit his body perfectly; its weight and balance felt utterly natural. Limir, meanwhile, sat a short distance away, watching quietly—like an ordinary little cat.

Zaber closed his eyes for a moment.

In the very next instant, black mana began flowing from his body into the sword. Not slowly, not forcefully—just naturally, as though traveling through veins. The edge of the blade darkened, taking on a cold hue as if it were devouring the air.

Larden waited for the attack with calm anticipation. Hands behind his back, posture straight. In his eyes burned the quiet curiosity of a true examiner.

The next moment Zaber swung the sword, slicing through the air.

Shhhrrrk!

A dense, black crescent of mana detached from the blade. It tore the air apart and flew straight toward Larden.

Larden didn’t move.

The moment the attack reached him, he raised two fingers and caught the strike head-on. The black mana trembled violently as it met resistance.

"A sword slash that not everyone can wield..." Larden said calmly. "Interesting."

He touched the center of the crescent with both fingers.

"Break."

The black arc shattered and scattered into the air like broken glass.

Zaber wasn’t surprised.

He immediately pressed the attack.

A sharp slash from the side—fast and precise. Larden stepped forward and shoved Zaber back by the chest. Zaber retreated; the sword moved again, but the distance was insufficient.

The next strike came from below upward.

Larden caught the blade from underneath. Though metal met metal, the pressure rebounded entirely toward Zaber.

"You’re focusing only on attacking," Larden said, observing him from close range. "You’re leaving far too many openings."

Zaber smiled faintly.

"There’s a huge gap between our levels. Even if I perform perfectly, ordinary weak points remain weak points to you."

Larden evaded the strikes and slid sideways.

"That’s true," he said. "You’re very good for your level. But no one will show you mercy just because your level is lower."

He leaped back, opening the distance.

"Attack me in dragon form," Larden said. "With fire and claws. You’re a dragon, aren’t you?"

Zaber straightened.

"I don’t have a dragon form. Only this humanoid niva shape, that’s all."

Larden narrowed his eyes.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "A dragon without a dragon form? Don’t make me laugh, kid. Transform quickly and attack."

Zaber extended his left hand.

"I told you, old man. I don’t have one."

From his palm a pinkish Spirit Chain slithered out like a serpent and shot toward Larden.

Larden stiffened.

He caught the chain with his hand.

"Which clan do you belong to?" he asked in a low, serious voice. "It’s impossible for pure high dragon blood to manifest something like this."

Zaber replied coldly,

"I have no clan. I don’t even have a single relative. I’m alone."

Larden flung the chain back toward Zaber.

"Your parents—which clan were they from?" he pressed. "All high dragons belong to a specific clan. I know this."

Zaber reabsorbed the chain into his body.

"They were killed by someone. No one ever told me which clan they came from."

Larden had already closed the distance to Zaber.

"Don’t lie to me, kid," he said icily. "You remember our agreement? You hide nothing from me. An ancestor capable of passing down something like a Spirit Chain must have belonged to a great clan. At the very least—one of the elders."

Zaber turned his back.

"I don’t know, old man. Why do you keep asking the same thing?"

Larden gripped Zaber’s shoulder hard.

"Do you take me for a fool, kid?"

A mixture of black and crimson energy erupted from Zaber’s body. The surrounding air grew cold; the pressure became heavy. His gaze locked onto Larden—carrying hidden yet unmistakable killing intent.

"I said I don’t know, old man," he murmured. "Any more questions?"

Larden’s expression turned grave.

How can killing intent be this intense... in this boy — he thought.

Zaber’s breathing had grown slightly heavier.

Larden released his shoulder.

"How old are you?"

Zaber withdrew the killing intent.

"Five. I’m five years old. Among dragons, maturity comes at fifteen."

Larden’s eyes widened.

"F... five years old? Are you serious?" he said. "Yet you already look eighteen, nineteen. It makes sense for a dragon... but behaving like this at five is not good."

Zaber asked indifferently:

"Behaving how?"

Friends, what do you think? Please share your thoughts in the comments. Don’t forget to add this novel to your library. Power Stones and Golden Tickets help Chapters

come out faster and give me great motivation

Pre-reading is open, stop waiting for just 1 coins