Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 104 larden’s past

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Larden looked at Zaber and began speaking in a calm, cold voice. There was neither pity nor softness in his tone — only the heavy, measured gravity that belongs to someone who has seen far too much.

"You are only five years old now, boy. Because of your character, I had thought you much older. At your age, thinking about building a clan, eternal power, and revenge is far too much. I will not refuse to mentor you, but this path will ultimately end in something horrific."

Zaber’s brows furrowed. A spark of protest began to flash in his eyes.

"What do you mean by horrific ending, old man?" he asked.

Larden took one step forward. The ancient stones lying beneath the ground creaked and slowly crumbled under his feet.

"You said: ’My parents are in the grave.’ You uttered those words with such indifference that it proves you never loved them. Stop acting spoiled, boy. Learn to enjoy life."

Zaber replied while maintaining his icy composure. His voice was low, yet perfectly clear.

"Spoiled? If I were to annihilate your family and you wanted revenge against me, would that make *you* the one acting spoiled?"

Larden advanced again. His gaze seemed to grow heavier with every moment.

"That is something entirely different. Completely different. You simply do not know what you truly want. Even if your parents were murdered, I am certain — you did not shed a single tear. You seek revenge out of pride, because you believe you were chosen to become the supreme dragon. But all of it is wrong."

Zaber remained silent. He neither spoke nor showed any reaction. No trace of emotion could be seen on his face — as though none of this concerned Zaber at all.

Larden cast a sideways glance at him.

"The very way you stand proves everything. You feel no anger, you offer no excuses. You simply do not understand real pain, real loss, real gain. You believe you can become strong through emotional chains, yet you never think about the victims."

Zaber finally spoke again, in a low but resolute tone.

"Provocations at this level do not work on me. Do not trouble yourself."

Larden’s temper flared. He closed the distance with a sharp step.

"Tsk!"

A slap rang out. Zaber’s head snapped to the side. The sound of the blow tore through the silence.

Larden’s voice rose, his breathing quickened.

"Provocation? Boy, your life will turn into darkness — don’t you understand?! This path will destroy everything you might ever find in the future! Why can’t you simply be a child like all the other children?! In the end you will die alone in a hut just like me! That will be your *best-case* scenario! The world is filled with the strong. Neither your coldness nor your uniqueness will save you. I have seen geniuses of unparalleled talent, storm-like powerhouses — all buried in a grave in a single moment. And you..."

Zaber stared straight into Larden’s eyes with his frigid gaze.

"Being kind does not suit you, old man," he said.

That reply only fueled Larden’s rage further.

He kicked Zaber. The boy flew backward, tumbling across the ground several times before finally coming to a stop. Dust enveloped everything; the surface of the earth looked like swirling gray smoke.

Larden approached the fallen boy. His voice now mixed shouting with bitter anguish.

"Zaber, do you know? I was once exactly like you. I possessed something no one else had. I was a genius. Cold and merciless. In my time, I even became a hero of the people. But over four hundred years, there is nothing I have not experienced. And in the end, here I am — an old man waiting for death in a dilapidated hut. I am telling you this so you do not end up the same! Those who live for revenge die — even if they succeed, their life afterward becomes meaningless. Those who try to build a clan are always betrayed. Those with malice always win for a time. Those who seek eternal power destroy themselves. It would be better if you abandoned your empty ambition!"

Zaber stood up. He brushed the dust clinging to his clothes, wiped the blood trickling from his lip with his finger. His eyes remained cold, his voice completely indifferent.

"You know nothing about me. Do not interfere in my life," he said.

Larden stared at that face, those icy eyes, and fell silent for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and continued.

"Listen, little one."

He looked slightly away, as though sinking into memories.

"I was born into an ordinary peasant family. As a child I played endlessly with a wooden sword. When my parents saw that, they saved money for a whole year to buy me a real sword. At fourteen they told me to become a knight, to protect the people. Back then my heart was full of dreams."

His voice gradually grew heavier.

"But when I reached the academy, they demanded enormous sums just to study. Even though I had talent, I realized they only cared about their own interests. After that I began working as an adventurer. Years passed, yet I never stopped fighting for my parents’ dream. Eventually I was admitted to the academy. I will never forget the joy on my parents’ faces that day."

Larden paused for a moment, then went on.

"I studied there for seven years and came to understand something: talent exists in everyone, but others’ talent was stronger than mine. Even as a low-ranking knight, my parents were proud. I served for twenty years and grew powerful. One day I encountered the Golden Flame. It chose me — I did not choose it. At that moment I thought I had been passed over. That flame was something no one else possessed."

Pride and bitterness mingled in his voice.

"I became a hero of the people, fulfilling their dreams. But they were ordinary humans. They could not live long. As they lay dying of old age, I sacrificed everything I had gained to keep them alive. I managed to hold them in this world for only eight more years. That was when I truly understood what weakness meant."

Larden fixed his gaze on Zaber.

"So what about you? You make me angry. You do not love your family. Yet true happiness lies there. After that I fell into darkness. In the end I became an old man waiting for death with nothing left. I once had dreams and goals just like you. I see myself in you. But you pay attention to nothing."

Zaber stepped closer to the old man. His gaze had grown even colder.

"Your foolish story does not interest me. I am not a small child who cries and tells his troubles," he said.

Those words struck Larden like a tremor. His eyes widened. Without hesitation he raised his leg and delivered a brutal kick to Zaber’s stomach.

The impact snapped eleven of Zaber’s ribs one after another.

"Ghhk!"

Blood sprayed from his mouth. A sudden gale rose. Zaber was hurled into the air and sent flying hundreds of meters away.

Larden watched the boy soaring through the air.

"What has happened to this child... Even the most wicked demons could not produce such a heartless boy..." he thought.

He bent his knees, then sprang from the ground.

"I went too far... That strike might have killed him..."

Whispering those words, he reached Zaber — three hundred meters away — in an instant. Gently catching him mid-flight, he lifted the boy into the air.

"I keep my promises. A vow is a vow. I will train you for two years. After that, I will no longer be your master," he declared firmly.

With those words, Larden flew toward the city. Blood continued to drip from Zaber’s chin. He was unconscious, motionless.

Larden carried Zaber back to the hut and carefully laid him on the old bed.

Zaber was barely conscious, but his body refused to obey. Blood flowed from his mouth, his breathing grew labored — as though he were suffocating; his chest rose and fell unevenly.

"Hooook... hoo... hiii... hqqqq... hooo..."

Strange, broken sounds filled the inside of the hut.

Larden leaned over him and placed both palms toward Zaber’s chest. Cold sweat beaded on the old man’s brow.

"Have the broken bones pierced his lungs... damn it..." he muttered.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

"Healing magic — great restoration. Bring the body out of pain, the soul out of darkness."

A soft, warm light began to radiate from Larden’s palms. A pale greenish-white circle formed and slowly enveloped Zaber’s body. In the next moment, Zaber’s form lifted gently off the bed and floated into the air.

Larden’s eyes were half-open, his gaze fixed on a single point.

"I couldn’t control my emotions..." he thought. "But he resembles me too much. He... must not become like me."

At that moment, Zaber’s shattered ribs slowly returned to their proper places. Though the sound of bones knitting could not be heard, inside his body a quiet yet resolute process of restoration continued.

The traces of blood beneath his chin vanished. His breathing gradually eased; the choking sounds quieted.

A short while later, Zaber’s body descended gently and settled back onto the bed.

Larden exhaled deeply. His shoulders sagged as though weighed down.

"This magic demands far too much mana..." he said quietly. "I need to rest... he was almost dead."

The old man walked to the rickety chair by the window and sat down. The chair began to rock slowly, filling the hut with a steady creaking rhythm.

Zaber had not yet fully regained consciousness.

Several hours later he opened his eyes. The first thing he did was look at his hands. His breathing was even. Pain remained, but it was bearable.

"For a moment... I really thought I was going to die..." he thought to himself. "...but the old man is not what he appears to be."

Organizing his thoughts, he slowly rose. Every movement was cautious, yet steady.

Zaber walked toward Larden, who sat rocking gently in the chair. The old man’s eyes were closed, yet he did not seem asleep. The chair continued its slow, rhythmic motion.

Zaber stood silently, watching him, fists clenched.

A heavy, profound silence enveloped the hut.

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