Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 107 The city was at peace, but after she arrived, everything changed.

Chapter 107: Chapter 107 The city was at peace, but after she arrived, everything changed.

The dawn had not yet fully broken, but the city was already awake.

Zaber opened his eyes in the narrow but clean room of the inn. Light slipping through the barred window fell onto the stone street, revealing the early movements of people below.

The rumble of cart wheels.

The shouts of merchants.

Zaber opened the window.

The air felt different. Not as clean as in the village. It carried a mixture of iron, dust, spices, and human smells.

This was the scent of a great city.

Once he stepped down to the street, he merged into the flow of people.

The roads were wide, yet crowded. People in all kinds of clothing passed by:

Merchants in long robes.

Hired fighters in light armor.

Common laborers with rough hands and dust-covered clothes.

Students hurrying along, clutching books.

Between the streets ran channels of water. In some places, stone bridges arched over them.

As he approached the central square, the noise grew even louder.

Here the permanent market was in full swing.

Spice stalls — the air thick with cinnamon and pepper.

Metal goods rows — swords, daggers, spearheads glinting.

Booksellers — scrolls of manuscripts, maps, parchments inscribed with arcane symbols.

One merchant shouted at the top of his voice:

"Northern salt! Pure salt!"

Zaber walked on in silence.

He simply observed the city.

Here power operated differently.

In the city, power was hidden.

He looked upward.

Four-story stone buildings. Some with balconies. Flags fluttered. Each banner represented a different house or guild.

Adventurers’ Guild.

Merchants’ Guild.

At a street corner stood two armored guards. On their chests gleamed the city crest — a winged beast.

There was order in the city.

And for some, that order had been hard-won.

Zaber passed by the training grounds where fighters were drilling. Dozens of young men clashed with wooden swords while an instructor bellowed commands.

"Bend the knees! Lower your weight!"

In the distance the city walls were visible. Thick. Tall. At the gates people were being checked. Caravans entered and exited.

Zaber measured the streets with his eyes.

Exits.

Escape routes.

High ground.

Habit.

At midday he entered a simple tavern.

Inside — clamor. A cauldron of stew bubbled. The smell of fat and broth.

One table was empty.

He sat down.

At the next table two merchants spoke in low voices.

"They say the southern port has been closed."

"Taxes will go up, then."

In the city, news traveled hand in hand with coin.

Zaber ate in silence.

No one paid him any attention.

That was good.

Toward evening the sun sank behind the stone walls, filling the streets with long shadows.

From above, the city looked different.

Zaber climbed to the inn’s roof.

From here the entire center spread out before him.

Towers.

Smoking workshops.

One by one, lights began to glow.

The city never slept at night.

Here people amassed wealth.

Gathered power.

Made plans.

And even those who appeared to live simply below were, in truth, building something.

Zaber leaned against the railing.

No particular task today.

He recalled Larden’s instruction:

"Return to the inn today and think about the Golden Marsh — try to understand what it really is. Walking around the city for a day or two will make it easier."

So Zaber was wandering, trying to comprehend it, studying the city’s system.

Evening light settled slowly over the city; the streets between stone buildings took on a golden hue. Zaber descended from the roof and this time headed away from the center — toward the district where fighters lived.

This area was not as ornate as the center.

Rougher stone walls.

Smaller windows.

Yet every building carried the scent of power.

Guilds Quarter.

The city was divided into three main rings:

Central Ring — trade and nobility district

Middle Ring — guilds and workshops

Outer Ring — workers, fighters, common folk

Zaber had entered the Middle Ring.

Here stood the largest building: the Mercenaries’ Guild.

Three stories high, wide doors, iron shields hanging on the walls. Above the entrance a large emblem: two crossed swords behind a shield. On the shield — an image of a man slaying a beast.

The doors stood permanently open.

From inside came clamor.

Zaber stepped in.

Mercenaries’ Guild.

A vast hall opened before him.

Wooden boards lined the walls — lists of quests.

People gathered.

Some read notices.

Some argued.

Some simply drank while seated.

The air was heavy with sweat, metal, and cheap liquor.

In one corner stood the registration desk. Behind it sat a young clerk.

"Show your badge for new quests," she said coolly.

Every fighter wore a small metal emblem on their chest.

It indicated their guild rank.

The ranking system:

Mercenaries were divided into five tiers:

Iron

Bronze

Silver

Gold

Platinum

Iron — newcomers.

Bronze — experienced.

Silver — those who lead small groups.

Gold — independent and trusted.

Platinum — legendary fighters.

Each quest required a minimum rank.

For example:

"Escort caravan on the eastern road — Bronze and above."

"Unknown creature in the forest zone — Silver."

"Northern ruins — Gold."

Zaber watched silently.

Here everyone sold their strength.

For coin.

Unlike adventurers, this had a different power structure and internal system. Adventurers took quests on commission; here quests were sold. The general rule was no killing inside the premises, yet with a little money, one could act without a badge or paperwork. Hidden quests involved assassinations and murders. That was why this place still thrived.

A group of fighters sat around a table.

"Last run, three didn’t come back," one said.

"The pay should have been double," another replied.

Friendship existed here. But it had a price.

The social life of mercenaries

Mercenaries formed a distinct class in the city.

They were:

Not rich.

Not destitute.

Respected, yet not trusted.

Common folk saw them as protectors.

Nobles saw them as tools.

Most were without family.

Some had fled war.

Some hid after crimes.

Some simply wanted to test their strength.

The guild gave them:

Work.

A place to live.

Protection.

A system.

But there was a cost.

Twenty percent of every quest went to the guild.

If a fighter failed a contract — they went on the black list.

The black list meant losing the right to live in the city.

Guild politics

The Mercenaries’ Guild had an agreement with the city council.

They helped maintain order.

Fought external threats.

Handled certain confidential jobs.

In return:

Reduced taxes.

Legal protection.

Internal autonomy.

That autonomy mattered.

Inside the guild there was an internal court.

If one fighter killed another — it was the guild court, not the city court, that judged.

Though in practice those rules existed mostly on paper.

Zaber thought of the other guilds.

He left the building and turned down a side street.

Another sign hung here:

Merchants’ Guild.

They were the lifeblood of the city’s money.

Every major deal passed through them.

Caravan routes.

Port trade.

Grain prices.

All in their hands.

Mercenaries often escorted their caravans.

Blacksmiths’ Guild

Workshop district.

All day the sound of hammers rang.

Swords, armor, spears, arrows.

New fighters had their weapons forged here.

This guild gave discounts to mercenaries — but only to official members.

Later Zaber headed toward the Outer Ring.

It was noisier here.

Smaller houses.

Children running in the streets.

Women carrying water.

Men hauling loads.

Guild signs were rare.

Here, survival was the main goal.

Mercenaries were viewed in two ways in this district:

Heroes.

Trouble.

Some families sent their sons to the guild — for money. Often adventurers, but the mercenaries’ guild attracted those inclined toward killing — street fighters who wanted coin fast.

Others feared it.

Because becoming a fighter meant a good chance of never returning.

Internal culture

Toward evening the guild hall filled again.

Drinks were poured.

A group of fighters began to sing.

Not an ordinary song.

A song of those who returned from battle.

Every line carried the name of someone lost.

On the guild wall were inscribed the names of the fallen.

No one erased them.

That too was part of the system.

Respect.

But emotion was never shown.

Unwritten rules

Zaber observed.

Three unwritten rules existed here:

Fights stay outside — never inside.

Never betray a client.

Never turn against the guild.

Those who broke them did not live long. Who would tolerate someone disrupting the system for those above? It created inconvenience at the top.

Group structure

Most did not work alone.

Groups of three or five formed:

Front line (shield bearers or heavy fighters)

Swift (fast movers)

Ranged (archers or mages)

Support

From Silver rank upward, they usually led groups.

Gold-rank fighters could operate independently.

Platinum were rarely seen.

They handled political contracts.

Social ascent

A fighter could become wealthy.

If he:

Completed major quests

Found valuable artifacts

Made contracts with merchants

Some later opened taverns.

Some bought land.

Some tried to enter the nobility.

But most remained fighters for life.

Because leaving the system was difficult.

Zaber continued observing, sometimes overhearing conversations, occasionally asking questions.

He stood in a corner and took it all in.

No one paid him attention — odd-looking strangers like Zaber appeared frequently, and he was already fading from notice through sheer presence.

The city lived not by raw power, but by system.

Every guild — a vein.

Every fighter — blood.

Every merchant — a heartbeat.

This city resembled a living organism.

And someone controlled that organism.

Zaber simply watched.

His mind was not occupied with killing someone or heavy thoughts — only with understanding what the Golden Marsh truly was.

He saw only the system.

And he wanted to learn its rules — because to break a system, you must first understand how it works.

Zaber stood leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching the crowd.

Suddenly the throng parted to both sides of the street, making way for someone.

Zaber was mildly surprised — such a reaction from the crowd usually meant a well-known noble or important figure.

A moment later, in the center of the street appeared a girl with a sword in hand, expressionless face, and yellow-blonde hair.

Behind her walked two knights in white, light armor — no heavy plating at all. Her sword was white and slender.

People began to whisper.

"Who is that?" someone asked.

Another answered: "You don’t recognize her?"

Aurora Noir.

One of the most famous women in the kingdom.

His companion asked curiously: "Why is she so renowned?"

The man beside him gave a faint smile.

"This girl, young as she is, is already tremendously powerful. From childhood she has been among the most gifted. They say she is a candidate for the Hero’s party — and no one doubts she will join."

His friend replied in astonishment: "Such a famous girl — what is she doing in our city?"

At that moment Aurora passed right in front of Zaber.

"Recently someone easily killed two Platinum-rank twin guardians. One burned to ashes, the other pinned to a wall. The Merchants’ Guild hired her for a huge sum."

Zaber listened to their words while watching Aurora Noir.

Aurora? he thought. Interesting.

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