Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 112 battle in the forest

One of the groups that received the letter stood in a basement, in a chamber where a torch burned. The stone walls were damp, the air heavy and thick. The torch flame flickered, casting living, quivering shadows across the walls.

The man staring thoughtfully at the letter on the table was Garrik Volren, leader of the group that controlled the trade routes. His broad shoulders, hard jaw, and quiet eyes declared plainly: he preferred calculations to combat. Yet when necessary, he would raise a sword without hesitation.

Behind him stood two men.

One was Darsen—quick-tempered, shoulders tense with restrained fury.

The other was Mirel—cold, watchful, always observing.

Darsen finally broke the silence:

"What does this mean, boss?"

Garrik answered without lifting his eyes from the letter:

"New groups are multiplying in the city. For the city, this is a new stage. It seems the higher powers have declared a culling."

Mirel frowned.

"A culling? What kind of thing is that?"

Garrik picked up the letter. The edge of the paper looked yellowish in the torchlight.

"Simple. Instead of stopping the fighting between groups to prevent the city from slipping out of control, they choose to manage it. They organize battles between the groups. It has happened before. But this time it’s being done in an entirely different way."

He walked toward the door. His footsteps echoed heavily in the basement.

What fools, he thought. Did they really demand a fight at a time like this? Or would they have left my group alone if it hadn’t concerned them?

---

The second group that received the letter was moving through the city streets.

About fifteen men in black cloaks. Steps synchronized. Breathing even. Eyes cold.

At their head walked Kael Rovend, the silent power connected to the black market. A faint smile played on his lips; hidden calculations lived in his gaze.

He folded the letter and slipped it into an inner pocket.

"They dared to demand a fight? Fine. We accept," he whispered.

And he continued on his way.

---

By the time they entered the forest, the night had already thickened.

The trees stood close together, their branches blocking the sky. The moonlight and starlight barely reached the ground—only broken fragments slipped through the leaves.

The soil was damp.

The air cold.

Breath turned to white vapor.

When the two groups finally saw each other, no swords had yet been drawn.

They were all 3rd-tier fighters.

That rank carried the name of high level—and for good reason, they were confident in themselves.

One side—the controllers of the trade routes. Defenders of order.

The other side—the silent force tied to the black market.

They stood facing one another.

"So you started it," said Garrik.

"Us?" Kael gave a cold laugh. "Did you demand the fight from the Lord?"

"On the contrary—you did?"

For a moment they stared at each other in genuine surprise.

Because battles between groups were always arranged by the city lord, and one side had to request it. Though the city lord appeared to possess no external power, he controlled everything. While everyone said the guilds held the reins, the lord sat at their center.

The wind began to stir the leaves slowly.

Garrik took a folded paper from his pocket.

"’Action begins in the forest. Either you eliminate them, or you will be eliminated.’"

Kael showed an identical sheet.

Same handwriting.

Same tone.

Only the seal was different.

"So this isn’t your doing?" Garrik said.

"Do you take us for fools?"

Doubt flickered in both their eyes.

If neither had requested the fight—then who?

There was no observer here either.

The men on both sides reached the same conclusion.

Even if the battle came later, it would happen eventually. Their paths had long intersected, constantly breeding conflict. But because of the recent changes in the city, neither side wanted to raise noise or weaken themselves through open war.

Yet now...

"Very well then," said Kael. "If you didn’t demand this fight either, there’s no point in doing it. If we clash now, no matter who wins, the other groups will take advantage."

"That’s true. But it will happen anyway. Better to settle it here—for me," Garrik replied.

No one wanted to strike first.

Yet no one would step back either.

And such men are often proud.

---

In the shadow of a tree stood Zaber.

He looked down at the distance between the two groups.

Enough distance.

Enough suspicion.

Enough rage.

But still no first blood.

If they kept talking—they might reach an agreement.

That could not be allowed.

Zaber moved slowly, activating his emotion-manipulating ability. He circled behind one of the fighters on the left side, approaching silently. His footsteps were almost nonexistent.

The man was once again taking the letter, about to say something to his leader.

Zaber’s breath sharpened for an instant.

Then, in a loud voice, he shouted:

"Do you really think you can trust them?! Just die already!"

Garrik spun around sharply.

"Fool!" he barked, trying to silence the one who spoke.

But at that moment Zaber channeled black mana into his sword. Thin black energy rose from the blade like smoke from a match.

He leaped forward and slashed through the air toward the man standing at the far left edge of the opposing group.

A black blade of energy detached from the sword tip and flew toward the enemy.

The dark edge struck the shoulder of one of Kael’s fighters and vanished. It did not kill him.

"Attack!" someone yelled.

In an instant everything shattered.

Kael’s men roared in fury:

"You offer a truce and then strike?!"

Garrik’s thoughts tangled.

Damn it—there’s no room for agreement now.

Swords were drawn.

Steel met steel.

Sparks flashed in the darkness.

And Zaber had already melted back into the shadows.

He watched the battle begin.

Then he climbed to a higher vantage point, sat down, and prepared to enjoy the fight as a pure spectator.

He was the observer.

Now the game was in their hands.

---

The first clash was ferocious.

3rd-tier fighters could control their strength.

Each blow could cleave an ordinary man in two.

Garrik lunged forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc from the side.

The air screamed.

Kael leaped back; the earth split and dust rose to his knees.

Swords collided, producing blinding flashes.

Shoulders trembled.

It was not an especially powerful strike.

But it was heavy.

Every movement carried weight.

One fighter fell to the ground.

But he rose again immediately.

Each of them was several times stronger than Zaber. Had anyone noticed him, it would have been extremely dangerous—because in a fight against a 2nd-tier opponent he had nearly died, and only by shattering their spirit and fighting with pure cunning had he survived. These men here were three to four times stronger than that.

---

High above, on a tall rocky outcrop, stood Aurora.

With her were two knights—Ser Edvin and Loras.

"Should we intervene?" Edvin asked.

Aurora slowly shook her head.

"No."

"And if one side gains the upper hand?"

"Then we’ll have fewer problems."

Her eyes were cold.

She sensed something.

A third player.

A hidden watcher.

But she could not pinpoint the exact location.

This had not started on its own...

If this is a game, she thought, who set it in motion?

---

Below, the battle grew savage.

One fighter dropped to his knees.

A sword had pierced his chest.

With his last strength he drew a hidden dagger from his boot and drove it into his opponent’s throat.

Both collapsed, splashing blood across each other’s faces.

Breathing ragged.

Hatred in their eyes.

Now they fought not with reason, but with the instinct to survive.

---

Zaber watched from above.

In my life there were always spectators, he thought. They constantly placed me in desperate situations. Let’s see what kind of pleasure I feel when I do the same to others.

His gaze melted into the darkness.

Below, the two leaders clashed.

Strike.

Strike.

Strike.

Air pressure rolled outward like a wave.

Though the ground was damp, dust still rose.

Both were wounded.

Neither wanted to retreat.

---

The sound of metal gradually faded.

Several bodies lay on the ground.

Several more were gravely injured.

The two leaders breathed heavily.

This was not complete victory.

This was loss.

For both sides.

Aurora spoke softly:

"If they finish each other off, that would be ideal."

She did not intervene.

Because it was advantageous to her.

---

Zaber smiled in the shadows.

"Just a little longer... and I will consume your spirits. Destroy each other."

He had started the game.

But he did not know that someone above was watching him as well.

The night remained silent.

Zaber saw that both leaders had exhausted much of their strength, that only a handful of their fighters remained, and those too were wounded. Because their power had long been evenly matched, their enmity had persisted for years.

Zaber descended and began walking toward them.

Garrik and Kael had dropped to their knees, facing each other. Garrik looked utterly dejected.

"Doesn’t look like there’s a winner," he said, glancing around carefully.

Kael also surveyed the scene, eyes lingering on the fallen and wounded.

"I think you’re right—no winner," he replied, voice low and cold.

In the next instant, from the dark trees came a deep, mysterious voice:

"Who said there is no winner?"

Both men’s pupils narrowed. They whipped their heads toward the trees and demanded in unison:

"Who’s there?"

Zaber stepped out from the dark shadow.

His face was wrapped in cloth.

Cold, dead eyes.

Long black hair tied back.

A bare black sword in his hand.

"Me? Excellent question," he said in a low, deep tone. "Who is the winner? I..."

At that moment he charged toward them.

Garrik and Kael, startled, rose with their last strength and assumed fighting stances to meet him.

As Zaber closed in, he raised his palm toward them and whispered:

"Fools... I don’t fight with a sword."

Instantly, pink-glowing spirit chains shot from his hand. First into Garrik’s chest, then into Kael’s.

Zaber watched them with a dark, sharp smile.

"No spiritual defenses at all? Good," he said coldly.

Garrik and Kael could not see the spirit chains. Confused, they looked at each other. They felt a strange, incomprehensible pain in their chests but dismissed it as ordinary wounds and paid it no mind.

Yet they did not know: the price of that carelessness might be their very lives.

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