Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 64 weapon selection

Zaber walked away from the place where the murder had occurred, then slowed his steps. He was in no hurry. The city swallowed such disappearances quickly. After a few turns, he took the wallet he had taken from the merchant into his palm.

The leather was soft. Not new, but well-maintained. This man had known money.

Zaber continued walking, opened the wallet, and began counting the coins inside. Each gold coin rang differently—some worn, some freshly minted.

"Forty gold..." he said inside.

His shoulders relaxed for a moment.

"So, there is money. Now weapons... and the adventurers guild."

He looked at the gold coins once more. Then he separated thirty-nine gold from the merchant’s wallet and put them into his own pouch. One gold remained in the wallet.

"Let it not be too clean," he thought. "Let a trace remain."

As he continued on his way, he appeared indifferent to his surroundings. But in reality, he was carefully measuring the city. The streets, the turns, the dark places, the distance between the lanterns.

His step stopped for a moment.

He collided shoulders with a middle-aged man dressed plainly. It did not seem accidental. Or perhaps it was just the density of the city.

Zaber immediately turned back.

"Forgive me, sir."

The man looked at his clothes, the tailoring of his coat, his smooth black hair. Envy mixed with anger appeared in his eyes.

"Can’t you watch where you’re going?" he said in a rough tone. "Do you think everything is allowed because you wear expensive clothes?"

Zaber’s gaze grew colder.

In an instant, one thought appeared in his mind:

Should I kill this fool...

He glanced around. People were there. Too close. Too many.

The chain remained silent. But there was a call.

Zaber moved his lips slowly, whispered:

"I have another mission."

He looked at the man again.

"I already apologized, sir. Let us avoid trouble."

With those words, he continued on his way.

He felt the man’s angry gaze from behind. But he did nothing. After a few seconds, he too went on his way.

Zaber followed him with the corner of his eye.

"If they search for the merchant’s killer..." he thought. "The wallet will come from you. This is your punishment."

He closed the thought there.

Now the main issue—the city limits. How quickly do they react? How indifferent are they?

With these thoughts, he headed to the weapon shop he had noticed earlier.

The shop was ordinary from the outside. No decoration. No sign. Behind the window, only the quiet gleam of iron and steel.

Zaber entered.

The air was different. Mixed smells of oil, iron, and old leather. Weapons hung on the walls, but orderly. Each knew its place.

Behind the counter stood an older man. His hair had grayed, but his posture was straight. His eyes were sharp. He looked at Zaber, but there was no usual fake smile.

Only an evaluating gaze.

This surprised Zaber a little.

But he did not hesitate.

"I need weapons."

The old seller did not change his tone.

"What kind of weapon do you use?"

Zaber looked at the weapons hanging on the wall. Swords, daggers, short spears. There were heavy, ornate weapons too—but none of them interested him.

"I prefer the sword," he said. "But very compact is good. I don’t like heavy and ornate weapons."

The seller thought for a moment. Then he slowly nodded.

The old seller’s words echoed slowly in the shop.

"So, you pay more attention to control than to strength."

Zaber did not take his eyes off the weapons hanging on the wall. His gaze seemed to measure not each piece of iron, but the possibility inside them.

"Strength makes noise," he said calmly. "Control works silently."

The old seller nodded lightly. This was not approval, this was recognition. He looked at Zaber not as if seeing him for the first time, but as if he had seen similar ones before.

"Then you are looking at the wrong wall," he said and slowly turned back. "The ones hanging here... are for most people."

He bent under the wooden counter. A metal creak was heard. A lock opened.

Zaber sensed it.

This was not an ordinary shop.

From under the counter, the old seller took out something wrapped in black cloth. He opened it carefully.

A sword emerged.

It looked ordinary. No decoration. No precious stones. But its blade absorbed light. Not iron—as if made from shadow.

Zaber looked at it.

For a moment.

That was enough.

"This... is not low level," he said.

The old seller did not smile. But his eyes narrowed.

"Most people don’t notice the difference," he said. "So, you are one of those who do."

He placed the sword on the table.

"Weapons in this country are divided into four levels," the seller continued. "But this is not official. This is a system that those who know, know."

Zaber remained silent. He listened.

"The first level—open weapons," said the seller. "Anyone buys them. Anyone kills. Anyone dies. At this level, it’s not the weapon that’s foolish, it’s the person."

He pointed to the shiny swords on the wall.

"The second level—silent weapons. These have less decoration. Lighter. Faster. Require more control. Adventurers and hired killers take these."

Zaber nodded.

"The third level," said the seller, lowering his voice, "sealed weapons. Officially, they don’t exist. But they do. They don’t work with ordinary people."

Zaber’s gaze returned to the sword.

"With talent and power," he said.

The old seller paused for a moment.

"So... you know," he said in a low voice. "Yes. Talent and power."

"What about the fourth level?" asked Zaber.

The seller stood up slowly.

"The fourth level..." he said. "The city’s memory."

Zaber furrowed his brows.

"What does that mean?"

The seller sighed deeply.

"These weapons didn’t exist when the city was built. But when the city had killed enough people... they appeared."

Silence.

"They are not sold," said the seller. "They choose."

Zaber said nothing. But something stirred inside him.

"The third level is enough for you," said the seller and took out another cloth from under the table.

This time three weapons.

One—a short sword. Narrow blade, thinning toward the tip. The handle part very convenient for the hand.

The second—a long dagger. Not thick, but perfect center of gravity.

The third—a curved-bladed, simpler sword. But there were small marks on its blade. They disappeared in motion, appeared again when stopped.

"Each sealed," said the seller. "But differently."

Zaber took the first sword.

In his hand, the weapon found its place. As if created for him.

"What is this sealed with?" he asked.

"Breath," said the seller. "It works as long as the owner’s heart beats. If your breathing disrupts—the sword will leave you too."

Zaber put the sword back.

He took the second.

The dagger.

As soon as he held it, he felt cold in his palm. But this cold did not disturb.

"Memory," said the seller. "It remembers the first one you killed. Subsequent strikes are linked to that."

Zaber’s eyes dimmed for a moment.

The third weapon.

As soon as he took it into his hand... nothing happened.

This was the most dangerous.

"What about this?" he asked.

The seller spoke slowly:

"This is sealed with will. The colder you are—the more it obeys. If there are two thoughts... it breaks."

Zaber smiled.

"This is interesting."

But I, he said.

He took the first black sword that absorbed light, not thick, compact but heavy.

"How much?"

"Thirty gold."

I thought you would choose another weapon.

Zaber raised his gaze.

"What?"

The seller looked at the sword.

"This is compact but a bit heavy, and this level weapon is first level, for third it is strong, for second it lacks abilities.

Zaber held the sword firmly.

"Yes, but sometimes the sword does not adapt to you, sometimes you have to adapt to the sword."

The seller looked for a long time. Then he nodded.

"Then you have chosen."

He wrapped the swords back in black cloth.

"Good young man, your existence is not like ordinary people."

Zaber took the weapon.

Why do you think so, in an emotionless tone.

The seller staring at Zaber.

In front of me, it feels like two hundred people are standing.

Zaber glanced at himself.

"Last question," he said. "Does the guild know about these weapons?"

The seller did not laugh.

"The guild knows what it has seen," he said. "It denies what it has not seen."

Zaber smiled lightly.

He took thirty gold from his pouch and handed it to the seller and

Walked toward the door.

"So the souls consumed by the soul chain merge with my existence, making me appear as a very powerful person, this is what I needed," he thought.

"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."