Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 68 fake document

Zaber left the tavern and headed toward the merchants’ guild. The noise lingering behind the door gradually faded, and in his ears remained only the breath of the city—the footsteps of people, the rumble of wagon wheels, and distant calls of traders.

He did not look back. As if that place, that conversation, and that catgirl had already been left behind.

Back inside, Shoyu’s companion rebuked her in a nervous tone. His voice was low, but the sharpness in it could not be hidden. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"Miss, you cannot cause trouble here. You did not come on a journey," he said, barely containing his anger.

Shoyu walked toward the table. Her steps carried not anger, but deep contemplation. As she sat, her eyes fixed on a single point.

"That man was not ordinary," she said slowly. "He has a powerful presence... but his aura is extremely weak, almost like a beginner at level 3."

Her companion fell silent for a moment. He could not dismiss the words as a joke.

"That is true," he said thoughtfully. "That is why you cannot be careless."

Shoyu sat at the table and took a deep breath. She swallowed her anger.

"There is no doubt he is from a noble family," she said confidently. "Eating in such a lowly place... I thought he was kind and courteous. But he is arrogant. He thinks highly of himself."

Her companion also sat at the table. He shook his head slowly.

"That was not arrogance," he said in a contemplative tone. "Nor anger. At first it seemed like arrogance, but then he did not want trouble. It... resembles caution."

As the waitress placed food and wine on the table, the glasses clinked lightly. The sound deepened Shoyu’s thoughts further.

Shoyu stared at her companion.

"He is mysterious," she said in a low voice. "As if he himself does not know what he wants."

She furrowed her brow, her fingers slowly tapping the edge of the table.

"If he had wanted a fight, I would have gone all the way," she said with a cold smile. "But he seems to have more important matters. He will return for us. In the meantime, we need to find out who he is."

Her companion nodded, taking a bite of bread. No further words were needed to show agreement.

At that moment, Zaber was walking through the city streets. He glanced around indifferently, yet no detail escaped his gaze. He passed many shops along the way. The city center was clearly different from the entrance—the roads were straighter, the buildings taller, the shops more numerous. The people were different too: their clothes cleaner, their steps more hurried. The buildings were newer, with traces of repair on the walls.

Zaber spoke to himself.

"That catgirl is not ordinary," he said inwardly. "Her soul is very strong."

He continued walking.

"I am beginning to understand the Soul Chain..." his thoughts deepened. "I can somehow sense whether souls are weak or strong."

The sensation did not disturb him.

"She is clearly from a prominent noble family among the beastkin," he concluded. "No matter what, I should stay farther from her."

With these thoughts, he also reached the merchants’ guild.

The moment he entered, he sensed how different the place was from the tavern atmosphere. It was bright here. The walls showed no cracks or old spots; the floor was smooth and clean. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, burning even during the day, keeping the interior as bright as outside. The light not only illuminated the room but also imparted a sense of order and control.

The people were well-dressed. Most were merchants—in longer garments, with expensive belts, their faces bearing the cold expression accustomed to calculation.

Zaber stopped at the counter in front of the attending clerk.

The clerk looked at Zaber and smiled gently. The smile was not artificial; it was born from years of practiced trading etiquette.

Zaber thought inwardly upon seeing the smile:

More perfect than the inn worker.

Then he addressed the clerk.

"I want to register," he said.

The clerk immediately switched to a formal tone.

"Can you present your documents?"

Zaber hesitated for a moment. Then, in a calm tone:

"I lost my documents," he said. "I believe they were stolen in the city."

The clerk furrowed his brows slightly.

"Hmmm... are you new to the city?"

Zaber nodded.

"Yes. It has been one day."

The clerk continued in a courteous tone.

"If you report it to the city guards, you will find them sooner. You cannot register with the guild without documents."

Zaber fell silent for a moment. His gaze rested quietly in the chandelier’s light.

"Can new documents be issued?" he said. "Finding the old ones is uncertain. And I want to register quickly."

The clerk pondered. He had not heard this for the first time.

"Yes, it is possible," he said finally. "Although our guild does not officially handle such matters, we can prepare documents. You will pay an additional fee and a fine to the state, and furthermore..."

He stepped closer to Zaber, lowering his voice.

"Since preparing documents is not an official state service, you put us at risk as well. Therefore, you will pay seventy percent more."

Zaber did not think for even a second.

"Good. I agree," he said confidently.

Satisfaction gleamed in the clerk’s eyes. He raised his hand and clapped lightly, smiling.

"Follow me, sir," he said and led the way for Zaber.

Zaber walked silently behind the clerk. The inner part of the merchants’ guild was completely unlike the front hall. The light from outside did not reach here; the lamps on the walls seemed placed with great care—as if this place needed to be bright, but not excessively so.

The corridor was neither narrow nor wide. Footsteps echoed against the walls and were absorbed. The floor was stone, smooth but not old. Zaber noticed immediately—there were no cracks here. This building was not repaired; it was constantly maintained under control.

As the clerk walked ahead, he did not look back.

"This way, sir," he said in a calm tone.

They passed two turns. After the last turn, a door appeared. The door looked ordinary: wood, without decoration, no writing on it. But Zaber sensed something change inside. The air itself was different—as if voices should not be raised in this place.

The attendant stopped in front of the door.

"Your information will be recorded here," he said. "Do not speak much inside. Answer questions clearly, that is all."

Zaber nodded.

"Understood."

The door opened.

The room inside was small. One table, two chairs. Nothing on the walls—no pictures, no writings. The ceiling was lower; light came from a single lamp. Zaber knew immediately that the lamp was magical, but he could not determine what kind of magic. The light did not hurt the eyes, yet it felt as if it illuminated from within.

A person sat behind the table. His age was unclear; his face ordinary, his clothing excessively plain. One could not say noble or common servant.

"You may sit," he said.

Zaber sat in the chair opposite.

A moment of silence descended. The silence was oppressive. Finally, the person behind the table took the paper in his hand.

"Your name," he said.

"Zaber."

The quill moved over the paper.

"Your place of birth."

Zaber thought for a second.

"A nameless village in the south."

The quill moved again. Questions came in sequence: "Which cities have you been in before?" "Your profession?" "How have you earned a living?" "When was your last official document issued?"

Zaber answered the questions calmly. Some shortly, some without elaboration. He noticed one thing—the questions seemed ordinary, but their order was strange. As if they were given not to gather information, but to test the person.

At one point, the person behind the table stopped.

"Place your finger on the table."

The table surface was smooth. Zaber placed his finger. A chill spread. He narrowed his eyes but did nothing. Something passed inside him—like a thread lightly touching his soul. Very quick, very subtle.

"That is enough," the person said.

He took a small box from under the table. He did not open it. He simply placed it on the table. The box itself looked ordinary too.

"Your document will be ready," the person said. "You will wait a bit."

"How long?" Zaber asked.

"Here, I ask the questions, and my questions are finished," he answered in a calm tone.

The attendant appeared again and led Zaber to another room. This room was wider than the previous one, yet still quiet. No window. Only benches along the walls.

Zaber sat.

The waiting began.

As he waited, he listened to the feelings inside him. Indistinct.

A few minutes later, the attendant returned.

"Sir," he said in a low voice, "your document is ready."

Zaber returned to the small room. Now a small rectangle made of stiff paper lay on the table. It was ordinary. Very ordinary. No decoration. No picture. Only writings.

Name. City. Numbers. And a fingerprint.

"This is your personal document," the person behind the table said. "Do not lose it. It will be recognized by every guild, every state office."

Zaber took the document in his hand. Its weight was strange. The paper was stiff, yet it felt alive.

"What about the seal?" he asked indifferently.

The person behind the table paused for a moment. Very brief. Very slight.

"There are things you do not need to know, sir," he said.

Zaber asked no further questions. He slipped the document into his inner pocket.

"What about the payment?"

"As previously stated," the person said. "Additional fee and fine."

Zaber placed his purse on the table. Nothing was counted, but everything was accepted.

"Your business is done," the person said.

Zaber rose. As he left, a thought arose inside him:

This document is real.

Leaving the merchants’ guild and stepping into the city streets, the sun was still high. The flow of people did not cease.

As Zaber walked, he drew a quiet conclusion inwardly:

My money is gone again. Registration is not free either. Looking back,

"I will return tomorrow," he whispered.

He looked back.

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