Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 82 power and price

The air seemed to have frozen solid.

The wolves’ breaths turned to steam in the cold night. Their eyes burned like red dots in the darkness. The surrounding trees stood silent, as if watching.

Zaber did not move.

He was not afraid.

Yet he did not feel strong either.

His hands trembled slightly, his body felt unbearably heavy. The muscles in his legs were exhausted from walking, from hunger.

"Come..." he said in a low but cold voice. "Do not wait for each other."

The wolves did not reply.

They were hunters. They moved on instinct.

The largest wolf in front—the one with old scars on its neck and half an ear missing—slowly advanced. Its paws sank into the ground, claws raking the soil.

The next instant—

It leaped.

Very fast.

Before Zaber could raise his sword, the wolf was already upon him. Teeth struck steel.

CRACK!

The impact traveled through his wrist. It felt as if the bone had shattered inward.

"Fast..." he thought. "But not weak."

He parried the blow and sidestepped.

At that moment, a second wolf lunged from the left.

Zaber was too slow.

Teeth tore into his shoulder.

Hot blood soaked his shirt.

Pain spread through his entire body.

But he did not cry out.

"Is this all?"

He barely steadied his breathing. The wolves closed in, forming a circle. Another growled from behind.

There were six of them.

"Like the bees," he thought. "Exactly the same."

He bent low, dragged his sword across the ground, and thrust it forward.

SLASH!

Steel ripped through flesh. One wolf’s belly opened. Blood sprayed, pooling on the earth.

The beast howled savagely.

But it did not fall.

It staggered, then advanced again.

"Still moving?"

Zaber tried to retreat.

Too late.

A strike came from the side.

Teeth sank into his leg.

"GRRR!"

The pain was so intense that his vision darkened for a moment.

He fell.

The ground was cold. He smelled blood. His breathing grew labored.

The wolves pounced.

They believed victory was theirs.

Zaber looked up at the sky.

Ruya and Siamond cast cold light.

"Is this where it ends?" he thought.

Something inside him snapped.

No.

His eyes opened.

There was no fear.

Only cold, deep rage.

"No. I will not go down so easily."

He gripped the sword tightly with both hands and thrust it upward into the jaw of the wolf leaping toward him.

CRACK!

Bone shattered.

The head snapped back.

Brain and blood splattered across his face.

Zaber shoved the beast away.

He rose with great effort. His knees trembled. His breathing came in gasps.

"The extreme power has activated," he thought inwardly. "Haaa..." He exhaled a long breath. "I will not lose."

The wolves paused for a moment.

They sensed it—this prey was not ordinary.

But hunger was stronger.

They attacked again.

This time from three directions.

Zaber backed up and leaned against a tree. Holding the sword with both hands, he struck only at the nearest one.

Slow.

Heavy.

Aimed at death.

One throat was severed.

Another lost an eye.

The third did not even manage to bite—Zaber seized its neck with one hand, squeezed with trembling force, and in the next instant—

CRUNCH.

It broke.

The rest howled and retreated.

They wanted to flee.

Zaber did not pursue.

He leaned on his sword and dropped to one knee.

Blood dripped.

His breathing was ragged.

"Victory..." he thought. "If this can be called victory."

Silence fell.

The wolves’ corpses lay cold and lifeless under the moonlight.

Zaber lifted his head.

"The extreme power has ended. According to the book, this power awakens only at the moment of life and death, or when protecting those close to you. The body becomes several times stronger than before, but it lasts only seconds."

And for now...

that was enough.

Zaber was familiar with this power. He had used it before—when his comrades were killed, in the battle with Jogan.

Zaber took several steps and leaned against a tree.

Hooooooo... huuuuuuuuu... His breathing grew heavier. When this power fades, the body suffers severe aftereffects.

Zaber remained motionless for a long time.

Under the light of Ruya and Siamond, the wolves’ corpses cooled, the scent of blood mixing with damp earth and rotting leaves. The air was still, but the stillness was a lie—merely the silence after battle.

The extreme power had completely faded.

His body no longer remembered the strength, only its consequences.

His arms were numb. His fingers wanted to release the sword hilt, but he gripped it tightly—as if letting go would cause him to collapse.

His breathing was labored.

"Hoooo... huuu..." His chest rose and fell heavily.

Every breath felt like tearing from within. His lungs burned, his throat felt filled with dry sand.

Zaber brushed back the long black hair covering his face with his hands.

"Not yet..." he said soundlessly.

But his body did not listen.

The extreme power temporarily pushes the body beyond limits. Muscles tear, nerves burn, bones endure unbearable pressure. When the power leaves, the body demands payment.

And now—payment was due.

Zaber looked at his left shoulder.

The bite marks had darkened, swelling spreading around them. Blood had already dried and stuck to his clothes. The wound on his leg was worse—teeth had sunk deep; every movement felt like something tearing inside the vein.

He slowly reached out and took the beehive.

The bees were silent.

They did not emerge.

"You too... are tired?" he thought.

A faint movement came from within, nothing more. As if they, too, felt the pain radiating from this body.

Zaber leaned against the tree trunk.

His head began to spin.

Darkness crept into his vision.

Memories floated up.

Previous hardships.

The extreme power from before.

The fall that followed.

"Every time the same..." he thought. "Power comes. It saves. Then it breaks me again."

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

If he fell asleep now—he might never wake up.

The thought arrived and paused for a moment.

Then he smiled faintly.

"Interesting..." he thought inwardly. "I am so close to death, yet according to what I have heard, in such moments people cry, regret life, wish to live... but for some reason, I simply feel the abyss."

He slowly opened his eyes.

The road.

The road leading toward Divorn.

One month.

Now—how much longer?

"If I stay here..." he thought. "Tomorrow other creatures will come. Or the wounds will worsen. Or my body will simply give up."

He knew the choice well.

Rest—not now.

Walk—must.

Zaber braced himself on the sword and rose with great effort.

His knees trembled, his body lost balance. One step. Then another.

Every movement—pain.

Every pain—pulling at consciousness.

He emerged from among the trees.

He walked toward the plains.

The sky slowly changed color, night drawing to a close.

Dawn was near.

But for Zaber, dawn was not light—it was time.

After several hundred steps, he stopped again.

This time he did not fall.

He sat down.

"Too slow..." he thought. "But I did not stop. To become ruthless, I must first show no mercy to myself." His eyes were half-open, black like the dead.

He took dried herbs and a mixture from his pocket. He had prepared it earlier but had not wanted to use it. Now there was no choice.

He applied it to his wounds.

The pain intensified.

He clenched his teeth.

"Pain... reminds me I am alive," he thought. "This is not my punishment—it is my reward." His eyes turned toward the distant horizon.

After sitting for a while, he steadied his breathing.

Then he stood again.

He walked again.

His steps were uneven, but resolute.

With every step his body signaled: stop.

With every step his spirit answered: keep going.

"I am not finished yet..." he thought. "Not yet."

The first rays of the sun appeared on the horizon.

Zaber raised his face.

The light dazzled his eyes.

It was not warm.

But it was light.

He gave a faint smile.

"Another day..." he thought inwardly. "Another step. New danger, new opportunity."

And he continued on his way.

With pain.

With weakness.

But without surrender.

Because his spirit was exhausted, he could not use the soul chains—mental strength and spiritual alertness were required. Zaber knew this and, with all his will, fought against falling into despair.

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