Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 93 silence in the cemetery

Zaber walked slowly through the city streets. The weight in his steps came not from his body, but from the exhaustion within. His left hand still ached faintly from the inside—the flow of mana had stabilized, yet its traces lingered. Today he did not seek rest; he sought silence.

For that reason, he turned toward a part of the city where few people ventured.

The city cemetery.

Enclosed by stone walls, this place felt cold and still even in daylight. There was no guard at the entrance gate, no warning sign—only time and forgotten memories reigned. Zaber stepped inside without hesitation.

The scent here was different. Damp earth, ancient stone, and the faint trace of life slowly fading. The gravestones were arranged in orderly rows, yet indifferent—as though it no longer mattered who lay beneath them; in the end, everyone came here.

Zaber took a deep breath.

"This place is peaceful..." he thought.

After walking among the graves for a while, he suddenly stopped.

There was an empty space between the tombs—untouched soil overgrown with grass, as though it still belonged to no one. Zaber went there and sat down.

At that moment the small kitten leaped over and settled in his lap. Zaber neither smiled nor pushed it away—he simply accepted the silence.

He placed his sword beside him and lay back, gazing at the sky.

As he tried to organize his thoughts, fragments of plans began to surface in his mind.

I need to enter the Merchants’ Guild... It won’t be like before. Where is the seal? Or should I simply free the beast-human slaves? I’ve barely trained... I need to grow stronger. Artifacts, connections, money... so many things are required. Even servants...

He drew a deep breath.

He lay like that for several hours—time passed unnoticed.

Suddenly a voice broke the quiet.

"Who are you? A grave robber?"

Zaber sprang to his feet and looked around.

An old man stood among the graves. His hair and beard had grown long and wild; deep wrinkles carved across his face showed that age had not been kind. He wore plain clothes and held a shovel—outwardly, he appeared entirely ordinary.

Zaber regarded him indifferently.

"Who are you, old man?" he asked.

The old man took a few steps closer.

"I am Gorkov."

Zaber gave a low, faint smile.

"We’ll meet one day... but not now."

He sat back down.

Gorkov approached.

"But when that day comes, you won’t see me."

The kitten climbed onto a nearby gravestone and sat.

Zaber whispered:

"Even with one foot already in the grave, are you planning to bury me?"

Gorkov rested the shovel on his shoulder.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? If you’re a grave robber, I’ll bury you where you stand," he said coolly.

Zaber answered while lying on his side:

"Leave me in peace, old man. These graves hold no interest for me."

Gorkov paused in silence, thinking, then spoke:

"At your age, are you already so weary? Life is still ahead of you. Why not live with joy and laughter?"

Zaber closed his eyes. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"You’ve squandered your own life uselessly, and now you want to ruin mine? Just leave."

The old man turned away.

"As you wish. In the end, you will come here anyway. No matter how you live, no matter what you do..."

He walked slowly away.

Zaber paid no attention and sank back into his inner thoughts.

After moving a short distance, Gorkov glanced back and thought to himself:

Hmm... a high dragon child. What is he doing in a place like this? He must hold some standing in dragon society. It won’t hurt to keep watch...

Zaber lay in the cemetery. The ground was cold and would not let him sleep. Yet he had slept in far colder places during his first exile. Back then he had trained without pause, his body always in motion. Now it was different—mana depleted, his body had not yet fully adjusted.

He shifted from one side to the other. Then slowly sat up. His cold eyes scanned the surroundings. The gravestones stood silent; the wind gently stirred the grass.

"Eight hours until it replenishes..." he whispered. "Before it was less, but back then I was weaker too."

Zaber stood. He unwrapped the cloth from his sword. The cold steel gleamed in the air.

"A little practice wouldn’t hurt," he said to himself.

He assumed a combat stance. His feet planted firmly on the ground, his body straightened. He brought the blade down from above in a single strike. Then again. And again.

Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.

He performed the same motion nearly a thousand times. Time slipped away unnoticed. His breathing grew heavy, sweat beaded on his forehead. His muscles burned. Finally he stopped, panting, and began wrapping the sword once more.

"I feel a little lighter..." he said quietly.

In a small hut at the edge of the cemetery, Gorkov sat rocking gently in an old chair with his eyes closed, slowly stroking his beard.

"That sword..." he thought. "It has fallen into that boy’s hands. Interesting... will he be able to unseal its true power?"

He opened his eyes. In the corner of the hut, covered in dust, rested an old sword scabbard. For a brief moment his eyes flashed, but he concealed it.

Zaber left the cemetery and headed toward the city center. He blended into the crowd as much as possible, deliberately matching his walking rhythm to that of an ordinary person. Soon he arrived at the Merchants’ Guild in the central square.

The Merchants’ Guild stood out from the other buildings in the city. Recently renovated, its walls adorned with intricate carvings, the entrance wide and brightly lit.

Zaber entered slowly and went straight to the attendant behind the counter. As always, a cheerful woman stood there. Around her were several well-dressed merchants adorned with jewelry.

The guild attendant greeted Zaber politely:

"How may I assist you?"

Zaber produced his adventurer card.

"I wish to register," he said.

The attendant smiled, retrieved a form from beneath the counter, and handed it to him.

"Please fill out the questionnaire."

Zaber took the paper and began reading.

Name. Family name. Father’s name. Place of birth. Current residence. Purpose of membership. What do you intend to trade?

He read it all, then raised his head.

"Could you fill it out for me, madam?"

The attendant paused.

"I am not a charity."

Zaber placed two gold coins on the counter.

"Nor am I poor."

The attendant took the coins and the paper.

"Your name, family name, and father’s name?"

Zaber looked at her.

"My name is Zaber. I have neither family name nor father."

The attendant wrote the name, slightly surprised.

"People without family names still exist... You know, you may choose a family name for yourself. A father’s name is required only for formality."

Zaber paused briefly.

"Then write my family name as Zavald. For father’s name, write Leo."

The attendant nodded happily and wrote it down.

"Now your place of birth and current residence."

Zaber handed her two more gold coins.

"I grew up in an orphanage. Write whatever you like."

The attendant, unable to hide her delight, took the coins and quickly completed the form. Then she turned to Zaber.

"Sir, please provide your documents, and I will prepare your card."

Zaber extended his adventurer card.

"I lost my documents. This card should suffice, correct?"

The attendant took it.

"Yes, sir. We accept adventurer cards."

She went inside.

The kitten on Zaber’s shoulder looked around curiously.

Five or ten minutes later the attendant returned and handed him two cards. One was the A-rank adventurer card. The other was the merchant card.

Zaber accepted them and placed them in his inner pocket, turning to leave.

"You forgot the membership fee, sir," the attendant reminded him.

Zaber paused, surprised.

"How much?"

The attendant clasped her hands.

"Only five gold."

Zaber handed over five gold coins and walked away without another word.

"We look forward to working with you, sir!" the attendant called cheerfully.

As Zaber stepped outside, he memorized every detail. Then he paused and looked back at the building.

"It’s quite large..." he thought. "Finding the seal here might be harder than simply freeing the slaves."

With that thought, he headed toward the inn. Along the way he paid little attention to his surroundings, conversing inwardly.

"I’ll return to the guild tonight. I hope it won’t be difficult..."

There was no haste in his steps, but his intent had already taken shape.

The sun had nearly set. On the western edge of the sky, the reddish hues were fading, slowly giving way to a cold, bluish shadow. Night began to drape its silent veil over the city, and the clamor of the streets had already subsided considerably.

Zaber returned to the inn. He paused in the lower hall, requested that his meal be brought to his room, and ascended the stairs without exchanging unnecessary words with anyone. There was no haste in his steps, yet the fatigue was impossible to conceal.

When he reached his door, he took out the key. The metal teeth scraped slowly inside the lock. The door opened. Zaber stepped inside and closed it behind him.

He untied the hair bound at the back of his head. Long strands fell across his shoulders and chest. A few locks drifted in front of his eyes, momentarily obscuring his view. In the light, it was clearly visible that some of the strands had begun to turn gray.

Zaber exhaled slowly.

"Looks like I need to buy black dye..." he thought indifferently.

The room was simple: a single bed, a wooden table, one chair, and a plain lamp on the wall. Yet for Zaber, this was sufficient. He leaned his sword against the wall; the kitten leaped onto the bed, curled its tail around itself, and settled down.

A short while later, there was a knock at the door.

"Your meal, sir," a voice announced.

Zaber walked over and opened the door. The attendant bowed slightly and handed him the tray. Zaber took it without a word and closed the door.

He placed the tray on the table and looked at it.

This time it was not soup and dry bread. In a shallow wooden bowl rested perfectly molded round rice. A faint steam rose from it, filling the room with an unfamiliar yet not unpleasant aroma.

Zaber stood motionless for a moment.

"What kind of dish is this..." he whispered.

He gazed at the bowl for a while longer. An unfamiliar food—another sign of an unfamiliar environment. This city, this order, this way of life... none of it was known to him. Yet he knew he would have to grow accustomed to it.

Zaber sat at the table. He reached for the tray and began to eat.

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