Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 94 An Unexpected Battle with the Twins

Chapter 94: Chapter 94 An Unexpected Battle with the Twins

6The sun had completely sunk behind the rooftops of the city.

The last reddish rays slipping through the inn window slid along the wall and gradually faded. The room darkened. Only the small oil lamp on the table burned dimly, stretching long shadows across the space.

Zaber finished his meal and sat on the edge of the bed, slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers. His breathing was steady, his heartbeat low—yet his mind remained fully awake.

"Tonight..." he whispered. "It is at night that many things reveal themselves."

The kitten lay silently beneath the bed, its ears occasionally twitching. The bees inside his inner pocket were completely still—as though they, too, sensed the tension hanging in the air.

Zaber stood.

He tied his hair back once more, but paused for a moment to glance at his reflection in the mirror. Even in the dim light, the graying strands were clearly visible.

He slung his sword across his back, dressed, and left the room.

The corridors were quiet; only the faint clinking of dishes drifted up from the lower floor.

Zaber slipped out without being seen.

At night, the city breathed entirely differently from the day.

The streets seemed narrower, the walls closer. Lamps were few, yet every shadow felt deeper. The daytime clamor of merchants had vanished, replaced by whispers, closed doors, and the soft tread of careful footsteps.

Zaber made his way toward the Merchants’ Guild.

He recognized the building from afar. The bright, ornate appearance of daytime had given way to something darker, heavier, and sealed. The front door was shut; behind the windows, only one or two faint lights glowed.

"The outer layer is formality," Zaber thought. "The inside is another world."

He did not attempt the main entrance.

He circled the building.

At the rear was a narrow alley, trash bins, old carts, and additional structures clinging to the wall. These were the places where merchants let their guard down—because they always expected danger from the front.

Zaber approached the wall.

He placed his hand against it.

Cold stone. Yet... something passed through from within. Very faint. Not mana. Something else.

"Interesting... what might I find inside? Down below," he whispered.

He chose to climb to the roof.

The wall was easy to scale. Every movement calculated, breath held. The kitten remained motionless on his shoulder.

Once on the roof, he stayed still for a moment.

From above the city rooftops, thin smoke rose slowly from many buildings. Some were still active. Merchants never truly slept.

Zaber moved quietly across the roof and approached a ventilation grate.

Voices drifted up from below.

"...this batch leaves tomorrow." "Prices are rising. Especially if they’re alive." "Shut your mouth. Even the walls have ears here."

Zaber did not move.

He memorized the voices. Their tone. Their breathing. Their pauses.

"Alive..." he repeated inwardly. "So it’s not just goods."

He peered through the grate.

Below was a wide chamber. Crates. Boxes. Some plain, others marked. The symbols resembled ordinary trade signs, but Zaber noticed something.

Certain crates bore a second layer of markings.

"A false symbol hiding the real one," he thought. "Classic."

He moved to another grate.

There was no open window here—only barred ventilation. A narrow passage, an iron door, and from behind it came slow, steady breathing.

Zaber could not enter.

He was scouting, not playing hero.

He decided to descend.

But before leaving, he noticed one more thing.

At the base of the guild building—almost underground—there was another level. From there emanated a very faint yet constant energy. Spiritual vibrations.

Not mana.

"Something..." Zaber said clearly. "Down there."

Zaber retreated.

Silently. Leaving no trace.

He descended from the roof and glanced around.

At that moment, on the farthest corner of the Merchants’ Guild roof, in a place no one would notice, a silhouette stood.

The old man.

Gorkov.

He had seen Zaber. His breathing. Even his movements.

"He’s not rushing," Gorkov thought inwardly. "Good. Very good."

He closed his eyes.

"A high dragon descendant... one of the greatest. It has been a long time since I’ve encountered such blood."

Meanwhile, the city slept on, unaware of anything.

Zaber descended and re-entered the guild from the rear. Whether the guard had changed or for some other reason, no one was present. He stepped inside and scanned the area. In the corner was a staircase leading down.

As Zaber descended, he deliberately placed each step slowly. The wooden stairs were old—any misstep would produce a creak. So he moved on tiptoe, hugging the wall, holding even his breath.

From below came a cold, damp smell. Blood, rust, and rotting straw mingled together. Life here held no value—Zaber sensed it immediately.

When the stairs ended, he stopped. The darkness was thick, but his eyes had already adjusted. Before him stretched a long basement. Low ceiling, rough stone walls. Iron bars lined both sides.

Zaber began walking along the path.

Cages.

Hundreds.

Inside them were people. Men, women, even children. Beastkin, elves, dwarves, various beast races. Some sat, some lay, most simply leaned against the bars, staring blankly at a single point. In their eyes there was neither fear nor hope. Only emptiness.

Zaber’s jaw slowly clenched.

"So many... more than I thought," he whispered.

This was not an ordinary slave market. Here, people were kept, yet their survival seemed unimportant. As though they were merely numbers.

He took one step forward. At that moment...

Clink.

A faint metallic scrape. Very quiet, but distinct.

Zaber froze instantly.

His breath stopped. His mana sense expanded to its limit.

In the center of the basement, in the open space between the cages, two figures stood. Motionless, like statues. Yet their presence pressed like weight.

Twins.

It was obvious at a glance. Same height, same build, same cold gaze. Even their breathing was synchronized. The difference: one wore long gloves, the other stood bare-handed. The second had daggers at his belt, hands close to them.

"Guards?" Zaber assessed inwardly.

Their stance did not resemble ordinary sentries. Too calm. Too ready. They were not here to intimidate the slaves—they were here to protect something.

Zaber leaned against the wall and extended his soul chain from his hands, stretching it forward—but the chain reached only ten meters. The twins stood twenty-five meters away. No strong pressure, only a thin, thread-like sensation.

"I’ll finish them quickly with the soul chain..." he thought.

The twins did not even glance at him. As though he did not exist.

Zaber dashed forward sharply. The twins remained motionless. At ten meters, Zaber halted and lashed out with the soul chain.

Jingle!

A sound like shattering glass rang out. The soul chain struck one of them and veered off course.

Zaber’s eyes widened.

"What?!"

One of the twins slowly lifted his head. A small black pendant gleamed at his throat. On the other’s wrist was a ring engraved with runes.

"Artifacts resistant to spiritual attacks..." Zaber gritted his teeth.

This was no longer a quick fight.

The twins moved simultaneously. Silent, yet swift. The bare-handed one closed the distance in an instant. Zaber sensed the incoming strike at the last second.

Bang!

The fist was hard as a wall. Zaber twisted aside; the blow grazed his shoulder, but from behind a dagger flashed.

The second twin.

His movement was serpentine. Low, silent, precise. Zaber drew his sword; steel clashed.

Crash!

The sound echoed through the basement. The slaves in the cages trembled, but made no sound. They were accustomed to such scenes.

Zaber assessed the situation in a single breath. One fought at close range with bare hands—powerful, fast, oppressive. The other sought openings for lethal strikes. Perfect coordination.

"Damn..." he whispered.

He attacked. The sword came down from above, but the bare-handed twin blocked it with his forearm. Metal met flesh with a metallic ring. Yet he did not even flinch.

Zaber was stunned.

Blocked a sword with his arm?

At that moment the dagger came again.

Zaber leaped back, but too late. The blade sliced across his ribs. Hot blood sprayed into the cold air.

Pain did not come. Not yet.

Zaber gritted his teeth and drew his soul back in. Yet every time he tried to gather it, the artifacts seemed to choke it.

"They want to kill me slowly..." he realized.

The fight dragged on. Every minute grew heavier for Zaber. His breathing shortened, his movements slowed. The twins, however, showed no sign of fatigue.

The bare-handed twin attacked again. This time he had gathered full power. The strike came straight. Zaber raised his arm to block with his forearm.

Crack!

A sickening sound came from Zaber’s arm. Pain exploded suddenly.

"Aaargh!"

His sword remained in his right hand.

At that instant the second twin lunged to finish him. Zaber retreated, but his foot slipped. At the same moment the bare-handed twin struck again.

Boom!

Zaber crashed into the wall. His breath was knocked out. His vision darkened.

He remained propped against the wall. His arm hung limp, blood dripping. Before him, the twins stood calmly. As though this fight had been nothing more than practice for them.

Zaber smiled. A pained, yet proud smile.

"Which fool placed you two in a place like this?"

Silence deepened once more in the basement.

One of the twins stepped forward.

"That strike should have been enough to kill you."

The other smiled faintly.

"You’ve weakened."

He lightly struck Zaber’s ribs with his elbow.

"Come on, brother—he fought well for his level, but to us he’s just a puppet."

His brother sheathed his dagger.

"If you hadn’t resisted, I would have ended it in one blow," he said.

At that moment, on the roof of the guild, Gorkov sat with his eyes closed.

"What?? He lost? That’s impossible..."

Then how did that girl shatter a high dragon’s arm so easily??

The city, meanwhile, slept on, sensing nothing.

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