Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 87 sorry have no mercy.

Zaber stared down at the leader lying on the ground for a long time.

He was profoundly satisfied with his victory. For the first time, he had proven—to himself and for himself alone—that he was not weak.

The leader, meanwhile, drew his final breaths.

Blood poured heavily from the wound in his side; with every inhale his chest rose unevenly, his lungs barely functioning. His breathing came in whistling gasps, blood gurgling in his throat.

In a whisper he said:

"You won... now tell me... why you attacked us..."

Zaber drove his sword through the leader’s hand. Preventing any hidden strike, he pressed the blade down through bone, pinning the hand immobile. Then he knelt beside the man’s head. In his eyes there was neither mercy nor hatred—only detached coldness.

"I already told you," he said in a calm tone. "There is no reason."

After a brief pause he added:

"But if you insist so much, consider this for your own sake: a man of yours named Heynler once mocked me. That should be enough." 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

The leader’s voice came hoarse. Every word arrived laced with pain.

"I... tried so hard... just to survive..."

Tears rolled from his eyes and soaked the earth. They mixed with blood as they seeped into the soil.

"I submitted... I gave up my pride... I became a slave... all for the future of my people... I never stopped..."

His breath failed him for a moment; he fell silent.

"In truth... I’m not such a bad person... but why... why am I dying like this?.. Why couldn’t I fight the way I used to?.."

Zaber remained quiet for a while. The silence was not born of pity—it was evaluation. Then he answered in a low, precise voice:

"Don’t debase yourself so much. You were very strong. And you fought well."

The leader forced his eyes open and looked at Zaber.

Zaber continued:

"But I had already broken your spirit. After that, you fought without thinking. Your emotions made you see me as weak, took pleasure in the battle, and forced you to prolong it."

He paused for a moment.

"That is why you lost."

The leader closed his eyes. His breathing grew steadily weaker.

"Now... what will you do to the ones I leave behind?.."

Zaber did not hesitate.

"I will kill them all," he said as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.

The leader turned his face toward the band watching from around him. In their eyes fear, hope, and despair were mingled.

"Can you spare them?.. They have suffered so much... grew up without parents... joined me because poverty left them no choice... hated by everyone..."

Zaber tilted his head slightly to one side. He let his gaze pass over them one by one.

"Hmm... is that so..."

Then he continued with icy calm:

"But do you know what... I am not a hero. Nor an enemy. Nor a friend."

His eyes narrowed.

"If killing them benefits me—then I will kill them."

The leader did not open his eyes.

"I understand..." he whispered.

Zaber placed his hand on the leader’s chest. Without closing his own eyes, he controlled the chain through sheer will.

In the next instant the leader’s soul was torn free.

It was a large soul. Violet and yellow hues swirled together, pulsing unevenly. Zaber said nothing. He began to consume it directly.

Those watching did not dare attack; they simply stared. They could not comprehend what Zaber was doing—because only he could see and grasp the soul.

In their eyes he appeared utterly mad.

The process lasted more than forty minutes.

When the soul was finished, Zaber closed his eyes. He looked inward.

Strength had returned to his body. No—far more than before.

Fatigue in his soul had vanished; his power had roughly tripled. His body felt invigorated, his immunity stable.

Yet... inside him an odd emptiness had appeared. No pleasure, no regret. Only cold tranquility.

"Power..." he thought. "...has a price. But I admit—I paid very little for this."

The moment Zaber opened his eyes, the silence around him shattered.

At first no one moved.

The bandits stood frozen beside their leader’s corpse, shrouded in gray smoke. Some still seemed to hope he would rise and give another order.

Then someone took a step backward.

Then another.

And finally—fear spread.

"He... he killed the leader..."

"He’s insane..."

"This isn’t a man..."

The whispers turned to shouts.

"Run!"

Those at the back fled first. Swords were dropped, shields clattered to the ground. Someone fell; someone trampled over them. They tried to escape toward the forest, through the flames.

Zaber did not move.

He watched them.

"Correct," he thought. "Run. Fear accelerates the body... but it kills the mind."

He lightly raised his sword.

In the next instant the soul chain stirred.

It was invisible. But its effect—terrifying.

It passed between two bandits running forward. One was pierced through the chest, the other wrapped around the neck. In an instant both dropped to the ground; the chain devoured their souls and added two more rings to itself.

Screams were choked off.

Zaber walked forward.

With every step the fear deepened.

"Attack him!" someone cried in panic. "All of us together!"

About thirteen bandits charged at once—swords, axes, spears in hand. In their eyes burned the desperate courage of those who had already accepted death.

Zaber did not stop.

The first struck downward with a sword.

Zaber thrust his left hand forward like a spear.

Black blade-tips shot from his fingers, slicing through the air and entering the attacker’s forehead, cleaving his skull nearly in half. The body stiffened and toppled backward.

"First," Zaber thought.

The second thrust a spear from the side.

Zaber twisted; the spear passed by. His sword rose from below—blood sprayed like a fountain from the man’s chest as he collapsed.

The third and fourth attacked together.

Zaber glanced sidelong; the soul chain erupted from his shoulder—first piercing the one on the right, then the one on the left—devouring their souls. The chain drank them like water and added two more rings.

The headless bodies fell to the ground.

From the rear, flight began again.

"Don’t stop!"

"He’s only one!"

"If we don’t kill him—we all die!"

Five archers loosed arrows in unison.

Zaber did not stand still.

He charged forward.

Arrows flew past; one grazed his shoulder. He felt no pain.

The soul chain lashed out again.

This time it wove among the archers.

It seized one by the soul, lifted him into the air, then plunged into another from the waist and ripped the soul free. Both fell.

Zaber hurled his sword.

It spun through the air and buried itself in an archer’s chest.

Three more bandits attacked. One with an axe, one with a sword, one bare-handed.

The axe came down from above.

Zaber ducked, clenched his fist,

and drove his elbow upward.

CRACK—the arm shattered.

In hand-to-hand combat Zaber had begun to gain the upper hand; he had come to enjoy this method.

With the tip of his sword he struck the third attacker in the knee, then seized the fallen axe and smashed it into the man’s jaw.

"Two left..." he thought. The rest had already fled.

But they did not attack.

They dropped to their knees.

"Please..."

"We are not fighters..."

"Don’t kill us..."

Zaber paused for a moment.

He looked into their eyes.

Fear.

Pleading.

Clinging to life.

"You say you are not fighters?" he said. "But that makes no difference to me."

He raised his palm like a spear.

Black blade-tips shot from his fingers, slicing through the air.

Two heads fell in quick succession.

The bodies collapsed side by side.

Yet some still lived.

Four were running toward the forest on the flank.

Zaber drew a deep breath.

The soul chain gave a strange pain inside him.

He did not understand why.

He walked to one of the fallen archers, picked up the bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed higher—loosing it.

The arrow struck one in the thigh.

Zaber loosed another.

The second hit a tree.

He formed his hand into a spear once more, gathered all his mana, and slashed the air toward them.

A blade-tip flew from his fingers

and buried itself in the neck of the arrow-wounded bandit. The tip shattered and vanished.

Zaber stopped.

He breathed.

Three had escaped—but it did not matter.

No living person remained around him.

Only the crackle of flames.

And the smell of blood.

Zaber looked around.

"It is finished," he whispered.

Before their souls could fragment, I should consume them, he thought, and began walking toward the corpses.

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