Abyss System The Rise of the Lord-Chapter 95 defeat

Zaber leaned against the wall, silently observing the twins’ conversation.

"Have I really been defeated...?" he thought. "I was too confident in myself... I didn’t even suspect they had artifacts that protect against spiritual attacks."

Nothing could be heard in the darkness. The twins continued arguing with each other.

"If you hadn’t interfered, I would have finished him much earlier..." the dagger-wielder said in a displeased tone.

"No, you were the one who got in the way," his sister replied, clenching her fists in frustration. "Do you want to fight me?"

Zaber gritted his teeth, gripped his sword tightly with the last of his strength, and delivered a final strike.

At that moment the twins sensed the incoming blade. The bare-handed one turned his head with lightning speed and caught the sword between his palms.

"You can still move?" the sister asked coldly.

The brother smiled faintly.

"Only because you didn’t hit hard enough," he replied.

As Zaber held the sword in place, his gaze sharpened. They were not only fighting him—they had been fighting each other as well. Yet he had never imagined they were this alert.

The sister yanked the sword from Zaber’s grasp and hurled it far away. It clattered across the floor with a ringing sound before coming to rest.

She stepped in front of Zaber.

"Let’s see how long you can last," she said.

She lifted him and tossed him toward her brother.

The brother caught Zaber with one hand by the throat and hoisted him into the air.

Zaber’s mind was in chaos.

"My body won’t obey me... And now, instead of killing me quickly, they want to toy with me?" he thought.

At that moment the sister approached and delivered a powerful kick to Zaber’s stomach.

"Guhk!"

Zaber coughed violently; several drops of blood sprayed from his mouth and spattered onto the ground. His body flew backward, crashing into one of the cages. The iron bars gave way slightly as he was thrown inside, colliding with a male slave before coming to a stop. Leaning against the bars, Zaber’s sensory ability had reached its limit—now nothing was visible except darkness.

"How can these twins see so clearly in the dark?" he whispered.

Their voices echoed from every corner of the basement:

"Which faction do you think sent such a weakling, brother?"

The brother pondered.

"I don’t know... Compared to the ones before, this one’s just a kitten..."

The voice drew closer.

"Should we make him talk?" the sister asked.

The brother replied coldly:

"Why bother? We’ll just beat him to death and call it an accident."

Zaber was on the verge of losing consciousness. His arm was broken, he had lost a great deal of blood. That final kick to the stomach was unbearable.

Just as the twins approached the cage and prepared to enter, a new voice cut through the silence from behind:

"There’s no need to go that far..."

The twins flinched and turned around. No one was there.

In the next instant, a silhouette appeared right in front of them.

The twins leaped onto the cages and glared at the figure.

"Who are you? What do you want?" the brother demanded.

The silhouette’s two amber eyes glowed in the darkness. In a cold, resonant voice it answered:

"Your lives."

The sister snarled in anger:

"You want too much."

She lunged forward, fist clenched, and struck at the silhouette.

The blow was blocked by a single finger.

Yet the force passed through, shattering the stone floor beneath.

The twins’ eyes widened.

"Impossible... with just a finger?!" the sister whispered.

The silhouette spoke calmly:

"When you shattered that boy’s bones, I thought you were stronger... but it turns out his bones were simply too fragile."

With its other hand, it delivered a light slap across the sister’s face.

She flew backward, smashing through several cages and crashing into the wall. Dust rose; the slaves scattered as the cages collapsed in disarray. Blood slowly trickled from her face and mouth, dripping down the stone.

The brother trembled, staring at the spot where his sister had been flung.

In the next moment, fear gripped him. He leaped across the cages, trying to flee.

"What kind of monster is this? Did it kill my sister with a slap?"

The silhouette’s voice rang out clearly:

"You won’t escape."

It pointed a single finger at the fleeing brother.

In the next instant, a beam of yellow light shot from its fingertip and pierced straight through the brother’s head. He collapsed mid-air, then burst into yellow flames. The entire basement was illuminated.

The slaves stared in awe at the fire.

The intensity of the flames gradually faded, but the tension in the air remained. The slaves between the cages stood frozen in fear, unable to tear their eyes from the yellow blaze.

Zaber remained slumped against the wall inside the broken cage, blood flowing, legs braced against the floor, face contorted in pain, arm hanging limply. Pain dominated his body; every breath was labored, every heartbeat faint. His vision blurred in the darkness, yet he had not yet lost consciousness.

At that moment, a new voice broke the silence and echoed through the basement.

"You’re not moving anymore, boy?"

Zaber’s eyes widened slightly. No one was beside him—yet those amber eyes, the palpable power in the air, dominated the entire space without a single movement. The silhouette.

It approached Zaber smoothly, each step increasing the cold, rusty smell of the basement. A gentle but unyielding current of air followed its movement along the cages.

"Come, let me help you," the silhouette said in a cold yet controlled tone.

Zaber could not speak. His limbs, his body trembled with pain. The twins’ attacks, the daggers, the bare-handed blows—everything had happened in an instant. He struggled even to breathe; strength was lacking for every glance, every motion.

The silhouette lifted him. In a single fluid motion of impossible speed, it carried Zaber out from among the cages, past the hard walls and the slaves, and up toward a small hut. Each step was soft yet firm, silent. Zaber could only hang limply in its grasp.

Once inside the hut, the silhouette set Zaber down on the ground. His body refused to obey; his arm hung, legs trembled, pain stole his breath for a moment. The silhouette extended its hand, and a small, transparent vial of elixir appeared. The liquid was water-like yet glowed with a faint yellow light inside.

The moment the elixir touched Zaber’s body, sensation returned: the pain gradually receded, blood stopped flowing from his wounds, the broken arm smoothed—still weak, but mending. His breathing steadied; his eyes adjusted from darkness to light. Zaber slowly lifted his face. Every muscle, every bone, even his internal organs seemed to regenerate in an instant.

The silhouette stood beside him. Its gaze was hard, cold, yet controlled.

"You couldn’t defeat ordinary people with an artifact sword and soul chain."

Zaber slowly rose to his feet. Pain still lingered, but strength was steadily returning.

"Thank you..." he said quietly, in a low voice. "Gorkov...?"

The old grave-digger.

"Why... did you save me?"

The old man remained silent for a moment. Then, in a cold tone:

"I was once like you. But no one helped me."

Zaber slowly looked back. The darkness of the basement, the twins’ demise, the yellow flames, the drops of blood—all flashed before his eyes. His heart raced, yet he felt alive. For now.

The old man took one step closer and studied Zaber carefully. Every glance, every movement seemed to carry a lesson.

"Now, boy, you must understand," he said. His voice echoed even inside the small hut. "You must know your own level. Every battle, every ounce of power, every decision either protects you or destroys you."

In that moment Zaber fully regained awareness. His body had recovered from the pain, the spiritual pressure had eased, yet he remained alert and vigilant.

Zaber slowly flexed his legs, drew his sword, and looked at the old man.

His spiritual vibration and level felt like an ordinary person’s—yet in a single instant he had come this far. That was no ordinary man.

Zaber murmured to himself, opening his hand, gripping the sword tightly, feeling his heartbeat, and restoring his inner strength.

The silhouette continued to watch him, yet made no move. Every breath, every word, every glance maintained the tension. The cages, the slaves in the basement, the twins’ deaths—all of it became a single lesson for Zaber.

Zaber looked at the old man and said:

"How did you do that? In an instant, you brought me to the hut..."

The old man slowly stroked his beard and replied in a cold tone:

"Saving you does not mean I will teach you, boy."

A thought flashed through Zaber’s mind like lightning. Inside, he asked himself: "I was on a mission... I was supposed to free the slaves..."

With that thought, he gripped his sword tightly and ran toward the door.

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