Night was beginning to settle over Malakar, but Ryojin hardly noticed. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the events that had unfolded as if they were nothing more than a vivid dream. A battle lost. Imprisonment in the Nexus Abyss. And now… this power.
Power that he somehow instinctively knew how to wield.
Ryojin stood atop a ruined tower, the wind whispering through the jagged remains of the structure. He flexed his fingers, watching as a black-purplish aura flickered around them like living shadows.
"Let's see… inhuman speed, strength…" His fingers twitched as abyssal energy pulsed through them. "I have teleportation… and then there's also—"
His gaze shifted to the black tendrils coiling around his aura, slithering like hungry serpents. He frowned.
"And these…" He exhaled sharply. "And the voices. Always the damn voices."
They whispered ceaselessly, yet their words held no meaning. If they did, he couldn't grasp it. All he knew was that they gnawed at his mind, an ever-present murmur lurking beneath his thoughts.
"Tch. Annoying."
His eyes flickered toward a nearby pillar. He recalled how he had shattered Solara's force field with a mere command, how he had erased Darius's attack with a single word. A thought formed.
A test.
Ryojin narrowed his eyes. His voice was smooth, commanding.
"Collapse."
The pillar instantly crumbled into ash. The realization struck him like a lightning bolt.
A slow smirk spread across his face.
"So, I've awakened this ability as well."
He glanced at his katana, the dark aura writhing around its blade like a living thing. No ordinary weapon could cut through a god's flesh. Yet, his sword had.
Even with these newfound abilities, one question still gnawed at him.
"That dragon… what the hell was it?"
His fingers clenched into a fist.
"Has it been the one feeding us Abyssal energy all this time?"
He had no answer. In the past, when he and his comrades had ventured into the Nexus Abyss to imbue their weapons with abyssal energy-only the elite five imbued their bodies with abyssal energy- their eyes had been sealed shut by the great spirit, Aulaff. It was a precaution—to prevent them from being consumed by the Abyss itself. Only upon emerging were their eyes allowed to open.
"If the dragon is the source of Abyssal energy… then why the hell is it giving it to people for free?"
A shiver crawled up his spine. Ryojin was no fool. Nothing in this world came without a cost.
He exhaled, pushing the thoughts aside. His current situation was more pressing. He had just made enemies of the gods, which meant they would be hunting him soon.
Running a hand through his dark hair, he muttered to himself, "Less than two weeks before the Abyssal energy wears off." A sharp breath left his lips. "I need to prepare. When they come for me, I'll end their order… and then, I'll erase every last god."
His gaze swept over the ruined city beneath him.
"First, I need a place to stay."
With a final glance at the wreckage, Ryojin leaped from the tower, landing soundlessly on the ground below. His steps carried him forward, toward the neighboring kingdom of Nefaria.
Once ranked fifth among the ten great kingdoms, Nefaria had been a proud and formidable force. Its strength had been measured through the Kingdom's Pact Tournament—a brutal competition where five Pact Bearers( woriors who formed pacts with spirits)from each kingdom clashed for dominance.
But that was before the war.
"I can't walk around in this armor. Too obvious." Ryojin thought as he overlooked Nefaria- which was a couple of miles away.
Dressed as he was, anyone who saw him would immediately recognize him as an Abyssal Clan member. And after everything the Abyssal Clans had done to the world, he wasn't keen on drawing attention.
His gaze swept over the near sections of the kingdom. There.
A long, tattered brown cloth lay abandoned among the rubble. He strode toward it, picked it up, and sighed.
"Damn it… I have to wear this?"
With a shake of his head, he wrapped it around himself, the fabric draping over his form, concealing both his features and his armor.
"This will do… for now."
When Ryojin approached Nefaria, he barely recognized it.
The streets were dimly lit, their once-glorious glow now a mere flicker of its former self. A suffocating silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional shuffle of ragged figures. Mothers clutched their children close, their hollow eyes darting in fear. The scent of hunger and despair was thick, nearly tangible.
His journey led him to a small, crumbling hut. A faded wooden sign swayed in the breeze, barely clinging to its hinges. The word "Restaurant" was scrawled across it in peeling paint.
Ryojin's stomach tightened.
"Tch. I need food."
He had no money. But what he did have was a golden ring—more than enough for a few meals.
Without hesitation, he pushed open the wooden door.
Silence.
The moment he stepped inside, every gaze in the room snapped toward him. Unlike the starving figures outside, the patrons here were dressed in fine silks and jewelry. Their eyes bore into him, their expressions ranging from disgust to outright disdain.
"Who's that?" one woman whispered.
"Look at him. Filthy."
"Disgusting."
The whispers slithered through the air, but Ryojin remained unfazed.
He had long abandoned the need for others' validation. How they saw him meant nothing.
Without a word, he stepped further into the room.