Chapter 130 - CH: 128: Return to the Abyss

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{Chapter: 128: Return to the Abyss}

It was another blazingly bright day—the kind of day where the sun didn't merely shine but glared down upon the world like an omniscient warden with a vendetta against shadows. It hung overhead in the cloudless sky, bloated and golden, washing the world below in a relentless cascade of heat and radiance. The air shimmered with waves of warmth, and even the insects buzzed slower, as if weighed down by the sheer force of the light.

In the midst of this golden tyranny, a hillside stretched lazily across the horizon. Enormous flowers bloomed like sun-catchers, each one the size of a small cottage. Their petals flared outward like the wings of celestial butterflies, catching the light in hues of violet, crimson, and gold, painting the field in an unnatural brilliance.

Dex sat cross-legged atop one such blossom, his silhouette framed by the glinting sky. The flower held his weight effortlessly. In one hand, he held a porcelain teacup—elegant, dainty, and entirely at odds with the looks of his perch. The tea inside was a warm amber, steam curling upward in delicate spirals that caught the light.

"Would you like some?" Dex asked without looking up. His voice was light, effortless. The breeze caught the scent of his tea and carried it down the slope—bright citrus, sweet mint, and the faintest touch of bitterness, like memories long buried.

Standing a short distance away, Hosorn didn't immediately respond. He was the kind of man who made the earth seem less solid when he walked. Tall, with sharp features and the demeanor of a blade kept honed by years of duty, he wore lacquered armor that shimmered like a void filled with dying stars. Each movement of his caused sparks of light to flicker across its surface, like constellations breaking apart.

His brows creased slightly at the offer, and he raised a gauntleted hand in dismissal. "Unnecessary."

A silence passed between them, filled only by the subtle rustle of petals and the buzzing of unseen insects.

Hosorn's posture shifted then, not aggressively, but with the precision of someone transitioning from diplomacy to declaration. "My offer still stands. I ask one final time—what is your decision regarding the proposal?"

Dex took a slow sip of tea. The silence stretched.

Then, finally, he sighed, as if the question itself was the greatest burden he had carried all morning. "I believe I made myself clear the last three times, Hosorn. But since you're so desperate to hear it once more, I'll indulge you."

His tone darkened—soft, yet final.

"I have no interest in the quarrel between your twin empires. Your war is nothing but two dying animals gnawing on each other's throats. I will not extend the contract. I fulfilled my obligations. When the sun sets on this day, I vanish."

He set the teacup down on a sliver of petal, watching it balance perfectly as if gravity itself dared not disagree with him.

"Find another fool to play the god in your theater of blood."

Hosorn stood perfectly still. The wind tugged at the tassels of his war-mantle, and the sun caught the edges of his armor in sharp flashes. His lips pressed into a thin line. His fingers twitched once. But then he nodded—just once.

"...Very well."

And then he vanished. No flash, no thunder. Just the air folding in on itself, and the man was gone—like he had never existed at all.

Dex was alone again.

The flower beneath him shivered ever so slightly, as if aware of the shift in mood. He lifted his teacup again, swirled the liquid, and watched tiny suns dance across its surface.

The smile had vanished from his lips, replaced by a faint frown.

"…Coward."

He had wanted a fight. Not for glory, not even for vengeance—just for release. A finale. A fitting end to his time in this gilded realm of rules and contracts and waiting.

If Hosorn had struck him, Dex would've responded with glee—he would have turned the academy into a garden of fire and flower, peeled open the earth to let screaming things crawl through, and danced atop the ashes. He knew every hidden passage, every leyline, every forgotten ward beneath the towered halls. He could've written his departure in flame and chaos.

Instead, he was left with... tea.

"Less profit means loss," Dex muttered, draining his cup. "What a waste of an exit."

---

Later that Night…

When the final contract expired, the stars above flickered and bent as if reality itself exhaled. Dex left the mortal realm behind without ceremony.

His destination: the 6,548,257th Layer of the Bottomless Abyss.

Poets had once dubbed it The Only Way to Save the World—a lie wrapped in irony, or perhaps the other way around. It was a place where contradiction was law, where fire froze and shadows wept light.

Here, the sky was red—boiling, screaming, shifting. The clouds churned like oil and bone, occasionally vomiting arcs of fire that howled like dying gods. Below that tormented canopy stretched a city of impossible architecture—spires twisted like drills, bridges woven from vertebrae, streets paved in metal and marrow. Churning black sludge lapped at the foundations, steaming with the screams of those devoured by the abyss's hunger.

Dex arrived barefoot, his robes untouched by filth, his eyes glittering with strange amusement.

He took a long breath in.

"…Ah. Freedom."

And then immediately doubled over, coughing.

"Wait a minute—what is that? Where is the tang of rot? The ozone crackle of demonic fury? The sulfurous kiss of soul-scorching madness?"

He sniffed the air again. Something was wrong. It was too… still. Too polite.

Then he spotted it: a scrawny imp, waddling past him, clutching a clipboard of all things.

Dex narrowed his eyes.

Without a word, he launched a savage kick. The imp exploded in a burst of gore and cartilage. Blood sprayed across the street, painting the walls in Rorschach blasphemies.

Dex sniffed again.

"…Much better."

Around him, demons stopped mid-snarl. Hellhounds froze mid-howl. Even a three-headed wraith paused its lamentation.

Dex turned a full circle, arms raised.

"Unbelievable! Five minutes in, and that was the first corpse I saw! What in the name of entropy happened to our standards? This is the Abyss! Not some pampered celestial hospice!"

The denizens murmured nervously. A few began slinking away. Others eyed him warily, weighing risk against curiosity.

Then Dex pulled a tiny vial from his cloak—a small thing, no longer than a thumb. Inside it swirled a dark blue liquid that glowed faintly with malicious energy.

He raised it like a priest offering sacrament.

"Behold! The Soul-Awakening Potion—my own creation. Enhances spiritual sensitivity. Side effects include visions, dismemberment, and euphoric doom."

A collective gasp rose.

He tossed the vial high into the air. It glinted once, then descended.

It landed in the hands of a confused Abyss Dwarf.

He barely had time to blink before the mob descended.

Claws, teeth, spells, and chains—an orgy of violence erupted. The potion was forgotten within seconds. Now they fought for the sheer joy of it. For old times. For blood.

Dex stepped back, smiling softly.

"That's more like it."

He turned and walked away, leaving behind a symphony of screams.

---

Elsewhere, in the shadows of a rusted tower…

A mechanical throne hovered silently, its hum almost inaudible. Upon it sat a creature not easily named—spindly limbs, pale rubbery skin, and a face like a stretched eel. It blinked with slow, uncertain eyes.

Confused, he asked the dark elf beside him, "Are all the people in the Abyss crazy like this?"

He originally thought that Dex had some purpose, so he did this, but he didn't expect that he really did this kind of thing that harmed others and did not benefit himself just because he was bored.

"Well..."

Beside it stood a dark elf, one shoulder bare beneath an armored cloak, her skin like polished obsidian and her voice like a blade whispered through silk.

"No," she said. "That's not the case. This one is a bit crazy. Most creatures in the abyss should be relatively normal compared to him."

She nodded toward Dex, now vanishing into the distance, humming cheerily to himself.

"He's something else. A philosopher. A war criminal. A mad poet. Depends on the day."

"…A lunatic?"

"Only when he's bored."

"A philosopher with too much power and not enough hobbies."

The eel-like creature rubbed its temples. It had expected traps. Schemes. Not whimsical violence.

"Remind me why we're here?"

The dark elf smiled thinly.

"Trade deals. And to remind ourselves why we don't live here."

"All right."

After getting the reply, looking at the abyss creatures that were still fighting for the potion, but whose focus had shifted from the potion to killing each other, he still felt that the residents of this place were even crazier than what was recorded in the report, and had no normal concepts at all.

The so-called guide beside him looked relatively normal, but he knew very well.

If his clan had not had some transactions with his own civilization, they would have attacked him long ago.

And the fact is exactly as he thought, unlike the demon who is the type of angry old man who will do whatever he wants when he is unhappy, the dark elves like to play dirty and are good at stabbing people in the back, especially stabbing their teammates.

If one really wanted to have a heart-to-heart with them, they would definitely die miserably.

They turned and drifted deeper into the city.

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