Chapter 110: Pride Before Downfall.

[Earlier.]

Five figures walked along a narrow forest path, their footsteps steady and unhurried.

Each of them radiated an extraordinary presence, powerful auras rolling outward like invisible waves that pressed against the trees and undergrowth.

To ordinary awakeners, merely standing near them would have felt suffocating.

The forest was alive with danger.

From deep within the shadows, the howls of ferocious beasts echoed intermittently, sharp and bloodcurdling.

Branches snapped in the distance.

Pairs of glowing eyes flickered briefly between the trunks before vanishing once more.

Yet none of it drew even a flicker of concern from the five individuals.

They walked casually, joking and laughing, as though they were taking a leisurely stroll rather than traversing one of the abyss’s deadliest regions.

“I think sending all five of us is a bit excessive,” said a tall, burly man with broad shoulders and a thick neck.

His armor was heavy and battle-scarred, and his presence alone exuded crushing pressure.

“We’re just hunting a kid.”

His name was Percival, a Level 16 Vanguard.

“I feel the same way,” Wilfred added lazily.

He was tall and slim, with an easygoing smile that made him look harmless at first glance.

A katana hung at his waist, its sheath worn smooth from countless draws. “Do we really all have to go?”

Wilfred was a Level 16 Samurai.

Though his appearance was mild and approachable, anyone who had seen him unsheathe his blade knew better.

The moment steel left its sheath, his demeanor transformed entirely.

Against his sword, only a handful of awakeners could survive a direct strike.

“Don’t you find it strange?” Stanley interjected, raising an eyebrow.

He walked with measured steps, his posture upright and disciplined.

Thick muscles coiled beneath his armor, every movement precise and efficient.

Stanley was a Level 16 Warrior, someone who had survived countless life-and-death battles.

“Strange in what way?” Percival asked.

“According to the reports,” Stanley replied, his voice low, “the target only arrived in the abyss a few days ago. Yet he killed a Level 15 awakener as if it were nothing.”

The words hung heavily in the air.

“I found that part puzzling as well,” Rupert said, nodding thoughtfully.

Rupert was a Level 16 Earth Mage.

Tall and solidly built, he gave off a sense of immovable stability, as though he were a living mountain.

Even standing still, his presence felt grounded and unshakable.

“Is it possible the reports were exaggerated?” Wilfred asked, frowning slightly.

“Impossible,” Stanley replied immediately, shaking his head.

“How could both factions be wrong?” he continued. “The Slave Trade Guild and the Federation Police received almost identical reports. Independent confirmations.”

“If both sides agree,” Percival grunted, “then the information’s solid.”

Silence fell over the group as the implications settled in.

“So how did he pull off something so impossible?” Wilfred asked again, his brows knitting together. “Killing a Level 15 awakener isn’t something that just happens.”

He understood better than most how wide the gap between levels could be. As awakeners advanced, the difference in strength became increasingly dramatic.

To kill someone at such a high level, the opponent needed overwhelming dominance, enough to completely suppress any chance of escape.

Otherwise, the battle would simply end with one side retreating.

This was precisely why high-level battles were rare unless absolutely necessary.

Moreover, any awakener who reached Level 15 would have long since shifted their priorities.

Their focus would no longer be on petty conflicts, but on rapid leveling and ascending to the Second Floor.

And yet, someone like that had been killed by a newcomer.

When the news reached their base, it stunned everyone.

“Could it be because he’s a necromancer?” Rupert asked after a moment.

No one answered immediately.

The name Thoren Starfall had become something of an enigma among awakeners. His rise was sudden, his strength abnormal, and his profession deeply controversial.

Necromancers were widely regarded as weak during the early stages of the abyss.

Slow growth, fragile bodies, and limited combat ability made them undesirable and often ridiculed.

Yet Thoren had shattered that perception entirely.

He had proven himself different.

He had shown that necromancers could stand on equal footing with other professions.

if not surpass them under the right circumstances.

Nyssa, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke.

“That’s exactly the reason,” she said calmly.

Her voice was smooth, sweet, and pleasant to the ears, yet it carried an undeniable authority.

She walked at the front of the group, her crimson robes fluttering faintly with each step.

Nyssa was their leader, a Level 16 Fire Mage, one step away from Level 17.

“Do you think the Federation placed a ban on necromancers for no reason?” she scoffed lightly. “Unchecked necromancers are dangerous. Extremely dangerous.”

“Their strength isn’t tied to their physical bodies,” she continued. “It’s tied to their undead servants.”

“As long as they keep growing their army, their power increases exponentially.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Now that he’s begun turning fellow humans into undead servants, it’s not surprising he can kill above his level.”

“But that only works against weaker awakeners,” Wilfred countered. “And I doubt he can keep converting everyone he kills. There has to be a limit.”

“You’re right,” Stanley said, nodding in agreement. “Necromancers are physically weak. If you get close enough, they’re finished.”

The group nodded.

This was common knowledge. No matter how many undead necromancers controlled, their own bodies remained fragile. One well-executed strike was enough to end them.

“That’s why I’m treating this mission like a vacation,” Nyssa said with a lazy smile.

“A bit of fire,” she added with a soft chuckle, “and everything will be over.”

“Hahaha!” Percival laughed loudly. “That’d be overkill. People would say you bullied him.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “At least let the kid show off a little first.”

Despite his words, the ridicule in his voice was unmistakable.

The others smiled in agreement.

None of them considered Thoren a genuine threat. If not for Nyssa’s cautious approach, any one of them would have been sufficient to deal with him.

Or so they believed.

“I can’t wait to test my katana against his undead,” Wilfred said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I want to see if they can feel pain… or fear.”

He had killed beasts. He had killed humans.

But his blade had never tasted undead flesh.

The thought excited him.

Exiting the forest, the group continued onward until jagged mountain ranges rose before them, towering like colossal walls.

After passing through several mountains, Percival muttered with a lewd grin, “Once this is over, I’m heading straight to a brothel. I want to see if fresh meat really tastes different.”

The men didn’t respond verbally, but their expressions betrayed them.

Months spent in the uncharted territory took a toll, and the women around them were just as strong, untouchable.

So their only option was the brothel where they could release their pent up stress.

Nyssa rolled her eyes at the group of shameless men but said nothing.

They entered a narrow path winding between the mountains, still maintaining their relaxed pace.

But after nearly an hour of travel, Nyssa suddenly slowed.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

The group exchanged brief, knowing glances.

In the next instant, their figures vanished from the path, completely hidden, waiting.

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