Chapter 148: The Federation Factions.

Coming out of the Federation hideout, Thoren released a breath he had not realized he was holding.

He had once believed the Slave Trade Guild to be the pinnacle of cruelty and depravity. He had thought them twisted, inhumane, and beyond redemption.

He had been wrong.

The Federation was no different.

That realization hardened something within him. Whatever faint remnants of trust he had carried for organizations claiming to protect humanity were now gone.

From this moment forward, he would grow stronger as quickly as possible.

Anyone who dared to stand in his way would become one of his undead servants.

He would trust no one.

Not a person.

Not an organization.

From what he had learned inside that cursed mountain, the Federation, the so-called last defender of humanity, was far from united.

To the common people, they presented a united front. They spoke of solidarity, sacrifice, and hope.

But beneath the surface, they were fractured into three distinct factions, each pursuing its own agenda.

The first faction genuinely sought to defend their home world and resist the abyss. They believed in protecting humanity at any cost, though not at the cost of their humanity.

Unfortunately, this faction was the smallest and weakest presence within the Federation.

Their voices were often drowned out by louder, more ruthless ideologies.

The second faction was far more aggressive. They refused to accept what they believed was a losing battle.

Jareth had belonged to this faction.

It was also the most powerful faction within the Federation.

Their plan had been simple in concept yet horrifying in execution.

Create something capable of existing between realms, an entity that could bridge the gap between their world and the abyss.

They believed such a creation would grant humanity leverage, perhaps even dominance.

To achieve that goal, they were willing to sacrifice the masses without hesitation.

Morality was secondary. Human life was expendable.

They justified their cruelty as a necessity.

In truth, they were driven by fear.

They were afraid of dying.

As for the third faction, they maintained a neutral stance on the surface. They neither openly resisted the abyss nor fully supported the grotesque experiments of the second faction.

However, many suspected their true intentions.

Rumors suggested that they favored surrender.

To them, fighting against the abyss was meaningless. If annihilation was inevitable, why not submit?

Why not welcome the abyss as a new home and adapt to whatever existence remained?

Their actions were discreet, so subtle that no one could clearly trace their influence.

For years, they had remained dormant.

Silent.

Inactive.

Many believed they had abandoned their ideology or dissolved entirely.

But Thoren knew better.

He had sensed an elusive presence that did not belong to Jareth’s faction. It had been faint, fleeting, and difficult to grasp.

He could not confirm it, but his instincts told him the third faction was still watching from the shadows.

As for his sister, he had searched the internal archives before leaving.

He had found records confirming her identity and profession, but her current whereabouts were missing.

However, one thing had been clear from the files… She was a powerful awakener.

“Is it possible she ascended to the second floor?” he murmured, lost in thought.

If she had broken through the first floor’s limits, that would explain the lack of information.

The second floor was a realm far beyond the reach of most awakeners.

Arriving before the Undead Iron Roar Komodo, Thoren pushed the thought aside.

When he ascended to the second floor himself, the truth would reveal itself naturally.

“Is it all over?” one of the Knight Order members asked hesitantly.

The question was unnecessary.

The mere sight of Thoren’s unscathed body was answer enough. Not a single scratch marked his clothes. Not a drop of blood stained his hands.

Yet the idea that a single awakener had destroyed the Federation was almost impossible to comprehend.

Thoren nodded calmly and climbed onto the back of his undead mount.

“To the Slave Trade Guild hideout,” he commanded.

Today, he would eradicate the two festering vermin once and for all.

When they had targeted him in the past, they could never have imagined that one day he would become their hunter.

The three Knight Order members exchanged glances, their eyes filled with astonishment as they looked at the silver-haired boy.

To them, he no longer seemed merely human. He felt like something else, something far more terrifying.

One of them swallowed hard and pointed toward the direction of the Slave Trade Guild’s hideout.

As members of the Knight Order, they had always taken pride in their organization. Their strength was unquestionable.

They had stood firm in countless battles, fighting for the survival of the human race.

That noble cause had sustained their pride, even in death.

Yet despite their strength, they had been helpless before the Federation’s corruption.

They had watched from the sidelines, powerless to challenge its authority.

And now…

A single individual had eradicated the Federation in less than half an hour.

From the brief clashes they had witnessed, it had been nothing short of a one-sided slaughter.

The Federation Police Officers who had once intimidated them and stood toe-to-toe with them in power were gone.

Just like that.

The three exchanged another glance before returning their gaze to the back of the silver-haired youth riding ahead of them.

Respect welled up within their chests.

Who decided that necromancy was evil?

If this was evil, then they would love to become one.

Thoren, however, paid no attention to their thoughts. His focus was fixed on the system notifications hovering before him.

[Experience Gained +20,000]

[Summoned Entities: Experience Gained +10,000]

[Spirit +10]

[Copper Coins +1,000, Silver Coins +100]

He frowned slightly as he studied the numbers. Most of the experience had come from defeating the abomination.

That much was obvious.

But what truly captured his attention was the change in his spirit attribute.

[Spirit: 99.44 (+10) → 100]

His spirit had not increased beyond one hundred. Even with the additional ten points, it had capped precisely at that threshold.

“Is it possible that attributes cannot exceed one hundred?” he wondered aloud.

He considered the possibility carefully before shaking his head.

“No… this is likely the maximum attainable on the first floor.”

With his spirit reaching one hundred, he could already feel a difference. It was subtle yet undeniable.

His perception had sharpened. His control over undead energy felt more refined, more fluid.

At the same time, he sensed something else, an invisible shackle wrapped tightly around his soul.

Though he could not see it, he knew it existed. It restrained him, limiting the full expression of his power.

He instinctively understood that breaking this shackle would bring about a fundamental transformation.

But he did not yet know how to break it.

Until he did, there was no use dwelling on it.

He lifted his head and stared into the distance. His silver hair swayed gently in the wind as the undead mount advanced across the rugged terrain.

His expression was calm, but his resolve was firmer than ever.

Unbeknownst to him, shortly after his departure from the Federation hideout, a group of black-hooded figures arrived.

They moved silently through the devastated entrance and stepped into the ruined chambers.

They surveyed the destruction in silence. Broken walls. Collapsed corridors. The lingering scent of death.

“They failed…” one of the figures said in a genderless voice, devoid of emotion.

“Let us hope he will stop him,” another figure replied quietly.

“That would be for the best,” a third voice concluded.

*****

[AN: Thank you all for your supports and gift. This Chapter is sponsored by Daemoncles]

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