Chapter 200: The Behind the Federation.

[Unknown Location]

A group of powerful figures sat inside a vast, dimly lit hall, their expressions solemn and heavy with thought.

Each individual carried an imposing aura, their presence alone enough to suffocate an ordinary person.

Their sharp eyes swept across one another like predatory hawks, measuring, calculating, and judging.

The atmosphere was tense.

“How should we deal with this wild card?” a middle-aged woman asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.

Her words lingered in the air, and for a brief moment, no one spoke. Silence dominated the hall, thick and oppressive, until an elderly man finally broke it.

“We don’t need to overthink this,” he said, leaning slightly forward. “We should invite him to join us.”

At his suggestion, several people frowned immediately.

“I don’t think that is advisable,” another old man replied, shaking his head slowly. “Have you forgotten what he did to Silas? And beyond that, how can we let him go scot-free after such blatant provocation?”

His tone carried a hint of displeasure, but also caution.

“Then what are you suggesting?” a third figure countered sharply. “That we oppose him over a mere mortal?”

He let out a cold chuckle before continuing.

“From the beginning, we all knew he would be a variable, an unpredictable one. Our goals may not align with his, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore the bigger picture. If we mishandle this situation, it could easily backfire on all of us.”

“What do you mean ’backfire’?” the woman from earlier snapped, her brows knitting together.

“We’ve sacrificed far too much for our cause,” she continued. “Are you saying we should now hesitate because of some brat who got lucky and cleared the first floor? He’s nothing but a disruption.”

Her voice rose slightly, filled with irritation.

“Then are you suggesting we make him an enemy?” another man shot back. “Don’t forget, he cleared the first floor in less than two weeks. We have never seen such progress since the arrival of the Abyss.”

He paused, letting his words sink in.

“Not in this city. Not in the entire Federation.”

A ripple of unease spread across the hall.

“That alone means something,” he added. “We need to tread carefully.”

His warning did little to calm the room. Instead, it sparked another wave of arguments.

Voices overlapped.

Opinions clashed.

The discussion quickly devolved into heated debate, each side firmly holding onto their stance.

Meanwhile, seated at the forefront, the true leaders of the factions remained silent.

They watched.

They observed.

They evaluated.

To anyone with keen perception, it was obvious, the group was divided.

One faction sought to eliminate Thoren or bring him under control through force.

The other wished to recruit him, seeing his potential as too valuable to waste.

“Enough!”

A loud bang echoed through the hall as an elderly man slammed his palm onto the table, instantly silencing everyone.

“We are not here to argue like common market traders,” he said coldly. “We need solutions not this meaningless noise.”

His authority was undeniable.

He was the leader of one of the three dominant factions, those who believed humanity’s only path forward was to migrate fully into the Abyss and adapt to its rules.

Beside him sat another old man, equally imposing, the leader of a faction that supported surrendering to the Abyssal gods and becoming their subordinates in exchange for survival.

And finally, there was the third leader.

An old woman.

She sat quietly, her posture relaxed, her face completely expressionless.

It was as if the discussion had nothing to do with her.

She neither interrupted nor contributed.

She simply listened.

Or perhaps… she simply didn’t care.

Those around her were not surprised by her behavior. They had long grown accustomed to it. More importantly, many of them did not take her seriously.

Her faction, the one that insisted on defending humanity’s homeworld was considered naïve by the others.

Foolish.

Idealistic.

“What do we actually know about him?” the first elderly man asked, his gaze sweeping across the room.

This was Elder Hubert.

Among all present, his hostility toward Thoren was the strongest.

Silas had been one of their key operatives, working behind the scenes as a facilitator for numerous secret experiments, experiments that most would consider inhumane.

Now, Silas was gone.

And with his death, a valuable piece on the board had been removed.

Naturally, Elder Hubert’s resentment ran deep.

“We know he is a Necromancer,” a woman responded. “From what we’ve observed, he currently controls only two undead servants.”

“Only two…” someone muttered, though there was no relief in their tone.

“What is the probability of him surviving the second floor?” Elder Hubert asked, narrowing his eyes.

“How can you even ask that?” another elder, Elder Fox retorted with a scoff.

His expression was filled with disdain.

“How many of our own people have survived the second floor?” he continued.

The room fell quiet again.

“Less than five percent,” he answered his own question. “And even then, we don’t know how many of those are truly alive.”

He leaned back slightly.

“So let’s be realistic. The chances of him surviving the second floor are practically nonexistent, especially with such a useless profession.”

At his words, several heads nodded in agreement.

To them, this was simple logic.

The first floor of the Abyss was the easiest, dangerous, yes, but manageable.

From the second floor onward, however, the difficulty increased exponentially.

The environment became more hostile.

The creatures are more terrifying.

The rules are more unforgiving.

Many of their descendants had ventured into the second floor years ago… and never returned.

Not even a message.

Not even a trace.

Those few who had returned spoke of horrors beyond imagination, landscapes that defied logic, beings that shattered sanity, and threats that made the first floor seem like a training ground.

As for the third floor?

No one in Suncrest City had ever gone there and returned alive.

Everything known about it came from fragmented reports from other Federation cities.

And every report painted the same picture:

Despair.

Absolute despair.

It was precisely because of this that many of those present had already begun preparing alternative paths for survival.

They had lost hope in humanity’s ability to conquer the Abyss.

To them, extinction was inevitable.

The only question was how to delay it or how to survive it.

“Then we should think of a way to control him,” Elder Hubert said suddenly, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.

“What better method is there than leveraging his parents?”

A few people exchanged glances.

“You’re right,” Elder Fox nodded. “He has less than twenty-four hours on the surface. Once he returns to the Abyss, we can begin influencing his family.”

“And if he manages to come back again,” he continued, “he’ll have no choice but to align himself with one of us.”

A dangerous silence followed.

The logic was cold.

Ruthless.

Efficient.

But not unexpected.

To them, this was simply a strategy.

The two faction leaders nodded in agreement.

For their respective factions to succeed, they needed control over every awakened individual who managed to survive the Abyss.

Every single one.

Even if it required manipulation.

Even if it required cruelty.

Even if it required sacrificing morality entirely.

To them, it was a necessary price.

A price for survival.

However, beneath their agreement, there was another layer of tension, one unspoken but deeply understood.

They did not trust each other.

Not in the slightest.

Each faction feared the others gaining an advantage.

Because in this new world…

Power decided everything.

And a single powerful Awakener, especially one like Thoren could tip the balance completely.

In the corner of the hall, the silent old woman finally shifted slightly.

Her eyes, calm and unreadable, flickered with something faint.

Interest.

Or perhaps…

Amusement.

But she said nothing.

Not yet.

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