Chapter 25: The Calm That Follows Blood.

The darkness that veiled the Abyss peeled away like a pleasant lie, revealing a morning far too calm for what had occurred the night before.

Brightness spilled over the stone-paved streets, warm and ordinary, mocking the fear that still clung to the town like an afterimage burned into the eyes.

The air felt clean, almost gentle, as though the world itself was pretending nothing had happened.

Yet beneath that fragile normalcy, unease pulsed quietly, refusing to fade.

Awakeners stepped out of inns clad in polished gear, armor freshly cleaned, weapons hanging at their sides.

They walked in pairs and trios, never alone.

Eyes remained sharp, scanning alleys and rooftops out of habit rather than reason.

No one walked alone.

“I never thought I’d live to see the Federation Police lose,” one man said, his smile stiff as he adjusted the strap of his chest armor.

“To a necromancer, no less.”

“Don’t say it like that,” another muttered, lowering his voice instinctively, as if the word itself carried weight.

“Not just any necromancer.”

A brief silence followed.

The street noise dulled, as though the town itself were listening.

“I heard the top guilds are already moving,” someone added after a moment. “Secret talks.”

“Of course they are,” a man replied, exhaling sharply. “With that many undead servants? He’s a one-man army.”

“Still,” another interjected, fingers flexing unconsciously at his side, “there’s a bounty. Federation-issued.”

That stirred something ugly among them.

“Five hundred copper just for information,” someone scoffed, eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of greed and excitement.

“That’s enough to die for.”

While the streets buzzed with hushed speculation and restrained fear, in a quiet, forgotten corner of town, Gilbert paced like a caged animal.

The room was small and poorly lit, yet his steps were sharp and restless, echoing off the walls.

Each breath he took was shallow, measured, as though the air itself resisted entering his lungs.

“What’s taking them so long?” he muttered, glancing toward the door for the fifth time in less than a minute.

Silence answered him.

A thought surfaced unbidden.

’Is it possible they’ve been killed by him?’

Gilbert stopped pacing.

His brows knit together as he considered the idea, only for a second, before he shook his head sharply.

’No. Impossible.’

’Our best assassins. Experienced hunters.’

’How could a few skeletons stop them?’

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue, letting out a short laugh, as if mocking himself.

“Ridiculous.”

Yet the laughter died quickly, swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the room.

’Something must have delayed them,’ he reasoned, clinging to the thought like a lifeline.

Still, unease lingered.

“I should send some men to check,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

He left the room without looking back.

At the Federation building, Minerva stood straight before Elric, her posture rigid and disciplined.

Though her injuries had healed, the pallor on her face had yet to fully fade, leaving her looking sharper, more severe.

“Minerva, you can’t go,” Elric said firmly. “You need to rest and let your injury heal completely.”

She didn’t react.

Elric clenched his fists beneath the wooden desk, the faint creak of strained wood betraying his frustration.

He hated Thoren, hated him to his core, but he refused to let hatred cloud his judgment.

Too many good officers had already died by that necromancer’s hand.

He would bring him to justice.

But not like this.

“We can’t rush it,” Elric continued, forcing calm into his voice. “Recklessness will only cost more lives.”

Minerva stared at him, her expression unreadable.

“Captain,” she said evenly, “I need to go out. I wouldn’t be alright if I stayed here doing nothing. As for my injury, it has already healed. I only need a blood rejuvenation elixir to fully recover.”

Elric sighed heavily and rubbed his temple.

He knew that look, knew how stubborn she became once her mind was made up.

“A day,” he said after a long pause. “Just one day.”

His gaze hardened.

“Rest for one day. By tomorrow, you can hunt him down, and I won’t stop you.”

Minerva opened her mouth to speak, but Elric cut her off.

“This is an order.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer before straightening.

“Yes, Captain.”

She saluted and turned, leaving the office without another word.

The moment she stepped outside, her composure fractured. Her fingers dug into her thigh, nails biting through the fabric of her uniform.

’Captain, I’ll have to disobey your order.’

Her jaw tightened as her eyes burned with restrained fury.

’I can’t wait.’

’Not while he’s still breathing.’

With that resolve carved into her heart, Minerva departed the station.

Meanwhile, at the dilapidated inn, Ophelia, Fidelia, and three other girls stood in the lobby, fully geared and ready.

“Do you think we’ll be targeted?” one of the girls asked quietly, her gaze flicking toward the entrance.

Fidelia turned to study her. “Why would we be?”

“The necromancer stayed here,” the girl replied hesitantly. “I’ve seen people asking about him all morning.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Fidelia said calmly. “We had nothing to do with him. Besides, everyone saw him leave town. We’re irrelevant.”

“So what if we find him again?” Ophelia asked.

“We do nothing,” Fidelia replied, shaking her head.

“Our mission comes first. The Abyss is getting more dangerous by the day. The number of deaths keeps rising.”

Her grip tightened around her weapon.

“Right now, we don’t care about bounties or rumors. We need to get stronger. That’s all.”

The girls nodded.

“Alright,” Fidelia said. “Let’s depart.”

They left the inn together.

’Be safe,’ Ophelia thought as they walked away. ’You stingy idiot.’

At the town’s gate, Seris stood trembling, not from fear, but from disbelief—as she faced the two boys before her.

“I trusted you,” she said, her voice cracking. “I thought we were friends. I thought we could depend on each other. But you left me to die.”

Walter scoffed, a sharp smile curving his lips. “Friends? Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her chest tightened painfully.

“Without you, my level would’ve been higher than this—”

“Did we ask for your help?” Vernon snapped, his eyes filled with disdain.

“Just because you’re talented doesn’t mean we needed you. Naive.”

“If not for your family,” Walter added lazily, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, “we wouldn’t even acknowledge you.”

The words struck harder than any blade.

“This is the Abyss,” Vernon continued coldly.

“Every man for himself. Just because we didn’t throw our lives away to save you, you come crying to us? Pathetic.”

“You might have A-Rank talent,” he added with a haughty smile, “but who says you’ll live long enough to matter?”

Walter and Vernon turned away, ignoring her completely as they joined their new party, confidence written across their faces.

“Go find somewhere else to cry,” Vernon said over his shoulder. “This party understands reality. No spoiled princesses.”

They sauntered off, arrogant smirks playing on their lips.

Seris stood frozen, her mind refusing to process what had just happened.

Her eyes twitched, her mouth slightly ajar.

She had expected guilt.

Remorse.

She had been naive.

Slowly, she clenched her fists.

When she lifted her head again, her gaze burned like a raging inferno.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “Let’s see who survives long enough in the Abyss.”

She turned and walked away.

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