Abyssborn: Sovereign of Sin and Ruin

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{Chapter: 187: Entering the City}

As the darkness of night slowly gave way to the dim glow of dawn, the pale light stretched its fingers across the treetops, peeling away the shadows one branch at a time.

And finally—after what felt like an small journey through dense wilderness, thorn-choked paths, and the eerie silence of unknown beasts—Dex emerged from the forest and stepped onto the main road.

He was back in civilization—at least, something close to it.

Though it was still early and the sun had barely climbed over the horizon, the wide dirt road already bustled with activity. It stretched like a lifeline toward the heart of the region, bordered on either side by carts, bundles, and footsteps.

People moved like a slow stream of ants, many pushing worn-down wagons or carrying bundles on their backs. Others walked with baskets slung over their shoulders or led tired animals by rope. Some were individuals. Others were in pairs. A few traveled in small caravans—probably families from neighboring villages hoping to earn a few extra coins.

Despite their early start, these people wore expressions of quiet resolve. There was no idle chatter, no laughter—only the rustle of worn shoes on packed dirt, the creak of wooden wheels, and the occasional low murmur about prices or weather.

It was a sight common across countless worlds, countless civilizations: the struggle of the lower class, the daily grind for survival.

In order to put food on the table, they rose before the sun and returned only after it had long since vanished behind the hills. Sacrifice was their norm. Exhaustion was their companion.

Dex, however, had no particular feelings about it.

He wasn't here to study the economic ecosystem or develop sympathy for commoners. He was no philanthropist, no scholar of society. Their tired faces and calloused hands meant little to him—background noise at best.

His golden eyes scanned the crowd once, then drifted elsewhere. Without hesitation, he merged into the steady stream of people, choosing a direction and walking at an unhurried pace.

He made no effort to interact. No greetings. No gestures.

Even so, his presence did not go unnoticed.

He had done nothing to stand out, yet he drew gazes like a flame drew moths.

It wasn't just his clothing—though it was elegant, it was not ostentatious. Nor was it just his face. No, it was something far more primal.

He carried an aura—something intangible that unsettled those around him.

A pressure.

A sensation of looking at a figure that stood above, not beside them. Like standing in the presence of something that shouldn't be here—like a lion calmly walking through a village of sheep.

It wasn't murderous. It wasn't overtly dangerous. It was just… higher.

The kind of presence that compelled people to avert their eyes without realizing why.

Dex was well aware of the reactions, but he didn't care.

He could've suppressed it. With a mere thought, he could've blended in perfectly, mimicking the smallest subtleties of human behavior until even the gods above would've mistaken him for one of the common folk.

But he didn't.

Not because he couldn't—but because he simply didn't want to.

This form, this blend of dragon and man, wasn't due to lack of control. He wasn't a beast pretending to be human. It was his natural form.

If anything, he was more capable of becoming human than most humans ever were.

But he chose not to.

Why? There was no grand reason.

He simply didn't like the idea of hiding who he was.

Let the ants shiver. Let them fear. Their opinions held no weight in his world.

---

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city walls, another morning ritual was taking place.

Dozens of guards stood in a loose formation near the eastern gate, armored in iron and half-asleep under the rising sun. They fidgeted restlessly, shifting from one foot to the other, stifling yawns and scratching behind their helmets.

At the front of the group, their captain—a slightly overweight middle-aged man named Harlin—was delivering the same monotonous speech he had given for the past three years without change.

"Remember your posts, maintain order, don't let anyone cause a disturbance, and above all, don't offend the nobles or guild representatives..."

His voice was flat, devoid of energy. Not even he believed the words anymore.

In fact, most of the guards weren't even listening.

They had perfected the art of filtering his voice into white noise. Their minds wandered freely—some thinking about breakfast, others recalling dreams they barely remembered, and a few wondering how many coins they'd lose in tonight's dice game.

Harlin, after pausing to clear his throat and drink from a waterskin, finally waved a hand and ended the lecture.

"That's all. You lot, get the gates open."

As he turned to leave, probably heading for the guardhouse to enjoy another lazy day supervising from the shade, a sudden wave of laughter and relaxed chatter rose behind him.

He stopped, frowned slightly, and turned back to face the soldiers again.

"And one more thing," he added, pointing a thick finger at them. "If you don't want to end up like Tel, posted on the front lines fighting abyssal monsters with broken rations and a rusted spear—then mind your damn manners around the big shots. I'm not covering for anyone's ass."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it!" came the lazy chorus of replies, followed by more smirks and chuckles.

They didn't take the warning seriously.

After all, Tel had been an idiot.

Everyone said so.

Watching them for another moment, Harlin sighed quietly, then turned and left without saying more.

What could he do, anyway?

He could remind them. He could shout until he was blue in the face. But in the end, he couldn't make them learn unless something actually happened.

And truthfully, he hoped nothing would happen today.

---

Among the group of guards standing near the gate, Glenn yawned and rolled his shoulders. He was a solid man in his late thirties, neither sharp nor slow—just another face in the guard force.

Glancing sideways at his partner, he grinned and elbowed him lightly.

"So, what do you think? Has that unlucky bastard Tel made it to the front lines yet?"

His tone was amused, full of mockery. The idea of a fellow guard being sent to face the abyssal horrors—half-starved, probably terrified—brought him a certain wicked satisfaction.

His partner snorted but didn't respond. It wasn't worth getting into.

Everyone knew Tel had messed up. Everyone knew he'd insulted a noble's 'pet' or said something lustful at the wrong time.

And now? Now he was out there, probably fighting things with too many eyes and not enough skin, praying for backup that wouldn't come as soon as he wanted.

It was just another morning.

And no one expected it to be anything more than routine.

Peering through the narrow slit of the observation port, the soldier gazed at the dense crowd that had already filled the outer edge of the city gate plaza. They stood in clusters, eager and impatient, waiting for the moment the massive gates would finally creak open. With an air of indifference, the soldier responded casually, "Judging by the time, he should've already arrived. Deployment to the front line usually goes through expedited processing. No one dares delay those orders—not unless they're tired of living."

Glenn let out a dry chuckle, laced with mockery. "Heh… I wonder how long he'll last. A month? Maybe a year if he's lucky?"

The other soldier, well aware of the longstanding grudge between Glenn and Tel, merely shrugged in response. "Two or three months… at best."

But after a moment's thought, he reconsidered. While the front lines were dangerous, they weren't without opportunity. In a more contemplative tone, he added, "But you never really know how things turn out. That kind of place is flooded with resources—equipment, potions, magical supplies. More materials than any garrisoned city could dream of. There's plenty of room to grow stronger, if someone's got the guts and brains to seize it. If Tel happens to catch a lucky break, he might actually climb the ladder. It wouldn't be the first time a nobody made something of himself out there."

Glenn scoffed at the idea, his tone dismissive and tinged with contempt. "No way. Only real powerhouses can survive in a hellhole like that. Tel? He's nothing. You should've seen his face when he got that deployment notice—looked like a beaten stray mutt. That guy's finished."

He shook his head, clearly enjoying the mental image of his rival's despair.

The soldier beside him didn't argue further. With another shrug, he simply muttered, "Life's unpredictable."

And in his heart, he meant it. Some people were forged in the fire of adversity. Pressured enough, even the weakest could awaken something within. Who could say for certain what Tel would become?

Yes, the front lines were a nightmare—where death came swiftly in the form of abyssal demons, beasts, and corruption. But they were also a crucible of fortune. Backed by the wealth of dozens of surrounding nations, the warfront was flush with elite supplies, better food, stronger weapons, and high bonuses for each service term. That kind of wealth and promise was more than enough to lure the desperate—or the ambitious.

It wasn't uncommon to see soldiers who had once been commoners rising through the ranks in record time, promoted through valor, strategy, or sheer survival instinct.

After all, the idea that "a bicycle could turn into a motorcycle" with enough effort was not just an expression—it was a reality for those bold enough to take the risk.

And then, at long last, the massive gears began to turn. The ancient mechanisms of the gate shuddered to life. With the groan of stone grinding against metal, the enormous city gates slowly began to open.

The moment the first sliver of space appeared between the heavy doors, the crowd surged forward like water rushing through a dam break. Shouts and footsteps blended into a chaotic tide as merchants, travelers, and peasants all pushed to enter first.

It was the gatekeepers' time to shine. They moved with practiced ease, maintaining order while simultaneously collecting the mandatory entrance fees with swift hands and stern faces.

Amid the chaos, Glenn was busy tallying coin and waving people through, when something unusual happened.

The noise around him began to fade.

It wasn't sudden, but rather a slow hush that spread through the crowd like a ripple on still water.

Frowning slightly, Glenn looked up.

And then he saw him.

A lone figure, slender and upright, moving through the throng with unhurried grace. His presence was not loud or flamboyant, yet it cut through the crowd like a knife through silk.

He didn't push anyone aside—he didn't need to.

People simply stepped out of his way, drawn by an instinctual awareness that he was someone far beyond them. It was as if the very air around him demanded deference.

To Glenn's eyes, the man looked nothing like the peasants or merchants around him. His clothes, though expensive, bore a quiet, restrained elegance. His face was expressionless, but carried the weight of someone who had seen too much, done too much, lived above the clouds where others barely scraped the dirt.

And in that instant, Glenn felt a chill crawl up his spine.

This… this is a big shot.

That was the first thought that raced through his mind.

Reflexively, his expression changed—his sneer vanished, replaced by a flattering, servile smile. His back straightened, his posture became respectful.

Not just him—every other soldier in the vicinity began to react the same way. Heads bowed slightly, shoulders stiffened, and eyes followed the man's approach with reverence, as if a general or noble had come for inspection.

The man, of course, paid them no mind.

Without breaking stride, he flicked a gold coin toward them—more than ten times the regular toll—and walked past without a word.

His steps were calm. Measured. Unhurried.

The kind of walk one might see from a predator among prey.

Glenn caught the coin mid-air, his eyes momentarily fixed on the weighty shine of gold in his palm. But his attention quickly returned to the figure walking away.

Not a single person dared to speak.

And then—finally—the silence broke.

"Take care, sir," Glenn said, his voice far too eager.

The others echoed with clumsy well-wishes: "Safe travels!" "Thank you for visiting!" "Have a blessed day, sir!"

It was pathetic.

They sounded like dogs wagging their tails, hoping for a glance or a scrap of attention.

Glenn didn't even realize the ridiculousness of his own tone.

But to those who watched from the side, he looked exactly like that—a sycophantic mutt trying to curry favor with a master far beyond his reach.

And Dex, the man at the center of it all, disappeared into the city without once looking back.

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