Abyssborn: Sovereign of Sin and Ruin

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{Chapter: 185: Could You Kindly Tell Me the Location of the Nearest City?}

The wolf's empty husk shriveled before Dex's eyes, its flesh rapidly decaying as if starved of life, until all that remained was a desiccated, skin-wrapped skeleton. With an idle flick of his wrist, Dex sent the brittle corpse sailing into the distance like a forgotten rag, crashing noisily into a thicket of bone-laced thorns.

He caught the still-warm skull and casually took a sip of the fresh plasma like a fine wine, its blood-slick viscosity leaving a dark sheen on his lips. He smacked his lips thoughtfully, then nodded with evident satisfaction.

"Rich. Viscous. Slightly wild aftertaste," Dex murmured to himself. "Definitely worthy of a traditional novice village boss." He let out a low chuckle. "Finally, some respect."

With that, he tossed the drained skull over his shoulder and continued onward, stepping over vines and roots with practiced ease. For the next few hours, he marched unhurriedly through the dense wilderness—crossing rivers with a single step, melting boulders that blocked his path with a glance, and vaporizing any creature foolish enough to challenge him. The trees parted before him as if they feared to impede his progress.

By the time the sky began to pale with the first blush of dawn, Dex had traveled hundreds of kilometers. The air shifted subtly. He caught faint traces of ash, leather, and metal—scents not borne of wild beasts.

Humans.

Curious, and feeling mildly sociable, Dex decided to greet them.

---

Not far away, a bloodied man stumbled through the forest, clutching a box half his own height on his back. Each of his staggered steps left smears of red across the undergrowth. His name was Kevin—a scout and collector dispatched to gather rare alchemical ingredients from deep within the wildlands. Things had gone well. Until they hadn't.

He was ambushed.

Now, with his waist deeply slashed and soaked in blood, he could feel consciousness slipping from him like sand through his fingers.

Gritting his teeth, Kevin pressed a hand to his wound and forced a surge of mana through his body to stimulate his nerves.

"Just a little longer… half a day and I'll be in sight of the city walls."

The thought was barely formed when a cold gleam flashed through the air.

A wicked blade arced out from the shadows.

Kevin's instincts screamed. He threw himself forward, landing hard and rolling clumsily, narrowly avoiding the deathblow that whistled past his head.

"Persistent bastard!" growled a rough voice from the trees.

Kevin scrambled up, but his body was slowing—too much blood lost, too much pain.

Moments later, he collapsed into a tangle of roots and leaves, gasping as his lifeblood pooled beneath him. The heavy box on his back broke open, scattering glimmering stones, vials of shimmering fluid, rare herbs, and even a few glowing fruits and eggs across the ground like spilled treasure.

A trio of pursuers emerged from the trees, blood still wet on their hands and clothes. One of them—a scar-faced brute wielding a serrated cleaver—licked his cracked lips.

"I'm going to saw his limbs off slowly," he snarled, advancing. "Then feed his twitching body to the flesh wasps."

The leader of the bandits, a lean man with a black eyepatch, examined the scattered loot, his eyes calculating.

"Do what you like," he said, barely interested. "Just don't damage the ingredients."

The brute grinned maniacally and stepped toward Kevin, weapon raised.

But just as he lifted his arm for the first blow, his peripheral vision caught something strange.

A figure—unfamiliar, silent—was standing behind his companions. He was tall, unnervingly elegant, and radiated an oppressive presence that sent chills up the brute's spine.

The stranger gave a slight nod of greeting.

And then, without a care in the world, he bent down and picked up one of the glowing fruits from the spilled box. He examined it with a curious glint in his eyes, then bit into it casually, as if he were sampling an appetizer at a banquet.

Crunch.

The sound was crisp. The pulp of the rare fruit oozed down his fingers.

The brute stared, confused. "...Who the fuck are you?"

Dex licked a smear of juice from his thumb and smiled politely.

Only then did the others notice him.

Weapons were drawn in an instant, panic exploding across their faces. But they were too late.

Dex didn't move. He didn't need to.

The space around him warped.

---

As a dozen weapons pointed at him from all directions—swords trembling, crossbows taut—Dex stood as if nothing had happened. His expression remained calm, almost bored, like a man watching children perform a puppet show. His crimson tail flicked lazily behind him, and his three eyes—two horizontal, one vertically situated on his forehead—glimmered with an unsettling indifference. Even if they can't see third eye as it remains close most of time.

After all, these little shows of force were barely worth registering.

To Dex, this wasn't hostility. It was entertainment. These weren't warriors; they were dancing clowns in the theatre of life, and if they didn't mind the audience, he was more than happy to stand nearby and observe. Perhaps, in another world, he would even critique their technique, offer advice as a fellow craftsman—an artist of flesh, bone, and chaos.

But judging by their performance so far, they barely qualified as amateurs.

He let out a soft sigh, disappointed. These weren't warriors—just scavengers with sharp sticks.

Taking another bite of the shimmering fruit in his hand, Dex let the pulp bleed down his fingers like thick nectar. The vibrant flesh of the fruit shimmered unnaturally, glowing faintly with magical essence. Juice dripped from his claws and hissed as it hit the blood-stained ground, burning tiny holes in the soil.

With the casual grace of a noble sipping tea, he chewed and finally answered the tension-filled silence, "Don't panic. I'm just a traveler passing through. Could you kindly tell me the location of the nearest city? I've heard the local specialties here are... exotic."

His voice was deep, resonant, and oddly refined—each word carrying a slight echo, as though reality itself struggled to contain his presence.

"..."

A suffocating silence followed.

His answer was so calm, so casual, so absurd in the moment that no one could process it.

One of the bandits blinked. Another licked his lips nervously. A third gripped his sword tighter, knuckles white.

The leader, a tall man with a jagged scar across his chin and a killer's gaze, stepped forward. His brows furrowed, lips curling slightly in irritation as he adjusted his posture. "Are you f***ing with me?" he asked bluntly, voice low and gravelly.

Dex cocked his head, three eyes blinking in unison. He appeared genuinely puzzled by the accusation. "No, truly. That is my only purpose."

His lips curled into a faint smile, revealing razor-sharp teeth beneath the skin of his humanoid face. 'Is it so hard to believe that an honest demon just wants to sample the cuisine?'

The surrounding bandits exchanged nervous glances. Something was wrong—deeply, horribly wrong.

The leader narrowed his eyes and studied Dex again.

That red hair, wild and loose, crowned with two elegant, polished horns that curled like blades. Skin white as marble. Those eyes, characterized by their striking golden pupils and crimson red irises, are arranged vertically, resembling those of a dragon—dripped with old madness, like he had seen the rise and fall of civilizations and yawned at both.

Most troubling of all was the absence of anything. No aura. No presence. No energy. It was like Dex wasn't even there—just a shadow carved into the world. If the man hadn't been looking directly at him, he would have thought he was imagining it.

Then there was the matter of his clothing—immaculate, ceremonial robes laced with silk and enchanted thread, untouched by blood, dirt, or time.

That was impossible. No one walked through this forest without a fight. The trees themselves bled sap that burned through armor, and the beasts were more nightmare than flesh. But this creature—this... stranger—looked like he had just stepped out of a royal garden.

Unreasonable. Unnatural. Unnerving.

And unreasonable things… were always dangerous.

The leader swallowed dryly and, after a long pause, pointed with his sword to the east. "About a hundred kilometers that way, you'll reach the city of Mitsubishi. It's one of the largest trade hubs in the Kingdom of Bloom. They specialize in extracting and selling rare magical materials from forests all over the land."

Dex's eye slowly blinked as he nodded, still chewing the glittering fruit. "Mitsubishi," he repeated thoughtfully.

The leader glanced at the fruit still in Dex's hand, barely half-eaten. His stomach twisted.

That wasn't just any fruit. That was Bloodroot Heart, a rare and sacred component used in alchemy—essential for high-tier mana elixirs and soul-binding rituals. In the outside world, a single one could purchase a noble title. Dex was eating it like a plum.

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