Abyssborn: Sovereign of Sin and Ruin

{Chapter: 184: The Belated Boss of the Novice Village}

The dark forest was thick with wild, overgrown vegetation that had long claimed dominion over the land.

Everywhere the eye could see, dense thickets of tangled weeds and gnarled roots snaked across the ground, creating a twisted web of natural chaos. Hidden beneath the leafy undergrowth were countless poisonous insects, venomous snakes, and disease-ridden rats, all slithering, scuttling, or darting through the shadows. The forest pulsed with life—raw, untamed, and savage. Even the beasts and magical creatures that called this place home were unusually active during this period, their instincts stirred by some unseen signal. They prowled and hunted beneath the canopy with unrestrained vigor.

Although the trees here weren't quite as towering as those within the infamous Wailing Woods—where the ancient giants could easily soar several hundred meters into the sky—they still dwarfed anything found on a world like Earth. In this land, trees that stood fifty meters high were as common as dandelions in a meadow. The atmosphere felt primeval, as though the forest had never known the touch of civilization.

Just by standing still, tuning his senses to the world around him, Dex could distinguish the sounds of thousands of different animals echoing from every direction. Their howls, chirps, growls, and calls wove together into a chaotic natural symphony.

This alone was enough to confirm that the ecosystem here was vibrant—thriving even. The circle of life spun fiercely in this ancient place.

But despite its richness, Dex couldn't help but shake his head with mild disapproval. For ordinary people, a place like this wasn't just inhospitable—it was downright deadly.

A single misstep, a single scratch from a venom-coated leaf, or one bite from an unseen insect could bring a swift end to an unprepared human. In fact, a regular person would be lucky to survive more than a few minutes in a forest like this. The local wildlife had evolved into masters of ambush, camouflage, and deadly precision.

And this wasn't speculation—it was the truth.

In the Mi Ling World, unless someone worked in a highly specialized profession like wilderness rangers, beast tamers, or spiritual cultivators, normal citizens avoided forests like these entirely. Even those forced to travel through wooded areas stuck strictly to cleared paths, well-trodden roads, and marked trails. Venturing into the bushes without a very good reason was practically suicide.

After all, it only took one mistake—one brush against the wrong flower, one sniff of the wrong mushroom—for a person to perish painfully and quietly. Since the Mi Ling people only had one life, most developed a cautious respect for nature's darker corners.

But Dex? Dex was not an ordinary person. He was a demon—a being born of chaos and battle, shaped by lifetimes of war and blood.

To him, this wild forest was nothing more than a peaceful garden stroll.

Compared to the harrowing memories of his time wandering through the abyss-tainted Wailing Woods—where otherworldly beasts with impossible shapes roamed, and the air itself felt like it was trying to strangle him—this forest was almost relaxing.

Here, the plants weren't sentient, and the beasts didn't speak in riddles or madness. Every weed didn't bite. Every flower didn't scream. Compared to the nightmares of the abyss, this place was practically a paradise. A boring paradise, perhaps—but peaceful nonetheless.

So he walked, unhurried and calm, letting the rhythm of his steps match the beat of the forest.

Though the sky overhead was cloaked in night, Dex's vision pierced the darkness with perfect clarity. To him, it may as well have been midday. Every leaf shimmered in shades of shadowed green, and every movement within the foliage was clear to his eyes.

He walked like a nobleman taking a stroll through his courtyard—serene, poised, confident.

But exceptional creatures, by their very nature, attract attention.

And Dex, being what he was, stood out like a blood-red banner in the woods. It was only a matter of time before something noticed him.

That moment arrived sooner than expected.

He paused, ears twitching slightly at the familiar rustle of leaves brushing against fur. Something big was charging through the underbrush—fast.

A few seconds later, a creature burst out from the shadows—a massive wolf with fur tinged an eerie blue, its muscles rippling beneath its hide. Standing nearly two meters tall even on all fours, the beast snarled, baring gleaming fangs as its breath misted into the cool air.

"Woooo!"

With a furious howl, it opened its jaws wide and expelled a blast of wind so sharp it took shape midair—a crescent-shaped blade of condensed air, glowing faintly as it whistled toward Dex like a guillotine.

The attack wasn't particularly powerful—certainly nothing threatening to someone like him—but it carried with it a kind of symbolic meaning.

Dex's eyes lit up.

"Oh?" he grinned. "Is this what I think it is? A wind-type monster wolf? Using wind blades?"

He laughed aloud. "Don't tell me this is the legendary cliché every fantasy protagonist faces? The first miniboss encounter in a forest? Is this finally proof I'm the main character!?"

According to countless stories, encountering a wind wolf was practically a rite of passage for a new protagonist.

And yet, Dex had never seen one before.

Until now.

The demon's grin widened, overcome with a strange sense of satisfaction. This was the kind of development that made life fun.

Rather than dodge, Dex planted his feet and stood firm, letting the wind blade strike him square in the chest.

Bang!

The sound was like slapping a concrete wall.

The shimmering wind blade shattered instantly upon impact, not even scratching the magical clothing he'd conjured around his body.

Across from him, the wolf paused, eyes flickering with confusion. For a moment, it hesitated. Its instincts screamed that something was wrong.

How could this unassuming man survive its attack unharmed?

But hunger and wild instinct quickly overpowered its doubt.

With a low growl, it launched itself forward with terrifying speed, closing the gap between them in a blur. Its claws gleamed, ready to shred flesh, and saliva dripped from its bared fangs.

But this time, Dex wasn't feeling generous.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Ugh. Claws covered in dirt, mouth reeking of dead squirrel. Have you no hygiene?"

The very air around him shifted.

He narrowed his eyes slightly—just a minor gesture, but one filled with controlled menace.

And then it happened.

An invisible force surged out from him like a ripple across a pond.

The charging wolf froze mid-leap. Not just its body, but every hair on its back stiffened in place, held fast by an unseen grip. It was as though time had paused just for it. The beast hovered in midair, limbs outstretched, mouth open, eyes wild.

It couldn't move. It couldn't breathe. It couldn't even blink.

Dex sighed and looked at the immobilized creature with casual disinterest, as though examining a framed picture hanging in his hallway.

"Well... that's what you get for jumping at me uninvited."

Dex stretched out his long, slender fingers and lazily hooked them toward the struggling wolf suspended midair. With a twitch of his index finger, the creature's head snapped violently upward, as if yanked by some invisible puppeteer's string. A sickening crack echoed through the forest as the massive skull was wrenched from its spine and hovered over to him, dripping gore.

A moment later, the entire wolf's body began to convulse. Its thick veins bulged grotesquely before bursting open as if split by a pressure from within. All the blood in its hulking frame surged upward in defiance of gravity, forming a crimson spiral that condensed midair into a dense orb of glowing plasma.

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."

*****

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