It doesn't necessarily mean it's an abyssal creation.
—Even as the mechanical bird delivered images of the little demon and the commercial channel relayed news of the dragon cavalry's great victory, high-ranking officials still made such claims.
They placed this so-called great victory on the monthly roster of major events in Tasmalin Province. Many conspiracy theorists deemed the timing of the battle too coincidental—almost deliberately so. Yet like numerous prior major events, its outcome yielded favorable results, with drawbacks deemed negligible. Even those who deemed "Tasmalin's monster regent utterly irrational" had to concede that Lady Natasha was a remarkably adept ruler.
Thus, despite lacking concrete evidence, suspicions lingered that Tasmalin Province itself had conjured something akin to the little demon, staging this entire affair. After all, there was a dungeon down there.
This is why, when Tasmalin's diplomats solemnly declared "The Abyss approaches" at the negotiating table, the Empire's negotiators merely paused briefly before offering a perfunctory nod. As with any demand they wished to delay addressing, they politely recited a string of platitudes, stating they would promptly submit the matter to higher authorities for discussion by the Head of State and Parliament.
Nearly half of the Empire's decision-makers harbored doubts about the Abyss's authenticity. They didn't necessarily suspect Tasmalin State of ill intent, but rather assumed the sand-dwellers sought to use this as an excuse to accelerate negotiations or exert pressure for greater concessions. Before they could determine the dungeon's true objectives, however, uninvited guests arrived unannounced.
"Simon, I never imagined you would become a traitor!" the Chancellor exclaimed, his voice filled with anguish as he addressed his deputy chief of the guard. "When did they bribe you?"
"In truth, I've served the Consul from the very beginning. I shall depart tomorrow. Thank you for your years of kindness," Deputy Simon smiled. "I've already secured your weapons, and no guards will be sent here for the time being. Rest assured, the Consul harbors no ill will toward you. It's merely that your company's diplomatic system has always been somewhat slow in relaying information. Given the urgency of the situation, this was the only course of action."
"What news?" the leader forced himself to ask calmly.
"The Abyss approaches," Simon declared solemnly.
"What?!" the leader exclaimed in shock.
This cry echoed through several important figures' private residences—not because they hadn't heard the news before, but because they'd heard it far too often. They stared in disbelief at the messenger from Tasmalin Province, unable to fathom how these perfectly concealed spies had been exposed for such a reason.
Then they realized "The Abyss is approaching" was no excuse.
The Tasha representatives hadn't come empty-handed to persuade; they brought proof. The Wrath Demons could locate Victor, and Victor could pinpoint where the Wrath Demons had first appeared—information already relayed to Tasha. Drones and druidic birds, under Tasmarin's command, headed for those coordinates. Spies nearby sprang into action, swiftly gathering sufficient evidence: former General Cyril hadn't perished in battle. Instead, he'd awakened the Abyss bloodline, clinging to life ever since, ultimately summoning demons.
Though the unique Abyss Factor Detector had been taken by Tashar and dismantled by the Artisan Dwarves, the Empire still possessed relatively limited-range Abyss Trace Detection Magitech devices. Whether a specific region had ever witnessed demon summonings or harbored awakened Abyss Bloodline individuals—a targeted, thorough investigation would reveal the truth immediately.
The evidence gathered by spies was sufficient for conviction. Soon after, mages and mage technicians at the Imperial Research Institute uncovered signs of an Abyss portal in that region.
This signified two things:
1. Individuals within the empire, not from Tasmalin Province, had somehow reestablished a connection to the Abyss.
2. When the Abyssal passage formally opened, the vast Abyssal legions would descend here—upon the empire, not Tasmalin Province.
At this point, whether the little demon was real or fake no longer mattered.
The Empire found itself in a decidedly passive position. While watching the spectacle unfold in Tasmalin Province, they never imagined the culprit originated from their own ranks—for the true form of the great demon who deceived Syril lay dormant in the pools of Tassand. But since no one knew this, it might as well not exist. Tassand graciously offered that Tasmalin would not disclose the cause of the Abyss Passage's opening, as a gesture of goodwill. The priority now was finding a solution, not assigning blame.
Sylvere's father, Old Ogden, faced imminent disaster. This retired high-ranking official, whose ambitions remained undimmed, had seized his son's political resources after the latter's staged death. He had long cultivated ties with hardliners dissatisfied with the current peace, effectively establishing himself as a faction leader. When news of "concealing his son's awakened Abyssal bloodline and enabling him to summon demons, leading to this catastrophe" reached the upper echelons, the veteran politician's carefully cultivated image as a "radical human supremacist" crumbled instantly. Even without further punishment, his political career was utterly finished.
His hypocrisy not only severed ties with the human supremacists he had cultivated but also dragged his closely allied hardliners into the fallout, dealing them a significant blow. Other high-ranking officials questioned the trustworthiness of those who had maintained close ties with human traitors and evil deceivers like Ogden. The hardliners themselves engaged in mutual recriminations, leaving the faction severely weakened.
With the opposition preoccupied with its own crisis, the empire's leadership swiftly recognized there was no time for delay. Time was running out for the creatures of the surface; unprepared, all would perish. Further cooperation between the empire and Tasmalin Province was now urgent. Under these circumstances, negotiations and collaboration advanced at an unprecedented pace.
Within weeks, the tide of imperial public opinion gradually shifted. Tasman's "preventative vaccine" program, having demonstrated success in its Tasmanian pilot, began nationwide rollout. Leased imps appeared across other imperial territories, conducting joint military exercises with troops and civilians. The Empire, several times larger in area and population than Tasmalin Province, required greater effort. Fortunately, prior publicity had somewhat prepared the ground. While the announcement of the approaching Abyss caused greater unrest than in Tasmalin, it at least did not trigger severe turmoil.
Soon, the long-debated "Population Mobility Bill" was passed at the negotiating table.
Once approved, visa holders could now cross the Nightfall Wall. The military that had erected the wall and trenches years ago now built a customs post in its center. It was broader and more imposing than the trade passage. Of course, the trade port originated from the "non-existent passage"; even after widening, it remained in a remote, inconspicuous location. Today, the customs post stood squarely in the wall's center. Its sign was visible from hundreds of meters away, and those seeking passage formed long queues stretching far into the distance.
Long lines formed on both sides.
For the upper echelons of Tasmalin Province and the Erian Empire, the passage of the Population Mobility Act was merely a preliminary agreement—the opening move in a series of actions. Years later, when people spoke of the thawing of bilateral relations, this act would occupy a place in history, often referred to as a prelude or something similar. Compared to other legislation, its symbolic significance might be greater. But at this very moment, for the common folk on both sides, the passage of this act meant far too much.
Amidst deepening cooperation, a railway spanning the entire empire would be constructed. The Empire would lay the tracks, while the Dungeons would supply energy for the magical locomotives. Finalizing and implementing the specifics would take time, yet people could scarcely wait. People converged from all directions, arriving by horse or on foot.
The crowds surging toward the high walls were tense yet hopeful—some ecstatic, others anxious. It resembled both a mass exodus and a pilgrimage, and this was after weeks of relative calm. The first wave of permitted crossings required familial ties to the other side, drastically reducing applicants while still far exceeding expectations.
"How can there be so many?" muttered an Imperial official. "Who would have thought months ago there'd be this many traitors?"
He was only joking. By now, everyone could see which way the wind was blowing. They were no longer mortal enemies.
Over the years, some had fled this way, others that way. For over a decade, the night and the wall had severed the world, tearing apart families and scattering friends. Those left behind remained silent, distancing themselves from those who had departed, never mentioning the parts of themselves they had lost. What good would speaking of it do? It would only make life harder. Only in the dead of night did longing sneak into their hearts. They gazed toward places they could never reach, thinking of people they could neither see nor speak of.
After more than a decade, the ice began to thaw.
When the ban was lifted and barriers shattered, missing a loved one no longer meant betrayal. These silent souls emerged like bamboo shoots after rain, bursting forth from the earth. Secrets buried in their hearts had fermented for over a decade. Like soda bottles shaken for ages, once they found an outlet, the pent-up longing inside could send the caps flying to the ceiling. Let's go! Set out! Some departed immediately, others hesitated repeatedly. Regardless, they now stood here.
Flame Witch Abigail threw herself into her father's arms, surprised to find he'd developed a soft beer belly. "Dad! You can't start drinking just because I'm gone!" she scolded, playfully patting his belly. "People will think you're expecting a little brother for me."
Wood, the innkeeper, wasn't the type to take offense at such childish teasing. From the moment his daughter threw herself at him, he'd been grinning ear to ear, patting and rubbing her here and there like a gardener reunited with a tree he'd nurtured for years.
Once a strong, tall figure, the shopkeeper now bore the full weight of age—gray hair, wrinkles, and fleshy rolls. His youngest daughter, gone on a long journey, had taken his spring with her. Countless nights, Wood tossed and turned, wondering how his little girl—who'd never ventured far—was faring. And now, look! Little Abby had grown so well! The fledgling had spread her wings, the flower had bloomed—his little cookie had blossomed into the most adorable young lady. He'd heard about it years ago from his brother, the wizard, but hearing about it compared to seeing it himself? "Good, good!" The old father nodded wildly, not quite sure what he was saying, watching his daughter's silly grin, hoping this chattering nightingale would sing forever.
Parents and child submitted their applications simultaneously. Husband and wife both received visas to cross over. The registration and verification of the application forms ensured they wouldn't miss each other, yet the staff still underestimated the power of reunion. Knowing you'll meet and actually meeting were two different things. Cheers and sobs erupted everywhere, nearly causing gridlock near customs. Couples clung to each other, refusing to let go, as if determined to stay glued together until the end of time.
"Don't crowd! Don't block the passage!" the staff maintaining order shouted again through the loudspeaker. "Go home and hug them! There's plenty of time!"