Chapter 126: New Challenges

Crossing the Black Ridge Plateau, the target area finally reached by the dragon legion is not a simple mountain rift as imagined. It is the core area of the Howling Rift Abyss, a terrifying bowl-shaped giant pit completely reshaped by abyss power.

A purple-black rift as wide as several miles and bottomless runs through the bottom of the giant pit, not static, but slowly "breathing".

Every "exhalation" sprays thick negative energy mist and sharp soul wails, accompanied by scattered low-level demons being ejected like vomit; every "inhalation" produces a powerful vortex, pulling everything loose and even light around it slightly toward the depths of the rift.

The inner wall and ground of the giant pit are covered with a layer of living abyss tissue similar to black flesh, full of thick blood vessel-like veins.

Slowly wriggling, the surface oozes corrosive mucus, and can suddenly bulge to form sharp bone spurs or extend tentacle-like appendages, trying to entangle and pierce intruders.

Scattered around the rift are several pus pools surging with filthy energy, in which unformed demon embryos are soaked.

Growing by the pool are clusters of clustered, twisted shadow purple crystals, which constantly absorb and refract the energy of the rift, forming an interfering magic field, weakening the effect of non-abyss system spells.

The outer periphery of the giant pit is a relatively flat but also covered with living tissue area, scattered with countless huge and twisted skeletons, including giant dragons, titans, and more alien biological remains that cannot be identified.

The demon lord entrenched here, Gorgtan, is nearly a hundred feet tall, like a moving mountain of flesh and blood cast from lava and solidified blood.

Its basic form resembles an extremely robust bipedal demon carrying huge tattered meat wings, but there are uncoordinated hyperplasia and mutations everywhere in the body.

The head has three faces, distributed in a "pin" shape. The front is a giant mouth covered with bone armor and burning sulfur flames, without eyes, relying on abyss perception.

The left side is a female face that constantly wails and sheds blood tears (the manifestation of powerful souls it has devoured); the right side is a worm face covered with carapace, with only a circular sucker mouth, constantly sucking energy and soul fragments around it.

The torso is covered with heavy, living armor full of spikes and evil runes, composed of countless compressed and fused high-level demon bodies, still wriggling slightly.

One pair of ends are giant sharp claws comparable to dragon claws, entangled with broken black light; the other pair is transformed into heavy, lava-flowing meteor hammer-like flesh giant hammers.

Several abyss giants pieced together from living rock, metal, and skeletons wander slowly but firmly on the edge of the rift, serving as living turrets and barriers, capable of spraying destructive abyss energy beams from their mouths.

Torture ghosts are high-level demons of semi-spiritual bodies, like flickering ghosts, good at screeching to disturb the mind, and can attack the soul directly from the shadows, posing continuous pressure on the dragon's mental defense.

Abyss bloodthirsty beast herds, a large number of dog-shaped or lion-shaped demons like skinned and exposed muscles, act like electricity, bloodthirsty and crazy, good at group pouncing, biting the limbs and wing membranes of giant dragons with enchanted teeth and claws.

A few abyss spellcasters who retain the characteristics of ancient demon nobles lurk behind the shadow purple crystal clusters or in energy pools, chanting blasphemous incantations, casting large-scale curses and corruption spells.

Soul-binding guards are Gorgtan's personal guards, existences formed by powerful warrior souls completely enslaved by it from the heart of the abyss, poured into special abyss armor.

They are silent, efficient, and fearless, holding huge soul harvester scythes or armor-piercing spears, specifically responsible for intercepting any strong men trying to directly impact the lord.

Bronze Dragon Grovelian's voice was like a reef polished by sea breeze, low and heavy, piercing through the filthy spiritual pressure and soul wails coming from the rift ahead.

His slender neck was tense, his sea-blue vertical pupils staring at the demon lord like a mountain of flesh and blood, and the twisted and wriggling domain around it.

"Lord Puglin," he turned his head, his voice no longer had the sharpness when arguing with the black dragon before, replaced by a cold sobriety when facing the abyss natural disaster, "this pile of 'scum' in front of us... is very tricky."

The edge of his dragon wings trembled slightly due to tension, not fear, but a warrior's instinctive evaluation of destructive energy.

"The ground under its feet is alive, its breathing carries curses, and even those crystals... are gnawing at the roots of our spells."

His gaze swept over the dense demon legion and the constantly pulsing heart of the abyss, "Frontal exchange of lives with this pure 'beast' that has been soaked in its own abscess?"

Grovelian slowly shook his head covered with bronze scales, making a light sound of metal friction, the conclusion was clear and cruel:

"I think, everyone present, no matter what the scale color is, I am afraid that no one's heart... will beat for this kind of biting that has no glory at all."

Puglin's gaze crossed the surging demon legion and finally fell on the slowly pulsing abyss rift. There was no anger toward the demon lord in his vertical pupils, only a focused concentration that pierced through time and disturbance.

"Your gaze must remain on the true target, Grovelian." His voice was as steady as an ancient mountain, pressing down the surrounding howls and the scent of sulfur.

"Our destination this time is that rift, not this abscess temporarily entrenched on it."

He tilted his head slightly, and the amber scales flowed with constant and rational luster.

"The seal is completed, our trip is considered a success. As for this beast..." Puglin's tone seeped into a trace of icy cold, "It and its nest have been marked, the abyss never lacks the timing for revenge."

Just as the dragons were silent and weighing due to the demon lord's power and tricky terrain, a hoarse, low voice with a unique viscous quality, like poison mist seeping from the deepest rift, tore through the heavy air.

Sakavi's dark figure leaned forward slightly in the shadow, and those cold yellow vertical pupils slowly scanned every giant dragon in the core circle, finally stopping on the demigod copper dragon Puglin.

His speech had no impassioned guarantees, nor bluffing, but carried a near-cold, factual precision:

"Tactics can be very simple, as long as power is allocated properly."

He paused slightly, letting the simple opening remarks settle into weight.

"You—" his gaze swept over the red dragon, bronze dragon, blue dragon, and even Puglin, "only need to nail that flesh hill, and its noisy minions, to the spot for an hour."

The time unit he reported was clear and specific, as if he had already completed the deduction in his heart.

"As for that rift..." a slight, bubble-like purr came from the black dragon's throat, which might be his closest expression to a "light laugh".

"I swear in the name of shadow and corruption, one hour is enough for me to make that 'wound' of the abyss completely close, rust to death, and never flow out a trace of filth again."

His gaze finally fell back to Puglin, the confidence in his words did not come from bravery, but a near-unquestionable assertion rooted in dark knowledge:

"I think, everyone present, on the matter of 'sealing', especially sealing this kind of rift originating from darkness and chaos, no one will be more professional than mine."

"Sakavi, your ability, we have never doubted." The gold dragon's voice swayed layers of light patterns in the air, lowering the noise of the abyss wails.

"Shadow is your canvas, corrosion is your carving knife, if it comes to twisting energy and sealing rifts, there is indeed no one better in the field."

He raised his head slightly, the holy patterns on his neck glowing slightly, and the words turned immediately, like a light blade out of its sheath:

"However, trusting your strength is one thing, and believing in your 'selflessness' is another. Your balance is always weighing, your eyes are always measuring. For you, every breath is a transaction, every flicker of scale is calculating gains and losses."

His gaze was as sharp as being able to pierce the soul:

"Tell me, master of contracts in the shadows, in the face of such a great cause, what kind of 'terms' have you reserved for yourself? What kind of 'hidden weights'?"

The gold dragon's voice carried a cold mockery of seeing through the world, and even a trace of anger.

"Your way of doing things that casts interests into the bone marrow, I am afraid that even the most fraudulent green dragon has to sigh at your precise greed."

Sakavi let out a low and viscous light laugh, like thick oil droplets falling into still water.

Facing Gold Dragon Nokodron's

"Ah, my dear Lord Nokodron," his voice remained hoarse, yet he deliberately infused it with a touch of exaggerated, theatrical sincerity, "this is absolutely a heartbreaking misunderstanding."

His cold, yellow slit pupils narrowed slightly, revealing a hint of sorrowful emotion, though the emotion was as fake as duckweed on the surface of a swamp.

"As a hereditary Duke of the 'Lawful Good' Orc Empire and an Honorary Guardian of the Ash Alliance (he recited these titles slowly and clearly, as if displaying a string of meticulously polished jewels).

All my actions follow the most rigorous contract spirit and... er, the principle of reciprocity." He skillfully avoided the word "selfless."

"Scheming against allies? No, no, no," he used three negatives in a row, his head shaking slightly, the shadows swaying with it, "that is not my style at all. I was merely contemplating how to make this great cooperation... more 'perfect'."

He paused, letting the word "perfect" hover ambiguously in the air, before tossing out his true intent in a tone as casual as if he were discussing an art collection:

"You see, I just happen to... lack a bit of top-tier material. For instance, an arm from the 'level' of an Abyssal Lord, containing the essence of pure chaos and power."

His gaze was like a precise scalpel, sweeping over the distant Demon Lord "Gorgtan's" terrifying limbs, which were knotted with muscle and flowing with lava and black light.

"Take it, you filthy creature. The arm of the Demon Blood Hurricane, Kodowen, is now your trophy. Now it is time to fulfill your promise."

"Very well, Lord Nokodron, now you only need to lure that damned demon away, and that will be enough."