Happy Diwali To You All.
*****
{Chapter: 233: Unexpected Good News}
The Best Hotel in Augusto
Inside the most luxurious suite of Augusto's finest hotel, silence reigned—deep, magical, and undisturbed.
Dex lay on the grand bed, his body still, his breathing calm. After half a year of immobility, he finally opened his eyes.
"I've finished digesting all the knowledge," he murmured to himself, his voice quiet but firm. "But to fully comprehend its depths... that will still take a few more years."
He slowly sat up, stretching slightly as he scanned the room. Though untouched for six months, not a speck of dust lingered in the air or on the furniture. The suite remained pristine—thanks to the constant upkeep of enchantments woven into its walls and furniture. A subtle gleam clung to every surface, a quiet testament to the high-end magical services of the hotel.
Reaching for the silver bell on the bedside table, Dex gave it a light tap.
A soft, professional female voice echoed from a nearby crystal embedded into the headboard:
"Dear guest, what can I do for you today?"
"Send me a selection of the city's local specialties," Dex said, his tone casual, but precise.
With that done, he adjusted his position and let out a long, relieved breath. Even someone like him—whose willpower was unmatched—would feel drained after spending six straight months submerged in silent study, absorbing thousands of volumes of knowledge into his mind and soul.
"After I eat… maybe I'll go out for a bit. Stretch my legs."
The knock at the door came sooner than he expected—gentle, but eager.
When Dex gave his permission, the door opened to reveal four women, each wearing the refined uniform of the hotel's elite maid staff. They entered with well-practiced grace, pushing a small enchanted cart bearing steaming dishes and polished gold utensils.
Their eyes instinctively fell on the man lounging on the bed. The leading maid's pupils sparkled as she offered a courteous smile. "Sir, your food has arrived. We'll have it ready in a moment."
The other three glanced at Dex as well, each trying to hide their curiosity behind professional masks. For months, whispers about the mysterious guest in the top-floor suite had spread through the staff like wildfire. Some doubted he even existed. Others insisted he was a noble in disguise. Rumors painted him as powerful, devastatingly handsome, and... untouchable.
Now, seeing him in the flesh, they realized the rumors had fallen short of reality. Dex possessed a calm magnetism, the kind that needed no ornament or dramatic gesture to draw attention. Even reclined casually in bed, his presence filled the room.
Once the dishes were neatly arranged on the dining table, the head maid bowed with professional poise. "Sir, would you like us to serve you your meal directly?"
Dex, without moving, waved a hand lightly. "No need. That will be all."
A flicker of disappointment passed across the maids' faces, but they recovered quickly and nodded in unison. With silent steps, they exited the room and gently closed the door behind them.
Alone again, Dex barely spared the food a glance. He didn't even shift his position. Yet the dishes began to float, gently drifting toward his mouth one by one. As he remained lying down, bites of steaming delicacies disappeared mid-air, chewed and swallowed as if by invisible force. It was a strange and eerie sight, especially for anyone unaware of his abilities.
With the lights dimmed and a camera rolling, this scene could've easily passed as a ghostly moment in a horror film.
After finishing the last bite, Dex finally stirred.
With a practiced motion, he flipped upright from the bed and stood straight, his back popping audibly as his joints cracked in rhythm.
"Six months... no movement. Time to stretch a little."
He rotated his neck and limbs slowly, each bone shifting like the click of puzzle pieces fitting back into place. It sounded like an entire string of firecrackers going off inside his body.
With a satisfied grunt, he walked to the door and stepped out.
---
The moment he walked into the city streets, Dex noticed something odd. The streets of Augusto, once vibrant and bustling, were far more crowded than before—but the energy was different.
'Why are there so many people out today?'
At first, he wondered if there was a festival or major event taking place. But after taking a closer look at the crowd, that idea was quickly discarded.
The expressions on people's faces told a different story. There was no celebration, no joy. Many wore fine clothes, clearly people of wealth or prestige—yet their eyes were hollow, their pace slow, and their faces pale. Even among the well-dressed, despair clung to them like a second skin.
Some sat idly on the sidewalk, their bags at their sides, as if waiting for something that would never arrive. Families huddled in corners, while merchants quietly packed up their stalls early.
There was no laughter. No music. No colors. Only the distant sounds of murmurs, the dragging of feet, and occasional sobs.
Frowning slightly, Dex tilted his head and tuned in.
Ten of thousands of voices—whispers, conversations, complaints, and tears—streamed into his ears from all directions. His mind filtered through them rapidly, extracting fragments and connecting dots like an omniscient observer.
After a few minutes of silent listening, the truth emerged clearly.
Two months ago...
Roughly two thousand kilometers from Augusto, an unthinkable disaster struck.
A devout sect of Abyssal cultists, fanatical in their beliefs and completely unafraid of death, managed to infiltrate the heartland of a neighboring nation. Through means both subtle and sinister, they succeeded in tearing open a rift—a portal—leading directly into a polluted plane of the Abyss.
And just like that, chaos erupted.
The demons of the Abyss, ravenous and maddened from centuries of isolation, surged into the material world. For these starving horrors, it was as if someone had thrown open the doors to a banquet hall overflowing with helpless prey. They swarmed in with feverish joy, their bloodlust unrestrained. The result? That country was torn apart from within before it had any hope of defending itself.
On the first day alone, more than a third of the population vanished. The royal family was devastated, with most of its members slain or unaccounted for. Entire cities fell overnight.
Panic spread like wildfire across the continent.
Only the desperate and immediate intervention of dozens of neighboring countries managed to prevent a complete collapse. Despite the immense logistical cost, they dispatched elite troops across vast distances to contain the incursion. Thanks to their united efforts, the demons were eventually boxed into a region of desolation—contained, but not eradicated.
However, such a hastily constructed perimeter could never be perfect.
The demons, unpredictable and cunning, regularly found ways to bypass patrols and magical barriers. Every few days, scattered reports emerged of small infernal strike teams slipping through, wreaking havoc, and then vanishing again into the shadows. It was like trying to trap fire with a net.
Entire regions near the perimeter became war zones. Villages were razed overnight, their survivors—if any—too few and traumatized to tell what exactly had happened. Isolated caravans were ambushed and devoured. People began to disappear in the night, and with them, any sense of safety.
Smaller settlements quickly realized they were on borrowed time. Many abandoned their homes altogether.
Caravans stopped traveling alone. Banding together for safety in numbers became the norm. Rural families, forced from their homes by fear and necessity, flooded into larger urban centers in droves. Even small towns found themselves overwhelmed and unprepared for the influx.
And in this growing storm, Augusto—renowned for its powerful mages and robust magical defenses—stood as a shining beacon of hope. Naturally, it became the primary refuge for hundreds of thousands.
The result?
The city's population doubled in just two months, and it was still growing by the day. With so many new mouths to feed and so few resources to go around, even the efforts of price regulators couldn't keep up. Food, housing, even clean water—everything became more expensive overnight.
Tensions rose.
The locals, suddenly forced to share their streets, jobs, land, resources, and food, which are expensive now, cost twice or even four times as much, began to view the refugees as parasites. With the increase in the cost of living, there has also been a corresponding rise in crime rates. Clashes broke out in marketplaces, neighborhoods, and public squares. Some incidents were violent. Others quietly simmered under the surface.
Protests exploded like wildfires.
Demonstrators marched through the city, demanding order, compensation, or simply someone to blame. But the authorities didn't wait long to respond.
Within hours, enforcement squads had descended on the protests with terrifying efficiency. There was no room for negotiation. The crackdown was swift, cold, and absolute.
No debates. No second chances.
Augusto was ruled by mages, and the ruling class—especially the high-ranking archmagi—had long ago learned the art of suppressing dissent. Many of them had lifespans exceeding that of elves and memories stretching back centuries. They understood that a high-pressure policy wouldn't solve the root problem, but it would ensure order—for now.
Their logic was simple.
Rebellions don't need to be dismantled at the root—just decapitate the leader, and the rest will scatter. Remove the head, and the body loses its will. Without leadership, angry mobs are just noisy crowds, directionless and doomed to fade.
From a magician's perspective, this wasn't cruelty. It was simply necessary arithmetic.
And the truth was, the commoners understood this too. Even if they hated it—hated being treated like cattle or pawns—they could do nothing. Against a high-tier mage, a thousand ordinary people might as well be ants. Even ten thousand wouldn't stand a chance.
In this world, power ruled. And unless someone with power chose to intervene on their behalf, the poor and powerless had no voice.
Historically, all successful uprisings had one thing in common: external backing. Be it a rebellious noble, a rival kingdom, or a hidden sect—without a sponsor, no revolution had ever survived long.
And so, the world turned, cold and indifferent.
Dex, who had only gone out for a breath of fresh air, found himself unexpectedly amused by this grim reality.
Whistling softly as he pieced together the fragments of recent history from casual overheard conversations, he couldn't help but smile.
"Well, isn't this just perfect," he murmured to himself, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. "A city on the edge... a world in chaos... and demons still on the loose."
His eyes gleamed with perverse delight.
Sympathy? Compassion?
Not a chance.
Watching others suffer was practically a source of entertainment. And if a few demons were butchered in the process—well, that was just the cherry on top.
In fact, nothing would make him happier than seeing a demon die horribly right in front of him.
Enemy suffering? Good.
Innocents dying? Even better.
The more miserable the world becomes, the more alive I feel.
Dex exhaled, eyes gleaming with quiet madness.
"Now that's what I call a perfect morning."