Chapter 1536 - 972: Change

Chapter 1536: Chapter 972: Change

Blood Pit Fortress.

"Anvil and Ale" Tavern.

The abyss after the great war, the filthy air still carries the undertone of rust and sulfur.

This disgusting sky never changes because of anything.

But the moment you step through the wooden door of the tavern, the burning bloody scent and the heavy pressure from chaos magic power in your lungs suddenly lighten.

The power of order inside the fortress acts like an invisible filter, keeping the worst abyssal smells outside.

The Iron Flower Structure hanging over the fortress continually dispels the chaos magic power trying to surge in, allowing everyone here to be free from the invisible magic interference.

The air is filled with a more "pure" scent of blood and sweat.

Blended with the smell of cheap ale, roasted meat grease, tobacco, and something akin to pine cleaner, it forms a unique "freshness" belonging to frontline soldiers.

The inside of the tavern is unexpectedly bright.

It’s hard to imagine this is a tavern in the midst of the abyss.

The alchemy light spheres embedded in the rough stone walls emit a stable warm yellow glow, not the glaring white light, enough to dispel the shadows in the corners yet not harsh.

The wooden tables and chairs are heavy and rugged, even edged with chop marks from battles, but they are polished to a shine and neatly arranged.

Hanging on the walls are several simple oil paintings depicting majestic mountainsides or peaceful forests — clearly the handiwork of some soldier or craftsman yearning for home.

Creating a subtle balance with the old shields and polished weapons hanging in the corners.

This intentional, somewhat clumsy "warmth" is the effort of the fortress designer and tavern owner.

Like a rough yet effective whetstone, it attempts to grind away the numbness and almost solidified resentment in the hearts of the warriors amidst the endless bloody battle.

Letting them in brief respite, find a trace of feeling "alive" rather than just "fighting".

Although it might not necessarily do much good, it’s better than nothing.

The tavern at this moment is more boisterous than a month ago.

Because that war ended a month ago.

Voices clamor, hot air surges.

The Night Watchers in their silver-gray uniforms gather in small groups, occasionally seen staring blankly at the air in front while talking softly.

Avengers full of scars and with knife-sharp eyes occupy several long tables.

These people silently gulp strong liquor, or speak hoarsely of a demon’s dying scream.

Only when recounting these matters does a smile pull at their faces.

The abyss never lacks such people.

A few Abyssal Merchants draped in dark cloaks, with skin bearing the abyss’s unique grayish tone, huddle by the bar, haggling with the shrewd barkeeper.

Incidentally peddling to others some mysterious items of uncertain origin that may be life-saving at critical moments, mixed with who knows what substances.

After all, this is the abyss, where battles can kill at any moment, there could be harmful or excessive material inside.

But what does it matter?

Due to the existence of Blood Pit Fortress and its supply of various potions given,

The business of selling such drugs has gotten much harder compared to before.

Most numerous are the soldiers wearing heavy, grime-covered armor from the Blood War Fortress.

These soldiers were warriors from Blood War Fortress, now they can come to Blood Pit Fortress, glimpse its differences, and experience rare novelty here.

Their coarse laughter and hearty clinking of cups are the main theme of the tavern.

People from different camps blend together, distinctly separate yet with fewer past barriers, sharing a crude sense of recognition forged from blood and fire.

"Ha! Fantastic! Bloody hell, fantastic!"

A Blood War Fortress heavy axeman with a full beard and armor still bearing fresh scorch marks downs a large glass of dark beer.

Foam runs down his beard as he slams the wooden cup onto the table with a thunderous noise.

"Enduring all these years, cutting demons in this damned place till my axe’s edge curled, like running in circles.

"Last month, finally pierced through those bastards’ weak spot! Twelve outposts! Ha! Like chopping vegetables!"

"Absolutely!"

A Shield Guard with a long blade scar on his face replies, carefully wiping the edge of his tower shield, his tone carrying the unique calmness of his race but with barely concealed excitement in his eyes.

"Looking back post-battle, that push forward felt surreal. Before? Peeling off just one of their outposts would cost how many brothers? Now? Ha!"

He couldn’t help but grin.

"The key is we held it!" Another stout Dwarf Warrior wearing a horned helmet thumps the table, his voice resonant, he’s a veteran of Blood War Fortress.

"In this month, how many waves those abyss whelps charged like mad dogs? I watched below from the new lookout tower, the dense dark mass was unsettling.

"And then? Ha! This new defense line, solid as Venerable Carlos’s fist. Those bloody demons crashing into it only left a mess of meat, good for nothing!"

He gleefully shakes his mug, "Rock Defense Line, lives up to its name! Calling it right!"

This draws out lots of approving laughter and the sound of clinking cups.

The forward line not only withstood but exhibited resilience far beyond expectations, this reassured and invigorated these veterans more than a temporary breakthrough victory could.