Under the weight of the official statement, the once-boisterous verbal sparring fell suddenly silent.
In Tasmalin Province at this very moment, discussions about the Abyss had scattered to the far corners of the realm. Following the major debunking program, denying the Abyss became the prevailing view. Magistrate Tasha covertly initiated the call to "wash away imperial propaganda and restore historical truth." Yet, like every major farce churning in public opinion, those who had long feared the Abyss seemed to swing to the opposite extreme. Some even began questioning whether the Celestial Realm and the Abyss truly existed at all—whether demons were merely a human fabrication.
Then came the official announcement: traces of the Abyss were indeed detected within Angars Forest.
The raging tide of mockery, bandwagoning, and scornful ridicule was abruptly doused with cold water. Those who had been laughing moments before now exchanged stunned glances—the shift in public sentiment had been too swift for them to muster genuine panic.
Besides, it was merely a trace of the Abyss.
No one wanted to be caught red-handed. The publications that had mocked the "Abyss researchers" most viciously scrambled to publish revised statements. They dissected the sparse official statement with seemingly sound logic: the language remained characteristically precise. Since the report mentioned only the presence of the Abyss's aura—not its visitors, relics, or specters—its origin remained unknown.
Those with connections uncovered the existence of the Erian Empire's "Abyss Factor Detector." They presented tables—their authenticity unverified—to argue that objects carrying Abyss aura didn't necessarily signify an Abyss invasion. For centuries after the Abyss's expulsion, this device diligently continued its work, playing a significant role in the Erian Empire's persecution of alien races.
"The awakening of Abyss descendants' bloodlines and certain mage activities can also manifest Abyss aura. According to a former military official of the Erian Empire, when Lady Natasha, the Governor of Tasmalin Province, activated the underground city—the very foundation of what is now the Free Nation of Tasmalin—the Abyss Factor Detector also glowed brightly. The shadow of the Abyss has surfaced countless times over the past centuries, yet the mortal realm remains undisturbed. This alone proves our panic over it is utterly blind and unnecessary." — On the Diversity of Abyssal Auras, one of Tasmalin State's major newspapers and a key competitor to the Lake Rebe Weekly, interpreted the official statement thus. Its logical presentation and seemingly credible evidence gained widespread support, significantly dampening the panic that had just begun to stir. Much like when the initial rumors were debunked, most accepted this new interpretation. Only a minority remained skeptical, still feeling considerable unease.
The situation took another turn the following day when the Abyssal Watcher Press released a pamphlet titled Abyssal Breath = Abyssal Factor? A Deadly Misunderstanding. Its blade was pointed squarely at the Liberty Herald. The publication meticulously detailed the vast differences between the Abyssal Breath and the Abyssal Factor, warning readers that treating the detection of the Abyssal Breath as the detection of the Abyssal Factor was a dangerous confusion of concepts that deceived the general public.
Unlike the influential Liberty Herald, sponsored by the Valch Artists' Guild, Abyss Watcher had been a little-known publisher until the release of Abyss: Not So Terrifying—A Complete Guide to Known Monsters. Though far less renowned, this press maintained connections within the Spellcasters' Guild.
The monster compendium's author was a genuine mage: the centenarian Webster. While his credentials as a "true Abyss-researching mage" remained unverified, his employment at the Tasmarin Institute and his remarkably sharp mind at over a hundred years old earned him considerable respect from passersby. Half of this publication was penned by the venerable gentleman himself, while the other half featured an article by Mr. Colin, a renowned expert on Druidic theory. The piece used the distinction between natural essence and nature factors as its entry point, gradually deepening its explanation of the similarities and differences between abyssal and natural attributes. As always, Mr. Colin, skilled in writing popular science works, presented his arguments logically and substantiated. Experts found it enlightening, while many lay readers, accustomed to following authority, accepted it readily.
In terms of readership, the fledgling Abyss Watch could not compete with any major newspaper. Yet in terms of expertise and focus, it far surpassed any established publication. The masses, who had only yesterday found reassurance, were plunged back into confusion. The previously one-sided public discourse was once again muddied.
Then, the situation grew even more complicated.
A whistleblower revealed that the Liberty Herald's source—the so-called "Mr. X serving in the Erian Imperial Military"—was merely a junior officer who overheard fragments of conversation. His intelligence was insufficient to serve as evidence. Does this expose the Liberty Herald's irresponsibility? Could it mean past reports were also distorted? What does the newspaper's backer have to say?
Some have raised suspicions that the "Abyss Researcher" who penned the original article "Has the Abyss Returned?" might be none other than Mr. Welbert of the Cretaceous Academy, presenting several pieces of evidence to support this claim. If these two self-proclaimed Abyss Researchers are in fact the same person, could the lack of rigor in that earlier article suggest that several recent pieces are also products of subjective conjecture? A centenarian is remarkable, but could also be senile.
Another individual has come forward to accuse a relative of dying over a decade ago due to Welbert's actions—a gruesome death that proves Welbert was no virtuous scholar worthy of respect, but rather an evil, cruel black magician deserving of execution. A tabloid interviewed relatives of the original victim, recounting the thief's misfortune in highly sensationalistic terms. The article concluded with a passionate plea urging readers to reject such second-rate, evil scum and never trust their reports.
The Valka Artists' Association issued a public statement asserting that all debates must be grounded in reason and evidence, focusing on the issues rather than the individuals involved. "Character and intellect are unrelated; judging scholarship by moral character is profoundly unwise. Dragging theoretical and conceptual disputes into personal character attacks is both despicable and foolish," the statement declared. "The Valke Artists' Association upholds its founder's principle: I may disagree with your views, but I will defend to the death your right to express them."
You see, once many people get involved, things tend to move at breakneck speed, even the initiator unaware of where it suddenly ends up.
This isn't necessarily a bad thing.
Countless newspapers and broadcasters took sides, and all manner of research sprouted like mushrooms after rain, some of it solid and well-founded. Authorities debunked the most absurd claims, reining in this runaway carriage to keep it on track. The entire Tasmalin region was embroiled in debate—people clung to theories for various reasons, attempting to persuade one another. When most energy was spent winning arguments, even those most fearful of the abyss found no time to scurry about like rats before an earthquake.
After all, when times are good, most people procrastinate before leaving their normal lives behind—unless there's undeniable proof of impending disaster.
It was in this stalemate that Tasmalin's military mobilized.
This was no covert operation; quite the opposite, it was a major undertaking. When the announcement about the Abyssal aura was made, parts of Angasor Forest were sealed off by troops. Yet officials did not order adventurers to evacuate Antler Town. Thus, the forces encircling the forest were daily observed by these self-proclaimed skilled and daring professionals. As the military mobilized, the onlookers stirred with a mix of tension and excitement. Soon, they witnessed a fleet of drones slicing through the sky.
"Look!" Many cried out simultaneously.
The gathered adventurers witnessed it, as did the crowd in Antler Town. The aerial battlefield unfolded like a grand stage, laid bare for all with keen eyesight. Under the watchful gaze of the spectators, the drones drove a swarm of flying monsters from the forest. These creatures, now in pursuit, fluttered wildly through the air, even making appearances before the audience.
What on earth were those things? They had red skin, tiny horns on their heads, and were a hundred times uglier than the most hideous child. They emitted a barking laugh from their mouths, and the steel forks in their hands looked incredibly sharp. The drones fell beneath the forks. Soldiers frowned, and onlookers gaped.
"They're imps!" someone shouted. "I've seen this in the monster compendium!"
He wasn't the only one who recognized them. News of the Abyss had been fermenting for a month—you'd be embarrassed to speak if you couldn't say a few words about it. Imps were the most common cannon fodder of the demonic calamity, undoubtedly one of the Abyss's calling cards. Like the first word in a vocabulary book, even the worst student could recite it. As its name echoed through the crowd, gasps rippled through the crowd.
The Abyss had truly arrived.
It had transformed from a distant concept into tangible reality. The second boot hovering overhead had finally come crashing down, radiating unease through the crowd. The various coping strategies widely circulated in recent days flashed through people's minds, like a first-time drill after prolonged study—the results were decidedly unimpressive.
Fortunately—whether by coincidence or not—all widely circulated disaster response protocols included manageable, crowd-control measures like "crouch with hands over head," "stand perfectly still," or "lie flat and play dead."
Most onlookers froze rigid, unable to move. A few adventurers panicked and were swiftly subdued by the surrounding troops. Just as unease began to spread, before it could fully turn to fear, cheers erupted.
The sky was cloudless that day, a brilliant blue. Anyone who turned their head away from the little demons could see the swirling shadows approaching. Another crimson streak tore across the heavens. Not far off, the dragon cavalry formation, led by a mighty dragon, had arrived.