Ethan guided Ron along the stone path towards the city gate, occasionally nodding to the vendors by the roadside.
Ron observed his surroundings, noting an indescribable scent in the air.
It wasn’t pollution or decay, but rather a peculiar metallic scent.
It combined with an iron scent similar to blood, carrying a subtle vitality, as if the air itself was breathing slowly.
"The Wizard has probably noticed the peculiarity in the air, hasn’t he?"
Ethan glanced at Ron’s slightly furrowed brow and took the initiative to explain:
"That’s what people call the ’Abyssal Scent,’ a unique product of where Abyssal energy meets the surface world."
Ron nodded slightly, his senses much sharper than those of ordinary people.
He could not only smell the scent but also feel the subtle energy fluctuation within it—faint and persistent, like a distant heartbeat.
This energy fluctuation carried an irregular rhythm, both familiar and strange, enticing one to delve deeper into the experience.
Then Ethan began to describe the various enhancement effects the Abyssal scent had on the residents.
Ron was intrigued by these changes. They aligned with what he’d read in the "Abyssal Creatures Atlas," but were even more detailed and specific.
"Are there other changes?" he pursued, beginning to ponder how to apply this information to his own bloodline research.
Ethan pondered for a moment, a complex light flashing in his eyes:
"Many people develop special... abilities. I have a friend who can sense Abyssal energy fluctuations and foresee impending danger.
Once, during an exploration, he suddenly commanded everyone to stop, and at that moment, the ground ahead collapsed, saving the entire team from danger."
His tone suddenly turned somber:
"But the cost is equally great. On average, our lifespan is nearly a third shorter than that of ordinary people. Even though we appear strong, few of us live past fifty here."
He gestured towards an elderly woman on the distant street.
Her skin had turned a deep gray, almost black, and her eyes had become crystalline purple, emitting an unnatural glow:
"Look at that elderly lady, she’s just over forty, yet her body has begun to rapidly decline. This is the Abyss not only granting us power but also prematurely harvesting our Life Fruit."
Ron silently committed this information to memory, both out of academic interest and to assess potential risks.
Exploring the mysteries of life has always been one of the core pursuits of a Wizard’s exploration.
"Earlier, you mentioned the Abyss allows people to gain special abilities. Do these abilities follow any particular patterns?"
He continued to inquire, preparing to record this information in his own Library of Consciousness.
"There are indeed some patterns, but they are not absolute."
Ethan explained, sidestepping a drunken Dwarf:
"For example, those Dwarves who master excavation often develop a special perception of underground spaces;
Elves adept at weaving might acquire the ability to manipulate fine threads;
And those explorers operating long-term in the Black Sand Wasteland Region may develop a weak ability to control sand particles."
He tapped his chin gently with his fingers:
"Simply put, the Abyssal scent enhances people’s original talents and traits, while also twisting them, making them more... extraordinary."
"It seems these changes aren’t entirely negative."
Ron commented softly, his gaze sweeping over the varied residents on the street.
Ethan let out a short laugh:
"On the surface, that’s true, but the greatest cost isn’t the shortened lifespan, it’s that we’ve been ’marked’ by the Abyss and can never leave."
Ron raised an eyebrow: "Marked?" This statement piqued his interest.
"Yes, marked." A persistent shadow appeared in Ethan’s eyes:
"People who live around the Abyss long-term undergo certain... changes, making it impossible for us to leave the coverage range of the Abyssal scent for long periods."
He pointed to his forehead, as if indicating an invisible mark:
"Once we attempt to go too far or stay away too long, we begin to... lose control. Mild cases experience headaches, hallucinations, emotional instability; severe cases undergo complete mutation, becoming mobile Abyssal radiation sources, contaminating everything around them."
Ron saw fear flicker in his eyes when he mentioned "mutation."
It wasn’t hearsay fear, but the shock of having witnessed it firsthand.
"I once saw someone mutate."
Ethan’s voice was almost inaudible, his gaze unfocused, lost in some painful memory:
"It was my uncle, chosen for an experiment that forced him to leave the Abyss Edge for two months. When I saw him in the cage again..."
Ethan’s voice trembled slightly:
"His body had completely deformed, skin cracking to reveal spreading black crystals, eyes multiplying to more than a dozen, scattered across his entire head. Most terrifying of all, he had lost all reason, becoming a beast driven by instinct."
Ron felt the genuine fear from this description.
This mutation clearly involved not only physical distortion but also the collapse of the spirit and consciousness.
"In the end, the guards had to..." He didn’t continue, but the implication was quite clear.
"In reality, even if allowed to leave, we simply don’t want to leave."
Ethan continued, trying to shake off those heavy memories:
"The lack of Abyssal scent makes us feel extremely uncomfortable, like..."
He hesitated for a moment, seemingly searching for an appropriate metaphor: