Chapter 1654: High Caste of the Death-Souls
The 247th layer of the Abyssal World.
This was the territory of the Death-Soul Race. Over countless eons, they had warped and terraformed the entire realm into a bizarre domain habitable only by their own kind.
When Kaidric teleported Orion’s Death-Soul Fiend avatar here, Orion arrived completely blind to his surroundings. Before him stretched an endless expanse of black mist.
Standing in the thick fog, Orion felt the mist actively corroding his body, rotting his flesh inch by inch. Yet, simultaneously, this very decay fortified him. It was a microscopic, almost imperceptible enhancement of his physical resilience and overall power.
A twisted realm and a miraculous fog. So this is the Death-Soul Race’s domain?
Orion sensed that as long as he remained in this world, his strength would grow infinitely.
"Young one, what you see in the mist is mere illusion. It harbors the wandering memories of our fallen kin," a voice echoed. "Linger too long, and you will lose yourself. Until we reach the demigod realm, we can never swim freely within it."
A miniature whale, barely six feet long, swam out from the dark fog. It drifted up to Orion, inspecting him.
"Newborn kin, welcome to the Paradise of the Death-Soul Race! Welcome to the eternal realm of black mist!"
Orion remained silent. He stared at the small whale. Its aura was only at the Arch Lord tier, yet it addressed him as ’young one’—a jarring discrepancy. Then he remembered: his Death-Soul Fiend avatar passively concealed its true power, radiating only the pressure of a Legendary level entity.
Understanding the mix-up, Orion chose not to correct the creature. Instead, he offered a respectful bow.
"Senior, may I ask—"
"I am the warden here, and your guide!" the whale interrupted. This wasn’t its first time shepherding a clueless, wide-eyed rookie. "Save your breath and memorize what I’m about to tell you."
"First: find a safe haven immediately. Prioritize shelters overseen by a demigod. Do not become obsessed with the mist. It will only drown your mind and lead you to your death."
"Second: obey the rules of whatever haven you enter. Comply and live, rebel and die. No one will champion your grievances here."
"Third: do not provoke anyone stronger than yourself, or you’ll suffer the consequences. Fair warning—no one will collect your corpse. If you die, you just become fertilizer for the fog."
"Fourth... wait, what is your caste?" The whale paused mid-lecture, swimming a slow circle around Orion, suddenly uncertain of his origins.
"Caste?" Orion blanked. The Death-Souls had a caste system? Besides, he was a Death-Soul Fiend now, fundamentally different from his original avatar.
"You don’t even know about castes? You weren’t born into the core lineage, were you?" The whale instantly pieced together Orion’s background. Yet, instead of suspicion or disdain, a flicker of genuine admiration crossed its large eyes. "Take me, for example. I am a Soul-Devourer Whale, from the Soul-Devourer bloodline—one of the four high castes."
With that explanation, everything clicked into place.
"I am a Death-Soul Fiend!" Based on the whale’s logic, his avatar’s full classification was the Death-Soul Fiend, making ’Death-Soul’ his caste.
"A Death-Soul Fiend!" The whale gasped. "You belong to the Death-Soul lineage? Another of the four high castes?"
Faced with the creature’s shock, Orion could only offer a vague nod and a shake of his head.
"Ah, right. You aren’t from the core families, so it’s perfectly normal that you lack our basic common sense." The whale’s tone softened drastically. Eager to build a rapport with a fellow high-caste member, it gestured forward. "Come, brother. Let’s walk and talk."
"Listen closely, brother. Aside from the four high castes, there is the First Caste—Delor. That is the Chieftain’s lineage. Below them sit our four high castes: Nether, Death-Soul, Soul-Devourer, and Steel-Soul."
"Any caste outside these five is considered lowborn. Their innate talents and social standing are universally beneath ours."
As the whale explained, Orion’s understanding of this realm rapidly expanded. The Death-Soul Race operated on a rigid caste system, with the top five factions sharing absolute dominion over their entire civilization. It finally dawned on him that Kaidric—the man who had teleported him here—was also a member of a high caste. His full name had to be Nether Kaidric.
"By the way, brother Whale, how does one acquire cultivation resources around here?" Having grown familiar with the creature, Orion seamlessly adopted the friendly moniker, fishing for more valuable intel.
"That’s simple. If you’re the lazy sort, just find a haven with lenient rules, pay the periodic residency fees, and take occasional dips in the black mist to refine your body at your own pace." The whale chuckled. "Living free and easy is nothing to be ashamed of!"
The Death-Souls possessed virtually endless lifespans. The ’lazy’ lifestyle the whale described was the standard routine for most of their kind. It wasn’t a lack of ambition; the mist itself was their cheat code. Merely soaking in it guaranteed steady growth.
"And if I’m the ambitious sort?" Orion asked.
The whale glanced back at him, entirely unsurprised. Any Death-Soul born outside the core lineage had to claw their way up through life-and-death struggles. The weak ones were devoured by their peers long ago.
"Also simple!" the whale replied. "The mist holds countless havens. The masters of those shelters, and the residents within, regularly issue commissions. Complete them, and you earn resources. As for the tasks? Expanding territory, purging the Lost Ones spawned by the fog, fighting in proxy arena matches for different masters... If you’re confident in your strength, head to the major havens. They periodically organize expeditions to conquer outside realms—the Abyss, the Hells, Ascendant Planes, lesser worlds, Godforsaken Lands. It all boils down to slaughtering races and stealing territory."
The whale turned to study Orion’s face, searching for a flicker of fear or perhaps hungry anticipation. Unfortunately, Orion’s expression remained a blank slate.
"Brother, what if I want to establish my own haven and have others serve me?" Orion asked earnestly. He had noticed the whale loved to talk and had loose lips; it freely spilled secrets without much prompting. "How would I do that?"
"Build a haven? You?" The whale halted abruptly. It swam back, circling Orion with a critical eye. "You aren’t even an Arch Lord. Forget sheltering others—you can’t even protect yourself. No, absolutely not. Go ahead and get yourself killed if you want, but don’t drag other kin down with you."
The creature clearly had zero faith in Orion.
"Just tell me how it’s done, brother Whale," Orion pressed. "Whether I can actually protect anyone is a separate issue. Once I have the strength, I need to know where to start, right? Or do you lack faith in our four high castes?"
Mentioning the high caste snapped the whale out of its dismissal. It suddenly remembered that the rookie it was guiding was a high-caste outsider. This kid had to be utterly ruthless to survive this long, which meant his potential was staggering.
The whale’s large eyes brightened at the realization. It drifted closer to Orion, its tone shifting back to that of a devoted older brother.
"It’s straightforward, my friend. Assuming you possess the power, you just find a spot in the mist, activate your domain, and carve out a safe zone by holding back the fog. If you can maintain that safe zone for ten consecutive years, a divine shelter monolith will descend from the heavens. The monolith’s arrival always triggers cosmic phenomena. Any kin in the vicinity will see it and know a new haven has been established. At that point, people will naturally flock to serve you—both for their own safety and for a cut of the profits."
