Chapter 135: Chapter 135

Abella’s hundred years of solitude began on the way back to Ish Island, when her magitek motorcycle suffered an unexpected malfunction.

This was quite illogical. Although her upper strength limit had been locked, she was still a fourth-stage lord, and logically, the return journey should have been smooth sailing.

Yet, embarrassingly, she encountered a clash between the two great powers of the North Abyss and South Abyss midway, with their respective commanders being none other than the “Steel Seadragon” and the “Nightmare Tentacle,” both of whom had previously been named by Yvette.

Having heard about them from the Purple Commander, she quickly recognized the Steel Seadragon’s identity—a powerful commander under the King of the Ocean Depths. Its semi-mechanical, massive serpentine body was quite iconic, reminiscent of the “Burrowing Constructor” from the Origin Civilization era, known to be a super shield machine that could supposedly pierce the earth’s core.

On the opposing side was the Nightmare Tentacle; while she didn’t recognize it, it was likely one of the strongest commanders under the King of the Abyss, or else it wouldn’t have the rank to stand against the Steel Seadragon.

Thus, even though she was on the edge of the battlefield, her luck ran out, and she was forced into combat.

Fortunately, her magitek motorcycle had been modified by her master, boasting thick armor and a magical barrier. After some struggle, she managed to escape.

However, not long after, she discovered that the battle’s impact seemed to have damaged some internal components of the motorcycle, and after reaching the waters surrounding Ish Island, it broke down and started taking on water. She had no choice but to disembark early and slowly push the vehicle onto the beach.

At this moment, the situation became awkward; without the motorcycle, it would be challenging for her to return to the continent—especially since Ish Island was located in the North Abyss, and as a traitor to this side, she was at odds with both factions.

In her view, she was merely waiting for her mistress to awaken; once she did, everything would be fine, and there was no need to fret!

Thus, she returned to her master’s estate and spent several peaceful years there, during which she managed to restore her strength to the peak of the fifth stage, launching a downward assault on all divine beings residing on the island. She even explored the Abyssal Base and studied her master’s former residence, though she didn’t uncover anything significant.

Afterward, having left the Abyssal Base in boredom, a sense of emptiness began to arise within her as time passed.

Initially, her life here had been quite hopeful. She often went out hunting the divine beings on the island and in the sea to provide nutrients for her peak advancement to the fifth stage.

But the question remained—what then?

To make another leap, she needed the assistance of a sixth-stage mother nest, yet there was none on Ish Island, and even if there were, there were no resources to nurture a sixth-stage entity.

So now, what could she possibly do on this deserted island?

Soon, ten years passed.

As an immortal who could maintain an almost limitless lifespan simply through continued sustenance, Abella initially felt that enduring a decade’s time was nothing. After all, she had lived alongside her master in the Water Tower Nation for years and hadn’t perceived any issues.

But now, on Ish Island, she was genuinely starting to feel the strain. Here, there were no mechanical beings, no Ice Rain, no black dragon, and no master—only a group of AI skeletons lacking the authority to take directions. This deep sense of loneliness, isolation, and lack of communication was something she had rarely experienced before.

Moreover, that white cocoon was rather unreasonable; she had been waiting for ten years, and there wasn’t a single sign of progress—not even a loading bar. How could anyone endure that?

Abella felt helpless, but there was nothing she could do; after all, she was completely clueless about various technologies and too lazy to learn. That broken magitek motorcycle, which had been left unrepaired for a decade, was beyond her understanding, and she couldn’t fix it, so even if she wanted to leave, she couldn’t.

The only thing she could do was continue waiting quietly, hoping that her mistress would awaken tomorrow and take her from this sea-bound prison.

Days turned into weeks.

As the endless waiting dragged on, twenty years passed.

At this point, Abella had developed a profound sense of apathy.

Compared to her master, who was usually quiet and cold, almost robot-like, Abella realized she was quite social. When she was under the authority of the Purple Commander overseeing the Cucus, she had spent her free time gossiping with peers or bullying lower-tier divine beings, reveling in the pleasure of dominating the weak.

Her aloof demeanor when she first met Yvette was merely an effort to present herself as an elegant figure, hoping to intimidate her opponent into not knowing her true background. Little did she expect that her disguise would be so effective that Yvette considered her to be a “respectable opponent,” leading to years of harassment.

Now, being confined to a solitary island with no one to converse with, occasionally encountering a few third-stage divine elite who also couldn’t speak, and not receiving any emotional feedback when she bullied them made her feel like she was slowly suffocating.

Was this any different from prison?

No, unlike prisoners from the Origin Civilization who could at least chat with roommates and guards, she had no one alive around her!

She couldn’t just sit around waiting any longer; she had to save herself! She didn’t want to play the loyal dog any longer; she wanted to leave this wretched place for good, never to return!

What kind of master could sleep for so long? She never wanted to see her again!

So, on one morning, twenty-five years after Yvette fell into her cocoon, Abella finally made up her mind. She opened the door to her mistress’s study on the third floor and saw the numerous books and handwritten notes on the shelves, shining like the sun.

This was the purpose of her visit.

She wanted to utilize the knowledge here to learn everything related to the magitek motorcycle, fix it, and then use it to sail across the sea and escape from this miserable place.

Although she had tried such endeavors in the past and ultimately failed, that had been fifteen years ago. Back then, she had not possessed the determination or ambition as she did now.

Today’s Abella was entirely different from the girl she once was!

With this thought in mind, she took a deep breath, her expression resolute as she picked up a copy of “Fundamentals of Magitek Engineering” and carried it down to the spacious living room, diving headfirst into the book, relishing the experience of swimming in a sea of knowledge and feeling the glimmer of hope for the future.

Half an hour later, she slumped over the table, peacefully drifting off to sleep.

Abella’s journey of learning lasted five years—at least nominally for five years—but eventually culminated in an epiphany regarding a specific incident, leading her to abandon her pursuits at lightning speed.

This realization didn’t stem from her seeking excuses to slack off or being too foolish to learn.

Rather, it struck her that she had been playing the role of a loyal dog waiting for her master to awaken for an entire thirty years. If she managed to fix the motorcycle, drove away, and her master awoke moments later, that would render her thirty years of waiting entirely pointless!

How could anyone endure that?

Thus, filled with profound sorrow as well as a sense of relief and amusement, she helplessly returned the copy of “Fundamentals of Magitek Engineering” to its shelf.

Of course, there had to be other rune texts and magical notes in her mistress’s study. Even if she didn’t learn to repair the motorcycle, couldn’t she instead work on filling in her gaps in magical knowledge?

This idea, too, proved unfeasible.

Because, similar to Dugrabi from years past, she only learned the fixed spells imparted by her mistress. For her to design or optimize original spells herself would entail a vast amount of knowledge acquisition, equivalent to starting over. It was far preferable to await her mistress’s awakening for her to guide her with ready-made instructions, since that would be much easier.

Time returned to its starting point.

Once again, she roamed the island aimlessly, occasionally bullying weaker divine beings to amuse herself.

However, it didn’t take long for the thrill of giving up on studying to lead her back into having nothing to occupy her time. The sense of boredom, loneliness, and emptiness rapidly enveloped her once more, tormenting her mind until the strings of her heart were stretched to their breaking point.

Then it came to pass that fifty years later.

On a dreary, overcast morning, Abella stepped through the dew-laden grass, one slow step at a time, toward the wide-open grassy area at the center of the estate, gazing at the colossal white cocoon with a heavy expression.

At this moment, she and the Abella of fifty years ago were entirely different beings. Her once sleek black hair, reminiscent of black silk, had dulled and lost its luster, now resembling a tangled web battered by the sea breeze, with stubborn, tangled knots all over. Stains of various shades marked her once-pristine face—one gray, one green. The robe she wore was now tattered and barely recognizable in color, and an unpleasant mildew scent filled the air around her.

Only her eyes still retained a hint of brightness, but compared to before, they had grown hollow and devoid of the captivating allure they once held, seeming to linger on the brink of psychological collapse.

Of course, she refused to believe she had any mental issues; instead, she told herself that her solitary life had rendered her too apathetic to care for her appearance, leading to her current disheveled state—much like certain reclusive artists who neglect their grooming while absorbed in their creations.

What she planned to do, to her, didn’t seem reckless at all. It was simply using her unique corrosive magic to shatter the cocoon and help her mistress awaken ahead of schedule.

Her reasoning even seemed sound to her—in a normal promotion process, there was no way one would need to sleep for fifty years, so her mistress must have encountered an issue that had rendered her .

She couldn’t help but think that perhaps her mistress also longed for someone to break her out of this prison, and if she could succeed in awakening her master, not only would she avoid punishment, but she would also become a hero.

With this thought, Abella felt it was entirely reasonable, and the revelation struck her suddenly, her face breaking into a deranged smile. Official source ıs Nov3lFɪre.ɴet

She then gathered her black magic and began bombarding the white cocoon with fervent attacks, letting loose maniacal laughter as she did so, lost and dazed in thoughts of hope for liberation from despair.

But when the dust settled, she could never have anticipated that her corrosive magic, which had once posed a threat to her mistress’s Pure White Touch, would leave not a single mark on the cocoon after such a prolonged onslaught.

Abella stood dumbfounded.

This was her final ace; she had subconsciously recognized that this was an act of desperation. If she could avoid doing so, she absolutely would not have attempted it; after all, what if she angered her mistress? Who knew if she would end up being used as nourishment?

However, what surprised her even more was that, even in her peak state as a fifth-stage lord, her full efforts hadn’t even scratched the surface of the white cocoon!

What was going on? Was her mistress truly a normal divine commander? Why did everything feel so sinister?

Abella was completely bewildered, but one thing was certain: she was now utterly at a loss for what to do but continue waiting.

Thus, after her failed attempt to “help” her mistress escape, Abella fell into total despair.

She began to suspect that her mistress had already died within that cocoon, and her endless waiting here was no different from sitting in a cage.

But if she were to pick up learning about repairing the motorcycle again and reopen that copy of “Fundamentals of Magitek Engineering,” she thought perhaps things weren’t quite so hopeless.

Moreover, the objective reality was that now the motorcycle was in an even worse state than it had been fifty years ago.

No matter how well the vehicle had been modified back then, it had been exposed to wind and rain for many years, and the entire structure was on the verge of falling apart. Fixing it would essentially be akin to crafting a brand new vehicle from scratch—the learning costs would skyrocket exponentially.

During such reflections, Abella recalled how her mistress had been able to learn all the knowledge here before leaving the island, which seemed truly incredible.

Indeed, her mistress had become who she was for a reason. If Abella ever found herself at the helm, she could appoint Yvette as her technical consultant, relegating her to a mere part-time maid.

Lost in those thoughts, Abella felt that spark of inspiration, returning to her room to grab paper and pen, starting to write.

This moment, she suddenly understood that writing could also serve as an essential method to pass the time. With her ambition of becoming a ruler and reversing their master-servant roles, ensuring that her mistress became her subordinate, she thought that idling would not be good; it would be better to start planning what she would do to punish her greatly once she took over.

In an instant, clarity washed over her as if she had broken free from her shackles. On this lonely, desolate island, Abella found renewed hope for her life, embarking on her literary career and scribbling every possible scenario into her notebook, mapping out her future ambitions as she visualized every situation that could arise.

And the content? Sometimes it featured the overbearing ruler Abella commanding the tsundere maid Yvette, while at other times, it delved into the colorful realms of non-human play, often involving white tentacles; and otherwise, it was role-playing set in various worlds.

Not to say that she was overly ambitious, but the narratives were certainly quite distasteful, filled with indescribable and oppressive themes.

As time slithered by, the ink bottle dried and refilled repeatedly. A feather quill became worn down to the nib, forcing her to replace it with a new one. In the year-to-year essence of life, as Abella transitioned into a budding erotic author, she gradually accepted this means of solidifying her precarious mental state.

She kept on making her monotonous rounds of the increasingly lush yet solitary herb garden; occasionally replenishing the magical energy of a dwindling reserve; and during her downtime, she would check for any new third-stage divine beings appearing on Ish Island. If any emerged, she would pounce and torment them, extracting bits of twisted joy from their silent writhing and using it to fuel her creative writing.

In this solitary creative journey, the sheets of paper and thick notebooks piled up on the round wooden table in the living room.

Initially, she made some attempts at hiding them, to prevent any surprise from her mistress upon awakening, lest she be caught off guard.

However, over the long years measured in decades, her vigilance eventually eroded under the relentless passage of time and the relaxation of her inner turmoil. She started leaving her cherished works strewn about carelessly, sometimes curling up on a soft sofa to take a brief nap, letting the outside world’s storms wash over her.

And so, without her noticing, it surpassed the hundred-year mark since Yvette had cocooned into that white chrysalis.

On a winter afternoon, under the pale sky of Ish City, delicate white snow fell silently, like powdered sugar swirling through the air.

Within the estate, Abella, now dressed in the drab colors of black and white and resembling a typical reclusive girl, gently closed the window to keep the cold wind at bay. In the fireplace, pinewood crackled cheerfully as the orange glow bathed the spacious living room in warmth.

At that moment, she had just completed a short story so captivating that even she couldn’t help but applaud her own talent, even if it was, as usual, laced with disturbing themes filled with indescribable fantasies and twisted desires. Nevertheless, her graceful writing style could easily overshadow the crude aspects—at least, that was her belief.

Stretching with a sense of ease, she flopped down on the nearby sofa, curling her long, delicate legs under her, and began her customary midday nap.

The warmth from the fire wrapped around her like a gentle embrace, and the feeling of drowsiness washed over her like a tide. The air was quiet except for the crackling of burning wood, providing a sense of comfort like every moment from the past.

Just minutes after she succumbed to sleep, outside the window, the colossal white cocoon, unmoved for a century, finally exhibited a hint of abnormality.

A small, fragmentary crack began to spread across the surface of the cocoon. The fissures rapidly multiplied and expanded, heralding the dawn of change that Abella had longed for through countless sleepless nights.