The Tiefling Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn was perhaps the only realm met with widespread doubt from the very moment of its founding.
The tieflings' fiendish bloodline had always been a target of prejudice from other races. Even though they had contributed their share in the war against the Demonic Dragon, the true tiefling heroes had all perished on the battlefield.
Back then, other races had argued that Ryan should never have helped the tieflings establish a realm of their own, claiming they were merely cowards hiding in the rear to reap the rewards of others' sacrifice.
Yet Arthur Ryan had said, "Heroes sacrifice themselves precisely so that ordinary folk without courage can live in peace and happiness. Should the elderly and children who never stepped onto the battlefield be shunned as well?"
And so, Arthur Ryan overruled all opposition and helped the tieflings build their own kingdom.
To express their gratitude for Arthur Ryan's support, a statue of the holy king stood in the capital of the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn to this very day.
Yet even with a realm successfully founded, the tieflings still faced numerous problems.
By the customs of other kingdoms, the most prestigious hero—or a hero's descendant—would be acclaimed as monarch.
However, the champions who had stepped forward to campaign alongside Arthur Ryan were all dead, and their descendants were far too young, the eldest being only five years old.
Therefore, the tieflings established a "Council of Iniquity" to govern the kingdom. The council members called themselves the Unclean, acknowledging that they had usurped the authority rightfully belonging to the heroes, constantly reminding themselves to remain accountable to the tiefling people and never betray the heroes' sacrifices.
One could say that every kingdom enjoyed an era of flourishing prosperity in its infancy.
Yet in less than three hundred years, the descendant of the first tiefling king perished in an "accident" before siring any children, severing the royal line.
Quite a coincidence, wasn't it? For centuries, the royal lineage had seemed to hang by a single thread; no matter how low tiefling birth rates were, it was inconceivable that the royal house could not produce even a single collateral branch.
Thus, everyone saw the truth. Those who called themselves the Unclean had truly become unclean, having seized the champions' authority.
Still, it remained an internal tiefling matter. Back then, Ryan was not yet arrogant enough to interfere in another nation's domestic affairs, nor did anyone possess concrete proof.
At any rate, from that point on, the Unclean became the true masters of the tiefling kingdom, and the Council of Iniquity devolved into an insular cabal, gradually falling under the control of thirteen families.
And so it continued down to the present.
To ordinary tieflings, whether a hero's scion wore the crown or the thirteen families who stole that glory ruled in their stead made little difference in daily life.
Consequently, the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn endured without major upheaval.
Until recent centuries, when the Ryan Empire grew increasingly terrifying, completely disregarding national borders in a mad campaign of territorial expansion.
The tiefling kingdom was forced to draw upon the power of Hell once more, constructing numerous sealed Gates of Hell along its frontiers. Should Ryan invade, they would swing open the Gates of Hell to halt Ryan's advance.
After all, all blame rested squarely with Ryan.
Such extreme measures bought the tieflings a long period of peace. Yet as Ryan racked up victory after victory, the pressure bearing down on the tieflings mounted, prompting the Council of Iniquity to resolve to build even more Gates of Hell.
However, a court wizard who had served the tiefling realm for decades voiced his opposition.
Had he been an ordinary court wizard, his objections could have been ignored, or he could simply have been expelled. But this wizard was different: he was not only a legendary wizard, but also the very architect who had initially proposed creating the Gates of Hell to deter Ryan.
It was precisely thanks to his scheme that the tiefling kingdom had not lost the majority of its territory as the dwarves had.
It was also thanks to his meticulous calculations that the tieflings had walked the razor's edge without inviting divine retribution.
This time, however, the wizard sternly warned everyone: adding more Gates of Hell would cross the line, almost certainly drawing down the wrath of the gods.
His warning gave all the Unclean on the Council of Iniquity pause, leading them to abandon the notion.
A Ryan invasion might not wipe out the nation overnight, but breaching the cosmic bounds and provoking divine punishment would obliterate the kingdom in an instant.
Everyone could weigh the stakes clearly—except for one of the Unclean.
This particular Unclean had once been a Hellrider. Having personally journeyed to Hell, the tiefling insisted that the master's calculations were flawed.
Building at least ten more Gates of Hell across the realm wouldn't be an issue at all.
Now came the question: whom should they believe?
The dispute raged on endlessly without reaching a conclusion.
In the end, the Council of Iniquity settled on a compromise: they would stockpile all the materials required to construct the Gates of Hell in advance and complete ninety-nine percent of the preparatory work.
If Ryan invaded and an existing Gate of Hell fell, they could simply complete a replacement on the spot.
This seemingly sensible plan once again drew the master's opposition.
This time, however, the Council of Iniquity believed that reason was on their side, and dismissed his objections.
In the end, the court wizard who had served the kingdom for years resigned his post and vanished without a trace. Meanwhile, the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn began gathering materials with feverish haste to prepare more Gates of Hell.
At present, the tiefling kingdom had practically entered a state of full military mobilization. Troops moved endlessly along the roads, and quartermasters requisitioned supplies at every turn.
Harvey entered the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn during this ill-fated period. Because of his human heritage, he was subjected to an exhaustive interrogation; fortunate for Harvey, he was able to produce travel papers from the dwarves, or he would have landed in a dungeon for days.
Though he made it safely into the tiefling frontier settlement of Blackgate City, Harvey ran into another predicament.
Anbaixiu had dispatched him to deliver a letter, yet never told him where the recipient actually was. As Anbaixiu put it: several centuries had passed, and he could only confirm the fellow was still breathing; as for an address, Harvey would have to locate it himself.
"If you trouble your teacher for every little thing, what's the point of having a student?"
Harvey experienced Anbaixiu's stinginess firsthand once more. Wasn't it simply that he was too tight-fisted to sacrifice gold coins to divine the recipient's location? He dressed it up as testing his student.
Yet seeing through it changed nothing; Harvey still had to follow Anbaixiu's instructions and deliver the letter.
Now, everything depended on his own resourcefulness.
"According to the teacher, this senior fellow disciple of his is a tiefling and a legendary divination wizard. He ought to be quite famous. I'll start by inquiring among the tiefling kingdom's court wizards."
Harvey muttered to himself as he made his way toward the city's tavern. For gathering intelligence, a tavern was undoubtedly the ideal place.
The tavern in Blackgate City was far more deserted than Harvey had envisioned. In such a cavernous hall, only three or four patrons sat scattered about, and the bartender was polishing a glass with such vigor sparks might soon fly.
Harvey stepped up to the counter, set down a gold coin, and casually ordered a signature cocktail.
Unlike Anbaixiu, who paved his way with copper coins, Harvey was habitually generous. The moment the bartender caught sight of the gleaming gold, his demeanor turned exceedingly attentive as he spun the bottle into action.
Harvey took slow sips of the mildly spicy cocktail and asked, "Why is business so quiet? Are there very few adventurers around here?"
"Tensions have been running high lately, so there aren't many commissions around here. Naturally, the adventurers have cleared out."
Harvey could sense the bartender was lying. Shouldn't heightened tensions mean an influx of lucrative, perilous commissions?
The world never lacked adventurers willing to risk life and limb. Nor was this realm xenophobic enough to chase outsiders away. There had to be another reason adventurers had vanished en masse.
Still, Harvey had no interest in that mystery; he hadn't come seeking quests.
Harvey said to the bartender, "I'm a wandering apprentice wizard. Wherever I go, I make it a point to pay my respects to renowned mages. Are there any notables in this kingdom worthy of seeking counsel from?"
"Renowned wizards? There are plenty. Master Brenden Gratton specializes in transmutation magic. Then there's Master Domino Lawley, who was awarded a Distinguished Scholar badge by the City of Alchemy and excels in brewing magical potions..."
The bartender reeled off over a dozen famous wizards, but only four had reached legendary rank, and not a single one was a divination wizard.
That didn't add up. Had his teacher guessed wrong? Did his senior fellow disciple lack a prominent reputation?
If so, tracking him down would prove troublesome.
Harvey figured he would have to use the Dice of Fate, if only to divine a general direction to pursue.
Right at that moment, a drunken tiefling appeared beside him and said, "Buy me a drink, and I can help you find who you're looking for."
Harvey eyed the tiefling curiously. The man was quite old, yet his skin was not fiery red like most tieflings; instead, it resembled the ashen gray-black of a drow elf. Harvey recalled reading in a tome that this belonged to a different tiefling bloodline, though he couldn't remember the details.
His hair had turned completely snow-white, as had his beard. Wrinkles lined his face, and though his frame was tall and broad, he looked like an old man with one foot in the grave.
In taverns, ninety-nine percent of those who suddenly popped up asking for a drink were swindlers; the rest tended to be exceptionally capable adventurers who took an interest in your topic and intended to join in.
The keen premonitions Harvey usually relied upon suddenly went dead. He couldn't sense a single thing from this tiefling.
Yet sometimes, an absence of premonition was itself an answer.
Harvey asked, "Old sir, could it be that you are the person I'm looking for?"
The elderly tiefling offered no direct answer, merely chuckling softly. "Now then, can you buy me that drink?"
Harvey emptied every coin from his pockets directly onto the counter and told the bartender, "Whatever this gentleman drinks, put it on my tab."
The old tiefling remarked with feeling, "Not bad. That bastard took in an enviably good student. Though you're nothing like your teacher—back in the day, his stinginess was truly extraordinary. Oh, pour me the most expensive one!"
Harvey felt too awkward to speak. While the old man spoke the truth, he could hardly join in insulting his own master.
The old tiefling grabbed the golden bottle the bartender slid over, took a hearty swig, and added, "You're unlike him in other ways too. That bastard's tongue was blessed by the gods; he was never at a loss for words."
Harvey dared not let him mock his teacher any further and hurriedly produced Anbaixiu's letter.
The old tiefling took it and shoved it into his pocket without even looking at it. Then he said to Harvey, "You can call me Mister Misfortune. You should know by now that I lost my name to that bastard."
Harvey quickly said, "I heard my teacher mention this old tale. He said the two of you had a duel of wits..."
The old tiefling waved a dismissive hand. "Don't sugarcoat it. It was a clash of principles between your master and me. In the end, I lost, and my name went with the loss. But the one who lost was me, not the ideals I held. And if I'm not mistaken, your teacher hasn't made much of himself either."
Reduced to a lich—that was indeed pretty grim. Yet Harvey then thought of how his teacher manipulated events across major kingdoms with casual ease; calling it "not much of himself" hardly seemed accurate either.
Mister Misfortune didn't press Harvey into an awkward spot. Changing the subject, he said, "We can talk about your teacher and me later. Come with me right now. If we don't leave, it'll be too late."
Before Harvey could grasp what Mister Misfortune meant, a squad of armored tieflings barged into the tavern.
Their leader raised a longsword, pointed straight at Mister Misfortune, and bellowed, "The fugitive is right there! Seize him!"
Chapter 300