There was no wall in the world that didn't leak secrets—even the Wall of the Faithless had drafts.
Anbaixiu's name and deeds had long since spread across the planes.
Although the first layer of Hell was Zariel's domain, countless sinners fell into Hell every day, bringing intelligence from various planes with them.
A single person mentioning that lich was nothing, but when a vast number of sinners arriving from different planes all spoke that same name within a short time, it spread rapidly throughout Hell.
Bane of Goddesses, World-Saving Lich, Wealthiest Mortal... the list of such titles went on and on. Yet among all these epithets, the one the devils of Hell admired most was "the Deceiver."
The Deceiver, Ultraman Tiga—to play even Archdukes of Hell in the palm of his hand, there was no more breathtaking feat.
To devils, deception was the very trade by which they made a living. To deceive Zariel and Tiamat was to elevate a survival skill to the realm of art.
Everyone anticipated this artist's descent into Hell. And indeed, Hell was the only place a master of deception could end up.
Monica was one of them. This erinyes lord had even fantasized about the artist landing right in her territory when he descended.
If so, even if it meant making enemies of two Archdukes, Monica would protect this deceiver. His soul was a rare treasure, more precious than tens of millions of soul coins.
Fiddling with the soul coin in her hand, Monica murmured to herself, "Word has it he's already dead, likely fallen into Archduke Zariel's clutches. Now, someone has barged into Hell claiming to deliver a letter to Archduke Zariel, and they can produce a soul coin of this caliber. Is there a connection between the two?"
With this question in mind, Monica granted an audience to Cambien, a lowly cambion, with great ceremony.
No shackles, no whips, and no sealed powers; she allowed them to enter the fortress completely unharmed.
Cambien himself was stunned. Soul coins were precious, but to receive such preferential treatment for just a single coin—how broke was this local lord?
Perched upon an obsidian throne, Monica flicked her tail at Cambien in an invitation to step forward.
Cambien stood one meter ninety tall and was packed with sinewy muscle, yet before Monica, he appeared rather diminutive.
Monica was nearly three meters tall; even seated, she was a head taller than Cambien.
Powerful devils often possessed colossal physiques, and erinyes were no exception.
Her massive stature did not diminish her allure in the slightest; instead, its sheer scale made every tantalizing curve all the more pronounced.
Cambien took only a single glance at Monica before instantly ducking his head, not daring to look a second time.
Not every cambion possessed such sharp reflexes, however. Two of his kin beside him stared half a second too long, and their minds began to blur. They felt as though the erinyes lord before them was their eternal love, someone to whom they would willingly sacrifice their very souls.
Such was an erinyes's method: unless one possessed exceptional willpower, a single glance was all it took to fall.
Ignoring Cambien, whose reaction had been so swift, Monica hauled the other two cambions before her and whispered alluringly in their ears, "Little ones, tell me everything about your master."
Just as Cambien opened his mouth to speak, a barbed tail pressed firmly against his throat.
Monica warned, "Little one, I granted you some courtesy out of respect for your master, but do not test my temper. Otherwise, you'll promptly become dinner for the hell hounds."
A crushing pressure descended upon Cambien. This was no illusion, but the soul pressure of a superior devil.
In this strictly hierarchical world where the strong devoured the weak, the feeble truly had no power to resist before the mighty.
Under normal circumstances, Cambien would have already fallen to his knees to kiss Monica's toes. This time, however, he gritted his teeth against the soul pressure and forced out, "Respected Lord, I have no intention of defying your authority. It is simply that these two fools know nothing. Even if you crushed their souls to dust, you would extract nothing useful from them, and doing so would alienate my master. For your Excellency, this would be a losing deal."
In Hell, a "losing deal" was an exceedingly grave insult.
If you called a devil despicable and shameless, he would only say modestly, "You flatter me, I still have much to learn." But if you told him he lost out on every contract he signed, most devils would fly into a rage and demand a duel.
When Cambien threw that phrase out, the barb at his throat pressed a fraction closer, leaving a shallow scrape on his skin.
Yet Monica ultimately pulled her tail back.
"So you are the true envoy. Speak, then. You know what I wish to hear."
Cambien breathed a sigh of relief. As long as they were talking, there was hope. The young cambion remained prostrate, not daring to lift his head as he said, "My Lord, you already know my master's intent. We are willing to pay a handsome fee to use the teleportation array. What do you think?"
"Heh." Monica's tail whipped across Cambien's face with brutal force, sending him flying several meters.
Bleeding profusely from his face, Cambien tried to scramble up, only to find Monica's long leg stomping down on his back, pinning him completely motionless.
"I told you—you know what I wish to hear. Little one, you dare test my patience? You have one last chance. Tell me everything regarding your master, or else..."
Monica's tail coiled around Cambien and dragged him up before her face.
Even though Cambien shut his eyes tightly, the faint, lingering fragrance and her hypnotic voice slowly dragged his willpower down into oblivion.
A few seconds later, Cambien breathed raggedly, bloody saliva dribbling from his open mouth.
"I'll tell you everything I know... I was originally a cambion wandering the Blood Wasteland... I was summoned by Archduke Zariel's artifact, commanded by the artifact's wielder..."
Cambien blurted out everything he knew, not even concealing how he had smashed the noses of his brethren to save his own skin.
Monica found it amusing. This little cambion had some petty cleverness. He had the nerve to act as an envoy, so his courage wasn't bad either... A pity his strength was far too meager.
Hell was just like that; having both courage and wit did not guarantee getting ahead. Among the sinful souls in Hell, who didn't possess both courage and wit?
Without real ability, one couldn't even manage to commit significant evil; the sins committed wouldn't even qualify them to be cast into Hell.
Hell had far too many "talents" like Cambien, and his luck was plainly mediocre.
The most valuable piece of intelligence Monica gleaned from Cambien's mouth was Melina's name.
Melina, an undead girl, accompanied by a noble-bearing, exceptionally powerful Undead Queen.
"By the Nine Hells! What a thrilling gift! That artist's daughter has delivered herself right to my doorstep! If I present her to Archduke Zariel, how great a reward will I receive?"
If the artist himself had descended, Monica would have thrown open the gates, knelt at his feet, and begged to become his woman, knowing that following him would yield boundless advantages. But this was merely his daughter, while he himself had already fallen into Zariel's clutches. There was nothing more to consider—capture her and sell her off, simple as that.
Though braving Hell for her father's sake was admirable, just like with Cambien, in Hell, having courage and wit was meaningless.
Monica cast a bewitching smile at the cambions before her and commanded, "Go back and tell your master that I agree to let her use the teleportation array. It will cost only a thousand soul coins."
***
Surrounded by her escort, Melina entered the opulent fortress and met the hell lord exuding seductive charm from every pore.
Monica's plan was simple and direct: as long as Melina lowered her guard and met her face-to-face, it would all be over.
Erinyes never needed to fight head-on. As long as they controlled their opponent's will, everything fell effortlessly into their grasp.
Monica was an exceptionally rare half-elf erinyes hybrid. Far from diluting her allure, the two heritages blended seamlessly, making her enchantment over living beings all the more potent.
It was precisely because of this that Monica, despite being ill-suited for direct combat, could still rule as a regional lord.
She had thus spent ages honing and training her charms, a synergy of talent and effort where one plus one was far greater than two.
Hence, Monica was supremely confident that the moment she laid eyes on Melina, taking her down would be effortless.
However, she had overlooked one thing: she had no real concept of what a truly top-tier second-generation scion was.
All the assets in this impoverished lord's entire fortress amounted to barely a hundred thousand soul coins—a sum that was just a trivial fraction of the boundless wealth Melina stood to inherit.
The instant Melina stepped into the fortress and met Monica, more than three layers of magical wards on her person were triggered.
The first layer was the magic resistance inherent in the enchanted armor the Rose of Decay had prepared for her. Once dragon-grade materials were no longer in short supply, the overall standard of magical equipment had surged across the board; Melina wore the absolute highest grade, and this magic resistance instantly nullified the majority of Monica's charm effect.
The second layer was "Free Will," a blessing bestowed upon Melina by Aige before her departure. Aige's power was already infinitely close to divinity, and Freedom was the divine portfolio she pursued; thus, this blessing of Free Will was immensely potent—almost like an elf's racial trait, granting immunity to all forms of mind-affecting control. However, Aige could only bestow this blessing upon Melina alone, and with a time limit, whereas Corellon could permanently solidify such an effect across the entire elven race. The gap in power between the two remained vast.
As for the third layer, it was practically superfluous: the artifact in Melina's grasp had merely sensed Monica's "provocation" and launched an automatic retaliation.
The longsword had been bestowed by Zariel, carrying the majesty of the ruler of the first layer of Hell.
What Zariel favored was the baptism of blood and fire, the fiercest of combat—not such coquettish posturing. To use charm against Melina was to blaspheme Zariel's majesty.
How could Monica have known any of this? She had barely cast a flirtatious glance at Melina before, in the very next second, both of her eyes exploded with a loud pop!
The excruciating agony made Monica shriek hysterically, completely unable to maintain her poise.
What followed needed little explanation. Amid Monica's roars, the devils of the fortress launched an assault on Melina.
Melina was completely bewildered.
Hadn't they agreed to let her use the teleportation array?
No matter. Fighting was what Melina did best.
The sussur tree burst forth from the ground, the flaming longsword cleared its scabbard, and Melina switched straight into lawnmower mode.
None of the devils, great or small, could withstand a single clash against her.
One truly couldn't blame them for being weak. Under the canopy of the sussur tree, all magic was suppressed; how could mere flesh and blood withstand Zariel's artifact?
Unable to hurl fireballs or cast curses, unable to teleport or melt into shadows, how were the devils supposed to fight? With claws and teeth?
Occasionally, heavily armored melee devils charged in to risk their lives against Melina, only to experience the exact same despair the Ryan soldiers had felt in the past.
Melina's fighting style was bizarre and incomprehensible; all their painstakingly honed swordsmanship was utterly meaningless, and they were shredded to pieces almost the moment they got close.
Such was the fruit of half a month of grueling cultivation.
When Gareth said Melina would have no problem touring Hell, he meant that as long as she didn't encounter god-level opponents, she could bulldoze through anything in her path.
The sussur tree was simply too terrifying, capable of suppressing all magic. Spellcasters stripped of magic were useless, and even a legendary warrior, once stripped of their enchanted gear, would be no match for Melina wielding an artifact.
By the time Monica's regenerative power restored her eyes, what met her sight was a towering azure tree overshadowing half the fortress, along with countless corpses littering the ground—all her subordinates.
"Impossible! How long has it even been?!"
Monica's heart bled. What was wrong with this madwoman? Wasn't she the Deceiver's daughter? Even if she had seen through the scheme, she should have been drowned in waves of devils! This was Monica's fortress, after all!
Where were the magical traps? Where was the defensive magic array? And what of all those erinyes spellcasters? Casting crowd-control spells together should have rendered her unable to take a single step!
Watching Melina butcher her forces in a frenzy with her longsword, the erinyes lord couldn't help recalling her own youth.
A weak erinyes in Hell had virtually no means of self-preservation and could only rely on stronger devils.
Monica had served many devils over time, but in the end, she had drained every one of them of their souls and magic. She had thought herself above such crude and savage violence.
Yet now, she was forcefully reminded of the law of Hell: when your fists were big enough, you could renege even on a debt to the Lord of Hell.
Melina was precisely that kind of powerhouse. She ruthlessly reaped the devils' lives and raised their corpses as undead; before long, her undead army outnumbered the devils.
Monica tried to flee, but under the sussur tree's canopy, spells and scrolls alike were completely useless.
Just as Monica moved to run on foot, a scarred cambion appeared right in front of her—the very same Cambien she had charmed earlier.
"Damn minion!"
Monica recognized him as well, but she had no time to waste on him. She whipped her tail, intending to swat him away.
This time, however, Cambien seized Monica's tail firmly, roaring, "You're not getting away! You will be my gift of atonement to my master!"
The moment the charm wore off, Cambien realized what had transpired: he had betrayed every scrap of information about his master!
Once that short-tempered master of his finished up, wouldn't he be as good as dead?
His only chance now was to risk everything to redeem himself. He could not let this erinyes get away!
In a rage, Monica grabbed the cambion and slammed him about, but no matter how many bones broke in his body, Cambien clung stubbornly to her tail and refused to let go.
By the time the erinyes lord furiously moved to tear Cambien to shreds, the flaming longsword had finally arrived before her eyes.
Chapter 526