In Hell, news always traveled fastest through the Blood River Fortress on the first layer.
The place was bustling with crowds and densely packed with devils, so grapevines naturally carried word at breakneck speed. Furthermore, any devil capable of entering and leaving the fortress was of no small status; once back in their own domains, they were surrounded by cohorts of greater and lesser fiends.
Add in the deliberate nudges from an archduke of Hell, and Anbaixiu's "reckless and insolent" wager swept across the realm in no time.
Of course, different versions circulated.
Even so, everyone knew that the formerly legendary figure had lost his mind—he actually intended to end the Blood War.
This time, it truly became the laughingstock of the lower planes. "The Deceiver has gone mad" even turned into a standard greeting among devils.
"Did you hear? The Deceiver who could swindle even archdukes has gone insane! Word is he couldn't endure Zariel's exploitation. Mortals will always just be mortals, after all."
Such rumors were considered mild. Even Mammon could not resist dropping by to inquire, petrified that Anbaixiu might taint the reputation of the Hell Bank.
Mammon even offered to help dispel the gossip if it was merely a false claim.
Instead, Anbaixiu replied flatly, "That's right. I'm going to end the War of the River of Blood."
Terrified, Mammon stormed straight to Zariel to demand an explanation. What insane stunt had this fallen angel pulled to drive their perfectly good money-printing machine completely bonkers?
Zariel felt even more aggrieved. All she had wanted was to tie Anbaixiu down in the Blood War so he would stop tormenting her mentally, thereby keeping her infernal authority secure. How had a mere few words with Bel led to him declaring an end to the Blood War?
Infuriated, Zariel marched over to Bel, nearly raising her greatsword to split Bel's skull wide open.
And Bel felt more wronged than anyone. By the Nine Hells, could anyone honestly blame him? Bel had genuinely only demanded that Anbaixiu take part in the Blood War, without sneaking in any personal agenda whatsoever.
Who could have guessed that this lunatic hiding inside a mirror would fly off the handle the instant he heard the word "destiny"? Bel had no idea what nerve he had struck.
To make matters worse, as the fellow was losing his mind, his arguments were so elaborate and structured that Bel himself had almost been swayed. But in the end, Bel had merely refrained from pursuing the equipment Anbaixiu had pocketed; compared to the entirety of the Blood River Fortress, those items were less than a drop in the ocean. Aside from that, Bel had not given Anbaixiu a shred of aid, and had even helped circulate rumors ridiculing the madman.
At the time, Zariel's flaming sword had been resting against Bel's neck, barely a centimeter from his carotid artery, but in the end, Bel's genuinely wronged expression managed to convince her.
No one knew what had possessed Anbaixiu, but the entire Nine Hells now knew that the Deceiver intended to end the Blood War. He had already sealed a wager with Bel: if he lost, he lost everything; and if he won... no one cared about the stakes for victory, because everyone knew Anbaixiu could not possibly win.
That was the Blood War between Hell and the Abyss—an eternal, unending conflict.
To prove the authenticity of this wager, Archduke Bel had even exposed the Deceiver's dirty laundry, publicly broadcasting a string of his past aliases. Bel claimed this was so all the devils of Hell could keep watch, preventing the rascal from using false names on contracts to cheat his way out.
Upon closer inspection, that reasoning didn't actually hold water.
Devil contracts were not so easily fooled. Even if one merely drew a circle, so long as one signed with sincere intent, the pact would automatically form and brand itself upon the soul. It was a soul contract, entirely divorced from past aliases.
Discerning minds found it fishy, suspecting the news had been leaked intentionally.
Yet across the Nine Hells, countless devils lost all reason the moment they heard those names.
In the second layer of Hell, a hell lord whose body resembled a dark shadow let loose an earth-shattering roar, shaking his entire stronghold as if it might shatter: "Lord of Elden?! That damned Deceiver was the Lord of Elden?!"
Amid the grinding of teeth, this hell lord—ordinarily renowned for his calm wisdom—frenziedly gathered his entire elite guard and rushed toward the first layer of Hell.
Similar scenes played out across every corner of the Nine Hells.
The same gnashing of teeth, the same blinding rage, though the names on their lips differed.
Arthas, Sargeras, Kel'Thuzad, Tav, Dragonborn, Wesker, Sephiroth... None of these sounded like the same legendary figure, but in the mouths of those furious devils, every single name represented a chapter of bitter, agonizing history.
Some devils even discovered to their shock that the companions they had spent days complaining beside shared the exact same mortal enemy.
These devils varied in strength. While numerous when gathered, compared to the vast expanse of the Nine Hells, they were merely a ladle of water drawn from an ocean; only a handful of special status could cause any real waves.
Meanwhile, Anbaixiu, who had stirred up such a tempest, was still splitting himself into millions of avatars. Most were busy managing the magic mirror network for commoners, handling soul coin exchanges, or casting pay-to-cast spells, having the time of his life.
In a brief span of time, Anbaixiu's "Magic Mirror: Hell Special Edition" had spread far and wide.
Crafting one was not cheap; ordinary devils could neither make nor afford them. But that was fine—one could simply take out an installment loan! They could take the magic mirror first and pay a small interest fee every few days.
The interest was genuinely modest, especially considering how potent the mirror's capabilities were.
If nothing else, a pay-to-cast Invisibility spell was already a supreme life-saving trick.
Lowly lemures knew nothing of Invisibility, and even high-ranking devils could not all see through it. Was that not the ultimate essential technique for stealing, plundering, and swindling?
With Invisibility, one had an escape route; with an escape route, one could boldly chase coin; and once bold money-making succeeded, one could clear their debts, come out on top, and become a genuine big-spending patron. Even if one failed, nothing was lost—a mirror bought on credit could be transferred. After a quick rebinding, it was ready for use again, inheriting the remaining installment terms.
Many devils contemplated murder and pillage; if they killed a mirror owner, they could obtain this commoner's artifact for free.
Yet the risk was considerable. Any devil desperate enough to rob someone for a magic mirror wasn't particularly powerful to begin with, whereas someone wielding a mirror effectively had an advanced mage at their beck and call, capable of borrowing spells in critical moments—even if the interest was extortionate.
Because of this, the magic mirror spread through Hell at astonishing speed.
Anbaixiu charged no copyright fees. Any mirror crafted by anyone could connect freely to his "network." Numerous capable hell lords obtained the schematic, began producing them independently, and sold them at steep prices, essentially serving as countless free processing factories for Anbaixiu.
Within the divine realm of the God of Alchemy, Anbaixiu remarked with deep emotion, "It is all thanks to your modified version, Teacher. It truly suits the nature of Hell's devils."
The materials and crafting process for this Hell-specialized version were custom-tailored to ensure materials were ubiquitous and tool requirements kept to a bare minimum. The only flaw was subpar quality; prolonged use caused them to wear out easily. But that did not matter. Devils in Hell either died before the mirror broke down, or survived long enough to easily swap it for a new one.
The God of Alchemy took great pride in this achievement. It was not merely the result of divine power, but the fruit of long and painstaking deliberation. He had even optimized many functions specifically for Anbaixiu, the "artifact spirit," substantially relieving the mental strain of processing endless streams of data simultaneously.
For instance, certain repetitive tasks were offloaded to the mirror terminal in the divine realm. They required no mental effort from Anbaixiu; so long as Anbaixiu granted authorization through the Golden Throne, the artifact itself handled them automatically.
It was precisely because the true artifact body shared the load that this was possible; otherwise, maintaining a hundred thousand mirrors simultaneously would have been Anbaixiu's limit, let alone expanding across the entirety of Hell.
Many of these improvements had stemmed from Anbaixiu's own creative proposals, opening the God of Alchemy's eyes and prompting him to repeatedly declare what a worthwhile student he had taken in.
With the continuous proliferation of the magic mirrors, the God of Alchemy's divine power was surging by leaps and bounds.
The greater alchemy's influence grew, the stronger his divine might became. Sooner or later, he would touch the threshold of a greater deity, at which point he could truly sit on equal footing with Oghma.
Master and apprentice were diligently analyzing the workings of the infernal engine, reaping plenty of gains over the past few days.
In a few more days, they would likely assimilate the infernal engine's principles entirely into alchemy, granting the God of Alchemy another surge of strength.
Having just finished recording the latest set of data, the God of Alchemy finally set down his hammer and said to Anbaixiu, "Take a breather. Even gods get tired, you know."
Reverse-engineering infernal technology inevitably consumed his divine energy, and the past few days had taken quite a toll on him.
Anbaixiu could only set aside the bloody, visceral parts. Reverse engineering was impossible for him alone.
Yet he hadn't expected that the moment the God of Alchemy stopped working, he couldn't resist gossiping: "What on earth are you up to in Hell? I took ending the Blood War as a joke—just an excuse to stir up trouble. But what do you mean by luring all your old enemies over? Are you afraid you don't have enough troubles? They might not find you, but they can easily find your daughter's territory."
The Goddess of Wealth, who had been sitting nearby leisurely sipping tea, also placed down her pure gold cup. While maintaining an impassive facade, she had actually focused her full attention on their conversation. She, too, was curious about Anbaixiu's actions. The Hell Bank was operating smoothly, and her own power was climbing rapidly; she would soon recover her former strength.
If Anbaixiu stirred up trouble now, it could easily disrupt the bank's operations, pushing her recovery into the distant future.
Facing the two of them, Anbaixiu had nothing to hide, confessing candidly, "I had no other choice. I have too few capable people at my side. You can't honestly expect me to end the Blood War all on my own, can you?"
The God of Alchemy froze, asking in bewilderment, "What did you say? You're serious about ending the Blood War?"
Anbaixiu nodded firmly, then spoke to his teacher with utter solemnity: "At first, I was caught up in the moment and made a boast. But after careful thought over these past days, I realized this might be my opportunity to ascend to godhood. If I can end the Blood War, Ao won't be able to stay silent any longer, will he?"
Neither the God of Alchemy nor the Goddess of Wealth had imagined this mere mortal would play for such staggering stakes.
Setting aside the odds of success, the sheer ambition alone surpassed that of most mortals, and even most deities.
Only by working miracles could one truly be called a god, yet many gods had long forgotten that truth.
Still, it was rather strange. Now that Anbaixiu had separated from the Elegy Poetry Society, Jergal's contest for the seat of the God of Death had nothing more to do with him. Without that Mourner interfering, Ao ought to have shown some acknowledgment; his continued silence until now was indeed unusual.
Yet Ao was simply too distant and lofty.
For the God of Alchemy today, meeting Oghma was not difficult, and having a cup of tea with the Goddess of Magic was entirely feasible. But seeking an audience with Ao was harder than a mortal trying to meet a god.
The Overgod's intentions were utterly unfathomable. The so-called rules of the past were merely deductions drawn by deities based on precedent; Ao had never explicitly stated what criteria governed ascension.
Perhaps the Overgod truly held Anbaixiu in unique regard, waiting to see him forge yet another miracle.
End the Blood War?
Could he really accomplish a feat that had eluded all the gods?
The demons of the Abyss belonged to the chaotic evil alignment; they could not be swayed by reason or self-interest. So long as their desire to destroy all things could not be eradicated, the Blood War would never cease.
The God of Alchemy could not fathom how Anbaixiu intended to pull it off, but he was in no hurry. Since Anbaixiu was no longer bound by mortal lifespan, he could take his time. The Blood War had raged for countless ages; another thousand or several hundred years made little difference.
Even so, the God of Alchemy asked again, "What does ending the Blood War have to do with summoning your enemies?"
"Didn't I just say? I have too few capable people around me. Teacher, you might not fully realize it, but during the centuries your student spent wandering the Prime Material Plane, I was driven into tight corners more than once. Though I emerged victorious in the end, many of those wins were lucky flukes.
"Those adversaries may have ultimately fallen by my hand, but that doesn't mean they were fools. Quite the contrary—far too many of my enemies were brilliant minds. More often than not, I won purely by the grace of the Goddess of Fate. If I can enlist their help, ending the Blood War might actually stand a sliver of hope."
Anbaixiu genuinely lacked manpower.
There were few around him who could think strategically. To say nothing of Melina, even the Rose of Decay could usually only assist with manpower and material resources; offering strategic counsel on the grand scale was rarely something she could do.
Every scheme Anbaixiu embarked upon was a world-upending endeavor, making him look like a madman. Even infernal archdukes struggled to keep up with his train of thought.
Plotting to kidnap a goddess was an objective no one else would dare contemplate, yet in the end, Anbaixiu had figured out every step on his own. Only a madman could understand another madman—just like the foes he had encountered in the past.
On that long roster, many names were etched deeply into his memory.
Had the tables been turned, giving his opponents the resources and capabilities he possessed, he might very well have been the one to lose. To accomplish an even more inconceivable, magnificent feat now, he had to partner with madmen.
Hearing this, the Goddess of Wealth could not help chiming in, "You want to lure your enemies out and turn them into your helpers? That sounds utterly absurd. Judging by your past record, anyone ruined by your schemes probably hates your guts."
Anbaixiu chuckled. "Zariel wants me dead just as badly. When has hatred ever trumped profit? When they moved against me back then, was it because they were jealous of my handsome looks? It was nothing more than a conflict of interests. Now, I command wealth beyond their wildest dreams, which means I hold the leverage to make them set aside old grudges and work for me. Well, one of them might be a bit troublesome..."
"Who?" the God of Alchemy and the Goddess of Wealth asked in unison.
An enemy Anbaixiu singled out for mention had to be extraordinary.
Anbaixiu offered no details, answering offhandedly, "A madwoman... Forget it. She may have dissipated long ago; she might not have survived centuries in Hell. And even if she did, with her personality, she might have already been captured and forged into soul coins. But if she truly survived, someone like her has probably become an exceptionally powerful hell lord by now."
The God of Alchemy countered, "I doubt there's just one. Weren't all those enemies you remember quite capable? If they've all survived until now, you won't be facing a bunch of mere foes—you'll be facing a host of powerful hell lords."
Anbaixiu sighed helplessly. "Teacher, you are the God of Alchemy. Please don't pick up the Goddess of Fate's habit of jinxing things."
Even as they spoke, an enemy had already arrived at his doorstep.
Just as the God of Alchemy had warned, those among Anbaixiu's old foes who had made it to this day were mostly a dangerous lot.
Outside Melina's territory, a massive fiendish army had assembled in formation. Numbering at least twenty to thirty thousand, they appeared well-equipped, far from a motley rabble.
They had brought full siege engines and stood primed to attack. At their head was a dark-faced cambion.
Though cambions were half-blood fiends and generally not exceptionally formidable, this one was different. He stood a full head taller than Monica the erinyes, his body radiating surging, tempestuous magic.
Standing before the gates of Melina's fortress, the cambion bellowed in fury, "Come out! Arthas! You had the guts to deceive me with a false name, but now you lack the spine to face me?! Come out, you vile, shameless swindler!"
When Melina heard the report, she nearly lost her temper and charged out to run the cambion through with her spear.
Yet Anbaixiu's voice sounded from within the magic mirror: "Calm down, Melina. This one is looking for me."
"Father, he is insulting you!"
Melina clenched her fists until her knuckles cracked. She would never allow anyone to insult her parents—especially her father, the most brilliant man in the world.
Anbaixiu consoled her, "What insult is that? Don't pay it any mind. Let me go see who he is."
Having pacified his enraged daughter, Anbaixiu directed the magic mirror to glide outside the fortress.
The palm-sized mirror expanded rapidly, swelling until it was as colossal as a rampart. The moment Anbaixiu's distinctive visage of black hair and dark eyes materialized on the mirror's surface, the cambion's eyes bulged wide.
The cambion roared once more, "It really is you! Damned Arthas, I could never forget that face of yours!"
"Arthas... You say that name... A tiefling from the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn?"
Anbaixiu had used the pseudonym Arthas quite frequently while traveling through the Unholy Hymn. Tieflings were also fiendish half-bloods, so transforming into a cambion upon descending to Hell made perfect sense.
Still, who was this?
The fellow's appearance had clearly changed drastically after his infernal transformation. Anbaixiu could not match him to a single enemy in his memory.
Hearing Anbaixiu's question, the cambion squeezed a name through clenched teeth: "Cordoba! Jacques Cordoba! Surely you remember that name now?! You damned cheat, you filthy slave!"
Anbaixiu: "..."
He truly... couldn't remember.
Anbaixiu shook his head awkwardly. "Never mind. If I can't recall him, he probably wasn't that important. Melina, take him down. This one is useless."
Before the aggressive cambion could vent his fury, the fortress gates swung wide with a thunderous roar. Melina, who had been raring for a fight, surged forth leading a modest squadron of infernal cavalry.
"Fools! You dare open the gates?!"
The hell lord calling himself Jacques Cordoba waved his hand. Vast magical power linked him with his elite troops, conjuring layer upon layer of shields before their battle line. These magical barriers were not only exceptionally durable, but also bristled with razor-sharp barbs, designed to reflect incoming damage right back at the attacker!
This was his signature mastery. Any opponent who recklessly charged his line would end up battered and broken against such defensive magic.
Yet this time, his opponent was Melina.
A pale blue radiance from the sussur tree washed over them, and the formidable barbed shields dissolved like mere phantoms.
The cavalry charged, carving straight through the enemy formation.
Chapter 555