In the minds of the devils in the second layer of Hell, the Lord Scribe was someone whose emotions never showed on his face. He was somewhat more merciful than ordinary devils, though only because he had no fondness for torture; he far preferred a swift, clean execution.
No one dared behave discourteously before the scribe. Once, a guard of the Iron Fortress had yawned in his presence; that very day, the guard's head was thrown into the hell hound kennels, and his body chopped into mincemeat to feed the beasts.
Yet now, this erinyes had swept every document off his desk, and blood from her wounds had even stained a broad swath of the tabletop.
"Paluriel, if you want revenge, go get it yourself," the scribe said. "I work for Archduke Dispater. I have no time to bother with trivialities from my mortal days. Salvador? If you hadn't mentioned it, I would have forgotten the name entirely."
Paluriel looked into the scribe's eyes and scoffed with disdain. "Do you think attaining Hell's authority makes you a true deity? That is nothing more than a bone tossed to you by Dispater. Do you naively believe that power truly belongs to you? You can't even shield your mind from my Detect Thoughts..."
Paluriel leaned in closer, her scorching breath blowing directly against the scribe's face.
"I can feel it—you're afraid. Even knowing that man is right before us, knowing he is openly inviting us to seek our vengeance, you still don't dare. It seems you truly suffered a miserable defeat back then."
Two rays of crimson light shot from the scribe's eyes, morphing into sharp blades that slashed toward Paluriel. Yet this blow, potent enough to rip through space itself, was effortlessly dodged by the fiendish beauty.
"Tee-hee, touched a nerve? But I managed to infiltrate even the Iron Fortress—did you really think such a tedious sneak attack would work on me? Your divine power is borrowed, but mine is not."
Paluriel's words stabbed into the scribe's heart like daggers, yet he could not deny them. He didn't even dare give in to agitation; instead, he forced himself to calm down, doing his best to suppress any excess emotion from welling up in his mind.
For the scribe knew full well that this erinyes drew her power from the emotions of others.
The more agitated he became, the more exhilarated she would be.
She was an utter lunatic. Perhaps he should never have had anything to do with her from the start.
Noticing the scribe's shift in demeanor, Paluriel curled her lip in disgust. "How boring. You truly are a dull man. Have you really admitted defeat so completely? You are the deity here, while he is still nothing more than a mortal."
The scribe had fully regained his composure. He said airily, "Indeed. If that is so, why should I bother squabbling with a mortal? How ridiculous would it be if a billionaire spent every day obsessing over a copper coin stolen from him in childhood? Paluriel, isn't the only reason you came to me that you lack the confidence to carry out your vengeance alone?"
Paluriel furrowed her brows. Those words pierced just as deeply into her own heart, making her acutely uncomfortable.
The scribe offered no further mockery, merely adding in a level tone, "Neither of us is mortal anymore, Paluriel. Act your station. Besides, the Goddess of Fate has always stood on his side—a fact you should know better than I."
"Heh."
Paluriel let out a cold sneer and flipped her hand, revealing a soul coin resting in her palm.
"You say the Goddess of Fate stands on his side? Then let fate guide me. Tails up, and I will cast everything aside, become his servant, and crawl forever at his feet. Heads up, and I will spend the rest of my existence seeking vengeance against him, until one of us is utterly destroyed."
The soul coin spun deftly between Paluriel's fingers, the outline of the wailing soul upon it exceptionally clear in the firelight. Toying with the coin in her grip, she asked the scribe, "Salvador, do you want to place a wager too?"
The scribe replied coldly, "Heads or tails is entirely under your control. Can that even be called a gamble? Besides, either becoming his slave or entering a feud unto death—I am not nearly as extreme as you."
With Paluriel's dexterity, let alone a single soul coin, she could have flipped a hundred coins simultaneously and made whichever side she wanted land facing up. It had nothing to do with fate at all; it was merely a convenient excuse. Paluriel flashed a playful smile and said, "You're right. But why would I bother actively controlling how it lands?"
Paluriel flicked her thumb, and the soul coin went spinning up toward the ceiling.
After a crisp clatter, the coin ricocheted off an adjacent wall, bouncing a dozen times with rapid clinks and clatters. At last, on the verge of shattering, the soul coin rebounded into Paluriel's grasp.
Gripping the soul coin, Paluriel said to the scribe once more, "Well? It's not too late to place your bet."
The scribe shook his head firmly. "Stop bothering me. I laid aside mortal grievances long ago. This is your own obsession—why drag me into the mire?"
With an expression of deep regret, Paluriel said, "What a pity. I had intended to let you see the outcome of the wager. But one who lacks the courage to place a bet has no right to see the final result."
Paluriel exerted a fraction of force with her palm, crushing the soul coin to dust. Following a shrill, piercing wail, dozens of shattered soul fragments flew outward before dissolving into nothingness.
Paluriel's figure slowly melted into the darkness, vanishing completely from sight.
Watching the spot where the shadow had dissolved, the scribe could not help feeling a spark of curiosity. Although the gamble held no importance to him, if it truly had landed tails up, would that madwoman really have resigned herself to being that man's slave?
The moment she caught the soul coin, she must have felt the relief on its face and learned the answer immediately. Could the reason she hadn't revealed it be that she wanted to renege on the bet?
It was quite plausible. After all, the Goddess of Fate had always stood firmly behind that fellow.
The scribe remained silent for a long while before speaking toward the shadows: "Good luck, Paluriel."
With those words, the scribe gave a wave of his hand. The scattered documents flew back to their original places, and even the bloodstains left by Paluriel vanished without a trace, as though that woman had never been there at all.
Meanwhile, the shadow retraced its path and slipped out of the Iron Fortress, this time without triggering a single alarm.
Once clear of the grand fortress, Paluriel revealed herself once more. By now, she was completely intact, the bone-deep wound that had marked her shoulder entirely gone.
Such was the power of a deity. Ordinary attacks could hardly inflict fatal injuries upon a divine being, and the quasi-deity power of an Archduke of Hell was no different.
Paluriel drew a delicate compact mirror from her bosom and tapped it lightly with a finger. The interface of the magic mirror immediately surfaced on its glass. This was a magic mirror forged by Paluriel herself; while its exterior was exquisitely ornate, its functions were identical to the rest.
Swiping her finger across the mirror, Paluriel found that aside from soul coin deposits and withdrawals and pay-to-cast, several peculiar new icons had appeared.
"New features again? A three-dimensional map... and you can earn soul coins by filling it in? What's this one—pay to access reference materials? And novels too?"
Paluriel examined the new functions on the magic mirror and inadvertently became engrossed, nearly paying for one of the novels listed on it.
Closing the magic mirror and stowing it away into an extradimensional space, Paluriel could not help sighing with feeling. "Arthas, you are always so fascinating. Why did you insist on opposing me back then? Now you are still a mortal, while I have already become a deity. This time, will fate still stand on your side?"
Chapter 557