Staring at Anbaixiu’s indifferent reply, Archduke Mammon of the Third Layer of Hell fell into deep thought.
Since when did a mere mortal dare to speak to him like this?
Besides, this time he was clearly in the right.
In the past, even when he had no right on his side, he could squeeze mortals as a matter of course. Yet this time, when he actually was in the right, he had still been mocked by that damned bastard!
And Mammon found that he could do absolutely nothing about it.
Divesting was out of the question. He had invested far too much into this Hell Bank—practically dumping his entire fortune into it. The economy of the Third Layer of Hell had also reached an unprecedented state of prosperity; reckless lending had sent prices in the Third Layer skyrocketing, and hell lords, flush with soul coins, had begun cross-regional purchasing sprees in other layers of Hell, forging a brand-new infernal trading system.
He was right on the verge of dragging all the other Archdukes of Hell into the fold through the Hell Bank; Mammon was going to use the soul coins in his hands to become the most influential devil in Hell.
The culmination of his grand enterprise lay right ahead, and now this mishap had blindsided him halfway through?
When he saw the numbers jittering wildly across the magic mirrors, smoke practically poured from Mammon’s soul.
For the first time in countless years, Mammon felt such terror—he was truly so frightened that his heart trembled. Across the entire Third Layer of Hell, terrible natural disasters erupted in response to its master's turmoil: howling hurricanes raged, earthquakes struck everywhere, and volcanoes erupted.
Yet Mammon couldn't spare a moment to quell these catastrophes; he cared only about his enterprise. If the Hell Bank fell apart, everything would be ruined, and he would suffer a fate far worse than death.
Although Anbaixiu had resolved the problem in very little time, and many devils had not even had the chance to check their balance changes or notice anything wrong with the magic mirrors,
this remained a massive crisis. That damned bastard had to give an explanation.
Divest?
Divesting was impossible. Mammon couldn't pull out even if he wanted to, but he couldn't swallow this insult either.
Mammon could not resist drawing a circle of fire to contact Zariel. Zariel was the one who had spearheaded the Hell Bank in the first place; now that trouble had arisen, Zariel needed to step up. No matter what, this mortal had to be taught a lesson.
To Mammon's surprise, however, he waited for ages without any reply from Zariel.
Only when Mammon cast a teleportation spell directly to the First Layer of Hell and banged open the doors to Zariel's palace did he finally see the master of the First Layer.
Yet upon seeing her again, Mammon asked with a bewildered expression, "What's going on? Zariel, what happened to you?"
Zariel still sat upright upon her throne forged of bronze, propping her head on a fist with an expression of utter boredom. But Mammon sensed that something was off about her, even if he couldn't put his finger on it.
Looking thoroughly annoyed, Zariel said, "Why did you come looking for me? Aren't you busy making money?"
Mammon asked in surprise, "You really don't know? Something went wrong with the magic mirrors! It nearly caused a huge disaster just now!"
Mammon had no choice but to explain how the magic mirror account balances had glitched. Yet Zariel remained utterly unconcerned, countering, "Didn't you say it's already fixed? Did you lose any of your cut?"
Mammon looked at Zariel in confusion. Something was wrong with this attitude. Back then, wasn't Zariel the one who hated that guy the most? Why was she acting so nonchalant now, as if it had nothing to do with her?
Mammon asked bluntly, "Zariel, what are you doing? Do you really think there's nothing wrong?"
Zariel replied casually, "What could be wrong? Regarding the Hell Bank, wasn't I already kicked out by you lot? As long as my dividend isn't short, what does the rest have to do with me?"
Mammon grew furious hearing this. Even though he had pushed Zariel out and seized most of the controlling power, now that trouble had surfaced, on what grounds could a shareholder just wash her hands of it?
Even if he had been in the wrong back then, didn't Zariel have at least a tiny bit of blame herself? She was kicked out because she didn't have the skill to manage the accounts; that was simply her own lack of ability!
Devil logic had always been like this: *If I screw you over, it's because you're naive; if I take a loss, then you're the one in the wrong.*
Abiding by terms did not mean they were good losers at heart; they merely ground their teeth and accepted the penalty while cursing you ten thousand times in their minds.
Yet facing Zariel, Mammon could only curse internally. Both were Archdukes of Hell, each wielding the authority of their respective layers; neither could force the other's hand.
Mammon said angrily, "Hmph! If you won't help me today, don't come crying to beg me when it's your turn to take a loss!"
Zariel scoffed disdainfully. "You were the one who insisted on joining back then, and now that you've hit trouble, you come crying to me? Fine, let me ask you: even if you want to cause trouble for him, what can you possibly do to him right now? Kidnap his daughter?"
"Why not?" Mammon replied coldly. "That is precisely my plan. The lich is hiding inside the magic mirror, so I cannot get at him directly, but he has family, friends, and enterprises. A little lesson will be more than enough."
Zariel smiled. "Then go ahead. I won't stop you. In fact, I can tell you that his daughter is currently fighting valiantly on the Blood River battlefield. Her military exploits have even astonished Bel."
A beam of light flew from Zariel's hand and expanded into a massive map displaying the current state of the Blood River battlefield.
A section of it rapidly enlarged, revealing a real-time view of the battle.
There, Melina charged at the forefront, her body enshrouded in blue light, her blazing sword carving through demon after demon, unstoppable wherever she went.
Compared to those fearless demons, Melina was the truly mad one.
Behind Melina, her army raised their magic mirrors in unison. Countless spells burst forth from the glass surfaces, raining down upon the enemy ranks like a meteor shower.
They had no fear of accidentally harming Melina, for under the protection of that blue radiance, virtually all magic dissipated the instant it approached. Only the areas beyond the blue light suffered saturation bombardment.
Spellcasters were a rarity anywhere. While it might seem as though every devil had a fire bolt at their disposal and everyone could cast spells, that innate fire bolt born of infernal biology possessed very little power and had an exceptionally long windup, rendering it nearly useless on the battlefield. Any random demon could ignore the damage of such fire bolts through innate magic resistance alone and charge straight through.
As for deeper magic, that required talent and effort, and very few devils possessed such an aptitude for casting.
Melina's troop, however, was entirely different—it was an army armed purely with wealth.
Such a concept as pay-to-cast was a first even for devils. Other forces fielded ten thousand troops, nine thousand nine hundred of whom fought hand-to-hand with cold steel while the remaining hundred or so were casters.
In Melina's force, as long as soul coins were spent, ten thousand warriors were simultaneously ten thousand mages.
Not only had devils never seen this kind of warfare before, but demons couldn't withstand it either.
The wild carpet-bombing of magic prevented the demons from forming ranks, and with Melina charging behind her antimagic barrier, slaughtering them was completely effortless.
"How could it be this absurd?"
Mammon was dumbfounded. While the demons appearing on this part of the battlefield weren't particularly powerful breeds, Melina mowing them down like grass was abnormal. Other devils had to risk their lives just to scrape together a bit of merit on the Blood War battlefield, yet Melina was farming military merits like a cheater.
Zariel said, "Have you ever seen any minor lord field ten thousand qualified mages?"
Melina's territory appeared vast, but she had absorbed only drifters from the wastes—the weakest devils, freshly transformed or unable to survive in other domains.
Such devils were lucky not to be bullied on an ordinary day, let alone on a battlefield; they fell far short of the entry threshold for the Blood River battlefield.
Consequently, Melina actually had very few capable soldiers under her command. Hardly any in this troop could be considered elites; most were raw recruits. But being a rookie didn't matter. All one had to do was lock onto a target area and pay soul coins from their account.
Fireball, Chain Lightning, Earthquake, Wall of Fire, Acid Arrow... As long as one had money, these fundamental yet potent spells could be unleashed at will.
Thousands of recruits were instantly transformed into thousands of mages, and their casting speed was blazing fast, bypassing incantation times entirely.
What minor lord could ever afford to fight such an opulent war?
Bullying smaller demon units was more than easy; it posed no challenge whatsoever.
This was why Zariel said Melina's military exploits were extraordinary. Another commander leading ten thousand troops would achieve a tenth of Melina's results at best while suffering substantial losses.
Bel was already studying the magic mirror's spellcasting capabilities, preparing to overhaul their conventional combat doctrines and devise an entirely new set of tactics centered around this artifact.
If each magic mirror were treated as a qualified mage, the Blood River Fortress might be able to assemble an unprecedented super-scale magic corps. When that time came, it wouldn't just be petty skirmishes slinging simple Fireballs—corps-level casting often unleashed city-leveling super-spells.
Imagine if the frequency of such super-spells skyrocketed dozens of times over. What staggering victories would that yield?
Even Bel could no longer sit still. He had already ordered full-scale research, determined to strike the demons a devastating blow that might shrink the expanse of the River of Blood by more than half and pin the demons down into the deepest abyss.
Zariel warned, "Mammon, the magic mirror is not merely your tool for making money. In the First Layer of Hell, it is strategic war material. Are you truly prepared to antagonize that fellow over a minor misunderstanding? Do you truly want to move against his daughter?"
Mammon had never imagined that the magic mirror could have such an effect. All along, he had only thought about using it to amass wealth.
"Is this why you're so wary of him? Zariel, that doesn't sound like you."
Mammon felt Zariel was not telling the truth. In his impression, Zariel was the sort who would draw her sword and hack someone down at the slightest disagreement—reckless, impulsive, and brutal, with zero regard for consequences. Otherwise, she wouldn't have charged heedlessly into Hell in the first place.
No matter how useful the magic mirror was, Zariel would typically act purely on impulse, without caring about the fallout. Being this prudent, this hesitant and circumspect, did not match her nature at all.
Zariel chuckled mockingly. "Since when did you understand me? Or do you merely flatter yourself that you do? Mammon, I've sent you Melina's coordinates. If you want to cause trouble, go right ahead. Just don't bother me."
A force pushed Mammon away—the power of the laws of the First Layer of Hell.
Mammon was shoved directly out of the palace, and the massive doors slammed shut with a deafening boom, as if forbidding him from ever returning.
Mammon frowned, glancing down at the coordinates in his hand.
Instinct told him something was wrong with Zariel, but he couldn't put his finger on what.
After hesitating for a long time, Mammon finally crushed the coordinates in his hand into a shower of sparkling motes, grumbling and cursing as he turned back.
After this glitch, the Hell Bank was bound to face plenty of trouble. This time, the lich was lucky; Mammon was too busy tending to business to settle scores with him.
Sensing that Mammon had left the First Layer of Hell, Zariel, who had been lounging languidly in her throne, suddenly altered her demeanor.
Countless rays of crimson light burst from her body, converging continuously in the void to reveal the phantom silhouette of a heart.
This was the manifestation of the laws of the First Layer of Hell. That rhythmically pulsing heart was the very authority Zariel commanded.
Yet now, this power was steadily draining away, fleeing Zariel's body to fly toward a new master.
The crucial pillar of the First Layer of Hell was the Blood War battlefield; one could say the sole reason this layer existed was to halt the demonic invasion. By comparison, punishing the wicked was trivial.
And now, something capable of genuinely altering the outcome of the war had emerged—and its master happened to be Anbaixiu.
As a result, the laws of Hell naturally leaned toward Anbaixiu.
If Zariel had not been holding it back, the laws of Hell would have long since forcibly promoted Anbaixiu to Archduke of Hell, inducting him into the ranks of quasi-deities.
At present, Zariel could not even leave her palace. She had to focus all her concentration on suppressing the laws of Hell, forcefully keeping that power locked within her body.
For now, she could barely hold on. But if Bel truly leveraged the magic mirrors to achieve a monumental breakthrough in the Blood War, Zariel would have no way of stopping it.
Unless she took to the battlefield in person right now, carving a bloody path with her sword and driving the demons back into the depths.
If she snatched the glory before the magic mirrors could claim it, the problem would be solved naturally.
Yet Zariel did nothing of the sort. It wasn't out of fear of death—she had never feared death.
Her face, previously cracked like shattered porcelain, had begun to heal. As her power slipped away, the scars faded. Those scars were not merely evidence of past torment; they were the brand Hell had stamped upon her.
Feeling the laws of Hell continuously draining from her body, watching the Heart of Hell before her grow increasingly tangible, Zariel actually smiled.
"Soon... Just a little more, only a little more. Do not disappoint me. You can do better! You can be even more ruthless! Bring an end to the Blood War, make the sinners of Hell suffer even greater torment, force all of Hell to acknowledge your existence, and strip away all my power—completely, without leaving a trace! Hurry... I have waited for this day for far too long!"
Chapter 600