Hell was not a pleasant place, nor was it somewhere one could visit on a whim.
Even for a greater deity like Cyric, entering Hell required careful planning. Entering in his true divine body was out of the question; most deities hid within their own divine realms and rarely ventured out.
Even if Cyric were willing to take the risk, Hell itself would reject his entry.
Moreover, Cyric had no friendly ties with the devils of Hell, making it nearly impossible to find someone to open a back door for him.
His only option had been to create an avatar and slay it, allowing a feeble soul carrying his consciousness to plummet down into Hell.
Still, it was the soul of a god's avatar. Though its power was meager, it would not plummet into Hell only to be swallowed by maggots and excreted as a transformed demon.
The instant this soul descended into Hell, it began absorbing magic, binding together the soil fraught with toxins and metals to fashion a creature resembling an earthen golem.
While its combat prowess was nothing impressive, the golem possessed part of the Prince of Lies' authority, allowing it to move about Hell without hindrance.
The earthen golem swiftly shifted into the elven form Cyric commonly assumed, then began carefully sensing his surroundings.
"Ah, what luck. This is the First Layer of Hell."
Everything had been going his way lately, putting Cyric in excellent spirits. Once he smoothly dealt with that lich, he could reclaim his complete divine portfolio, then compose another hypnotic grimoire surpassing *The Cyrinishad* to show Oghma what he was truly capable of.
Buoyed by this cheerful mood, Cyric hurried toward Zariel's palace.
Unlike Melina, Cyric had no need to advance cautiously, nor did he need to pay any heed to the devils along the way, for none among them could see through the illusion cloaking him.
Moving silently across hundreds of kilometers, Cyric arrived at the Blood River battlefield and took in the sight of the vast, smoke-shrouded front lines stretching into the distance.
Cyric sneered with utter disdain.
Ao had created everything—Mount Celestia, Hell, and of course the Abyss.
All this slaughter was merely a game orchestrated by the Overgod. Those seemingly glorious deaths were in truth nothing more than meaningless buffoons performing a comical farce for an audience.
The truth of the world was utterly despairing, and all meaning was just a lie. Only fools clung to hope.
Cyric swiftly crossed the Blood River battlefield, intending to go straight to Zariel and obtain a method for healing the soul from her. As for the required price, Cyric hoped the fallen angel would not prove overly greedy; having only recently regained a shred of sanity, he had very few treasures to offer.
Yet as he flew over the Blood River battlefield, Cyric noticed an odd area.
"What is that silver cluster? Slimes?"
A small section of the Blood River battlefield seemed entirely blanketed in mercury, covered in a dense carpet of tiny silver lumps that resembled slimes.
The slime family was vast, boasting all manner of forms, but living in pools of mercury was something he had never witnessed.
Though mildly curious, Cyric merely cast a glance before continuing on his way. Hell was always concocting various crossbred abominations to combat the Abyssal demons; while mercury slimes were somewhat peculiar, they could hardly hold much of his interest.
Yet the moment Cyric drifted past overhead, the mercury soul puppets he had dismissed raised their heads one after another, gazing into the empty sky.
Covert electrical currents soon rippled through the air—the radio-wave communication method the mercury soul puppets had only recently developed.
"Abnormal magical fluctuation detected in the sky, moving away from our war zone. Preliminary assessment: quasi-deity power level. Capable of bypassing the battlefield's spatial barriers for cross-regional transit."
"Maintain observation. If a second occurrence arises, activate the fog of war to obscure the war zone. Fighting is underway on the shattered space battlefield; no accidents can be permitted here."
"Understood."
...
The mercury soul puppets upon the lake surface began squirming, appearing no different from before, yet immense magical power radiated from them, assembling into a covert magical array.
Should any anomaly occur, the array would generate massive plumes of highly toxic mercury vapor, not only obscuring line of sight but also severing most sensory perception.
Meanwhile, within another space connected to Mercury Lake, a vast assembly of mercury soul puppets was massing along the riverbank. They no longer bore their original primitive appearance; each had assumed various shapes, equipped with different types of magical gear.
Wands, spears, shields, swords... all bore obvious enchantments.
These were the fruits of the mercury soul puppets' painstaking efforts.
Within the Alchemical Divine Realm, the great Evil Silver Shaded remained in a state of accelerated time, continuously absorbing the memories of those mercury soul puppets pursuing advanced studies, then sharing them collectively with their kin in Hell.
Guided by their individual inclinations, these mercury soul puppets chose subjects suited to their talents for in-depth study and research. Because it was an inherited transmission of craft and knowledge, their learning speed was astonishingly rapid. In short order, a vast number of alchemists and mages had emerged among the mercury soul puppets, and a portion of them had even broken through their inherent limitations to become beings akin to doppelgangers.
The shapeshifting abilities of these exceptional individuals were dramatically enhanced; they could replicate not only external appearances but also internal physical structures, even mastering some of the mimicked species' inherent abilities.
Under the leadership of that hero, Bater, the mercury soul puppets had settled along the Mercury River and begun expanding at a furious pace. Their numbers had reached an astonishing three digits, while their collective combat strength had multiplied several times over.
Bater had already drawn up their next operational plan: lure demons over for another hunt. This time, however, it was not for intelligence, but for research.
Drawing upon their inherited memories, the mercury soul puppets had derived a novel form of biological modification technology from the engine modification techniques used by the devils of Hell. Theoretically, they could use the corpses of demons as raw materials to augment and transform their own race.
No one knew who had first conceived the theory; they only knew it had started as a simple idea. Passed repeatedly through the collective, with various soul puppets adding technical details and deducing new applications, it had swiftly evolved into a highly viable plan.
For now, the theory existed only on paper. The time had come for actual experimentation.
At Bater's command, several mercury soul puppets endowed with the gift of shapeshifting transformed into demons, their exteriors indistinguishable from the real thing. Their mission was to act as bait and lure a small pack of demons back to the banks of the Mercury River.
Bater raised his scepter high, bestowing various enhancements upon his companions to make them appear even more demonic.
"All for the White Bone God!"
Every individual among the mercury soul puppets roared in unison, swearing their devotion to that great deity.
At this moment, no one had yet noticed the shifts occurring in this tiny pocket. Cyric flew past the war zone, crossing most of the battlefield until he finally arrived before Zariel's official residence.
Standing before this palace that appeared forged of bronze, Cyric directly dispelled his cloaking illusion and strode forward in his divine guise.
Sensing Cyric's aura, the gates swung open automatically, yet before Cyric could step inside, Zariel's phantom materialized before the threshold.
Zariel's towering projection looked down at the earthen golem before her. The fallen angel knitted her brows and demanded, "Cyric? What brings you to Hell?"
Cyric frowned as well. Zariel was being remarkably rude, refusing to let him through the door.
This golem was merely a powerless avatar; was Zariel truly being this paranoid?
Still, having come to ask a favor, Cyric could not afford to hold a grudge.
"I need to repair a fragile soul. I know devils are the foremost experts in this domain, so I came to seek your guidance."
Cyric briefly summarized the state of Harvey's soul. Zariel did not even listen to the end, dismissively remarking, "Go find Bel. The Blood River Fortress has machines built for repairing souls. As for what price you must pay, Bel will tell you."
Tossing out this single sentence, Zariel moved to turn and leave.
Once again, Cyric sensed something amiss. Why did Zariel's tone carry such deceit and impatience?
The Prince of Lies was not merely flawless at lying himself; when others lied to him, he could sense it just as keenly.
Once the seed of suspicion took root, Cyric found everything increasingly abnormal.
Zariel's behavior was completely out of character, defying the greedy nature of devils. Why would she shove an opportunity to turn a profit onto Bel? Bel and she were mortal enemies, not trusted comrades.
With that in mind, Cyric probed, "Wait, Zariel. Isn't Bel your subordinate? I came to strike a deal with you, and you send me off to your underling? Do you look down on me that much? Am I not even worth an invitation inside for a cup of magma drink?"
Zariel sneered with contempt. "Cyric, why should I treat you to a drink? Do you truly believe the title of Prince of Lies entitles you to privileged treatment in Hell?"
What a joke—Zariel was preparing to return to Mount Celestia. Everyone knew the Lord of the Dawn and the God of Justice on Mount Celestia were Cyric's sworn enemies. How could she possibly share a drink with Cyric at such a crucial moment? Were it not to avoid raising suspicion, Zariel would have loved nothing more than to swat this avatar to pieces with a single strike.
Yet she truly did not dare make a move right now. The process of severing her connection to the planar laws of Hell had reached its critical stage; she had no combat strength remaining and could barely maintain her facade. Striking would immediately blow her cover.
However, Zariel's retort only deepened Cyric's suspicions. The Prince of Lies was now certain that Zariel was hiding something, though he refrained from making a scene.
Everything had its priorities. His primary objective in descending to Hell was to secure a method to heal the soul; achieving that came first.
Cyric did not bicker further with Zariel. He departed in silence, flying off toward the Blood River Fortress. Seeing Cyric simply walk away, Zariel let out a breath of relief and hurriedly slammed the heavy gates shut.
Cyric soon reached the Blood River Fortress. Given his divine status, he was promptly granted an audience with Archduke Bel.
Unlike Zariel, Bel displayed no prejudice toward Cyric, treating him with considerable courtesy. Yet upon hearing that Cyric had come asking for assistance, Bel revealed the most quintessential devil smile—the delighted grin of a predator watching a fat sheep wander straight into its slaughterhouse.
Bel demanded an exorbitant price: borrowing the soul-repairing machine was fine, but it would cost two million intact souls. Any intelligent race would do, provided their soul strength met the standard.
Cyric naturally could not agree. Having played the madman for so many years, where would he find so many worshippers to sacrifice? Forget two million; scraping together twenty thousand would be a struggle.
With all the gods watching him closely right now, Cyric could not orchestrate large-scale massacres and blood sacrifices in other planes either; producing two million souls was utterly impossible.
What was worse, Bel was not selling him the machine, merely lending it. On top of that, the repair process required an immense quantity of soul coins, which Cyric would have to provide out of his own pocket. The price was extortionate beyond reason.
Yet as skilled as Cyric was at deceit, Bel refused to yield an inch.
It was classic devil behavior. After all, Bel was not the one in a rush. The price was non-negotiable; he would rather let the transaction collapse than lower his fee, intent on wringing every drop he could.
Cyric was helpless. He was truly broke, utterly unable to offer an equivalent price right now, and he certainly could not share his divine power with Bel.
Driven into a corner by the end of their negotiation, Cyric abruptly changed the subject. "Bel, I happen to possess a piece of intelligence that might be worth far more than two million souls."
Bel raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Care to enlighten me?"
Cyric laughed aloud. Did this devil take his title of Prince of Lies for a joke? Once spoken, information became worthless.
"Bel, dispense with such petty tricks to take advantage of me. Both your time and mine are precious. If I claim this intelligence is worth two million souls, it is hardly something trivial. Let us sign a contract, witnessed by the laws of Hell. If this information is not worth two million souls to you, I will make up the difference. But if its value exceeds that sum, you must cover every soul coin required to repair the soul."
Bel had not taken him seriously at first. What intelligence could Cyric possibly possess that would tempt him? The fellow did not even spend his days in Hell.
Yet Cyric's absolute confidence piqued Bel's curiosity.
Where did he get such assurance? Information of that value could tip the entire balance of the war on the Blood River battlefield.
After long hesitation, Bel was ultimately swayed by the Prince of Lies' subtle influence, unable to suppress his desire to uncover this supposedly vital intelligence.
In any case, with the laws of Hell backing it, even the Prince of Lies could not hoodwink an archduke of Hell on a binding contract.
The two signed a formal contract according to the strictest protocols, after which Cyric looked at Bel and asked, "Have you seen Zariel recently?"
Bel did not understand why Cyric would suddenly bring this up. Puzzled, he asked, "Why do you ask?"
Cyric said in a playful tone, "I just paid a visit to Zariel, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something is amiss with her. How long has it been since you last saw Zariel? Haven't you noticed anything wrong? To me, she appeared remarkably weak."
Bel was about to object. Zariel commanded the authority of the First Layer of Hell's planar laws; how could she possibly be weak? Unless the First Layer were completely overrun by demons, the entire First Layer of Hell was Zariel's divine realm.
Yet Cyric spoke with absolute gravity: "There is no need to rush. Go test her and you will see for yourself. If I am mistaken, I concede defeat and will compensate you with ample souls. But what if I am right? To you, is this intelligence worth two million souls?"
Bel said in a low, resonant voice, "If what you say is true, not only will I waive every single fee and personally ensure that soul is repaired, but I will also grant you half the wealth of the Blood River Fortress as a hiring fee.
"If Zariel has truly grown weak, Cyric, join forces with me—we will slay Zariel together!"
Chapter 614