Cyric had no desire to wager with Anbaixiu.
As long as he did not gamble, there would always be a next time. If this scheme failed, he could simply try again later.
So long as he kept himself safely detached and his true self unharmed, there would always be an opportunity to win.
Yet the opponent Cyric faced now was no ordinary foe.
In the eyes of mortals and gods alike, the Archduke Deceiver was the natural claimant to the divine portfolio of lies; Cyric was merely a good-for-nothing who had lucked into usurping it.
With the departure of the Queen of Mariliths, word would spread even further.
Cyric could already feel his divine portfolio growing steadily weaker. Regardless of whether he accepted the wager or not, as long as Anbaixiu succeeded in driving back all five demon lords, Anbaixiu would take another step closer to claiming the portfolio of lies—potentially reducing Cyric to a lesser deity.
This was an open gambit. Whether Cyric accepted or refused, the moment Anbaixiu voiced the wager, the devil had already won half the game.
While Cyric still hesitated, Anbaixiu wasted no time. Teleporting once more, he tore open another spatial portal, from which emerged a two-headed baboon.
With the Queen of Mariliths recuperating in her abyss, the most active demon lord on the Blood River battlefield was unquestionably Demogorgon. That creature had manifested powerful avatars to invade Hell on more than one occasion, and Zariel had only recently slain one of them.
Yet to Demogorgon, that meant nothing. As long as an assault was being launched against Hell, Demogorgon would take part, regardless of the plan.
Persuading Demogorgon had given Cyric no trouble at all, for this demon lord craved slaughter and conquest above all else. Victory or defeat was irrelevant; all he cared about was having the chance to butcher devils.
In other words, Demogorgon had no weaknesses or leverage to exploit.
Could such an adversary truly be dealt with using mere words?
Just as Cyric wondered, he heard Anbaixiu address him: "Stop wasting breath later. Are you taking the bet or not?"
Seeing Anbaixiu looking so completely composed, Cyric could not help doubting himself again. Could he really dispose of Demogorgon with his mouth alone?
Cyric racked his brains, completely unable to fathom how anyone could talk Demogorgon down.
Threatening Demogorgon was pointless. He had no fear of death; one of his heads craved battle, while the other was cunning and insidious. No one could outscheme him, nor did Demogorgon possess any past vulnerabilities... How could one possibly persuade an opponent like that?
Unable to come up with an answer, Cyric chose to remain silent.
Anbaixiu sneered with contempt. "Cold feet again? Fine, then I won't waste time either. I'll wrap this up as fast as possible."
Before Cyric's astonished gaze, Anbaixiu threw the spatial corridor wide open. Though Demogorgon was momentarily surprised, he did not hesitate to charge through alongside his demonic host.
Ixitxachitls surged in like a tidal wave, launching wild, frenzied attacks straight at Anbaixiu.
Demogorgon acted in kind. Both baboon heads roared in unison, unleashing hundreds of vicious curses that hurtled toward Anbaixiu.
With the enemy charging in for blood, how could this be solved with words?
Yet Anbaixiu was destined to shock Cyric once again, for he truly made no move to fight. He merely spoke a single name: "Tiamat, you're up."
His voice lagged half a beat behind Demogorgon's curses, which in theory should have made it far too late.
Therefore, the five-headed dragon had already lunged forth from the void before Anbaixiu even opened his mouth, hurtling straight into Demogorgon.
The Dragon Queen revealed her true form. The five-headed dragon blotted out the sky, stirring up a tempest with a single dive that drove the tidal surge of ixitxachitls backward, tearing their bodies apart midair with furious gales.
As for Demogorgon's hundreds of curses, Tiamat intercepted every single one, none leaving much of a mark on the Dragon Queen.
The next instant, the two baboon heads locked in savage combat with the five dragon heads.
Tentacles coiled around draconic necks; dragonflame roasted thrashing tentacles. The two behemoths clashed with earth-shattering fury, every collision and tumble inflicting catastrophic casualties on the creatures below.
Cyric watched the spectacle in utter disbelief.
Wait, why was Tiamat stepping in to help?
This made no sense—Tiamat was supposed to be his ally! Cyric had originally considered contacting Tiamat to join the offensive, but after weighing her immense power and her overly ambiguous ties to the devils, he had opted for other demon lords instead.
Besides, Tiamat held a grudge against this devil. Why would she help him?
Shouldn't she be kicking him while he was down?
Seeing Cyric's flabbergasted expression, Anbaixiu chuckled smugly once more.
"Look at you—you really aren't the sharpest tool in the shed, are you? Didn't I warn you earlier? Gareth was supposed to be a god all along, held back from ascending only by the burdens of the dragon race. So why do you think Gareth was willing to restore his full strength and march out on the River Styx for me? Because I solved the very problem that dragged him down: the dragons."
Only then did Cyric realize: Anbaixiu had made a deal using the mortal chromatic dragons.
Cyric demanded agitatedly, "You handed all those dragons over to Tiamat in exchange for her dealing with Demogorgon?!"
Anbaixiu explained smugly, "Handed them over? The chromatic dragons are Tiamat's offspring; they belonged to her in the first place. All I did was lift the thousand-year curse on those dragons. Your eyes are fixed solely on the gods; you only knew that Leira, Aige, and Catherine were preparing to merge, yet you forgot that the World Council was being held at the very same time, with representatives from every kingdom attending. And as it happened, breaking the ancient curse on the dragons required the unanimous consent of every kingdom's leader.
"I simply had a word with the Lord of the Dawn and got it placed on the council's agenda. Every race agreed to let the dragons return, requiring only that they atone for their past sins. I won't bore you with the details; regardless, the chromatic dragons regained their freedom and can now repopulate the continent. That was the favor I sold to Tiamat.
"With the dragon race freed, Gareth's father-in-law can finally rest easy. Once Gareth finishes building his divine realm, he can naturally bring Canggu and her father into it to live together for eternity. Cyric, you underestimated the power of mortals. You overlooked Gareth, and you overlooked the mortal kingdoms. That's why you had no clue what cards I held in reserve."
Cyric ground his teeth. "You were using the dragons as a cash cow! Freeing them meant throwing away more than half your business in the mortal world! I was careless. I never imagined a creature as inherently greedy as you would willingly surrender your own wealth—and in such a roundabout manner!"
Anbaixiu shook his head. "You misunderstand me entirely. I enjoy making money, that's true, but I have never been stingy with it."
People often equated greed with stinginess, which was where many mortals and gods misunderstood Anbaixiu.
Back when he was a lich, Anbaixiu had been undeniably insatiable—calling him someone who plucked feathers from passing geese was an understatement; if a dragon flew overhead, he would strip its scales, drain its blood, and sell it by the jin.
Yet few realized that when it came to spending, Anbaixiu never pinched pennies.
No matter how high the cost of the alchemy factories, Anbaixiu had raised two entire islands just to build them. Pay-to-cast magic was absurdly expensive, easily burning through hundreds of thousands of gold coins, yet Anbaixiu had never once hesitated when fighting. Wealth was meant to be used. As long as it was worthwhile, never mind a mere dragon business—Anbaixiu would pack up the entire Hell Bank and hurl it away without batting an eye if doing so could crush a few greater deities to death.
Cyric was left speechless, reduced to watching Demogorgon and Tiamat tear the River of Blood apart in cataclysmic fury.
In the end, Demogorgon's avatar could not match Tiamat's true form. Soon enough, one of his heads was torn off, while Tiamat suffered only a few minor wounds in return.
As for the ixitxachitls, Anbaixiu did not even need to lift a finger; the shockwaves from the clash between two divine entities annihilated the majority of them. Nor did Anbaixiu need to worry about the rest: Bel, who had been hiding out of sight, now charged onto the front lines at the head of his personal guard, bellowing, "For the Archduke Deceiver!" while relentlessly mopping up the demoralized remnants.
Bel would never offer timely help in someone's hour of need, but now that the battle was clearly decided and even Tiamat was doing Anbaixiu's bidding, when else was he going to prove his loyalty?
Was he supposed to wait until Anbaixiu came looking for trouble later?
After serving as a subordinate for countless years, Bel knew how to read the room.
Demogorgon, soundly thrashed, knew he had suffered yet another defeat. But this defeat was simply absurd. What happened to picking up easy spoils? What happened to the five demon lords laying siege to Hell together?
And where was the weak, helpless Archduke of Hell with no allies that Cyric had thumped his chest and sworn to deliver?
Before the avatar died, Demogorgon unleashed a roar from his remaining head: "Cyric, I curse you to sink forever into the Abyssal cesspools! May foul stench flood your maw and choke your lies!"
Cyric's face darkened even further. This was no empty threat—it was a genuine curse.
Though it might not take effect completely, it was still a considerable burden for the current Cyric.
Tiamat tossed Demogorgon's corpse before Anbaixiu, glaring fiercely at him with all five heads before speaking: "Just this once! I will not help you again!"
Though the battle had not been particularly dangerous, it had been exhausting.
Demogorgon's avatar held considerable might, and Tiamat had sustained several injuries in order to put him down. The wounds were steeped in residual curse power, which would not be easy to heal.
That was the most troublesome thing about Demogorgon: the demon lord was a master of vile curses, meaning anyone who fought him was guaranteed to be tainted, practically ensuring they came out worse for wear.
Yet Tiamat had been forced to do this favor. The dragon race had suffered catastrophic losses and desperately needed this opportunity to recover. With the dragons of an entire world on the line, she had no choice but to comply, willing or not.
Anbaixiu nodded and offered his thanks.
"Rest assured, you know my credibility well. Before I agree to something, you are welcome to suspect a scheme, but once I make a promise, I never renege, let alone breach a contract. The dragons will have their freedom. As long as they do not initiate conflict, I will grant them the right to live normal lives."
Tiamat offered no reply upon hearing this, merely beating her wings and vanishing into thin air.
Bel then appeared before Anbaixiu with an ingratiating grin, reporting respectfully, "Milord, the invading demons have been thoroughly eradicated. Not a single straggler escaped."
"Ah, Bel." Anbaixiu patted the fence-sitter on the shoulder and said, "There are still two hell lords unaccounted for. How about you stay busy a while longer?"
Bel's smile instantly froze.
Yet he quickly agreed: "Guarding the River of Blood is my duty to begin with. Rest assured, Milord, I will not let a single demon leave the River of Blood alive."
Before Anbaixiu could respond, Cyric sneered, "So this is what you call resolving things with words? In the end, didn't you just resort to violence? Leaving the dirty work to a subordinate instead of doing it yourself—what meaning is there in such wordplay?"
Anbaixiu was not in the least offended. Smiling, he looked into the cage at Cyric. "I already told you: since you wouldn't take my bet, there was no need for me to waste effort and time, so I dealt with it in the simplest way possible. But that doesn't mean it was my only option. Even if Demogorgon came back, I could resolve it just as easily."
Cyric spread his hands and said dismissively, "It's already done; whatever you say now is meaningless. If you truly want to make me concede, then let us establish a new wager."
Anbaixiu replied patiently, "Very well. What terms do you want to propose?"
"No wordplay. Persuasion through words means words alone—no violence of any form, including threats, which are no different from direct divine suppression. And no borrowing outside power, whether from gods or mortals..."
Cyric rambled on, attempting to saddle the contract with countless clauses.
Growing impatient, Anbaixiu cut him off: "Why don't we keep it simple? I won't just refrain from violence—I won't speak at all. I won't use written words, images, or any other means to convey my thoughts. I will simply appear before these demon lords. If they retreat on their own under those conditions, I win. How about that?"
Cyric froze, bewildered. "What kind of joke is this?"
Anbaixiu replied firmly, "I'm not joking. Your petty bickering over terms is frankly pathetic. Cyric, what we are contesting is a divine portfolio, something mortals dream of attaining... though, of course, you only lucked into yours like stumbling over dog shit. In any case, it is immensely precious, so our wager ought to possess a legendary flair worthy of its value.
"I will not speak, nor express my thoughts in any manner, nor use the mouth of another to speak for me. Meanwhile, you may speak as you please, persuading your allies to attack me. If you can get any of them to strike, I lose.
"Generous enough terms, wouldn't you say? If you don't even dare accept this, then I won't bother wagering with you any further. You can go taste Hell's tortures before crawling back to your divine realm to hide like a turtle."
Two chances remained: the King of Ghouls and the Maiden of Misfortune. While neither was exceptionally powerful, Cyric would win if he could simply get either of them to attack like Demogorgon had.
This time, Cyric was truly backed into a corner.
With Anbaixiu remaining silent and Cyric free to say whatever he wished, Cyric held the absolute advantage. This was a battle of words; if Cyric did not even dare accept the challenge, the story would spread, and the portfolio of lies would truly be snatched away by this devil.
If you dared not even tell a lie when handed the opportunity, how could you call yourself the Prince of Lies?
Cyric clenched his fists and said, "Fine. We sign a contract based on these terms. If I lose, everything I possess belongs to you; if you lose, you must surrender everything as well."
Anbaixiu smiled faintly, produced a contract, adjusted the text, and signed his name.
After scrutinizing every detail to ensure there were no traps, Cyric signed his name as well.
Anbaixiu held the contract high and declared loudly, "The pact is sealed, witnessed by the Nine Hells!"
Though this was merely an avatar, it carried Cyric's own will. Thus, the moment the contract was signed, the power of planar law bound both parties.
No matter who it was or where they were, the power of Hell would compel both sides to fulfill the agreement.
"Now then, let us proceed to the next one. Will it be the King of Ghouls, or the Maiden of Misfortune? I'd like to see how you persuade either of them to retreat without speaking a word," Cyric sneered.
Anbaixiu shook his head. "No need to choose. The King of Ghouls has already departed; I can no longer sense his aura. It seems he was well informed: realizing the Great Mother and the Queen of Mariliths retreated and Demogorgon was dispatched, he fled on his own.
"What a pity, Cyric. Now, you only have one last chance left."
Chapter 631