"What a pity, Cyric. Now you have only one final chance left."
As Anbaixiu spoke those words, Cyric felt the rate of his divine power draining away accelerate furiously.
How could this be? Before the wager had even reached its true conclusion, was he already about to lose his divine portfolio?
What Cyric did not know was that the two of them were far from the only ones who knew about this wager.
At this very moment, countless deities from both good and evil pantheons—and even mortals—were watching the confrontation between them.
For ever since Cyric had appeared in Hell, Anbaixiu had already turned on a live broadcast via the magic mirrors.
Cyric, battered by blow after blow, had his attention entirely fixed upon Anbaixiu, completely unaware that his current plight was being broadcast for all to see.
Whether on the Prime Material Plane or anywhere else, whenever anyone took out a magic mirror, all kinds of pop-up advertisements greeted them right on the glass:
"Live broadcast of the demon invasion of Hell! Click to watch three minutes free!"
"Demons fight devils—whoever wins, you profit! Send tips to support the side you hate less!"
"The Prince of Lies appears in the flesh, taken prisoner right from the start!"
...
Advertisements in every variety guaranteed that every single magic mirror user, whether they cared or not, had their attention hooked.
Although watching the livestream cost money, the viewing fee was not exorbitant. It was priced according to the spending power of the idle, well-fed folk in each region—not cheap, but just affordable enough if one gritted one's teeth.
After all, this was a clash between gods. A person might only get one such chance in a lifetime.
For many, even going bankrupt wouldn't matter, let alone now when the price wasn't terribly high.
And so mortals called upon friends and companions. Was it not just watching a livestream? Watching alone or with a crowd was the same. In major cities, nobles who could drop in on neighbors did so, pooling their money to watch together, throwing banquets while they viewed the spectacle.
As for the devils of Hell, anyone with free time tuned in as well. They didn't pay with gold, but with souls: they would catch some unlucky wretch, rob him of all his soul coins, kill and sacrifice him on the spot, and then gather in a circle to watch the stream.
The Devil Archduke of the First Layer truly knew how to put on a show—even a fight between gods could be livestreamed!
Just like that, what was clearly Anbaixiu's own trial for the First Layer of Hell had been turned by him into a carnival for the entirety of the Nine Hells.
Who had ever played the game like this before? The viral advertising caused the countless planes of the multiverse to fixate on this dreadful broadcast.
And Anbaixiu did not disappoint his audience. The moment he boldly proclaimed, "I am a devil by nature," the entirety of Hell had erupted into a fervor.
Devils great and small gazed upon that towering figure, unable to resist chanting the name of Archduke Deceiver, each daydreaming that they might one day become such a paramount figure.
Then came Anbaixiu's splendid performance. Without lifting a single finger, he casually disposed of both the Great Mother and the Queen of Mariliths; many viewers didn't even understand why these two mighty demon lords had retreated.
Only the clever among them caught on immediately, sighing in awe that the Deceiver truly lived up to his name. He had not uttered half a lie, yet every word he spoke was a dagger thrust straight into a demon's heart.
Prudent viewers had already gritted their teeth and spent hefty sums of gold to unlock the magic mirror's screen recording function. From tone of voice to subtle expressions, every detail of Archduke Deceiver's performance had to be recorded and studied meticulously.
Meanwhile, Cyric had been completely captivated by Anbaixiu from the start, entirely oblivious to the magic mirror's live broadcast.
In other words, from the moment Cyric was captured, all of this clown's antics were laid bare before everyone.
More and more people felt he was utterly unworthy of the divine portfolio of the Prince of Lies, which was why his divine power was bleeding away so swiftly.
Everyone agreed that Cyric was nothing more than a third-rate swindler, an ant before Archduke Deceiver.
Now, the drama had reached its most thrilling climax.
The final demon lord, the Maid of Misfortune, had not retreated like her allies. Instead, she steadfastly led her ragtag army of cultists and demons, attempting to breach the spatial barrier of Hell.
Yet no one could fathom: did this bizarre invasion of Hell have anything whatsoever to do with Beshaba?
The Maid of Misfortune, Beshaba, was nominally an entity split from the deceased Goddess of Fate; strictly speaking, she was not a demon.
Generally speaking, traditional demons belonged to either the Tanar'ri or the Obyrith races—one representing evil, the other the epitome of chaos.
Though Loumara demons had a long history, they were considered relatively recent additions to the Abyss, generally referring to incorporeal demons that survived by possessing and controlling other living beings.
Artificial demons went without saying; like artificial devils, they were pure technical products spawned from foul rituals and forbidden alchemy.
The final kind were feral demons. Spat out like vomit from every corner of the Abyss at regular intervals, most had defective intellects and sat at the bottom of the demonic food chain—either serving as cannon fodder or being devoured, with only exceptionally powerful individuals ever gaining true sentience.
Both the Queen of Mariliths and Demogorgon were ancient and renowned figures among the Tanar'ri demons.
The Maid of Misfortune, Beshaba, belonged to none of these. Strictly speaking, she was an evil deity.
Yet the Abyss was a catch-all; anything could be dumped inside.
Owing to her evil and chaotic nature, Beshaba had joined it and claimed the title of demon lord, carving out a foothold in the Abyss.
If Anbaixiu ever found himself unable to stay in Hell, plenty of evil gods would surely welcome him into the fold of Abyssal deities, perhaps even offering considerable assistance.
After all, if a ruthless figure like Anbaixiu joined the Abyss, deities of the lawful alignment would probably lose sleep.
Beshaba was the kind whom evil gods broadly welcomed—not because the Maid of Misfortune was exceptionally powerful, but because her identity was exceedingly unique.
The demise of the Goddess of Fate back then had been suspicious. How could a deity governing fortune and destiny die because of a roadside rose?
And to think that not even the Lord of the Dawn, Lathander, and the Moon Goddess, Selûne, could save her?
A mortal divination wizard could cast a casual divination spell to know whether they would step into a trap. What was more, after the death and fracturing of the Goddess of Fate, the profession of divination wizard continued to exist in the world.
Though few in number, so long as their lineage remained unbroken, it proved something was amiss.
The entire affair reeked of conspiracy, and many evil gods were merely watching the drama, waiting for the day the mystery would unravel.
Moreover, Beshaba was a persistent headache for countless lawful deities. The Maid of Misfortune had little skill when fighting other gods, but she was devastating against mortals. Her curses of misfortune could not be warded off by the blessings of other deities; only the Goddess of Luck could undo them.
Beshaba had more than once laid curses on the followers of gods like the Lord of the Dawn, and without fail, those mortals met horrific calamity. Those whose wills wavered even came to believe their gods had abandoned them, falling straight into darkness.
Now, the Maid of Misfortune was leading her hodgepodge army of cultists and demons in an assault on Hell—a truly rare spectacle.
And her target was the Archduke Deceiver himself.
When it came to this devil archduke, three days and nights wouldn't be enough to recount his tales. The Deceiver had once been the most renowned divination wizard on the Prime Material Plane; he had joined hands with another divination wizard to banish an entire kingdom, pulling off the magnificent feat of mortals outscheming gods.
If one indulged in conspiracy theories, even the great Arthur Ryan had fallen in sacrifice under the calculations of this very Archduke Deceiver.
When a divination wizard so favored by fate clashed with the Maid of Misfortune, a deity wielding half the power of destiny, what sparks would fly?
Many eagerly anticipated this fateful confrontation.
Perhaps the moment a victor emerged, the truth behind the death of the Goddess of Fate would surface.
Yet Anbaixiu did not immediately open a spatial portal to confront the Maid of Misfortune as he had before. Instead, he returned to the Grand Library, taking Cyric with him.
Cyric was utterly baffled. Before, Anbaixiu had acted with absolute confidence, resolving issues without wasting a second. Yet when faced with the last and weakest opponent, Beshaba, he had begun stalling for time.
Cyric sneered mockingly, "Heh, was all your prior confidence just an act? Why hide back in your palace now? Are you planning to stall until Beshaba leaves on her own?"
Had Cyric been able to see the live chat comments, he would likely have choked with fury.
For the viewers had flooded the screen with "Clown!" When he thought he was winning, he was arrogant and domineering; when he lost, he erupted into impotent rage. Losing four rounds in a row, changing faces constantly, only daring to accept the wager when Anbaixiu offered terms practically tantamount to surrender—such a deity was truly a clown through and through.
Faced with Cyric's taunts, Anbaixiu showed no anger. Instead, he chuckled teasingly, "You've actually reminded me. With Beshaba alone, she probably couldn't open a planar portal into Hell even in thousands of years, could she? Which means I really don't have to do anything at all. Waiting quietly here would be enough to win our wager. After all, we never agreed on a time limit, did we?"
Cyric's expression shifted drastically. Damn it, he wouldn't actually resort to exploiting loopholes like this to win the wager, would he?!
Cyric shouted agitatedly, "You deliberately left that loophole?!"
Anbaixiu shook his head. "Devils love exploiting contract loopholes—isn't that common knowledge across the planes? Is this your first day dealing with a devil?"
Cyric genuinely panicked. He truly hadn't considered that the situation could be resolved this way.
Mainly, Anbaixiu's effortless dispatch of four demon lords with lighthearted banter had been so astonishing that everyone expected him to resolve the Maid of Misfortune with an even more brilliant scheme. No one would have expected such a passive yet unquestionably effective tactic.
Cyric finally couldn't hold back and cursed, "Utterly shameless!"
"Look at you, panicking again," Anbaixiu scoffed. Then, shifting his tone, he said to Cyric, "Though I could easily do just that, rest assured, I won't bully you. A story everyone is looking forward to shouldn't end on such an anticlimax. I will face the Maid of Misfortune directly, nor will I rob you of your final chance to struggle. I want you utterly convinced, thoroughly defeated."
Cyric's frantic heart settled slightly, but sudden unease washed over him.
From beginning to end, his thoughts and emotions had been played like toys in Anbaixiu's hands, as though he had walked straight into a trap from the very outset.
Yet it shouldn't be like that. The plan for the five demon lords to invade Hell had been devised by Cyric himself; no one had known before it was launched, and there was no way Anbaixiu could have anticipated it in advance.
When had he started laying this trap? Could it be that the moment Cyric set foot in Hell, Anbaixiu had already calculated everything that would follow?
Was this intellect, or that accursed fate?
Cyric forced himself to calm down, meticulously recounting everything that had transpired, as if finally spotting the inconsistency.
When they first met, Anbaixiu had expended divine power to create an enormous magic circle. Ever since that moment, the progression of events had spiraled out of control, turning into a stage entirely meant for Anbaixiu's performance.
The Great Mother was cautious and rational, but would she really retreat without making a single attempt?
The Queen of Mariliths had indeed been tricked by devils before, but why would she believe this devil's promise over a few words? Did a devil's promise hold any credibility at all?
Tiamat's sudden arrival, and the King of Ghouls' so conveniently timed retreat—everything felt like a pre-written script, as if scripted entirely for him.
It appeared completely natural on the surface, but upon closer thought, it was far too targeted.
Cyric raised his head and looked around, feeling everything was utterly unreal.
Could it be that everything was fake? As the Prince of Lies, had he been deceived from start to finish?
Cyric suddenly spoke up and asked Anbaixiu, "Is any of this real?"
Anbaixiu seemed to pause for a moment, then replied, "What, as the Prince of Lies, can you no longer tell truth from falsehood? Cyric, were you truly deceived by me, or have you been deceiving yourself all along?"
Cyric froze completely; he could not answer the question.
At that moment, the viewers watching the livestream sensed a wondrous transformation. The image had not changed, yet the imprisoned Cyric seemed to undergo an earth-shattering shift.
His appearance hadn't changed, his expression hadn't changed, even his posture hadn't changed.
Yet everyone looking at Cyric could feel the transformation in him—so distinct that even mortals could see where the problem lay.
He had plummeted from his divine realm to the mortal coil; starting from this very moment, Cyric completely lost all his divine power.
Far away in Mount Celestia, the Lord of the Dawn was also watching the magic mirror livestream. At this point, he couldn't help reaching out to touch the screen and send a tip. At the same time, in the treasury of Ryan, one gold coin vanished.
After sending the tip, the Lord of the Dawn rose to his feet. His body blazed with radiant light, intense Holy Light piercing through the divine realm and pointing straight toward a distant point in the void.
The Lord of the Dawn raised his hand, and a longsword of Holy Light materialized in his grip.
Gazing where his blade pointed, the deity murmured with emotion, "Cyric, I have finally caught you!"
Many deities sensed the fluctuations of the Lord of the Dawn's divine power, and they all became certain of one thing: Cyric was finished.
His own will shaken, the collective belief of all living beings had stripped Cyric of his divine portfolio. Now, Cyric had utterly lost his divine power, reduced to a mere mortal lingering in a divine realm.
Unable to conceal his location any longer, the Lord of the Dawn naturally came knocking.
And this was, in fact, Cyric's best possible end. A divine realm stripped of its deity was an object of immense value that would quickly draw the contention of numerous gods.
Falling into the hands of the Lord of the Dawn, Cyric might at least receive a swift end. Had he fallen into someone else's clutches, his fate would be miserable indeed.
Within Hell, Anbaixiu looked upon Cyric, who had completely lost consciousness and turned into a statue.
Having lost his divine portfolio, Cyric could no longer maintain his avatar; this body was now nothing more than an empty shell.
Moments later, a new guest arrived in the Grand Library. It was not the Maid of Misfortune; rather, it was Anbaixiu's teacher.
The God of Alchemy entered the Grand Library, cradling an exquisite crystal sphere.
Sealed within this crystal sphere was the divine realm of the Prince of Lies, along with Cyric's true body.
The God of Alchemy said joyfully, "The Lord of the Dawn asked me to deliver this. It is the wager you won. Congratulations, my most brilliant student. You have finally won."
The Lord of the Dawn could not enter Hell—not even an avatar was permitted—so after sealing the entire divine realm, he had asked the God of Alchemy to bring it over.
Cooperating with lawful good deities was refreshing like this: there was no need to worry that they would pocket your spoils, let alone stab you in the back.
Such a precious divine realm, and the Lord of the Dawn delivered it without hesitation.
However, when Anbaixiu took the crystal sphere, he didn't seem particularly pleased.
The God of Alchemy asked in confusion, "What is it? You won, yet you're not happy? Are you worried about the trial Hell gave you?"
The God of Alchemy sensed something was off. As things stood, the demon invasion had completely collapsed. The Maid of Misfortune was not particularly strong; she could simply be left alone. And even if the earlier demon lords made a comeback, Anbaixiu's victory was already guaranteed.
The divine realm created by a greater deity lay right in his palm. If he hardened his heart and hurled it out to detonate, he might even blow apart the branch of the River Styx connecting to Hell.
Whatever allied demonic forces there were would all be blasted to kingdom come with a single shot; even if their true bodies descended, they would be obliterated instantly.
Thus, this trial was practically already cleared. Anbaixiu would become the undisputed new devil archduke while also seizing the divine portfolio of lies. Combining the two, ascending to the ranks of a greater deity would hardly be difficult.
Watching his student surpass him in the blink of an eye, the God of Alchemy felt quite gratified.
Yet Anbaixiu shook his head. "The wager isn't over yet. The Maid of Misfortune is still waiting for me."
As he spoke, Anbaixiu reached out to grasp the crystal sphere, extracted Cyric's soul from within, and stuffed it back into the puppet-like body.
Cyric came back to life, but at this moment, he seemed to have aged hundreds of years.
Cyric slumped dejectedly inside the cage and said to Anbaixiu, "Give me a quick end. I don't want to suffer Hell's tortures."
Anbaixiu replied, "What's the rush? Don't we still have a wager to finish? You still have a chance to turn the tables, don't you?"
Cyric stared at Anbaixiu in shock, unable to comprehend what he was saying.
He had lost even his divine portfolio, while Anbaixiu's victory was already absolute. What was he still gambling for? Why continue the wager?
Anbaixiu said calmly, "I've told you already: a story everyone is looking forward to shouldn't end on such an anticlimax. Still, I don't make a habit of forcing people to gamble with me. Cyric, are you prepared to continue this wager? Or are you ready to concede defeat right here?"
Cyric looked at Anbaixiu in disbelief, completely unable to understand no matter how much he racked his mind.
The devil had clearly won everything. Why continue the wager? Why choose the possibility of total ruin in the midst of complete triumph? For what purpose?
Cyric remained silent for a long time before finally uttering words he had never spoken in his entire life: "You are the true madman. You won; I am thoroughly convinced. But since this is the curtain call you've chosen, I will play along with you to the very end. Let me see who else you, the Deceiver, intend to trick in this final moment."
Anbaixiu offered a smile, picked up the cage, and left the Grand Library.
The God of Alchemy sensed something wrong and moved to stop him, only to find he could not stop him at all.
This was Hell, equivalent to Anbaixiu's divine realm.
Where he wished to go, no one could obstruct him.
Carrying Cyric's cage, Anbaixiu returned once more to the battlefield.
Opening the spatial passage as before, he saw the Maid of Misfortune, Beshaba, along with the ragtag army by her side.
Truth be told, with just this cannon fodder, there was truly no way she could invade Hell.
If Anbaixiu didn't open this gate, Beshaba could never have entered Hell.
Gazing at the deities on either side of the spatial portal, Cyric forgot that this was his last chance. All he wanted now before dying was to understand what was going through this devil's mind.
Without words, without actions, without expressing his intent in any manner whatsoever—to make this Maid of Misfortune retreat on her own.
Could that really be done?
Cyric kept his mouth tightly shut, waiting for a miracle to occur.
Anbaixiu truly honored the contract. The moment he met Beshaba, he made no sound, gave no hint with his eyes, and did not secretly exert divine power to influence anything; he simply watched her in calm silence.
Yet to Cyric's astonishment, the Maid of Misfortune, usually vicious and fickle, showed a gentle smile upon seeing Anbaixiu.
Anbaixiu did not speak, but the Maid of Misfortune spoke: "At last we meet, my most devoted follower. Have you enjoyed the destiny that has belonged to you these past centuries?"
Chapter 632