Candlelight flickered as the tip of the quill scratched across the parchment.
Even though magic mirrors had now spread across all of Hell and handwritten notes had become relics left behind by the times, Herki Stone still loved the sensation of a nib gliding over paper.
How many world-renowned classics had lonely authors penned on quiet nights like this, guided by tender or impassioned hands?
As a scholar, Herki Stone still preferred the traditional way of recording history.
"Eighty years into the Era of Deceit, Avernus is enthusiastically celebrating the eightieth anniversary of the Archduke's accession.
"Among all devil archdukes in history, He is perhaps the only one to receive heartfelt adoration from all demons. Yet the devils do not understand that their lives today are hardly better than they were eighty years ago.
"The Blood War, once fraught with death at any moment, has been handed over to the undead. Most devils no longer have to worry about the war, but they must labor all their lives, earning money that is just barely enough to 'hire' undead substitutes to join the Blood War in their place.
"What they do not realize is that the value they produce was long enough to buy a decent fiefdom. A zombie that can be mass-produced simply by tossing a chunk of rotten meat requires a devil to work an entire year to afford, and that same undead often gets scrapped for various reasons before it can even reach the battlefield once..."
Herki Stone dipped the quill back into the ink bottle and blew gently on the wet ink.
Hell had changed completely over the course of several decades, and the devils had come to accept terrifying inflation under another guise. Torments like death and violence seemed to have dwindled, and life appeared to have improved and become more convenient, yet the cleverer a devil was, the more clearly they saw Hell's problems.
In the past, devils could still hope to fight for a future. But in today's Avernus, there was no such thing as a future.
Every devil could only be swept up in the torrential tide, swallowed whole.
Naturally, there were ambitious souls who refused to accept this. Over the past eighty years, more than forty rebellions—both large and small—had broken out, but each had met the exact same end.
Without the Archduke Deceiver lifting so much as a finger, the rebel forces crumbled on their own. They were either torn to pieces by the fanatical devils who supported the Archduke Deceiver, or they destroyed each other through internal discord and infighting.
As His Excellency had once put it: "Hell is the last place that ever needs to fear a rebellion. Heroes do not exist here, and the proportion of self-righteous idiots is far too high. Even when they cooperate on the surface, every last one is plotting how to take advantage and exploit loopholes."
Each rebellion accomplished nothing more than lining the Devil Archduke's vaults with greater riches.
All in all, under the governance of the Archduke Deceiver, Avernus was flourishing, and the quality of the souls it produced grew increasingly refined.
What, heroic souls that defied fate and did not fear death? In the Archduke Deceiver's collection, they could not even rank.
Only the naturally brilliant minds—those who saw through everything, yet could change nothing no matter how hard they struggled, until they finally ended themselves in various ways—were qualified to be brought to the auction block and enter the Devil Archduke's private vault.
Such a Hell satisfied the gods, and it thoroughly satisfied the laws of Hell.
Tormenting these sinners had to begin at the psychological level.
The entire realm of Hell had listened to the screams of physical torture for tens of millions of years and had long grown sick of them. But that sheer despair of drawing a sword, looking in every direction, and finding only blank helplessness—that was a flavor the laws of Hell had only just begun to savor.
Because of this, the power under the Archduke Deceiver's command swelled steadily, so much so that the smiles on the faces of the other archdukes across the Nine Hells grew brighter and brighter—well, even a forced smile was still a smile.
The Archduke Deceiver never remembered who was especially courteous to Him, but He never failed to remember who was not courteous enough.
It was precisely because He inflicted psychological torment indiscriminately on everyone—whether a lowly lemure or a devil archduke—that His seat grew firmer and more unshakeable by the day.
Herki Stone could not help but sigh with feeling. He had been lucky, had chosen the right side, and so lived a fairly comfortable life now.
And fortunate souls like him were by no means few.
Gareth, the Devil Archduke's close brother, had eventually become a deity, and after his ascension, he had laid an ambush alongside the Archduke Deceiver. The evil deities who habitually showed up to bully new gods and extort tribute all walked straight into the trap. Several well-known evil gods were crushed to death on the spot, their remnants becoming decorations in Gareth's divine realm.
Yet despite having the opportunity to vie for the portfolio of the God of Death, Gareth, with Jergal's help, had ultimately chosen to become the racial deity of the headless horsemen.
It was a strange thing when considered carefully. Headless horsemen were merely undead, and what race could the undead possibly speak of? Undead molded into different shapes were still undead.
Yet Jergal was truly formidable, managing to forge Gareth into a racial deity just like the King of Ghouls.
From that day forth, headless horsemen became an undead unit that could no longer be created through necromancy, turning instead into a 'sub-undead' race capable of reproducing on their own.
Much like ghouls and liches.
Ghouls propagated through a unique viral infection, and liches reproduced through a special ritual. Headless horsemen could now convert others through a distinctive decapitation rite, provided that Gareth, the God of the Headless Horsemen, did not intervene. In other words, so long as Gareth disapproved, hardly any new headless horseman would ever walk the world again.
This gave the necromancers of the mortal realm a massive headache. If the undead continued playing this game, crafting even basic skeletons and zombies in the future would become an ordeal.
Herki Stone thought it quite a shame. How wonderful the role of the God of Death was! He himself wanted it, but it seemed clear now that no one possessed the qualifications.
The members of the former Elegy Poetry Society had not changed much, except that one after another had ascended to godhood, drastically raising the caliber of its roster.
The seat of the God of Death remained vacant. Youjiaxi the ghoul, who had yearned for it the most, had backed the wrong side in the past, breached the society's rule against members fighting one another, and had been expelled.
Ten years ago, however, Jergal had brought a remarkably young child into the society.
Rumor had it that he was only twenty-six this year, a necromancer of extraordinary talent.
Though he was a necromancer, admitting a living person into the Elegy Poetry Society had set a whole new precedent. One could only say that Kelemvor genuinely did not want to do the job anymore, leaving Jergal a little anxious.
Herki Stone turned his head toward the wall, where a massive oil painting hung—a memento left behind from the time the Elegy Poetry Society had gathered together.
Herki Stone still remembered having to specifically remind Anbaixiu to assume human form back then, lest he look like an ordinary skeleton minion before a room full of legendary undead.
The Elegy Poetry Society had been so lively in those days.
Herki Stone pulled his gaze back and sighed wistfully. "Ah, but by the President's standards, who else besides that fellow would ever be qualified to become the God of Death?"
Jergal's criteria for the God of Death were far too exacting. He did not want another candidate who would grow sick of it after a few years and throw down the mantle, yet the post was agonizingly dull, immensely vital, and fraught with immense mental strain.
The undead had stable enough temperaments, making them the best initial candidates. But the moment an undead encountered their personal obsession, they would go mad, a trait difficult to avoid even after ascending to godhood.
Jergal was a classic case of wanting to have his cake and eat it too: he demanded the emotional stability of the undead, while also requiring them to transcend their obsessions.
Who else fit that bill? Naturally, only the Archduke Deceiver.
Ever since meeting that Goddess of Fate, the Archduke Deceiver's life had opened up entirely. Ruling Avernus for several decades, He wore a perpetual smile, leading quite a few devils to consider Him far too merciful and far too easy to speak with.
This old friend of his was no longer obsessed with defying an illusory fate, and His days could not have been more comfortable.
And precisely because life was so pleasant, Jergal's invitation held zero appeal for Him.
In a few more years, Hell itself might no longer belong to Asmodeus, so why give this up just to become a lonely, friendless God of Death?
The office of Death had too many rules, and Jergal kept an eagle eye on it, making it impossible for Anbaixiu to act as he pleased.
Thus, Jergal had ultimately failed to persuade Anbaixiu, leaving him with no choice but to keep grooming new candidates.
After his thoughts drifted for a while, Herki Stone picked up his quill again and resumed recording his history of Hell.
"Although the Archduke Deceiver harbors no plans to invade or plunder other planes, the magic mirrors He created continuously exert influence over the myriad planes and worlds. Magic mirrors have woven themselves into every facet of the various realms, nearly monopolizing the dissemination of knowledge.
"After night falls, recite the incantation before a magic mirror, and an omniscient blue devil will appear to answer any question you pose. You may trade knowledge of equal value, but if you cannot provide the corresponding knowledge, you must pay with your own soul.
"Countless ambitious figures flock to this perilous contract. Mages seek dangerous magical lore, the powerful and wealthy hunt for the secrets and vulnerabilities of their rivals, and the lowly harbor hopes of obtaining a chance from the devil to overturn their destitution. These greed-drenched souls are the most precious resource in Hell, and this enterprise has spared the Archduke Deceiver from having to actively mint soul coins for many years; His wealth simply cannot be spent.
"The gods of Mount Celestia have grumbled about this, and even Oghma, the Lord of Knowledge, once considered it an improper means of spreading knowledge, but in the end, none could stem mortals' insatiable hunger for the unknown.
"Even deities are not omnipotent, after all.
"The Archduke Deceiver is the same, except He is a devil who is far easier to satisfy and understands how to restrain His own desires. Some years ago, rumors claimed that Asmodeus, the Lord of Hell, wished to unite the Archduke Deceiver in marriage with His daughter. If that had succeeded, the Archduke Deceiver would unquestionably have become the next Lord of Hell.
"Yet rumors remain rumors. This Devil Archduke can be considered quite faithful in matters of the heart. Those goddesses with whom He once shared unsavory rumors were ultimately proven to be nothing more than pure friendships. Oh, with the exception of Leira, the Lady of Mists.
"That goddess made more than one overture, never hiding her sentiment that having nothing else to repay Him with, she could only offer herself, but in the end, she failed to get her wish. Meanwhile, the Archduke Deceiver declared on multiple occasions that friendship was friendship and business was business, and mixing too much personal emotion into mutual cooperation was a mark of unprofessionalism.
"In private, however, the author once asked the Archduke Deceiver about His true thoughts, and His response was considerably more blunt. He believed a fleeting moment of pleasure was not worth paying for with the next ten million years of his life. He now enjoyed a harmonious and happy family, so why invite the misery of having old debts dredged up over tens of millions of years just for a bit of cheap indulgence?
"Such a deal was unmistakably a losing proposition.
"As the author has noted, this Devil Archduke understands how to rein in desire far better than other devils. Even if the other party is a goddess, a follower of the Lord of Storms, or a pet He raised by His side..."
Here, Herki Stone's hand suddenly trembled. He felt he was getting ahead of himself; this phrasing seemed rather inappropriate.
He swiftly burned the sheet before him and began anew.
"The Archduke Deceiver is a devil who excels at restraining His desires, which is precisely what sets Him apart from the other devil archdukes. The author has also heard tales that when the Lord of Storms offered his own follower as a gift, sending that princess of the ocean realm to the Archduke Deceiver, He immediately saw through the Lord of Storms's sinister ploy to drive a wedge between them.
"The Archduke Deceiver stated that he believed a great woman who had dedicated her life to her faith and her realm could not hold only love in her heart. Sending Ariel away as a tool of discord was like burying a pearl into a wall as mere gravel—the most lamentable waste.
"In a rare turn, the Lord of Storms admitted that his prank had ended in failure. He granted Princess Ariel true freedom and pledged to shield the Raging Tide Kingdom from all natural disasters for a century.
"Ultimately, the Devil Archduke returned to His Hell, while Princess Ariel ascended to the divine realm of Talos.
"A friend of the author once had the chance to meet this princess and asked if she had truly let things go. Princess Ariel smiled and said that compared to the future of the million people of the Raging Tide Kingdom, that encounter was merely a white whale sighted along her voyage: a pity to have missed, but merely a slight pity, nothing more.
"Having witnessed that reunion across the span of long ages, the author believes that although the two differed vastly in identity and race, at that singular moment, they could truly be called kindred spirits.
"Frivolous youths always fancy tales of romance and carnal desire, but for legendary figures, what time erodes first is precisely those most intense and restless emotions. Only true ideals and pursuits can be polished into radiant gems..."
Scribbling this passage with a flourish of his pen, Herki Stone felt immensely pleased with himself.
Though he had injected plenty of personal bias, what was the point of writing a book if one did not slip in a little private agenda?
Just as he prepared to polish it further, a loud *bang* rang out as the door was kicked wide open!
Herki Stone was thoroughly incensed; any author whose train of thought was shattered would feel the urge to draw a blade. But the moment Herki Stone saw a girl of about ten rushing in, his face instantly arranged itself into a broad smile, and he rubbed his hands together.
"Dongniya, what brings you here?"
The young girl had flowing golden hair, features as flawless as an elf's, and a pair of eyes radiant as stars, entirely out of place in the environment of Hell.
Were she walking the streets, she would surely attract a swarm of grotesque devils eager to tear her apart and swallow her whole.
Yet in Avernus, not a single devil dared to extend their claws toward this young lady.
Because her name was Dongniya Luotuoliefu, the universally recognized Second Princess of Avernus.
As for the first, that was Her Highness Melina, who loved charging around everywhere atop her warhorse.
Dongniya, however, was not the child of the Archduke Deceiver and Madame Rose. She was the student of the legendary archmage William Harvey, and Archmage Harvey's teacher was none other than the Archduke Deceiver.
This grand-disciple relationship seemed a step removed on paper, but everyone knew that the Archduke Deceiver doted on this Second Princess as if she were his own flesh and blood, giving her treatment not a whit inferior to that of Princess Melina.
And as a little princess raised in Hell, Dongniya was hardly an obedient girl; kicking a door open was already considered polite for her.
Wearing a sweet smile, Dongniya said to the dwarven vampire, "Grandpa Stone, Dongniya is here to ask for your help! I heard that you're heading to the mortal realm soon to gather materials, right?"
Herki Stone was now a celebrated author in Hell. Every so often, he could leave Hell under the pretext of gathering materials, which was really just an excuse to take a vacation and savor the exquisite blood of the mortal realm along the way.
"Dongniya, you're not thinking of having me smuggle you out of Hell, are you? I'd never dare!"
Dongniya stared at Herki Stone with wide, innocent eyes, but Herki Stone would never dare take this little princess away without permission. If anything were to happen to her, the Nine Hells would suffer an earthquake.
Yet the moment his refusal left his mouth, Dongniya's eyes began to flicker with light, her pupils spinning madly like dice until she turned to look at the oil painting on the wall and said slowly, "Grandpa Stone, those manuscripts behind the painting... *The Romance of Hell and the Sea*, *The Night I Rejected the Goddess*..."
"Nine Hells, Dongniya, stop reading them!"
Herki Stone's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. With a frantic wave of his hands, the kicked-open door slammed shut in an instant, secured by several magical locks.
Dongniya flashed a crafty grin and said, "Grandpa Stone, you wouldn't want anyone else to see these drafts, would you?"
Thirty entire layers of magical concealing arrays, and she had still found them?! Truly a child raised by devils!
Helpless, Herki Stone asked, "Dongniya, why the sudden urge to run away from home?"
Dongniya declared firmly, "I'm going to find my teacher! He promised he'd come back in three years, and this is already the sixth! I have to drag him back!"
Herki Stone recalled that he had indeed not seen Harvey for several years. After breaking through to the legendary tier, that kid had adopted the same attitude as his teacher, acting like an old man ready to retire and enjoy his twilight years.
Back then, Dongniya had been merely a soul embryo, and Harvey's primary task had been raising her. He had nurtured her for decades, until by the time Dongniya hatched, Harvey had already turned into an old man with a full head of white hair.
It was something that could easily have been fixed with a bottle of youth potion, yet Harvey seemed completely indifferent to his own aging. Once Dongniya grew old enough to understand the world, he departed Hell, and no one knew where he had vanished to.
By all logic, as the chosen of that Goddess of Fate, Harvey would not normally meet with mishap, but vanishing for so many years would naturally make anyone worry.
For Dongniya to seek out her teacher was entirely reasonable.
Yet Herki Stone could only feel aggrieved. Why did the problems of their master-disciple lineage have to drag him down?
Herki Stone said hastily, "Even the Archduke Deceiver couldn't track him down. What good will you do going after him?"
In all the myriad planes and worlds, who had the widest network of connections? If the Archduke Deceiver claimed second place, no other deity dared claim first. He was a prominent figure who moved with ease among both good and evil factions. If even He could not find Harvey, what could a little girl like Dongniya accomplish?
Dongniya replied with utmost confidence, "I have my ways, of course! The Goddess of Fate gave me a divine oracle: it's time to go find my teacher!"
Herki Stone asked, "Did the Goddess of Fate happen to mention what would happen to me if I took you out of Hell?"
Dongniya said, "I can divine it for you. But once you see the future, it can't be changed. Are you sure you want me to?"
"Stop! No, thank you! Starting from your teacher's teacher, nothing good has ever come from the prophecies of your lineage!"
Herki Stone was genuinely terrified that Dongniya would blink her eyes and inform him that he would meet his doom tomorrow. Fate was a sinister thing; it was best not to mess with casual divinations.
"Still, if it's an oracle from the Goddess of Fate, why didn't you just tell the Archduke Deceiver directly? Why sneak around—"
Before he could finish, the tightly shut door was kicked open yet again!
This time, the heavy wooden door was smashed to splinters.
Melina, the First Princess of Avernus, stood before them with hands planted firmly on her hips.
"Are you two plotting to sneak out of Hell behind everyone's backs?!"
Looking at the wood chips littering the floor, Herki Stone wondered if these two princesses had colluded to ruin him.
The moment Dongniya saw Melina, panic flashed across her face.
If one asked who was the most terrifying figure in Avernus, it was neither the ever-smiling Archduke Deceiver nor Madame Rose—it was Aunt Melina.
Never mind that she usually seemed silly and easily duped; if she ever suspected you were deceiving her, she would draw her sword and swing on the spot. Yes, mere suspicion was enough for her to strike. That was this Princess Melina's way of life in Hell, where no one dared hold Her Highness accountable anyway.
Just as Herki Stone opened his mouth to explain, Melina demanded, "You're running away from home and didn't take me with you?!"
...
An hour later, the Gates of Hell swung open, and the two princesses of Hell—one tall, one small—led a vampire wearing an expression of complete despair out into the mortal realm.
Only when the Gates of Hell slowly shut did Anbaixiu and the Rose of Decay reveal their figures.
"You're just going to let those two little ones run off like that?" the Rose of Decay reproached. "Do you know how many enemies you have? What if Melina and Dongniya run into trouble?"
Anbaixiu replied, "The day Dongniya was born, the Goddess of Fate appeared in person to bestow her blessing. Nothing will happen to that child, and even if it does, it will only serve as tempering. As for Melina, she has run rampant across Hell for so many years; if we don't let her go out and experience the world, I fear she'll remain a fool forever. Let them go. I'd like to know where that rascal Harvey ran off to as well, leaving without so much as a message."
Seeing that the Rose of Decay was still uneasy, Anbaixiu took her hand and smiled. "Children have to grow up eventually. We old folks should admit our age when it's time. What comes next is their story."
Chapter 636