Ember Dragon

Chapter 694: Deepforge Devil

Souls are the primary currency in Bator Hell. Mortal souls dragged into Hell are called Petitioners—or soul shells.When a shipload of Petitioners arrives at a torture site, an Amnizu bureaucrat reads each soul’s mark and records the name of the devil who harvested it in a massive ledger.

According to the "Primeval Pact" signed by Asmodeus and the gods, as every last scrap of a Petitioner’s personality is stripped away, magical energy is released to the layer’s ruling lord.

Pain Devils carry out merciless tortures on fallen souls, extracting every usable trace of magic until nothing remains.

When the final shred of humanity is torn from a soul shell’s body, the trembling husk is cast into a pit—such as the Wormhole in Avernus.

There, it quickly dies, decays, and is reborn as a mindless Lemure.

Hell Lords like Zariel and Mephistopheles sit atop the soul-harvesting pyramid of each layer, enjoying the fruits of its collections.

At the pinnacle stands Asmodeus, ruler of the Nine Hells. All souls ultimately flow to Him.

But devils, being cunning and selfish, seldom surrender everything. Instead, they exploit loopholes—like smuggling souls for profit.

Uriel’s Modin Casino served the greater devil Valerius, smuggling many souls over decades. As a result, it became the most prosperous casino in the Twelfth Ring’s East District.

Beneath the Modin Casino lies a hidden lava river called the River of Sin, which leads directly to the inner rings—to Valerius’s estate.

In the casino’s underground chamber, as hurried footsteps echoed, dusty torches along the walls lit one by one. Flickering flames revealed broken skeletons in the corners, casting a grim scene.

Creak, creak...

The sound of bones grinding echoed.

From the shifting shadows, several hideous faces emerged, grinning sycophantically, their withered skin almost fused together.

The River of Sin’s entrance was guarded by four Hooked Scythe Bone Devils. When no smuggling was underway, any intruder would be slaughtered—except their master, Uriel.

Uriel now wore a robe. Behind him walked several humanoid figures cloaked in soul-laced disguises—clearly Petitioners.

To the Bone Devils, Uriel was smuggling fresh souls again for some enigmatic high-ranking figure.

If they could claim even half a Petitioner, it’d be a windfall.

The lead Bone Devil licked its lips and cautiously asked, "Master, you’ve returned. Is there a task from above?"

Beneath his black hood, Uriel’s expression was grim. "Move aside! Delay our task for that greater devil and you’ll all die with me!"

"Yes, master. Understood..."

"Then why aren’t you moving?! Want me to drag you out?"

The Bone Devils recoiled, retreating into the shadows, awaiting the coming intruders.

Uriel led the humanoids through a stone gate, boarding a bronze ship that sailed over boiling lava.

"How long until we reach the inner ring?"

A voice called from the back of the boat.

Uriel, now more timid, replied, "Just one day, my lord."

"One day?"

Langli Baitiao yanked off his cloak and stepped forward, gripping Uriel’s shoulder with suspicion. "It’s barely ten miles to the center. Why so long?

Are you calling reinforcements to ambush us?"

Under pressure, Uriel trembled and stammered, "L-Lord Langli Baitiao, you misunderstand!

As you said, after signing that contract, we’re in this together. If Zariel—or that madwoman’s underlings—find Bael’s brand on me, I’ll be thrown into the Pit for a thousand years of torment!"

He pulled open his robe, revealing a scarred torso and Bael’s burning sigil on his chest.

Langli glanced at it, stroking his chin, still doubtful. "Then why does it take so long?"

Uriel explained, "There are twelve anti-infiltration wards across the fortress. Any attempt to smuggle in triggers them and alerts the guards.

The River of Sin must snake around, passing each ward’s weakest point to enter the inner ring safely."

In the cage, the little imp muttered, "Why do I have to come too?"

Langli gave a friendly smile: "You can stay behind—in the lava."

"Is that the ward?" Darknight Wolf pointed at a glowing red barrier ahead.

Uriel nodded. "Yes. Everyone, put on your magic-resonance cloaks. Without them, even weak points in the ward will expose us."

"Got it."

The bronze boat wove through the lava, bypassing multiple wards until it reached the Fourth Ring.

Along the way, they encountered hellbats and lava beasts—but Tian Born Battle Maniac dealt with them all in one punch.

A Level-12 Dragonblood Berserker—powerful even in Bator. He could lead a small devil army alone.

"My lords, we’ve arrived."

Uriel pointed to a crude stone door. "This leads to Lord Valerius’s estate. He has a chamber just for consuming smuggled Petitioners."

"Why aren’t you coming?"

"You go on ahead. I’ll... never mind, I’m going."

The veteran casino-running devil looked ready to cry. He glared at the imp beside him with hatred.

From casino king to prisoner—the fall couldn’t be harsher.

Tian Born Battle Maniac’s golden dragon-like eyes gleamed with excitement. "Everyone, I sense immense power ahead!

Our enemy must be Level 15 or higher! Maybe even Legendary!"

In any plane of the multiverse, a Legendary being is a true powerhouse—even in Bator.

Such power could lead large devil legions, sway Blood War battles, or serve as a Hell Lord’s elite.

No player had ever soloed a Legendary-tier boss—not even at Level 12 cap.

Seeing his excitement, Luck King got nervous. "Don’t charge in, bro. We can’t take on that kind of devil head-on. We finally made it inside—don’t die now."

But Langli Baitiao grinned, reaching into his cloak. "Excellent. We hit a boss this big right away. Good thing I spent everything to get this."

He pulled out a small metallic orb.

"What’s that?"

Uriel and Dick stared blankly, sensing power but unsure of its nature.

Could this be their trump card?

The other three players looked shocked.

"Holy shit, how’d you get one of those?!"

"Isn’t that the micro-space collapse bomb from the Empire’s military showcase? A Machine God cult relic—you sold them out?!"

Langli laughed. "You know nothing. This is Nocturne Chief privilege! Even a greater devil can’t survive a direct hit!"

"Won’t we die too? We’ve got other quests!" Darknight Wolf whispered.

Luck King clenched his teeth, pulling out a parchment sewn with the Empire’s crest. "If Lang-brat brings that, I won’t hold back either.

This is our guild’s heirloom: a Flame Teleport Scroll crafted by Emperor Kai—well, his claws.

It bypasses anti-magic fields below the Ninth Ring, teleporting within five kilometers. The ultimate escape scroll." His hands trembled.

The scroll was worth thousands of gold—like a legendary item. If the mission failed, Charlotte would beat him half to death.

"In that case, we..."

The four exchanged looks and said together: "Let’s bet it all!"

In the Fourth Ring’s East District stood a towering, rugged fortress.

This was the estate of Valerius, commander of Zariel’s Thirteenth Legion—a Hell Count. The fortress was carved from cooled lava, covered in spikes, demon reliefs, and burning runes. Screams echoed from below.

Inside, a terrifying devil bathed in molten lava, holding a silver goblet of soul-brewed wine.

Fiery wings and ember eyes radiated dread—this was a Deepforge Devil, a greater devil born from Nessus, the deepest layer.

Power, resilience, terrifying intellect.

Whether serving archdukes, ruling fiefs, or tyrannizing mortal realms, they held immense autonomy.

A Cornugon flapped nearby, kneeling beside the lava pool. "Commander, your servant—the petty smuggler—has arrived."

Valerius swirled his wine, savoring the terror and wails inside. "Ah... must be Uriel. He’s done well—seven or eight Petitioners yearly.

But Zariel’s tightening regulations. He knows too much. His casino’s too involved. Time to erase him.

After he delivers the goods, eliminate him—and the casino. Leave no trace. The other legions are watching."

"Yes, Commander."

"How many Petitioners this time?"

"About twenty. He also claims to have a treasure worth over a thousand mortal souls."

"What?! Bring them in now!"

The Deepforge Devil rose, splashing lava and forming pits in the floor.

"Yes, Commander."

The Cornugon bowed and flew out.

Valerius lifted his head, draining the soul wine amid wails. "Hahaha! Who knew a discarded pawn could surprise me!"

Soon, Uriel entered with robed figures led by the Cornugon.

"M-my lord,

Here are your goods. I brought them."

"Well done, Uriel."

Crushed under the Deepforge Devil’s aura, Uriel trembled. His voice shook.

Nearing within 100 meters, he collapsed and buried his head to the ground.

Despite meeting him many times, he still felt soul-deep fear—Hell’s hierarchy embodied.

He raised his head, trembling eyes filled with flattery and dread.

"A-and, I found a very precious treasure. I hope it pleases you."

On cue, a golem stepped forward with a clay jar, approaching the Deepforge Devil.

"Bring it here!"

Valerius’s face twisted with unhidden greed, eyes locked on the jar.

The golem drew closer.

One hundred meters... fifty...

Twenty...

At ten meters, it lunged—pulling a metal orb from the jar and throwing it.

"Didn’t see that coming? Surprise, motherfucker!"

"I’ll kill you all!!"

"Ambush!!"

"Hurry—get over here! I’m tearing the scroll!"

BOOM—

The explosion shook the world, mixed with furious roars.

The entire Bronze Fortress trembled. In the molten estate, space twisted, collapsed, and vanished into a void.

Space... had collapsed!