https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-695-The-Bronze-Fortress-of-Avernus/13677573/
Chapter 694: Deep Hell Forgemaster
Spiritual Soul was the primary currency of Baator Hell, and the human souls dragged into the abyss were known as Supplicants—or Soul Shells. When a full shipload of Supplicants arrived at the Torment Grounds, Anzu Demons, serving as Devil bureaucrats, would read the mark on each Spiritual Soul and meticulously record the name of the Devil responsible for harvesting it in a thick ledger.
According to the terms of the Primordial Compact signed between Asmodeus and the Gods, as each Supplicant’s remaining traces of personality were slowly stripped away, magical energy would be emitted—flowing toward the lordship of that layer.
Pain Demons, merciless and cruel, would torment the fallen spirits without mercy, inflicting excruciating tortures until every last ounce of usable magic had been drained from their shells. Once the final remnant of humanity was violently torn from a Soul Shell, the trembling husk would be tossed into a Deep Pit—such as the horrifying maggot-infested caverns deep within Avernus.
There, it would swiftly die, decay, and then be reborn as a mindless, wretched Demon.
At the apex of each layer of Hell stood Hell Lords like Zaril and Mephistos, basking in the endless stream of Spiritual Souls harvested across their domains. And at the very peak of Baator Hell, as Lord of the Nine Hells, Asmodeus reigned supreme—every Spiritual Soul in the entire infernal hierarchy ultimately flowed into His presence.
Yet, being cunning, selfish, and treacherous creatures, Devils naturally refused to surrender all their spoils. They constantly danced on the edge of the rules, exploiting loopholes for personal gain—such as smuggling Spiritual Souls.
Yulier’s Mordin Casino served Upper-Level Demon Valerius for decades, smuggling countless Souls and earning immense favors. As a result, it became the most prosperous casino in the eastern district of the Twelfth Ring.
Beneath the Mordin Casino lay a hidden underground dungeon, where a secret molten lava river—known as the River of Sin—wound its way through the depths, directly connecting to the Inner Ring of the Bronze Fortress, Valerius’s fortress.
At that moment, within the casino’s underground vault, scattered footsteps echoed through the chamber. Ancient fire torches along the walls flared to life one by one, their flickering light casting eerie shadows. Lamps swayed in the draft, illuminating the cracked, skeletal remains scattered in corners—making the atmosphere all the more chilling and macabre.
Creak… creak…
The sound of grinding bone echoed through the darkness. From the shifting shadows, several terrifying faces emerged—gaunt, hollow-eyed, their withered skin stretched taut, lips curling into fawning grins.
At the mouth of the River of Sin stood four Bone Demon Scythe Guards. No one dared trespass without permission—except their master, Yulier.
Now, Yulier stood cloaked in shadow, his back flanked by a group of hooded figures, their silhouettes radiating a faint, alluring Soul Aura. Their status was obvious: Supplicants.
To the Bone Demons, Yulier was once again smuggling fresh souls into the Inner Ring for the mysterious, powerful figure he served. But if they could siphon even half a Soul for themselves, it would be a fortune.
The lead Bone Demon licked his cracked lips, bowing low. “Master… you’ve finally come. Is there a new quest from the other side?”
Yulier’s face, hidden beneath his black hood, remained grim and sullen. “Move out of the way! Delaying the Upper-Level Demon’s business will get all of you killed!”
“Yes, Master! We know!” Yulier snapped.
“We know—then why aren’t you moving? Want me to throw you out myself?”
Trembling with bone-deep fear, the Bone Demons retreated, their joints cracking with each step, until they vanished into the shadows, waiting for the invasion to begin.
Yulier, meanwhile, led the group through a stone door and onto a bronze boat that glided silently across the seething lava river.
“How much longer until the Inner Ring?” A voice called from the back of the boat.
Yulier’s tone instantly shifted—his voice tight with dread. “Only one day.”
“One day?” Langli BaiTiao tore off his cloak and stepped forward, gripping Yulier’s shoulder. His voice bristled with suspicion. “From the Twelfth Ring to the heart of the Bronze Fortress? At most ten miles. How can it take a day? Are you calling in allies? Summoning reinforcements? Planning to wipe us out?”
Yulier froze, then shuddered violently, his voice trembling. “Wang… Master Langli BaiTiao… you’re mistaken! As you said—since we signed that Pact, we’re all on the same ship. If Zaril—no, that madwoman’s underling discovers my mark, I’ll be cast into the Torment Grounds, enduring pain for a thousand years!”
With that, he tore open his long robe, revealing a torso ravaged by torment—raw wounds, scars, and burns. And on his chest, a glowing Flame Light emblem pulsed: Bair.
Langli BaiTiao glanced at the emblem, stroked his chin, still unconvinced. “Then why does it take so long?”
Yulier whispered, “The Bronze Fortress holds twelve Pierce Ground Isolation Wards. Anyone attempting to smuggle will trigger the Rune Array, alerting the guards. So the River of Sin must wind through the weakest points of each ward—only by taking the long way can we pass undetected.”
In the cage behind them, the small Devil muttered under his breath: “Why do I have to go?”
Langli BaiTiao smiled warmly. “You’re welcome to jump into the lava river instead.”
“Is that the Isolation Ward?” Darknight Wolf suddenly pointed toward the distance, where a crimson glow flickered faintly across the air like a shimmering membrane.
Yulier nodded urgently. “Yes, that’s it. Everyone—put on the Weave of Magic resonance cloaks immediately. Even if you slip through a weak point, without them, you’ll be detected.”
“Got it.”
The bronze boat glided through the molten river, weaving past multiple protective wards. Along the way, they encountered Hell Bats, Lava Beasts, and other horrors—but Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang dispatched them all with a single punch each.
A 12th-level Dragon Vein Berserker, even in Baator Hell, was no ordinary foe. He was strong enough to lead a small Demon army as its chieftain.
“We’re here,” Yulier whispered, pointing toward a crude stone door in the distance. “This leads directly to Valerius’s mansion. He has a secret chamber—used exclusively for enjoying smuggled Supplicants.”
“Why aren’t you coming?”
“Master, you go ahead and complete the task the Bair Lord assigned. I’ll stay here and wait—please, just let me go!”
The veteran Devil from the Battalions Casino could barely suppress his tears. He turned to the small Devil, his gaze filled with seething hatred—wishing he could devour him alive.
From arrogant casino master to a prisoner of others—few things in life were more crushing.
Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang’s expression remained serious, his golden, dragon-like eyes glowing with euphoria. “I can feel it—so many powerful auras! This challenge is fifteen-level or higher. Possibly even Legendary!”
Legendary. In any multiverse, such a title meant authentic power—enough to command a large Demon army, sway the outcome of a small-scale Blood War, or even become a Hell Lord’s beloved lieutenant.
Even now, with the level cap raised to twelve, no player had ever managed to solo a Legendary-level boss.
Watching Tian Sheng Zhan Kuang grow increasingly excited, Lucky Emperor swallowed hard. “War Fury Brother… don’t charge in blindly. Facing a being of that caliber? We don’t stand a chance. We’ve barely made it into the Inner Ring—don’t throw our lives away.”
Beside him, Langli BaiTiao smirked, slowly reaching into his cloak. “Excellent. Just arrived, and already we’ve found a boss of this caliber. Not a bad reward for all the money I spent, and the favors I called in.”
He pulled out a round, unassuming metal sphere.
“What… is that?” Yulier and Dick, the two Hellish Demons, stared in confusion. Nothing about the sphere seemed special—yet they sensed something profound beneath its surface.
Was this the real reason they dared face a Great Demon?
But the other three players stared at it with wide, horrified eyes—as if seeing a ghost.
“Holy shit… you actually got this?!”
“That’s the Micro-Spatial Collapse Bomb from the last Empire Military Gear seminar! It’s the core of the Mechanical Divinity’s power! Did you sell them the hook?”
Langli BaiTiao chuckled. “You don’t understand. This is the Nocturne Chief’s personal favor. Even an Upper-Level Demon can’t survive a direct hit from this.”
Darknight Wolf whispered, “So… we’re all going to die with it?”
Lucky Emperor suddenly made up his mind. He clenched his jaw, then pulled a scroll from his Robe of Arcana—a weathered parchment stitched with the Empire emblem.
“This is our Magic Coin Guild’s ancestral treasure,” he said, voice trembling. “Handcrafted by King Kai himself—no, with his own claws. The Flame Portal Scroll. It can bypass Anti-Magic Fields below the Ninth Circle, teleporting us anywhere within five kilometers. It’s a true escape artifact.”
His hands shook as he held the scroll. Worth thousands of gold coins, it was equivalent to rare gear. If he used it and failed the quest, Charlotte would beat him to death.
“Then… we’re going in,” he said.
The four exchanged glances—eyes locked in determination.
“Let’s take the risk.”
In the east district of the Bronze Fortress’s Fourth Ring stood a massive, brutal fortress, carved from cooled molten lava. This was the residence of Valerius, Hell Baron and commander of Zaril’s Thirteenth Army—its towering walls bristled with spines, demonic reliefs, and burning runes. From below, the distant wails of tortured souls echoed through the stone.
Deep within the hall, a monstrous Devil bathed in the seething magma, holding a silver chalice filled with wine brewed from Human Souls. His massive, crimson wings flared like dying embers, his eyes burning with fire. The sheer aura of dread radiating from him was enough to make even the strongest tremble.
This was the Deep Hell Forgemaster—an Upper-Level Demon born from the deepest abyss of the Nine Hells, Nethres. Powerful, enduring, and possessed of terrifying wisdom.
The Hell’s elite—Dukes, Lords, and Ennobled—held significant autonomy, whether serving under a Duke, enforcing laws in the infernal hierarchy, or terrorizing the mortal realm.
A Kunna Demon fluttered its wings and knelt at the edge of the lava pool. “Lord Commander, your servant—the weak smuggler—has arrived.”
Valerius swirled his chalice, savoring the fear in the air, listening to the agonized screams of the souls within the wine. “Yulier, is it? He’s done well these past decades—brings us seven or eight Supplicants a year. But Zaril is planning something big. Smuggling is tightly controlled now. Yulier knows too much. His casino has too many links to us. It’s time to eliminate him.”
“After he delivers the goods, you’ll erase him completely. And clean up the casino—no trace must remain. The other armies are watching, and they’ll pounce if they smell a weakness.”
“Yes, Lord Commander.”
“Oh, and how many Supplicants this time?”
“About twenty… and according to him, he also brought a rare treasure—worth the equivalent of a thousand mortal souls.”
“What? Bring them in immediately!”
The Deep Hell Forgemaster shot upright, magma splattering across the ground, carving shallow craters. “Now!”
“Yes, Lord Commander.”
The Kunna Demon bowed and flew out of the hall.
Valerius raised his chalice, draining the last of the soul-wine in one gulp, then laughed—deep, thunderous, triumphant. “Hah! A discarded pawn still brings me such a surprise!”
Moments later, under the Kunna Demon’s guidance, Yulier led his group of hooded humanoids into the hall.
“M-Master… I’ve brought what you asked for.”
“Good work, Yulier.”
Under the overwhelming pressure of the Deep Hell Forgemaster’s aura, Yulier’s legs wobbled, his body weak. Even his voice cracked. When he reached within a hundred meters of the demon, he collapsed to his knees, bowing his head to the ground.
Despite having endured dozens of audiences, the instinctive, soul-deep terror remained—proof of the Upper-Level Demon’s supremacy, the natural order of Hell, forged over millennia.
Yulier lifted his head, his eyes filled with fawning servility and raw fear, staring at the demon bathed in molten lava.
“An-And… I’ve found something… extraordinarily precious. I hope it pleases you, Last Hope.”
As the word left his mouth, the Golem behind him stepped forward, its mechanical limbs clanking as it carried an ancient clay jar toward the Deep Hell Forgemaster.
“Bring it here!”
Valerius’s face lit up with greed—his eyes fixed solely on the jar, pulsing with soul energy. His entire being was consumed by desire.
The Golem advanced—100 meters… 50… 20…
At less than ten meters, it suddenly exploded—ripping open the jar and hurling the metal sphere straight at the Deep Hell Forgemaster.
“Didn’t see that coming, motherfucker!”
“I want you all dead!”
“Enemy Ambush!”
“Hurry! Get here now—I’m tearing the Scroll!”
“BOOM—”
The explosion roared like thunder, shaking the very foundations of the Bronze Fortress. Molten lava structures cracked and shattered. The space around them warped, folded, and collapsed—twisting into an endless void.
Space… had shattered.
(End of Chapter)
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