Chapter 723: An Unexpected Encounter
Inside the Wilted Rose Tavern, the air was thick with the rich aroma of wine, while cigarette smoke curled through the dim light, blurring the edges of reality like a dream. Under the amber glow of hanging lamps, citizens of the Empire raised their mugs in unbridled revelry.
A semi-goatfolk regiment played with fervor, their music weaving through the room as dark-elven dancers twirled beneath the moonlight, their movements hypnotic, drawing gasps of awe from the crowd.
"Bravo!"
"Again! One more strip!"
"Still a beauty, even with that dark skin—spend one night with her, and I’d die happy!"
"Ha! You couldn’t afford a single bottle of Witch’s Kiss for her home!"
At first, the noise was just cheerful chaos—laughter, song, and drunken cheers. But as the night deepened, the atmosphere grew denser, the air thick with tension. The inevitable collision came when a tipsy tiefling stumbled into a towering ogre, spilling filth across his massive frame. The first brawl of the night had begun.
"Damn egg! You’re asking for death!"
The ogre roared, wrenching half a broken table leg from the ground, wiping off the food stains with a snarl.
Yet instead of panic, the crowd erupted into feverish excitement. Eyes gleamed with the light of the lamps, reflecting not fear, but ecstasy, hunger, and the thrill of violence.
"Book it! Book it!"
"Ogre—last week he tore a hill giant apart!"
"I’m betting on the tiefling! They’re more numerous!"
Packed shoulder to shoulder, the people roared, betting, shouting, their voices rising in a frenzy. By day, they were weary workers, exhausted soldiers, or desperate merchants. But here, in this tavern, they shed their burdens. Alcohol drowned their minds, and for a moment, they were free—free to be their true, raw selves.
Humans, tieflings, great goblins, half-dragons, even ogres—different races, different statuses—mingled together, drunk and wild, reveling in this chaotic, desire-fueled celebration.
In a quiet corner, another conversation buzzed with urgency.
"Did you hear the news from the Frontline?"
A ruddy-faced man slammed his wine cup onto the table. "Ha! Of course! Our army has seized the City of Dawn. The Kingdom of Thrace will soon fall under Empire rule!"
"Perfect!" he bellowed, fists clenched. "Let the proud southerners finally see our might! They were born to serve the Empire!"
"Let the Empire’s banner fly above the Abyss!"
In his fervor, he began to sing, voice slurred, the old anthem of conquest: "Song of the South."
"Even if we conquer Thrace," came a voice—low, weary, dripping with sarcasm—cutting through the noise like a knife.
The tone was jarring, out of place.
"Sure, it sounds great. But who really enjoys the wealth and prosperity? The noble lords, of course. Meanwhile, we common folk? Still stuck on the assembly line, working overtime!"
"Who said that?"
All heads snapped toward the speaker—a gaunt youth in tattered worker’s clothes, slumped over the table, face etched with despair.
Martin. A common laborer. He packed war rations for the Empire. For over ten days straight, he’d worked without rest, his reward supposed to be a generous bonus.
But today, exhausted beyond measure, he’d dozed off at his station. His half-dragon overseer caught him. Not only was he berated with cruel insults, but his entire month’s bonus was stripped away—his labor, erased.
Now back in his cramped, dark room, his landlord was demanding last month’s rent. He’d been behind for weeks. If he didn’t pay soon, he’d be thrown out.
Martin felt suffocated. The dream of buying a home in Blackstone Fortress, of becoming a proud citizen—was slipping further and further away.
In despair, grief, and a crushing sense of futility, he pulled out his last coins and came here—the famed Wilted Rose, seeking oblivion in wine.
Under the influence of alcohol, he let loose, his voice rising in fury.
"Damn it all! What does a victory matter to us? We work ourselves to death, and get nothing! Not a single coin!"
"You just don’t work hard enough!" someone sneered. "King Kai Xiusu himself wrote the law—anyone who serves the Empire faithfully will be rewarded!"
"You’re just a lazy bum, wasting your life in taverns. No wonder you can’t even afford decent clothes!"
The insults stung. Blood surged to Martin’s head. Alcohol fueled his rage, erasing fear. He slammed his fist on the table—thud!
"Shut up! You all shut up! Even if the Empire conquers the whole of Feanso, what good does it do us? We still work night and day, sleepless, exhausted—just like machines!"
Then, from the shadows, a voice cut through the din.
"Friends… consider carefully what this man is saying. He dares oppose the Empire’s inevitable victory? What kind of monster would speak such words?"
The voice was low, gravelly—unnervingly calm, yet charged with an eerie power.
Instantly, the drunken crowd turned. Their faces twisted with outrage. They surged forward, fists raised, eyes blazing.
"Brutal! Daring to question the Empire’s Great Blueprint? To insult the sacrifices of our frontline heroes!"
"By King Kai Xiusu, without the Empire, how could we live such lives?"
"In the old Northern Era, scum like this would’ve starved to death! He doesn’t even thank the King for his blessings—how dare he provoke us!"
"Perhaps he’s a spy from Fadalan!"
"Yes! Definitely a traitor! Either from the damned south or a remnant of the Northern nobility!"
"Maybe we should kill him here and now!"
"Such a man must not be allowed to remain in the city! He’s a spy!"
The voices grew louder, more frenzied. The gaze on Martin shifted from hostility to outright rage.
They pulled out daggers, clubs—weapons gleaming in the dim light. The tavern was now gripped by a strange, unnatural tension.
Martin froze. His legs gave way. He collapsed to the floor, pale, trembling, whispering:
"W-what are you doing? This is a city! Murder’s illegal! Someone—help me!"
But no one responded. The bartender, the other patrons—they all stood motionless, as if unaware of the chaos unfolding.
The drunkards pressed closer, their faces distorting, their eyes wild. They began chanting in unison, a haunting, eerie rhythm:
"Kill him… kill him… kill him…"
"Devils!" Martin screamed, eyes wide with terror. Sweat poured down his face.
He saw it clearly now—the horns sprouting from their heads, like mountain goats. Their features twisted, grotesque. Even the shadows on the walls—cast by the lamps—looked monstrous, twisted, terrifying.
Crack.
The world went silent.
Everyone froze—frozen in place, as if caught in a painting.
Then—clap, clap.
The door creaked open.
Kai Xiusu stepped through, his form shifting from shadow into light, his presence commanding.
"Remarkable," Kai Xiusu said, his voice calm, admiring. "No wonder they call you the Lord of the Nine Hells. To transform mortals into devils without detection—such power is breathtaking."
He turned, eyes sharp, scanning the dark corner where the voice had come from. His pale golden eyes gleamed with cold calculation.
"But… breaking into someone’s home without permission, damaging their property—doesn’t that seem rather… rude?"
Before he finished speaking, a wave of oppressive, terrifying aura erupted from him—so powerful it could shatter a mortal soul.
Yet the man in the corner—middle-aged, with a neatly trimmed goat beard—didn’t flinch. He slowly raised his head, sipped from his glass of Witch’s Kiss, and smirked.
"Hmm… hasn’t been a century since I tasted such an intriguing drink. A hint of nightmare shards, a touch of hallucinogenic herbs… perfect for drowning mortal minds in dreams. They’re so desperate to escape reality, aren’t they?"
He wore a slightly worn black suit, ordinary in every way—except for his eyes, which were deep, ancient, and profoundly unreadable.
Kai Xiusu spoke softly. "If you wish to drink, I have more. No need to harm my people. Shall I call you guest, or… Asmodeus?"
The man didn’t deny it. He gestured at the now-devilish citizens, still frozen in their transformation.
"You’re mistaken. I’m not their enemy. I merely awakened what was already inside them—every man’s true nature. I gave them what they wanted."
Asmodeus tilted his head. "And you… you make a bunch of slaves thankful for their chains? That’s a lesson even Hell could learn."
Kai Xiusu smiled politely. "You misunderstand. They are my subjects—proud, striving citizens, building the Empire’s future. How could they be slaves?"
A pause.
"Your words are insulting—not only to me, but to the Empire itself."
Asmodeus said nothing. He only smirked, a cold, contemptuous smile.
Kai Xiusu studied the transformed humans. No magical auras. No spell-like powers. Just raw, unfiltered original sins: greed, wrath, pride.
They had chosen this.
Frightening.
Even as an avatar, Kai Xiusu reinforced his mental fortress—protecting his soul from the influence of the Lord of the Nine Hells.
As if sensing his unease, Asmodeus stirred his drink, whispering:
"Relax. We devils aren’t like demons—no burning, looting, or slaughter."
Kai Xiusu didn’t smile. "But you plot greater conspiracies, don’t you?"
Asmodeus didn’t deny it. He simply stroked his beard, sipping slowly.
Kai Xiusu already knew his purpose.
He kept his polite smile. "Then… if you’ve come all the way from Hell, Asmodeus, what do you want?"
Asmodeus drained his glass, then looked up—eyes like black pools, glinting with ancient malice.
"Someone killed my subordinate. And stole something of mine."
Their gazes locked.
Kai Xiusu felt every fiber of his being exposed. A pressure from Hell itself pressed down on him—his spirit trembled, and deep within his true form, the Heart of Hell burned.
Old fool! Kai Xiusu cursed silently.
He countered with the full might of the Empire’s domain, matching the aura of intimidation.
"Zaril was mine to kill," he said, calm. "She was arrogant. She stood in my way."
Asmodeus shook his head, sighing. "A shame. Zaril was loyal. Stubborn, yes—but always faithful to her mission."
There was sorrow in his voice. But Kai Xiusu knew better. This man didn’t grieve. He calculated.
Kai Xiusu pressed on. "Bair took her place. He’s capable. He’ll complete your quest."
Asmodeus shook his head. "Bair has mind. He has power. But he lacks the most vital thing: loyalty."
Kai Xiusu smirked. "You’re asking a devil to be loyal?"
"Strength is meaningless without obedience," Asmodeus replied. "In a world of power, loyalty is virtue."
He paused, sipping again. "Centuries ago, Bair ignored my orders. He obsessed over his own strength, disrupted the Balance of Blood Wars. So I replaced him with Zaril.
But centuries later… he still didn’t learn. He conspired with outsiders. He betrayed Zaril—without my permission. That… was unacceptable."
His gaze sharpened, piercing.
"And now? Bair is no longer a complete Hell Lord."
(End of Chapter)
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