Round Thirty-Five: Pawns Across the River

The easiest paths are always lined with traps.
The tremor caused by the realm shift had not yet fully subsided when Moriel sensed an indescribable danger creeping in. She didn’t even have time to observe her surroundings properly before the forces of this realm rushed to embrace her—like someone suddenly plunging into water, every inch of their body soaked in a strange and hostile medium. Molecules laden with the power of the outer realm penetrated her skin, carrying a chill that seemed to reach her soul.
“This isn’t the Plain of Endless Abysses.” The succubus realized sooner than the female mage that there was a problem with the realm transfer—and likely a serious one.
At first glance, the dark cover in the sky might have been dense clouds. But as it moved slowly and the true, horrifying sight became visible, it became clear just how absurd it was to mistake it for clouds. Mountain-like asteroids rotated across the sky, with winds—or air currents surrounding them—creating vortices. The bushes and mosses on them swayed, giving them a skin covered in scars and sores. Supernatural light emanated from the surfaces of these asteroids, bathing a large area in an ominous crimson glow. Moriel soon realized they were on a similar spherical body, as the surroundings consisted of the same mud and swamp plants, with the same red light seeping from the tangled branches. She also felt the ground beneath her feet moving. In the distance, more such spheres could be seen; due to distance, their apparent size did not reflect their true volume. These small planets were connected in rows by some incredible force, submerged in vast darkness, possibly hiding true, world-sized realms of darkness.
“I’ve never mixed up ‘Protecting the Good’ with ‘Severe Injury Spells.’ And yet, even such a minor task goes wrong. What else can I expect?” While others were still marveling at the magnificent and strange landscape, the Count paced angrily, rubbing his hair, with black flames appearing in his eyes and spreading into an abyssal darkness—realizing things had taken an unexpected turn, the God of Murder immediately began using O’Sullivan as a terminal again.
“Don’t go away. Come back right away.” After circling a few times, Xyrik suddenly said this. As soon as he spoke, he and the shadows around him began to flicker wildly—shadows under bushes, in grass, in ditches, and even those cast by the red light on everyone’s bodies all rushed to move frantically. Even clothes and skin felt as though they might tear apart.
The swirling shadows vanished along with the Prince of Murder’s sudden disappearance, as if an entire layer of substance had been stripped from the planet. Moriel touched her cheek; a cold tingling sensation remained, making her very uncomfortable.

“How did I end up in Kasseli… Xirek shouldn’t make such a mistake.” Kayro spoke as if to himself, but Moriel knew it was actually Lady Mist working behind the scenes. The goddess, having lost most of her power, no longer had full control over the girl, but a wisp of her divine fire had firmly merged into Kayro’s soul—something Xirek couldn’t do anything about. It was like sugar dissolved in water; to get the sugar out completely, one would have to evaporate all the water.

Moriel didn’t take further action against the Lie Goddess for occupying her place not because of the Murder God’s solemn promises, but because the pendant was given to Kayro by Forty-Seven. Admittedly, he was irritable and reckless, yet Moriel had gradually begun to trust him.

The female mage closed her eyes and breathed slowly the cold, damp air of this other world. Her protective spells shielded her from the peculiar effects of Kasseli’s environment. Though she didn’t think everything was under control, it at least helped her stay calm and wait for further developments.

It didn’t take long for the uninvited guest to appear on the horizon and approach. She didn’t care about others’ reactions, rubbing her shoulder and sighing, “The road is so hard to walk… Moriel, why do we have to go through all this? Now we don’t even have a place to sit and talk.”

“Then stand,” Moriel said calmly, showing no regard for her old acquaintance. “I don’t think we’ll talk for long.”

“You’re still so distant, dear,” Dagulas said indifferently, her delicate fingers touching her dimples as she stepped on an insect rolling in the mud. “Why do you always reject others’ care? Our common friend is in a desperate situation now… Aren’t you feeling lost and scared? Shouldn’t you be grateful for someone coming to help you and share the burden?”

“Why say ‘again’? If it’s ‘again,’ why should I worry needlessly once more?” Moriel opened her eyes and looked at her. “It’s you who should be worried. He doesn’t like you, so don’t expect him to obey you. Your master behind you won’t be satisfied with you… Life is hard, Dagulas.”

“Yes, Teacher Isabella told me that doing business with those who know how to exploit valuable resources is the most troublesome,” Dagulas said, tilting her head as if trying to read some secret from Moriel’s face. “You really have full confidence in that iron guy… I’ve always wanted to ask you—since you can trust him so much, why can’t you trust me the same way? By now, you surely don’t still think he’s just a stronger construct, right?”

“I admit that in the past, I was at fault in many ways toward you,” Moriel shook her head slightly. “But survival requires sacrifices… Enough, it’s pointless to argue about this. Stop playing tricks; we can’t reconcile. Just looking at the current situation, do we still have a way to back out?”

“She’s best at pretending to be innocent.”

A wave of spatial turbulence swept through, adding more people to Dagulas’s side. Morriel wasn’t surprised by their appearance—these days, it was hard not to notice someone with such immense power as that of a prince murderer. The only thing that surprised her slightly was that, aside from Teflin Gell, whom she had only met once, and Ale, the red-robed mage who hated her deeply, the third person was Master Seth, who had always been an outlier among the eight chief mages, known for wearing perfume and nose rings.

“Morriel, you’re just a mother spider that survives by devouring its own kind. Everyone around you will eventually be betrayed and abandoned by you,” Ale spat viciously, word by word, but without unleashing a blast of fire to back up his words. It seemed the mastermind behind bringing them here had other plans.

“Calm down, Ale,” said the chief mage in charge of enchantments, with a fake smile. “Morriel, I thought things were already lost after you provoked the Lady of Pain… I never expected you to have such a trick up your sleeve.”

“If the red-robed masters work together, dealing with me is a piece of cake,” Morriel said calmly. “I also didn’t expect you to choose to side with Dagulas. So? What have you gained so far?”

Her insidious reply darkened Seth’s gaze. Indeed, he had thought that by using Dagulas to connect with her mastermind, he could completely sideline both Dagulas and Ale, becoming the sole agent of that being, and then use that power to take on Morriel… No, Morriel was secondary—subduing the other chiefs, especially defeating Victor to control the entire order of red-robed mages, was his true goal. But he hadn’t anticipated this situation at all—especially that Morriel could gain Xeric’s favor. The overwhelming authority of the God of Murder forced things to reach a critical point, leaving the chiefs no choice but to accept this terrible reality and carry out the tasks imposed on them.

“Let’s stop this pointless mutual slander,” Dagulas said, looking up at the sky. The red glow of Kasseli seemed to be overshadowed. “That’s right, Morriel. Right now, we’re just tiny pieces on the board of fate. We can only wait here foolishly, waiting for the hand above us to make a decision. Ale, use your brain—don’t let hatred blind you to direction. If you mess things up again, I’ll be the first to deal with you.”

Flames flashed violently in Ale’s mechanical eyes as he struggled to hold back his anger. No one spoke anymore; only their gazes clashed, plunging the atmosphere into a nearly frozen silence.

“Damn it!” As darkness fell, countless shadows descended with a curse, taking the form of the Prince Murderer. “It’s fucking annoying!”

His unrestrained power forced everyone to retreat. Thick shadows, like ink, swarmed across the entire small planet. Xeric reappeared, radiating murderous intent, his pretended nobility gone entirely. “Sorry, Morriel. It seems you’ll have to go to Domain Town by yourself.”

“I understand,” the female mage replied, not surprised by this outcome. “Who’s behind this?”

“Mephistopheles.”

“Wow.” The succubus let out a low exclamation.
Plane merchant Jacob’s warning was correct—and it turned out to be almost the worst possible outcome. Morriel also glanced at Dracula, who didn’t show much triumph in her expression; her face was filled with complexity.
“I… must… compromise with that bastard!” Hryek continued, his flame-like shadows twisting along with his expression. “I hate compromising.”
He raised his hands and pointed wildly at everyone like a poor conductor: “The result of compromising… is up to you to figure out.”
“I’m interested in the same thing as him, yet we can’t work together sincerely. I turned to Morriel, and Mephistopheles found Dracula through Hellfire. You two have a long-standing grudge—perfect. From now on, I, Mephistopheles, will no longer intervene directly, neither to help nor to hinder. Starting now, the Abyss of Exiles, the Prison of Hatred, Kasseli… Damn it, you’re playing tricks while I can’t do anything in the City of Seals! …Well, please forgive my possibly inappropriate analogy: this is a gladiatorial fight. The loser is finished, and those who bet wrong get nothing either.”
Hryek snapped his fingers at Morriel. “I trust my judgment. I have to go. Keeping one’s word is a man’s virtue. Wait—hold on.”
He narrowed his eyes and counted the people. “Gambling must be fair. It seems there’s one more…”
Morriel, Kayro, Phylgas, Vadalia, Pippi—there indeed was one more than on the other side.
“No, no! Pippi has nothing to do with this!” The Quasemage screamed as it spread its wings and tried desperately to flee. Though it had a small head, it could think faster than anyone else. Who else could it be but itself, the most useless one? It was used to being discarded as a disposable item, but that didn’t mean it would surrender easily, not even in the face of a god—there was no such word as “give up” in a demon’s dictionary.
But the God of Murder wasn’t targeting it. Hryek was now looking toward Dracula’s side, his gaze finally falling on Seth.
“Great Prince…” The chief enchantment master felt uneasy under those black-hole-like eyes. He wanted to say something to ease the pressure, but before he could continue, Hryek suddenly pointed at him.
Rainbow-colored magical light burst forth from the robed master. A series of defensive spells were activated instantly—his priceless magical accessories weren’t just for show—but none of these measures worked.
Pale, slender fingers pointed at Seth like road signs, as if guiding him down a path to the underworld. None of the people present were fools who weren’t used to such things. They all saw clearly that within that body surrounded by colorful lights, the master’s soul flame had already gone out in his eyes.

It instantly destroys the mundane. If we use the standards proclaimed by some, the difference between gods and mortals lies solely in the amount of power they possess—then this single move is enough to prove that the gap between them is vast as heaven and earth. Unpreventable and unstoppable, a renowned archmage can be reduced to a pile of decaying carbohydrates in just one mad thought from Xyrik.

After claiming a life, Xyrik let out a sigh like an addict whose cravings have been satisfied, temporarily suppressing his frenzied impulses.

“Ahah, two more now. I think this is a proper ratio.”

No one was foolish enough to argue with him, so it was only when the God of Murder vanished that Dagulas let out a faint sigh.

“Archmage Seth thought he could replace me and negotiate directly with the Lord of Devils. What a remarkable decision… But who could have predicted it? All our calculations, dreams, wills… in the eyes of a being beyond all others, they are nothing but dust that can be erased with a mere flick of the hand. I am but a pawn of His Majesty Mephistopheles—what about you, Morriel? Do you trust the God of Murder so much, just because he seems familiar?”

“You have an extraordinary understanding of concepts, Dagulas,” said Morriel. “As for the current situation, we are both pawns striving for advancement. Are you ready?”