Round Eleven: Each Plays Its Part

The fortress quickly took in these new members before spitting them out like trash.
The Metal Man soon realized that the brutal battles in the Abyssal Plains were far from the minor skirmishes of before.
The massive armies on both sides rivaled any war he had remembered—perhaps even exceeding them, as the Metal Man never understood the purpose of this war. The most common theory was that it was a deadly struggle between the two largest factions in Hell to prove who truly embodied evil, but to the Metal Man, it was this endless war that truly defined evil—anger, madness, despair, death, and pure destruction.
The invading demons launched a distant attack with a barrage of fireballs, instantly drowning the demon front lines in flames. The demons, unyielding, responded by unleashing poisonous clouds and pitch-black darkness as cover, charging like a tide. The Flo demons rushed forward eagerly, diving into enemy ranks to cause destruction, while the Battle Demons howled loudly, advancing even more desperately than the Flo demons, for only in this way could their stench affect more enemies, causing greater panic and destruction.
The Metal Man charged into the battlefield wielding his giant sword and chain blades, his body covered in burnt flesh. Like most Bartzu demons, he was immune to fire; in fact, he somewhat attracted flames, creating swirling vortexes of heat around him that consumed the foul miasma of the battlefield. His chain blades acted like long flames, severing smaller opponents with a single strike. When faced with enemies resistant to cutting, the Metal Man would simply leap at them like a projectile, swinging his sword to unleash a storm of death…
A demon encased in layers of chains confronted the Metal Man. Before the vicious chains could wrap around him, his face blurred briefly before transforming into a delicate, beautiful face with intricate tattoos. A cold gaze stared down at the Metal Man—this face caused his movements to halt completely, as if his system had run out of memory due to excessive processing and fallen into a state of unresponsiveness.
The Chain Demon successfully wrapped itself around the Metal Man and tightened its grip.
But then he shattered into pieces, scattering everywhere—regeneration seemed unable to mend the damage.
The Metal Man was furious, though for no apparent reason. He fought even more wildly, unstoppable.
He was nothing short of a Barro Flame Demon.
That was the highest praise one could give someone among them.
He led his muscular demon subordinates, using the evil eye on his forehead to emit red light that drained energy and vitality from enemies, weakening them and making it easier for the melee-loving demons to slaughter them. Those who died under this energy-draining gaze rose as zombies and joined the demon army—if they were still intact enough.

When the Abyssal Demon Forger and the Balor Flame Demon also rushed directly into the battlefield, the fight reached its climax and conclusion—the clash between these two entities representing the highest powers on either side was almost beyond interference. They used their innate teleportation abilities to surge into the densest areas of the enemy forces. The Abyssal Demon Forger kept firing low-frequency explosive flames in all directions; sometimes, four to eight meteor showers with long trailing flames would suddenly erupt in an open space, burning everything in their path before forming an explosive array that engulfed vast areas in a sea of flames. This was the Abyssal Demon Forger using his Meteor Burst after becoming invisible. Meanwhile, the Balor Flame Demon wielded a sword that resembled a beam of flame or lightning, surrounded by roaring flames that burned anything that got too close. They also released raging fire clouds—layers of flame that flowed like liquid from their bodies, sweeping everything in their path and leaving only scorched earth.

Only a very small number of creatures could avoid becoming fuel or mere spectators in such a battlefield—metal men were one of them. The flames of demons and devils washed over and forged them at the same time, using their bodies as containers and flesh as fuel. The metal men even felt themselves gradually merging with this burning world—had they not still had more important things on their mind, they would have indulged in this eternal purgatory.

Stephanie stood on top of the fortress, overlooking the returning demons and mercenaries. The higher-ranking demons had already used their teleportation abilities to return to the Steel Fortress, gathering more fodder to replenish their ranks and prepare for the next battle. The other survivors immediately sold what they had gained from the battle to traders and brokers waiting in the fortress market, in exchange for better weapons, armor, scrolls, and other necessities, before plunging into debauchery.

After each battle, these fortresses became the most lively places—like being injected with a stimulant, filled with revelers celebrating victory or simply surviving another day. Perhaps bloodshed had long permeated these people’s lives, or perhaps they themselves were part of it.

To Stephanie’s surprise, the old witch did not urge him to join the war and effectively prevented him from being conscripted—as a matter of fact, Stephanie felt a slight sense of gratitude, as he had no confidence in surviving such a battlefield. As a mage, he had to ensure that every posture, every movement, every syllable was perfect, but that wasn’t enough. On a chaotic battlefield, even the slightest accident could be fatal. And worst of all, what if the battle wasn’t over by the time he ran out of all his spells?

So he tried his best to help the old witch carry out her various bizarre plans—and he was growing more and more enjoying it.

He returned to his residence—a large steel house belonging to the old witch. “Hehe… what a beautiful soul…” The blue elf had a beautiful face, even a hint of sanctity, but her gaze revealed incredible evil. The old witch held a small, similarly blue gem pendant, inside which a tiny human figure could be faintly seen, emitting a sweet scent.

This is partly thanks to Stephanie, who cast magic on the gem jewelry crafted by the Old Witch, endowing them with true protective magic—whether to shield against fire and cold, resist fear, or ward off dark vision… All were genuine magical items, guaranteed to work ten times as promised, and not disguised as glowing armor using illusions. The only secret was that these gem jewelry could absorb the utterly despaired souls of those who died, trapping them within before returning automatically to the Old Witch’s hands.

They weren’t worried about what would happen if the users survived—most would perish in their first battle, and even those who survived would hardly make it through the second.

“Oh… the rich man is back… even more delicious than a larva…” The Old Witch greedily absorbed the souls from the gems, even stretching out her long tongue to lick the ornaments before reluctantly handing them to her servant to be auctioned again in the main hall.

“Even if I were rich…” Stephanie touched the storage pocket at her waist, where the treasures inside were likely enough to buy an entire city, “what’s the use of that wealth if I can’t leave here?”

“Hehe… don’t worry… don’t you want to get richer?” The satisfied Old Witch rubbed her hands together. “We can both get what we want… Don’t worry, if the opportunity arises and we find a way, giving up most of your wealth now should be enough to buy a path home… But since we’re getting along so well now, why not make even more?”

Yes, why not make more? Most of one’s wealth… that’s indeed quite expensive…