Chapter 519: Planned To This Extent

Avernus, the first layer of Hell, was defined by undying flame and unending warfare.

As the Archduchess ruling the first layer of Hell, Sariel shaped the character of the entire domain with her personal tastes, though its geography played a part as well.

In principle, the first layer served as Hell's gateway. Any devil wishing to leave Hell in their true form had to pass through it. The blood-soaked battlefield where the Abyss's demons clashed with Hell's devils sat right there at the Bloodriver Fortress.

Sariel's warlike temperament had allowed her to claim the first layer as her own.

Any other lord of Hell would have buckled under the endless drain of eternal bloodshed.

It had been quite a long while since Sariel last visited the Bloodriver Fortress, despite the fact that she normally treated war as casual entertainment.

Mountains of demon and devil corpses were piled up there, yet as long as the fighting stayed at a stalemate, the Archduchess couldn't be bothered to so much as glance at it.

She had far more pressing matters on her hands: to find some way to mend a shattered soul.

Within Sariel's residence, three Archdukes stood huddled around that same shattered soul, at a loss for what to do.

The soul was in pieces, its native human shape barely recognizable amid the fragments.

This was, of course, the lich's soul. Once his resurrected human body had died, his sinner's soul had fallen automatically into Hell.

Ambrose had defaulted on the contract he had signed with Sariel and Tiamat, so his soul had naturally fallen into their hands.

At first, the two Archduchesses had been overjoyed, and had nearly come to blows over who would claim the soul.

Everyone knew Ambrose possessed the power to forge soul-coins. He was a printing press, a minting machine, and he'd fallen into Hell as a prisoner. Whoever held him effectively held an infinite supply of souls.

Even the Lord of the Nine Hells himself might struggle to resist that kind of temptation.

But before the two of them could actually come to blows, they discovered that Ambrose's soul had already deteriorated to the point of near-total collapse.

Whether it could even still be called a "soul" at all was questionable.

As a result, neither Sariel nor Tiamat dared subject Ambrose's soul to any kind of punishment. It was like a shard of glass barely held together by cobwebs. The slightest pressure would shatter it for good.

That simply wouldn't do. If the lich were well and truly destroyed, they'd both suffer a catastrophic loss.

News of a nascent Hell Bank were already spreading through the nine layers of Hell. If Ambrose couldn't deliver the principal balance he had promised, the Archduchesses wouldn't simply lose face. The whole scheme might fall apart.

But mending Ambrose's soul was no easy task.

In theory, all they needed to do was reverse time on Ambrose's soul.

But in practice, that wouldn't work. One reason was the dragonblood curse left behind by the time dragon, a curse that itself carried the power of time. Even if Ambrose's soul were sent back in time, the curse would follow it back like a shadow and tear it apart all over again, likely for good.

The second reason was that Hell simply didn't permit that kind of manipulation of souls. This touched on a matter of fundamental rule: a sinner's soul couldn't be absolved through such simple shortcuts.

If the soul were sent back in time, wasn't that effectively commuting the sins he'd committed? It would erase his memories right along with his crimes, allowing a sinner to walk free without even knowing he'd sinned at all.

Of course, there were plenty of lords who were skilled enough at such manipulation to be precise about it.

But the Lord of the Nine Hells had forbidden the practice for good. Open that door even once, and there'd be no end to it. He was the ruler of Hell, and he knew exactly what the devils would do with that loophole. Reverting time for the purpose of absolution would become the latest business venture, something every devil in Hell would be hawking non-stop.

And at that point, all of Hell would descend into chaos. It would spawn no end of trouble.

So the rule against time reversion was absolute, without any exceptions whatseover.

Whatever state a sinner was in when they fell into Hell, that was the state they would stay in. Whatever sins they'd committed, those sins would remain.

An Archduke could punish, judiciously exploit, or even release a soul—but never grant absolution. Absolving a sinner's sins was a power reserved solely for the Lord of the Nine Hells. No other devil could attempt the same without it counting as outright rebellion.

Both Sariel and Tiamat were thoroughly irritated.

If they were unable to reverse time on Ambrose's soul, then it would remain permanently on the verge of shattering at the slightest touch. Forget putting him to work—they'd have to keep feeding the soul a steady stream of nourishment just to keep it from dissolving entirely.

Under the circumstances, even Sariel had lost interest in watching the endless bloodshed at the Fortress. It had been the same for centuries, anyway, devils and demons locked in a war neither side could win.

But though both Archduchesses spent a long while staring at Ambrose's shattered soul, neither could come up with a solution.

In the end, they had no choice but to go find Mammon.

Mammon wasn't the strongest of the devils, but he was unquestionably the best-connected and the wealthiest. Perhaps an ancient, pure-blooded devil like him would have resources the two outsiders lacked.

The moment Mammon heard about the situation, he rushed over in a hurry.

Mammon was worldly and well-versed in matters of the soul. He'd arrived brimming with confidence that he could mend whatever needed fixing.

But the instant he laid eyes on what remained of Ambrose, even he looked helpless.

"This... how is anyone supposed to fix this? It's like trying to carve letters into hair with a red-hot iron, without burning through a single strand. Only a mere handful of gods would even be able to pull this off."

Sariel and Tiamat both agreed the comparison was apt. Saving Ambrose's soul was roughly at that level of difficulty, well beyond what even an Archduke could manage.

Mammon paced back and forth in front of Ambrose's soul, visibly agitated. After many circuits, he finally spoke. "If we want to save this soul, there aren't many options. You two had better brace yourselves."

Tiamat's ears perked up at once. "You mean to wake Asmodeus?"

Mammon nodded. If the Lord of the Nine Hells himself gave the nod, saving Ambrose's soul would become far simpler. Every method the three of them could actually use had already failed, and none of them dared touch the forbidden methods.

Sariel shook his head immediately, refusing outright. "No. The three of us can't bear the consequences of disturbing his rest."

The Lord of the Nine Hells had a legendary temper. Mammon had been a fine match for his daughter, but the moment Asmodeus decided to end it, that was that. Mammon might be an Archduke and the ruler of the third layer of Hell, but when his former father-in-law decided to mete out punishment, Mammon hadn't dared so much as breathe loudly.

If the Lord of the Nine Hells ever truly lost his temper, Tiamat could at least crawl back to the dragon gods and survive with their help, but Sariel would be in serious trouble.

Just the memory of that terror sent old recollections stabbing through Sariel's soul like knives, making her shudder from head to toe.

Mammon didn't press the point either. He knew exactly how terrifying his former father-in-law could be. Instead, he offered two other names.

"Alternatively, we could go to Oguma. The Lord of Knowledge knows everything, and he's bound to know a way to mend this soul. Or we could go to Cranvor. The God of Death can end all forms of death. With his blessing, this lich could live again, shattered soul or not."

Both Oguma and Cranvor were far easier to deal with than the Lord of the Nine Hells. At the very least, if negotiations fell through, neither would simply strike them dead on the spot.

The trouble was, neither of them was easy to meet.

And convincing either to lend a hand would be harder still.

Tiamat couldn't hold back any longer. "You two, do you really want us to lose even more gold? Are we the ones who should be paying to restore that lich? He's the one who owes us a debt in the first place! Why are we the ones expected to pay a fortune to bring him back to life? Doesn't that strike either of you as backwards?"

That gave both Sariel and Mammon pause, but Mammon quickly countered with a sneer, "What's the alternative? If we bring him back, we still have a shot at earning back everything we're owed from him. If we don't, we'll lose out for sure. We've already signed lending contracts with more than a few lords of Hell. When the time comes to pay out and we've got nothing to show for it, are you two planning to just default?"

Both Sariel and Tiamat fell silent.

Mammon, the more pragmatic businessman of the three, was also the most decisive. He raised a hand. "Let's vote. Do we keep investing, or do we cut our losses? I'll go first. I say we save him, then squeeze every last drop of value out of him."

After a long, visible struggle, Sariel and Tiamat both raised their hands as well.

"Excellent. A unanimous vote." Mammon didn't waste a second. He teleported away at once. Neither Oguma nor Cranvor would be easy to find, and he'd probably have to cash in more than a few favors.

Once Mammon was gone, the two remaining Archduchesses couldn't help glaring venomously at Ambrose's shattered soul. That damned lich—had he planned things out to this extent?

Knowing full well he was doomed, had he deliberately withheld the final payment on purpose, in order to force the three Archdukes to band together and revive him?

Had he really schemed this far ahead?

Once he was revived, they'd wring him dry. They'd drain every single drop of blood from his body!

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