Surviving The Fourth Calamity

Of course Fengo understood why Rosero had suddenly become so friendly, planning to drop by and say goodbye before he left.

What Rosero was afraid of wasn’t Fengo the Hell Prosecutor, but Asmodeus, who would inevitably launch another thorough investigation of Glaysia.

Whenever the Lord of Hell carried out a purge, he never spared anyone even remotely implicated; the slightest connection meant death.

But if Rosero left before that, then unless they dug up some genuine entanglement of his, he’d have a chance to live... after all, those who’d gone abroad would definitely be the last batch investigated. By then, the lesson meant for Glaysia would have been delivered, and they’d have to leave her a few usable people.

Someone like Rosero, who only followed orders, never hovered around Glaysia, and would never proactively help her do anything that harmed the Lord of Hell’s interests... there were always some idiots who thought they could fool Asmodeus’s eyes and gain huge benefits from Glaysia.

Glaysia, this Princess of Hell, was also quite an amusing one—she wasn’t remotely interested in what petty schemes those circling around her might have. As long as there were always people willing to work for her, that was enough.

So long as someone was useful, she wouldn’t bother lowering her head to see exactly who was doing the work.

Which was why a Devil like Rosero could survive until the end instead.

But Fengo could understand... Rosero, in the beginning, had once been one of those risk-it-all guys at Glaysia’s side.

He’d simply escaped punishment that one time.

On the surface there was only one Rosero, but beneath his feet lay the corpses of countless colleagues who’d wanted to be just like him.

That had been a real lottery hit.

And Rosero had entered Glaysia’s Royal Palace precisely when Asmodeus dragged this Princess of Hell back from her ex-husband and forced her to witness Mamon’s frenzied phase right after his hasty wedding.

Although the Lord of Hell had already turned her into a Succubus, he still didn’t know how to deal with this Princess’s rampages.

So he didn’t have that much of a problem with the little Devils who clustered around Glaysia, who could soothe her foul temper and were at least somewhat sensible... even if their attempts to help her resist the Lord of Hell’s Bind were a bit suicidal, they still diverted a portion of Glaysia’s attention.

But the ones who came later were different.

Of course, if Rosero had been as slow on the uptake as those early colleagues, failing to retreat in time and tagging along with the latecomers to help Glaysia pull stupid stunts, he would have been dead long ago as well.

Fengo recalled the Lord of Hell’s instructions to him: leave one or two clear-headed Wise Ones in Glaysia’s Royal Palace.

Fools may not be useful, but their ability to cause trouble is far greater.

Better to let Glaysia cook up conspiracies and schemes than let her suddenly become more dangerous than the Chromatic Dragon Queen Tiamat.

Fengo actually understood that Asmodeus had wanted to use an Abyssal Behemoth as the metaphor for Glaysia, but she was still his biological daughter, so he could only settle for comparing her to Tiamat, whom the Dukes of Hell never stopped badmouthing.

If only Glaysia were as sharp as Tiamat, the Lord of Hell could save himself so much worry!

Greed-induced minor brain defects at least have ways to be handled.

Unlike now, when no one knew what kind of mistake Glaysia would make... or from which direction she’d make it.

Just like this Moon Goddess incident.

She’s a Princess of Hell—what’s she doing impersonating a Moon Goddess!

Glaysia wasn’t some Old Witch who wanted to turn into a Beauty!

What kind of Devil would want to become a Moon Goddess!

No—rather, since when has the moon ever been lawful and orderly?

This was practically an open declaration that Glaysia didn’t care if she ended up part of Chaos!

Nobody would stop her from becoming a Deity, but wanting to ascend as a Deity of the Chaos System, that was a bit... did Glaysia still remember who her parents were?

Does she plan on never going back to Hell for the rest of her life?

But wasn’t she quite fond of her identity as the Succubus Queen!

A sober Silvermoon and fallen desire cannot coexist.

If she really wanted to merge the two into one... Fengo honestly doubted whether this Princess of Hell had even considered what the hell she was doing!

If Glaysia really tried to play that big, Fengo suspected he’d get to see every Moon Goddess in the Multiverse descend before his eyes.

Especially that one—no, those two... just thinking about that pair of sisters was enough to make him shudder.

Feeling a bit dazed, he looked up at his subordinate. "Tell me, can I leave together with Rosero?"

"Lord Fengo, please don’t put a little underling like me on the spot." The Black-Clothed Mage Mack looked utterly exasperated. "I’m just a pathetic messenger, nothing more."

"Sigh..." Fengo couldn’t help scratching his hair. "I still have twenty thousand words of report to write, and he wants to run. Why am I so reluctant?"

"Lord Rosero probably understands better than I do. He definitely has some intel he plans to spill, but only after he’s safely gone." Mack replied calmly. "It all depends on whether you want to know, my lord."

In truth, Fengo wasn’t ignorant of many things; he merely lacked a reason he could reasonably put on the table.

If Rosero was willing to cooperate, then Fengo really could save himself a lot of trouble.

Rosero’s reason for specifically seeking out Mack to say all this lay precisely here... as long as Fengo let him leave naturally, he was willing to carry the blame.

Of course he couldn’t take too heavy a load; otherwise that guy would definitely find a way to clear his name, and then it would be Fengo, the one who’d talked carelessly, who’d end up sealing himself in.

But if Fengo kept some sense of proportion, then for the crappy bits of blame, Rosero was basically promising he’d shoulder them.

"What do you think happened that day to make Rosero so desperate to run?" Fengo asked, thoughtful.

"Isn’t knowing about the Blazing Fire enough for us?" Mack countered coolly. "What is Lord Fengo still hesitating over?

Whatever our Lord has planned for this world, once that flame rises, the only thing we need to consider is that the next world will be better.

Instead of brooding over matters that might get us burned, we’d be better off thinking about where the next world will be.

People like us... subordinates who’ve handled Bisozeya’s Resurrection endeavor aren’t going back to Hell until it succeeds, that’s for sure.

So whatever Lord Fengo has in mind, there’s no need to factor us in."

"You... don’t want to return to Hell at all?" Fengo regarded this rather capable deputy of his. "With what you’ve accumulated now, once you go back to Hell your strength will definitely rise greatly."

"I’m already a Duke! Lord Fengo." Mack gave a bitter little laugh. "Ascending to Grand Duke isn’t something more accumulated power alone can solve.

I don’t have ambitions that big.

I’ll just do my job honestly and hope that one day our Lord sees my diligence and rewards me with a small bit of territory, so I can have a place in Hell. That’s my lifelong dream."

Fengo shook his head. "I’m not going to feed you any nonsense like ’dream of replacing me’ or some such. But becoming the agent of a world shouldn’t be a problem, right?

What’s the point of a tiny territory?

Even the Devils who signed Contracts with the Old Witch can have that!

We Bart Ancestors Nobles—how can our ambition be that small?"

Mack gave a joyless smile. "I’d still rather just stay alive."

"Fine. Go tell Rosero: if he wants to leave, he can, but until everything is over he’s not allowed to return to Sia Tower; and he has to make all the preparations himself. If Glaysia remembers to come looking for him, I certainly won’t help block her.

But if he dares come back at that point, he can’t blame my men for not showing mercy!"

"Understood, Lord Fengo." Mack’s feet moved lightly, and he glided out of the Black Tower’s hall at once.

Outside the door, Mack pulled his black hood up over his head, glanced back at the pitch-dark gate, and almost simultaneously with Fengo inside—who was slapping a thick stack of papers—let out a matching "tch."

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