The Mountaineer tribe, that is to say, the headquarters of the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers.
Watching the minotaurs returning with enormous packages fully laden, Ines—camouflaged as a female minotaur—had a flickering gaze. She naturally knew what these guys had gone out to accomplish. Before their expedition, she had deliberately seduced a minotaur guard captain; the latter, unable to resist her allure, spilled every detail of their mission.
Thus, she learned the enemy's general plan. Now, it appeared the aggression had ended in near mutual destruction—a narrow, bloody victory for the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers?
Excellent, she thought. Both sides had been severely crippled. This outcome favored whichever master she served.
With this in mind, she slipped away while the minotaurs rested or celebrated, unnoticed, and hid behind a deserted rocky outcrop.
Once certain of solitude, she began spellcasting. She sent three consecutive Sending spells to her surface master, Montport, detailing the situation's scale and implications.
Though Sending is a 3rd-level spell, its message capacity is limited. To fully explain, she needed three casts. The spell's virtue was its reciprocity: each message allowed one reply, granting Montport three responses.
After sending, she waited anxiously. Fortunately, Montport replied swiftly—within ten minutes.
First, he lavishly praised Ines's competence. Then, he urged caution: she must continue tracking the tribes' movements, especially their settlement locations, to enable precise raids. He added that his grand plan neared completion; soon, a full-scale assault would begin. If she pinpointed tribal strongholds, his scheme would yield double results with half the effort!
Though Montport withheld specifics, her infiltration of the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers had revealed his goal: awaken the Chthonians, wield them as a vanguard to ravage the mountains and Liberl Port, and harvest souls.
Cunning, she sneered inwardly. But since I know your aim, I'll never let you monopolize this soul-feast!
She retrieved her Bag of Holding, pulling out a thin copper wire, red crystals, and a vial of blood to assemble a small altar.
Sending had limits—it was reliable only within the same world. Cross-world messages risked distortion. Her true master, a formidable Demon Lords, currently resided in another realm—one layer of the Infinite Layers of the Abyss. To ensure accurate reporting, this altar was essential for stable communication.
Unconscious of the time lost, she started her ritual—
"What are you doing?"
A clear voice pierced the silence. Ines whirled around, forcing an awkward smile. "Ah, Miss Adele! I'm just wandering..." Her hands blurred, stashing the altar materials.
Behind her stood Adele Willo—pink-fuzzed young Satyr, heir to the Satyr tribes, and daughter of Matriarch Willo. The "female minotaur's" furtive movements made the girl narrow her eyes, brow furrowing in suspicion.
Ines's heart raced. Her hands clenched; murderous intent sparked. If Adele uncovered her identity, she'd eliminate the girl silently—corpse disposal being the only challenge.
Then Adele's expression softened. "You came out for air too? That atmosphere is unbearable."
Ines blinked, then nodded. "Yes... I've been here long, yet still feel like an outsider. The Highmountain tribe women seem to dislike me..." She sighed, twisting her waist to emphasize her exaggerated curves.
Adele glanced at Ines's proportions, then her own modest frame. Why must everyone have huge breasts but me? Suppressing fury, she said, "The men crow over every minor victory—as if nothing gets done without them!" Her lips curled. "Hah! Men!"
Isn't their vanity useful? Ines mused. With your looks, a little flattery would make them putty.
"They drink and smoke that foul tobacco," Adele added. "I'd rather practice spells alone than endure it." She paused, locking eyes with Ines. "I'm heading to the river to drill my new 5th-level spell, Antilife Shell. Join me?"
Ines shook her head quickly. "I don't cast spells... but a 5th-level spell sounds impressive!"
Adele shrugged. "It's nothing. I've mastered several fifth-tier spells, but the sixth remains elusive—likely forever."
"Since you won't come, I'll go alone."
She turned her back, walking away as if utterly unguarded.
Ines's gaze sharpened, but she suppressed the impulse. Gambling was unwise—if Adele truly wielded Antilife Shell, instant assassination was impossible. Exposure would mean doom: the enraged Ilarode and Willo Green Vines would destroy her, soul included.
She released the thought.
Meanwhile, in Montport's nest.
His hippopotamus-sized lower body stewed in the blood pool, lizard-thick tail churning the crimson depths. His malformed, undersized dragon wings lay folded—rarely unfurled. Half his upper body (indistinguishable from common demons) submerged in gore, he held a mage's arcane gesture, eyes shut, chanting.
He was reading Ines's messages—and replying. After absorbing her report, the Abyssal Lord opened his eyes, lips twisting into a taunt.
"Heh. Utterly foolish humans." His tentacle-like beard trembled. "Now wait... wait for the Great Montport to deliver glorious ruin!"
"Hahahaha! HAHAHA!"
Manic laughter echoed through the cavern. As he roared, the blood pool bubbled violently. A nauseating stench filled the air—enough to sicken any mortal trespasser.
The boiling pool shook the cave. Dust rained from the ceiling; an earthquake loomed. Yet Montport's eyes showed no fear—only exhilaration.
"Run! Rage! Great Shudde M'ell—millennia-slumbering Chthonians!" He flung his arms wide, celebrating rebirth. "Raze their hypocritical castles! Cast them into the wilderness! Aid my magnificent slaughter!"
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