Baator Hell Promotion

The knight struck so hard that not only Hopper but even his own gums were bleeding. He looked up at Hopper like a guard dog facing a gangster. However, his sweaty forehead and slightly trembling arms supporting the ground did not have much deterrent effect.

Hopper reached out and pried open his exhausted teeth with a light squeeze.

"You may be right. I really don't understand the definition of kindness." The Guard Dog Knight swallowed, the blood moistening his parched throat. "But my conscience tells me that I shouldn't sit idly by and watch anyone be dragged into hell and never be reborn because of a moment of foolishness."

"Edim..." Judith cried bitterly. "Run, don't worry about me... your kindness is enough for me."

"If I have done anything wrong, please let the gods and the law judge me." The knight's eyes grew brighter as he spoke, as if a light illuminated his face. "But I will not stand still and stand idly by."

Hopper sighed, but then brightened up. She was sure that the value of a knight's soul was increasing.

Besides, the sight of such a determined fighter with such fighting spirit made her cheeks hot and her throat dry.

"You drank my blood." The demon stroked the corner of the knight's cracked mouth with one finger and said in a low voice, "How does it taste?"

The knight's passionate declaration was suddenly interrupted, and by the time he realized that he shouldn't be thinking about this question, it was too late.

He lowered his head and saw the bright red blood flowing down Hopper's smooth skin in an enchanting river. His mind unnaturally recalled the fishy and sweet taste he had just swallowed.

Hopper's hand caressed his neck, and the knight felt a warm flame burning beneath his skin. The beautiful woman whispered in his ear, "Do you want more?"

"No!" A sharp cry shattered the silent air. Judith cried and threw herself forward, pushing Hopper away and falling into Edimu's arms.

The knight was momentarily bewildered, then his eyes widened, subconsciously glancing towards the magic circle on the ground. However, with Judith's voluntary departure, the light cocoon, having lost its target, silently disintegrated into shimmering dust.

Judith discovered this as soon as she rushed out. The illusion that was originally maintained by the magic collapsed instantly, and the wound on her abdomen immediately spurted out blood, covering the knight's body.

"No... gu... it's useless." Judith spat out more and more blood foam from her mouth. She stopped Edim from wasting any more divine power. "Mr. Edim, I... I'm very happy to see you defending me like this before I die. I'm very satisfied to be able to help... help you get rid of the charm..."

She stretched out her trembling hand, intending to touch the knight's face, but halfway through, her pupils dilated.

Judith Greenhaven's head tilted lifelessly, and the rose wreath in her hair fell into a pool of her own blood.

Edim's eyes instantly turned red. He carefully placed the poet's body on the ground, drew his sword and pointed it at Hopper.

"You did it on purpose. You knew she would be mad with jealousy." His nose also turned red. He understood everything, and at the same time hated himself for being so stupid and easily deceived by the demon of lust. What made him hate it even more was that he knew very well in his heart that he had not been seduced by magic just now.

"Now, there's nothing standing between us."

"I don't think so." The Devil dusted himself off and stood up. "Look who's behind you?"

The knight ignored her. With red eyes, he held the sword in both hands and charged forward once again, driving the stigmata. However, unlike the time at the Eagle's Nest, the flames on the sword were erratic, seemingly dispersing with the slightest breeze.

"What a shame!" Hopper spun around nimbly, tripping Edim with his foot. The exhausted knight slid a dozen feet along the ground before stopping.

"Knight, she chose her own path. Why don't you respect a woman's free choice? The power those beings from the upper realm lent you is for the protection of good. Mere vengeance alone cannot activate its full power."

The double blow of physical and mental strength had pushed the knight to his limit. His boots kept slipping because they were stained with blood, and he couldn't get up after trying several times.

The black-winged devil had already seen the reinforcements coming from afar. She leaped into the air, dodging the arrows and light balls that were shooting straight at her, and rushed straight to the ceiling.

"Dear Edim, you should think carefully about how to explain your relationship with the succubus to your colleagues."

As she finished speaking, she smashed her head through the fragile wooden roof and flew into the boundless dark blue sky, leaving behind only the knight's hopeless roar.

Author's Note: The next few chapters may be a bit overwhelming.

Chapter 166 Aftermath

Although the old lighthouse has long been incorporated into the Golden Dome Church, residents of the old lighthouse area are still accustomed to calling it "lighthouse".

In the past, as Emerald Harbor continued to expand, the short and dilapidated lighthouse could no longer meet the needs of the huge harbor, so people built a new and magnificent lighthouse at a higher point.

Afterward, the old lighthouse area, shrouded in high ground and winding roads, gradually fell into oblivion. Years after its abandonment, the area and the old lighthouse finally found a new owner: a remarkably handsome missionary. His golden hair shone like the sun, his skin whiter than snow, his lips the color of roses, practically the embodiment of perfection on earth. Numerous legends circulated throughout Emerald Harbor, with many believing he was the manifestation of the perfect being.

The missionary led his first followers to live in the old lighthouse. They performed many charitable deeds and built the prototype of the golden dome church with their own hands, with the dilapidated lighthouse as the center.

Archbishop Eichmann gazed for a long time at the portrait of Archbishop Peter, the original missionary. The afternoon sun shone on the canvas, and Archbishop Peter's golden hair caught the light.

Eichmann never conceded defeat. He had volunteered to come to the Northern Continent because he was inspired by Peter's deeds. He also believed that he could accomplish something in the Northern Continent, far from the divine realm, and spread the reputation of the Golden Guards throughout the continent.

Instead of being like this now, sitting in the private prayer room of the old lighthouse, feeling sorry for myself in front of old paintings left by people who had long since ascended to the divine realm.

The door opened silently, and Eichmann knew who was coming without turning around - only his personal maids were allowed to come in without knocking.

"what's up?"

"The Inquisitor of the Blood Father is downstairs. He has requested an audience for the fourth time." This is Rachel, one of Eichmann's most capable assistants.

"How did you answer?"

"Archbishop Eichmann is fasting for Frau Judith's glorious advancement and will not see anyone."

He knew that this was not a problem for Rachel, so she must have come for something else.

"That dwarf assassin died last night," Rachel said calmly. Eichmann closed his eyes, feeling a sharp pain in his temple. "He had a grenade hidden in his teeth. I guess he was planning to drag another brother down with him."

"Even you couldn't ask anything?"

"No. I got caught up in something last night. By the time I got there, the dwarf was beaten beyond recognition. He'd blown his head into a rotten cantaloupe not twenty feet from me."

The archbishop was twisting his rosary beads in deep thought, his disappointment almost visible from his back.

"The assassin has no connection to Luxin," Rachel replied, seemingly able to read his mind. "At least not publicly. Our people haven't gained complete trust yet. The news from there is that the assassination was organized by another inhuman group. Luxin was unaware of it, and the weapons were not provided by her. Our people are already formulating follow-up plans."

Eichmann took a deep breath to calm his anger, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm and steady.

"What's the situation outside?"

He didn't ask what the situation was, he knew Rachel understood.

"Sister Gadot is arranging the ascension ceremony for Judith Greenhaven. I don't have much information yet, but many people saw the black-winged messenger flying away from the theater yesterday. So our reasoning is correct."

The Archbishop nodded, a smile appearing beneath his tall, hooked nose. He had complete faith in Gadot's abilities.

"Have you found out the origin of that Black Winged messenger?"

"Sister Abigail has contacted most of the spellcasters in the city, and they all deny it. In fact, we all agree that there is currently no spellcaster in the city who can summon Enreyes. Oh, of course, except for you and Scholar Eric of House Westerling."

The Archbishop stopped praying and stared at his clean, beautiful hands. These hands were so perfect, just like Archbishop Peter, or even more perfect than him.

But why can't I always carry out what I want to do perfectly?

A long silence hung over the room like a dark cloud. Only when the setting sun's rays had passed from the painting to the archbishop's blond hair did he raise another question: "What about the knight? How is he?"

He heard Rachel sigh, which was not like her style.

"He's fine. He fainted briefly due to overusing his divine power. He woke up in the morning. It's just..."

"only?"

"The other knights and priests present all had their suspicions, believing there must be some hidden reason for him to survive the devil's clutches. I've prepared clean food and water for him, and forbade anyone to disturb him."

The archbishop felt a little relieved. He had too many worries, and Rachel's ability to handle affairs could indeed help him escape from worldly affairs.

"One more thing," Rachel said hesitantly, "Lord Verinster and Lord Monte have sent messengers. Do you want to see them?"

Eichmann's heart sank. He knew exactly why Vlinster had come. Even if they denied it, Judith was still Vlinster's daughter. The Speaker would surely not miss this opportunity to cause trouble for him.

"Let them wait. I will see them after dinner."

-

Igor looked back at the sky. The setting sun shone on the highest point of the Golden Dome Church, which used to be the spire of the old lighthouse and is now the residence of the archbishop.

He stared for two seconds, turned back decisively, hurried into the path shrouded in dusk, walked in the opposite direction of the believers who were performing evening prayers, and walked out of the old lighthouse area along the winding narrow cobblestone road.

The Inquisitor did not stop, following the moist sea breeze all the way down until he stopped in front of a small house in the surf area.

He looked around, took out two flints and rubbed them hard in front of the door.

The strange flint did not change at all, but in the eyes of the Inquisitor, all the bleeding lives around him, from the rats under the floor to the people behind the door panels, appeared as red outlines in the darkness.

The illusion lasted only a moment, but it was enough for Igor to make sure he was not being followed, and only then did he cautiously push the door open.

A whale oil lamp was lit in the room, and the fishy smell made the inquisitor's nose itchy, even though he had a keen sense of smell.

"You have plenty of free time."

The little dwarf, sitting at the table, fiddling with fabric in his hands, glanced up.

"I'm curious," Hopper asked, tilting his head curiously, "Do you have to use the flint and steel to use that detection ability?"

Igor closed the door and sat down at the table. A wooden cup, filled with clear, hot tea, wobbled before him. He raised it and took a sip, feeling the chill of the evening breeze dissipate.

"Long ago, it was done by snapping fingers," the Inquisitor shrugged. "But the High Judge of the Inquisition deemed the gesture disrespectful and forbade it."

"How is our guest? Did he tell us any useful information?" Igor took another sip and stared at the headband in Hopper's hand. The head of the golden portrait on it was painted black, symbolizing the rejection of the prying eyes of a perfect person.

"If even the Blood Father's Inquisitor couldn't pry open his mouth, I don't think it's a big deal if I can't do it either," Hopper hummed nonchalantly. "My magic can only make him think I'm a poor dwarf who was also captured by the bandits, but I can't control his mind and make him pour out everything I want to hear."

The smile on Igor's face disappeared in an instant.

"Judging from your joking attitude, you should be making some progress."

"Men who are too sensitive are not popular with girls," Hopper shook his finger. "But our Mr. Bolt may think that I am too kind a dwarf. It would be inappropriate not to recruit me into the church."

Chapter 167 Bolt's Encounter

"Where's Mr. Bolt? I didn't see his body."

Hopper covered his mouth with his hands, his eyes widening as if he had heard something unbelievable.

"You actually think I, a harmless little dwarf, would hurt Mr. Bolt? Mr. Inquisitor, you really misunderstand me."

The Inquisitor snorted dismissively.

"Alright, alright," Hopper said seriously after having enough fun. He put down the fabric in his hand and said, "You were a bit too direct and rude when you 'invited' Mr. Bolt back last night. After asking him questions, I gave him a cup of milk with datura flowers and lead sugar to help him sleep peacefully."

Igor raised his hands in surrender, admitting that he had been a bit rude at the time.

"Did he reveal anything about the Marble King and the mysterious lady?"

Hopper showed him the fabric he had been fiddling with. The whale oil lamp was dim, so dim that the Inquisitor, drawing closer, realized with a start that, aside from the backing fabric, the rest of the headband was woven from strands of women's hair.

"According to my brief understanding, it was a beautiful rainy night, and Mr. Bolt was hammering away in his shop. A soaked lady came knocking on the door and asked for help, saying that her carriage had broken down in front of the shop. He helped the lady solve the problem, and the two of them met. To Mr. Bolt's surprise, the lady was not only kind, but also quite knowledgeable about the work of jewelers. After a few interactions, they became close friends. Does this story sound familiar?"

"A cliché plot," the Inquisitor remarked, "but effective."

"At that time, the murders in the Old Lighthouse District had already occurred. The dwarves of Emerald Harbor were terrified, fearing that they would be the next victim. Most humans, fearing that associating with dwarves would make them the target of the murderer, avoided them. At that moment, someone extended a pair of warm hands, and Mr. Bolt naturally shook them."

"So what does this have to do with the headband?"

Hopper turned the headband over and showed the Inquisitor the back of the cloth, which smelled strongly of blood. Although the cloth was stained beyond recognition, the Inquisitor could still see something gleaming in the light among the blood clots.

He reached out and touched it, and the rough touch confirmed his guess.

"Gold thread?"

"Although he comes from a blacksmith shop in Barrel Town, our Mr. Bolt is actually a very good jeweler." Hopper nodded and knocked the headband to make the pattern woven with gold thread more clearly visible. "When I went to see him, this headband fell out. He recognized it immediately as the work of little Theo from the Sparkling Star District."

The Inquisitor raised his eyebrows, not quite convinced. "He recognizes the pattern?"

"It's not about recognizing the pattern," Hopper corrected. "It's about recognizing the craftsmanship of weaving it. He had seen the same craftsmanship on the belt of the messenger lady."

"Then I suppose you know the origin of this headband?"

The succubus shrugged, picked up the headband again, and began to continue the unfinished hair braiding work.

"Of course I do, and I'm absolutely right. When I tore it off yesterday, it was still part of the vestments of the Venerable Bishop Salia."

Igor looked at his hands, which were stained with dried blood, and felt a strong desire to wash them. Finally, he cleared his throat and decided to ignore the question and continue the conversation.

"So, it's basically confirmed that the mysterious lady is a member of the Church of the Perfect Man?"

"More than that, it should be a high-ranking priest." Hopper nodded. "But I guess it's not Archbishop Eichmann. After all, him dressing up as a woman to seduce a dwarf sounds too much like the vulgar tunes in the Surfside tavern."

The Inquisitor didn't laugh. He scratched his chin, remembering the rejection he'd received today. He'd originally thought it was just Archbishop Eichmann's reluctance to see heretics. Now, he wondered if the Church had noticed something, or was it just a coincidence?

He nodded secretly and decided to make a note of this matter first. He still needed more information for verification.

"So, did he provide any information about the Marble King?"

"Yes, but not much. He seems to have only recently begun worshipping this deity. Miss Mystery is both his guide and his priest. Our Mr. Bolt knows very little about the Marble King. All he knows is that this deity is the 'Protector of the Humble,' the 'Quencher of Turmoil,' and the 'Invincible.'"

The Inquisitor scoffed and shook his head; this ran right into his area of ​​expertise.

"It's basically safe to say they're a false god," he said confidently. "Unrest always leads to panicked, helpless believers turning to the wrong gods. The vast majority of false god believers use the promise of safety and secrecy as a way to drag others down with them."

"However," he changed the subject, his tone sharpening, "even if the Golden Dome Church can't be blamed entirely for this situation, it at least bears half the responsibility. As the Church of the Perfect One continues to squeeze the living space of other temples, it's almost certain that those non-human races not blessed by it will, in despair, throw themselves into the arms of false gods."

After making this blunt comment, he scratched his head, apparently still having something he hadn't figured out.

"What I can't figure out is that Mr. Bolt is not a superstitious fool who has never seen the world. What exactly did the Marble King provide to make Mr. Bolt believe that the person before him was the real God?"