Baator Hell Promotion

The gatekeeper squinted for a long moment, then his eyes widened. He turned around and shouted, not caring about the bow and arrow in his hand, with a voice so sharp that it almost split his legs: "Sheriff! Come here quickly, there's an accident at the coachman's house."

Just like last time, the sheriff named Levi opened the door, but this time he did not rush to check the temperature of the three people, and his sword was half unsheathed.

As soon as they saw their acquaintance, the two boys could no longer hold back and burst into tears, which required the sheriff to comfort them for a long time before he understood what had happened from their intermittent sobs.

Finally, he sighed, touched the two boys' faces, and asked Lancelot to take them to his home.

"I offer my respect and gratitude, ma'am," the sheriff said solemnly, touching his brow with his right hand and performing a simple salute. "If it weren't for your assistance, these two children would have followed in their father's footsteps."

Hopper politely returned the greeting and walked into town with the sheriff.

"By the way, Mr. Sheriff," Hopper began simply, "we traveled with a bearded man a while ago. I wonder if he has arrived safely in Blonde Town?"

The sheriff tightened the reins, slowing down, frowning as he thought for a moment, then said, "No, ma'am. I don't think I've ever seen such a traveler. Perhaps your companion entered the village while others were on duty."

"But you can ask the owner of the 'White Teeth' Inn. Strangers usually stay there."

After saying goodbye to the sheriff, they returned to the White Tooth Inn. Since they arrived earlier this time, Hopper could still hear the noise of dinner time.

After the door was pushed open, the hotel owner came to greet them as he did last time, but his smile froze for a moment after seeing Hopper's blood-stained armor, and then he enthusiastically recommended his signature dishes.

They even sat at the same table they had sat at last time, and just as Hopper had expected, there wasn't a single bearded traveler at the surrounding tables.

"Are you looking for that yugoloth?" Lightning noticed Hopper's abnormality. "Do you want to kill him again?"

"No, I'm just testing my hypothesis."

"what idea?"

"Ever since Dan Brown told me about the sudden deaths, I've always felt there was some mysterious connection. It wasn't until today, when I saw the two children and the thief, that I connected the two events."

"Which two things? I didn't understand," Lightning asked in confusion. Judging from Zis's expression, he didn't understand either.

Hopper sighed and said, "Think about it, the numbers. The number of outsiders and the dead is equal."

"We didn't know it the day we arrived, but we later learned that a family of three had died. Shortly after Dan Brown and Oha arrived at the monastery, two people died. And before we arrived, a thief died. You saw that body today. I guess he corresponds to the yugoloth."

"Wait a minute, I'm a little confused." Lightning counted on his fingers and gestured, as if he was completely confused. "That's not right. According to what you said, if a family of three corresponds to us, then there should only be one child left, not two?"

Chapter 231 Deduction

"Because you haven't thought it through, dear Lightning." Hopper poured herself a glass of water. She had actually spent quite a bit of thought before answering, "What's different about our encounter with the truck this time and the last time?"

"Last time there was only an overturned car, this time there's a big bad wolf eating children." Lightning replied, not understanding Hopper's hint.

"Werewolf! Werewolf!" Hopper curled his fingers and hit him hard on the forehead with his knuckles. "You noticed there was a werewolf, but didn't you notice that the werewolf was dead?"

"Wait!" Lightning held his head and lay on the table, avoiding Hopper's abuse. "Didn't you say that the deceased corresponded? According to this calculation, the dead should be children."

"I'm talking about numbers, numbers!" Hopper hit him again when he wasn't paying attention. "The werewolf died in place of the child, so the number is right. I guess, I can only guess. For some reason, the power that this plane can accommodate is limited. It can only contain a certain level of souls, so every time an outsider joins, a local will die."

"That's why you've been keeping an eye on whether Big Beard is here," Zis said with sudden enlightenment. "Thief, werewolf, and father—they just happen to correspond to the three of us. That makes sense."

"Then how do you explain the washerwoman's death?" Lightning asked, somewhat unconvinced. "And then there's Corbylio, the man the sorcerer mentioned, and the two farmhands and the princess's wet nurse. That's seven deaths in total. Including Oha and Dan, that leaves five more spots."

"I need further information about the washerwomen and wet nurses. I should be able to find out after I communicate with the warlock today," Hopper said, staring at the candlelight thoughtfully. "The number of hired farmhands and Corbilio can be explained."

"Did you notice the crow standing on Dan's turban? Judging from its demeanor, it should be the euphoric little devil we've seen. Don't underestimate it; it also needs to be taken into account."

Lightning's face was solemn. He was not completely convinced, but there were no loopholes in Hopper's explanation at the moment.

"Wait a moment, ma'am." Ziz had begun to adapt to his status outside the barracks and was willing to ask questions. "You just said that you wanted to communicate with Dan Brown today. But we can't enter the monastery? You want to visit the monastery at night."

"Not really." Hopper shifted his stance, causing his armor to creak. "There's a perfect opportunity to see both masters tonight. However, I'm waiting for the messenger."

"messenger?"

Hopper sat up straight and said, "The messenger has arrived."

The door of the hotel was pushed open, and everyone turned to see who the visitor was.

The door slammed open, and a cold breeze rushed into the warm room. A round head poked its head into the inn. The gatekeeper, Lancelot, walked in with heavy steps and oversized boots, and sat down directly by the fire.

"Lancelot! Why are you here so late?" Ronnie and the waitress quickly got up from their seats and gave him the seat near the fire.

Guard Lancelot mumbled a thank you, sat down by the stove, stretched out his legs, and groaned in comfort.

As Hopper had experienced, Lancelot accepted the wine from the waitress as he had done last time and began to tell the inn's patrons about the washerwoman's death.

After he finished speaking, Hopper interrupted in time and said, "Oh my God, this is so tragic. Thanks to brave warriors like you, otherwise, if those poor women were left lying in the wild all night, who knows what would have happened? Maybe their bodies would have been dragged away by wild wolves and would not have been able to rest in peace."

The young man, flattered (especially by a beautiful young lady), puffed out his chest with pride and replied, "I'm not bragging, my dear. You are absolutely safe in the hands of the defenders of Golden Hair Town. But don't worry too much. The remains of those poor washerwomen are all placed in the old warehouse south of town. We will hold a simple and solemn funeral for them soon."

"That's wonderful," the lady said, her tone filled with relief. Her eyes, in the candlelight, even shone a psychedelic blue-green, making the young sentry unconsciously stare at her in a daze. "Are the masters of the monastery there too?"

"The masters said we need to cleanse and pray for them as soon as possible. I guess we'll be busy until dawn."

"Ah," the lady exclaimed softly, covering her mouth with her hands. "That's really too hard."

Then, before Lancelot came over, the lady stood up in a hurry and asked the boss Ronnie to prepare a bottle of warm wine, a basket of pies and sausages, and preferably a few baked apples. She must go to visit the masters who worked hard for the rest of their souls.

Ronnie looked at the tall woman in front of him, her blood-stained breastplate, and her two followers. He swallowed the advice to be careful at night and silently asked the chef to prepare.

Hopper calculated people's hearts and devised a decent excuse, but the only thing he didn't anticipate was the fragility of his own human body. On a cold night, after walking in the direction Lancelot told him for a short time, Hopper felt his whole body frozen.

By the time Ziz finally knocked on the warehouse door, Hopper's hands and feet were numb from the cold.

It was Ouha who came to open the door. He opened the door and the dancing firelight projected onto the woman's pale face.

"Ms. Hopper?! Please come in." He quickly opened the door and let the three people in.

Three bodies lay stretched out on the floor in the middle of the warehouse, their faces obscured by reed mats. Two makeshift braziers sat beside the bodies, providing both light and warmth. Dan Brown, dozing on a sack of wheat, widened his eyes in surprise when he saw Hopper and his companions enter.

"How did you know we were here?" he asked doubtfully, then a look of sudden enlightenment appeared on his face.

The warlock lowered his voice—even though there were only three bodies in the warehouse that could be considered strangers—and asked seriously, "Are you also from a time traveler?"

"Back in time?" Hopper walked straight to the brazier to warm his hands, tilting his head and asking, "Are you sure we're experiencing it again and not for some other reason? Like, fabricated memories or something?"

The warlock smiled, the deep pink tattoo at the corner of his eye looking blood red in the flickering firelight. He tapped his forehead with a finger.

"Miss Succubus, warlocks cast spells based on inspiration rather than formulas. We may not be as bookish and knowledgeable as mages, but when it comes to subtle magical perception and intuition, we are far superior to those nerds."

"Oh? So you think this effect is caused by magic and not something else?"

Hopper keenly grasped the hidden meaning in his words.

Chapter 232 Drama

The warlock's smile deepened, becoming more false. He shook his head and said, "There's no need to try to get me to tell you anything, young lady. We've traveled together before, so we can always exchange information."

The Devil also smiled. She nodded and said readily, "Of course, Master. But we can continue discussing this topic first. After all, this is one of the biggest mysteries at the moment, isn't it?"

Dan didn't insist. He answered Hopper's question directly: "I can answer your question. Memory weaving could certainly have caused the current situation, but there's an unwritten rule in memory weaving: 'Weave history, not the future.' Because there are so many uncontrollable factors in the future, no spellcaster can guarantee that what they weave will match what will happen in the future. In fact, we encountered this this time. Last time, it was a hunter who discovered the body, but this time it was a child who found it."

"It's unlikely to be a dream or premonition," the sorcerer continued. "The common point between the two is that their details fade quickly. You remember nothing about your dreams at night by breakfast time. The fragments of your premonitions fade quickly with the passage of time, only to suddenly recall them when the destined moment arrives. And I can still recall what I ate at the prince's ball."

Lightning and Ziz nodded thoughtfully, agreeing with this view. Only Hopper shook his finger and said, "I have a slightly different opinion."

"Oh?" The warlock was not angry when he heard his speculation was refuted, but instead showed great interest.

After a while, Hopper's frozen body warmed up. For a demon who was hardly affected by the temperature, this was quite a novel experience. She didn't answer the warlock's question immediately, but gave her place by the brazier to Ziz.

Although the soldier did not complain, his red upper body from being frozen and his slightly stiff movements were still very telling.

Hopper took the basket from his arm, lifted the cloth covering it, and looked in. Ziz's hand was very steady, and although the food inside was cold, it was not damaged at all.

The lady happily pulled out a small bottle of wine and added some to the water bladders carried by the two spellcasters (there were no other containers available). Then, she simply took a sip from the bottle, feeling the cold wine transform into a warm breath that spread throughout her body. Finally, she spoke:

"I think it's not a reversal of time, it's a reset."

The warlock's expression was now as confused as Lightning's, and he gestured to Hopper to continue explaining while sipping the water mixed with the wine.

"If time could go back, then everyone would retain their memories. However, all the villagers we met today acted as if they were meeting us for the first time. So, as far as I'm concerned, we're the only ones who have retained our memories."

"What we have in common, and what also makes us most different from the villagers, is that we are all outsiders. Therefore, I believe this plane is controlled by some force—most likely the will of the plane itself. Manipulated by this force, it constantly cycles and resets. Outsiders haven't been assimilated by the plane, so they retain their memories."

Hopper paused, looking around. Ziz looked puzzled, and Lightning, though nodding frequently, seemed only to pretend to understand. She sighed, thought for a moment, and offered an example.

"Have you ever seen a play? In a play, the actors can be replaced, but the script remains the same. The actors may slightly change their lines, performance style, or clothing style, but the main plot line remains the same."

Dan Brown took a deep breath. "I hate to admit this horrible conjecture. But I'm afraid you're right. We are standing on the stage of dimensional power, playing our roles wholeheartedly."

"So, that's why they identified Oha as Corbilio's disciple. I thought it was because of the resemblance in appearance or because they had never met this disciple before."

"Wait a minute, if what you said is correct." Lightning scratched his head and pointed to the three covered bodies on the table. "This means that someone else has entered this dimension. Otherwise, these three bodies are hard to explain. But the town has been sealed off. Where did the outsiders come from?"

At this time, Hopper had walked around the corpse to the table, where a black leather scripture was placed. It seemed that Oha was quite well prepared for the performance, and he probably even recited a passage of scripture seriously.

Next to the scripture, there was a rough draft with basic information about the three washerwomen. The hasty handwriting showed that the note had been written in a hurry, and there were several spelling errors. However, Hopper still got the information he wanted from it.

"If I'm not mistaken, this list should be written to you by the people of this town so that you, a master from afar, can recite their names fluently and pray."

Hopper waved the note at Oha, receiving a positive response from the bearded sorcerer.

"Look at these three names. Metrice, Diorum, and Novoral," Hopper read out the names one by one. "Poor washerwomen, do they deserve such complicated names? And don't you think of anything?"

Lightning said grimly, "Those three so-called 'fairy godmothers'. Their names are taken from these three names."

"I think it would be more accurate to say that these three washerwomen were the original 'Fairy Godmothers,'" the warlock took the note and read it carefully. "Outsiders took on the duties of the Fairy Godmothers, and so they died."

"But how did the outsider know that they should play the role of 'Fairy Godmother'?" Zis's body warmed up, he groaned comfortably, stretched his arms, and his mind followed Hopper's thoughts.

"Since Master Oha is recognized as Corbylio's disciple, and he played the role well, it's not surprising that someone else could play the Fairy Godmother. As I just said, if you think this is a script, its author will naturally not let the characters out of his control."

"According to your description, the Plane Will is practically godlike." Zis frowned and asked worriedly, "How can we defeat such an enemy?"

"Defeat? I can't imagine how we can fight against an entire plane." Hopper was amused by the warrior's thinking. She shook her finger at Ziz and said, "No, we don't need to defeat it. Are actors and playwrights in an antagonistic relationship? I don't think so. As a good actor, what we need to do is to perform well in the play and then take our own salary."

Chapter 233: Misty Plane

A gust of draft blew in from the unsealed window, making everyone in the warehouse shiver and bringing them back to their senses.

"I don't understand, ma'am," Ziz said with a guilty look on his face. "If we can't defeat a plane, how can we perform this show? And how can we get paid?"

Hopper thought to herself, this is bad. She realized she'd gotten too complacent. The two spellcasters didn't know their target, and her conversation with Ziz had revealed some of that information. A professional succubus shouldn't make such a mistake.

But Zisi's words were a good introduction, allowing her to lead the matter to what she wanted to know.

"Honestly, I don't know. I don't have a deep understanding of the plane." Hopper looked at Ouha with a smile. "However, I believe that Master Ouha's research in the direction of the plane must be very..."

"Deep."

The serious Oha's ears twitched, and the corners of his mouth rose slightly. Hopper always felt that whether in his speech, behavior or behavior, Oha was more like a monk or a warrior than a sorcerer.

Most warlocks, because of the contracts they sign, rarely make long-term plans. They often use excessive indulgence, even self-destructive pleasures, to mask their inner emptiness and anxiety.

But Master Ouha has always been well-behaved and taciturn. He has no problem playing the role of a monk's disciple.

"But," Hopper thought with a hint of pride, "as long as he's a mortal, his love for compliments won't change. After all, happiness has a price."

"We talked about the problem of planes last time, but were interrupted by the appearance of the Fairy Godmother." Oha stroked the tip of his mustache. In the dim light of the brazier, his cleft lip was almost invisible.

"Where the mists run deep, a hidden force awaits; where the mists gather, the lords of darkness panic; when the mists dissipate, all realms are lost." Oha hummed a tuneless nursery rhyme, then said, "Scholars who study the planes, especially those who study planar passages and sub-planes, have heard this rhyme. Many scholars believe that the hidden force in this nursery rhyme is the ruler of the demiplane of fear. As to its appearance, purpose, and even its actual existence, there is still controversy."

"The entire Demiplane of Fear is also known as the Plane of Mists. The most certain thing about it is that it lies deep within the Astral Plane. If the other planes are compared to continents, the Astral Plane is the ocean separating them, and the Plane of Mists is the archipelago farthest from all shipping lanes and oceans."

"Each archipelago is a small fragment of a plane. Although each archipelago is very small, no one knows exactly how many archipelagos there are. And on each archipelago, a drama is being performed, and the content of the drama is always tragic death, sad separation or hopeless loss."

"No scholar knows why the so-called 'Dark Power' collects these tragic stories. No native of the Plane of Mists would accept the idea that they were dragged into the spirit world by the Dark Power. I don't recommend you talk to the people in town about this; they'll just think you're crazy with a weird religion."

"However, these stories all have at least one thing in common. They all have a protagonist, whose misery and suffering form the foundation of the story. I've learned that this protagonist, known as the 'Dark Lord,' is the island's prisoner. From ancient times to the present, no one has ever recorded the number of travelers who have escaped from the Mist Plane. But only a handful of protagonists have ever escaped from here, and all of them are renowned legends."

Master Oha stopped talking here.

"I suppose the next step is paid content?" Hopper said. "The most critical information is the most valuable. I understand."

Dan Brown grinned, a smile that seemed genuine this time, and reached into the basket Hopper had brought. When he pulled it out, he was holding a piece of fig pie that should have been cold but was now emitting a charming aroma.

The warlock took a big bite and kept breathing heavily because of the burn. It took him a lot of effort to swallow it, and tears came out.

"Look!" He showed Hopper his burned red finger. "The human body is so fragile. A piece of pie is enough to hurt me. But I'm used to such a fragile body. But can you get used to such a body?"

"What do you mean?" Lightning asked indignantly. "Just say it."

"He's saying that in this plane, at least on this archipelago, we're just as vulnerable as he is," Hopper said coldly. She didn't like being threatened, but at least what the warlock said was right. "A knife can end his life. And a spell can certainly tear my head off."

"Therefore," the warlock took over the succubus's words, "I hope we can maintain the most basic strategic mutual trust, and at least avoid stabbing each other in the back."

"I know what your goal is. It doesn't conflict with mine. That's why we have a basis for cooperation."

"You know our purpose?" Lightning asked suspiciously. "That's impossible. I haven't told anyone."