Ganzaleth's relentless indoctrination about the perils of blood battles and the importance of survival for the sake of better combat had the new recruits on edge. Azazel, in the span of a day or two, had been straining to adapt to his new body, while also solidifying his "Soulblade" under the guidance of Chi You through arcane methods.
According to Chi You, Azazel's "Soulblade" hadn't even reached the first stage; the souls within the blade were restless, unable to form a stable, powerful force. Only when the souls in the blade calmed could it be considered to have reached the first stage: stabilization.
A Soulblade, once stabilized, had the ability to absorb the souls of those it killed, thereby strengthening itself.
After the first stage, there was no so-called second stage. The blade would grow with Azazel, possessing great potential and an unpredictable future. What the blade would become was entirely up to Azazel's will.
Busy adjusting to the new environment, Azazel hardly noticed the passage of time. Three days flashed by, and the group, armed with the collected gear, left the recruit camp to launch a fearless assault against formidable enemies.
Azazel had also donned a set of light armor scavenged from the recruit camp. Now bare-armed, he wore a black vest made from an unknown animal's hide, a pair of bracers enchanted with "speed magic," his wings retracted into his body, invisible. His lower body was clad in half-length trousers—those he had brought from the City of Marks, the original owner of which had been sliced by the city's mistress, turning a perfectly good pair of trousers into what was fashionably known on Earth as "capris." Azazel found them to be of sentimental value and decided to keep them. He wore a pair of traveler's boots, and a fierce-looking longsword slung across his waist. The lone horn atop his head was also nowhere to be seen. Now, Azazel looked no different from an ordinary human.
Azazel had mastered control over his body, able to switch between his human form and devilish appearance without casting any magic. His human form was now identical to how he had looked before becoming a devil.
But this brought Azazel no joy; after all, he was about to step onto the battlefield. However, after several days of travel, he felt somewhat relieved, realizing that his squad was not on the offensive but on the run. This was evident from the path Ganzaleth had chosen—remote and desolate.
Paladin Ward shared this sentiment, which was hard for him to accept, given his eagerness to slay enemies. "Hold on, something's not right. Three days have passed, what have we learned? To run, to hide, to feign death! What else? Ganzaleth, what else is there? That's it, three more days gone, and I thought we'd be attacking the abyssal demons. But why do I find us moving further into desolation? In three days, not a demon or devil in sight. I didn't come here to flee; I came to eradicate evil, not to desert! Ganzaleth, even if you are my instructor, you owe me an explanation today. Otherwise, I'm leaving now!"
Ganzaleth charged forward a few steps before turning around. He had to do so because the longsword strapped to his waist was too long; turning in place would have hit his entire squad.
"Alright, let's make things clear right here," Ganzaleth's muffled voice came from his helmet as he posed a question, "Why do you wish to slay demons and not some other beings? Why come here to kill demons and not go somewhere else?"
Paladin Ward, taken aback, eventually responded, "Truthfully, I don't care whether it's demons or devils I slay, as long as I'm fighting evil. But compared to those capricious demons, devils are more trustworthy, at least they understand cooperation. And I've heard that a massive army is perpetually stationed on the first layer of Hell, ever vigilant against the fragile planar rifts. Blood battles erupt nearly every day here, with demons and devils locked in eternal conflict on this scorched land. Wouldn't it be normal for me to come here if I wanted to kill a few demons?"
Ganzaleth spoke gravely, "You're right, but what you speak of is in the past. Look there, what do you see?"
The three followed the direction of Ganzaleth's pointing finger and saw nothing after a long gaze.
"Is there something there? I see nothing," Azazel turned back, speaking truthfully.
Ganzaleth's voice grew even more somber, "Indeed, there's nothing there. And there should have been. The Bronze Fortress should have stood right there!"
Realizing he was dealing with three novices, Ganzaleth continued his explanation. The Bronze Fortress was the most formidable stronghold in the Fiery Hell of the first layer, the bastion of its lord, Zariel. In human terms, the Bronze Fortress was the capital of the first layer of Hell.
Not long ago, Lord Zariel led his grand army to the blood war, where the tenacious devils clashed fiercely with the demons from the Abyss. The battle raged from day to dusk and dusk to night, unceasingly for three full days. Just as both sides were worn thin, the Heavens launched a surprise attack, turning the battlefield into a river of blood, with demon and devil heads soaring skyward. The angels didn't bother distinguishing between demons and devils; they slaughtered all evil.
Zariel and his foes were stunned by this sudden onslaught. By the time they realized what had happened, it was too late. Several legions of elite hellish devils, the bulk of Zariel's forces, were decimated in this unexpected strike, with the light of judgment flashing non-stop across the battlefield. Zariel himself vanished amidst the subsequent fighting.
The only solace for the devils was that the celestial forces were equally harsh on the Abyssal demons. It was said that few demons who escaped back to the Abyss survived.
The celestial army achieved a resounding victory in this battle, but it didn't end there. The angelic legions launched an offensive into Hell. Since the first layer had just lost a significant portion of its army and Lord Zariel was missing, the Bronze Fortress fell quickly to the angels. The tragedy unfolded when the angelic commander, apparently unimpressed with devilish architecture, ordered the mighty fortress razed, reducing the Bronze Fortress to rubble.
The celestial forces didn't linger and continued their descent, now fiercely battling Lord Dispater in the Iron City of the second layer. It was rumored that Dispater had retreated to his iron tower, too afraid to emerge.
"That's the grand scheme of the war," Ganzaleth shrugged and continued, "Now, back to you, Paladin Ward. You wish to slay demons here, but sadly, demons are now scarce in Hell. Even if you ventured into the Abyss, you'd hardly find a few. They say a celestial battalion has already reached the thirty-third layer of the Abyss. It may not be long before the Heavens clarify just how deep the Bottomless Pit truly is."
"How can this be?" Ward's face was etched with disbelief, seemingly struck by the absence of demons, the absence of enemies. "This can't be right, it shouldn't be like this. So our enemies are from the Heavens now? Impossible! I am a holy... no, I am a paladin. I will not draw my sword against the people of Heaven, I will not strike at the righteous!"
"I know, and that's why I never counted on you. But you're part of our team now, so you must wield your sword, not for others, but for yourself. And reality is cruel. Consider why there are only a few of you new recruits? That's because the first layer of Hell is now effectively a celestial occupied zone. Our current enemies are not demons, but those angels. So you'd better decide now, recruit. Either remember who you are, follow orders, or die!"
"What do angels look like?" Azazel suddenly interrupted Ganzaleth.
"There are many creatures in Heaven, but generally, they're bird-like beings with a pair of white wings, radiating an irritatingly sanctimonious aura," Ganzaleth looked at Azazel with confusion. "Why the sudden question?"
"Ah, I think we've encountered the enemy. Two angels, but they don't just have two wings each—they have four."
Ganzaleth whirled around in horror, spotting the swiftly approaching celestial beings: "Damn it, they're high-ranking Seraphim. Bad news, they've spotted us, and it's too late to hide. Looks like we have to resort to the backup plan. Remember what I've taught you. Farewell!" With that, Ganzaleth drew his longsword and bellowed in the common tongue, "Even in death, I will not suffer disgrace!" His voice thundered, and he plunged the sword into his own abdomen. The blade pierced through, and Ganzaleth screamed in agony. After a moment, the screams subsided, and Ganzaleth became a lifeless body, his eyes still wide open but devoid of life. It was a death without closure.
The sword, having passed through Ganzaleth's body, was deeply embedded in the scorched earth. The once lively Ganzaleth now hung from the blade like a discarded rag, his eyes still open, staring at the sky with unresolved defiance.
This was a corpse that couldn't be deader.