Chapter 279 - 225: Lay the Network Cable! For Hell

Chapter 279: Chapter 225: Lay the Network Cable! For Hell

Out of curiosity, Zog hid behind a rock, furtively observing the group of Demons.

As a knowledgeable Dragon, Zog hadn’t actually studied much; his wisdom came mainly from a long life and a good memory. Still, his understanding of Demons was limited.

Because these creatures were simply impossible to communicate with.

A pure worship of power, as pure as it could possibly be.

Other races also pursued power, but after the strongest individual became leader, they would appoint suitable administrators to handle management.

But Demons skipped that step entirely.

They just picked a boss, and that was it.

It wasn’t that they had no social structure at all—Demons did have ranks—but it was as good as nothing. The ranks only served to indicate strength.

Zog had once tried to conquer a group of Demons, just as he had the Beastman Tribe.

Back in the day, Zog had a bit of a collector’s obsession. ’I will become a Pocket Monster master! I’ll collect all the races on the Continent and make them my underlings!’

His collecting spree hit a wall with the Demons.

When Beastmen were defeated, they would show great respect for the victor, acknowledge them as their new chief, and follow their orders.

When Demons were defeated, they showed no respect whatsoever. They would pretend to accept the victor as their leader, but their minds were always scheming for a chance to kill the leader and take their place.

But this group of Demons before him seemed different from the ones he was used to.

It looked as if those Demons were gathering something together.

’They’ve actually learned to divide the labor and work together?’

Zog was flabbergasted.

The sheer absurdity of the situation was like seeing a troop of monkeys in an internet cafe, playing a team-based game and actually boasting a high win rate.

Zog watched the Demons’ actions intently. They were focused on digging up a type of rock from the wastelands of Hell, placing it into storage items, and teleporting away the moment one was full.

’As far as I recall, Hell doesn’t have any valuable ores. What could the Demons want with those rocks?’

’It couldn’t be that the Abyss is so devoid of food that the Demons not only got smarter but also evolved the ability to eat dirt, could it?’

After watching for a while longer, he noticed something else strange: their movements felt incredibly awkward.

It was as if they had only just learned to control their four limbs and hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it.

’No, wait. Given the sheer variety of Demon forms, it should be ’learned to control their *many* limbs’.’

Zog came up with a bold hypothesis: perhaps these Demons were being controlled. Not in the way a Warlock issues commands through a Contract, but more like a pilot operating a Mecha.

Because the body structure was different from the operator’s, their movements were bizarre.

’Makes sense.’

Zog felt his theory was probably on the right track.

Just as he was about to get a little closer—and perhaps try to capture one of the "Mecha"—a teleportation portal flared to life behind him.

Zog spun around instantly, on high alert.

"Oh, my dear friend, my apologies. The Gate of Hell is a bit unstable and seems to have sent you to this godforsaken place." A heavily accented voice, speaking the common tongue, emanated from the light of the portal.

’He must have learned it purely in a classroom. No practical experience. The phrasing is incredibly stilted and bookish.’

Immediately after, a humanoid creature emerged.

He was a tall, fat man dressed in an old-fashioned formal suit, but he was barefoot and bald. His entire being radiated the weary air of a run-down, middle-aged man.

"Honorable Zog, welcome to Hell," he said, giving a bow.

"Asmodis?" Zog asked, looking at the Devil before him with uncertainty.

He had only guessed it was the Lord of Hell because he could sense the being’s immense power.

"The very same," the rundown, middle-aged, portly Devil replied in a stilted, formal tone.

"Uh, are you *really* Asmodis?" Zog still found it hard to believe the Lord of Hell looked like this.

"Of course, hahaha," Asmodis’s laugh had the contrived quality of a bad voice actor. "It has been many years since we last met, which may account for this unfamiliarity. I was under the impression, my noble friend, that you had not forgotten our previous engagement. It has become quite the celebrated tale."

"Wait, what? You’re the *same* Asmodis I fought before?" Zog was so shocked his voice cracked.

It was normal for a Devil to live for centuries, but he distinctly remembered that Asmodis had been a fierce and brawny Great Demon. Looking at him now, you wouldn’t even need a doctor’s visit to diagnose him—one glance was enough to tell you he had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and a bad case of gout.

Of course, Devils didn’t actually get such illnesses, but the image was just so uncannily familiar.

Time is a cruel butcher, even to Devils.

"Hehehe, it appears my esteemed friend does recall."

"No, seriously, can you stop talking like that? I can handle the accent, but can you please stop using that pile of words that would never, ever appear in a normal conversation?"

"Oh, is that not how you speak? My instructor for the common tongue informed me that one ought to employ such verbiage in diplomatic settings to appear formal and dignified."

Asmodis immediately switched his manner of speaking, and his pace quickened considerably. Forcing himself to speak like a textbook had been a huge pain for him, too.

"Much better," Zog said, visibly relaxing. "So, why do you look like this now?"

"To establish diplomatic relations with Humans and other intelligent life, I changed into a more approachable form. After extensive research, my subordinates concluded this is the most common appearance for a middle-aged male of the Human species, between the ages of thirty-five and fifty. It corresponds to my own age bracket among Devils. I assume you shrunk yourself for a similar reason."

Asmodis answered, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Quite the painstaking effort."

"’Painstaking effort’? What an exquisite phrase! I must write that down." Asmodis actually took out a small notebook and carefully wrote it down. "The meaning of that phrase is more or less what I think it is, right?"