Chapter 85: Poetry

  Following the announcement by Arouet de Deviliare—who, contrary to the estate’s sole rule, kept taking his mask off and putting it back on—the room’s attention turned to Franciscus. The guests moved aside, letting him take the center stage. The green-haired boy, without removing his mask, stood in the central spot and bowed according to custom.

  Justinian could tell by his rigid movements, which he performed more slowly than usual, that he was very stressed. Therefore, as soon as Franciscus looked his way, he gave a slight nod, trying to offer him some encouragement. The child clearly saw the sign but could not react, as his uncle was already losing patience.

  "Faster, faster, my boy! We cannot wait here until dawn!"

  A few murmurs of laughter spread through the audience, but these words proved highly motivating. Clearly trying to sound confident, Franciscus began to read the best parts of the poetry he had written over the past year.

  "Poem about the 66th Hell."

  "In the 66th hell, lava flows more than water,

  there is nothing better than nature in this quarter."

  His recitation lasted for several minutes, during which the reactions of the devils in the audience were quite calm. Sometimes, despite the masks, one could see a brow raised or a whisper shared. A she-devil with a swan mask, who had earlier scolded Arouet, gave a long yawn, growing less interested in the performance.

  Aside from these minor exceptions, the reactions were restrained, as if they were waiting for something specific.

  It was only after the reading ended and the child bowed that the reason for this behavior became clear. Almost all eyes, including those of Franciscus, turned toward the host, awaiting his reaction first! Arouet himself looked as if he had encountered an unexpected surprise; his eyes shone, and he clearly intended to comment extensively.

  He was opening his mouth to pass judgment when the silence of the hall was broken by an unexpected sound. The startled devils turned toward the source to see a masked figure clapping methodically with great satisfaction. Beside him stood another, who soon joined in, prompting the rest of the hesitant guests to do the same.

  That figure was none other than Justinian, who, remembering what the young devil's poetry used to sound like and how devastated he was when it was read in Ukuun, was genuinely impressed by the progress he had made. The figure beside him was the nobleman Seweryn.

  "Bravo, Franciscus! You did really well!"

  The green-haired boy, surprised and pleased by the reaction, bowed once more. Then the host, Arouet de Deviliare, joined in the applause, adding his own comment about the performance.

  "I expected a momentary smile from your progress; now I know it will give me joy for the entire evening!"

  Saying this, he patted the boy on the shoulder, and despite the silver mask covering his face, the child was clearly moved.

  Arouet, with a wide smile and a mysterious glint in his eye, quickly skipped away to talk with other guests. Seeing how the host's conversation partners either burst into laughter at his sharp wit or paled upon realizing they were the targets of his jokes, Justinian had a simple observation:

  'The only thing that matters in life for this devil is folly...'

  He had perhaps never seen anyone move so freely through such a vast range of topics and circumstances, and Justinian himself had already met quite a few well-known fiends.

  Since the reading, the number of gazes the Grim Judge felt upon himself had also increased. Although many came from adepts of other dimensions, there were also auras whose untamed power made the hair on his neck stand on end.

  'Could there be Voivodes at this party as well?'

  Reflecting on what he already knew of de Deviliare, he could not entirely rule out that possibility.

  These kinds of thoughts and the cautionary worries were not shared by the companions he had arrived with.

  Seweryn had already been looking at the host like a prize painting. Now, enthralled, he followed him from one group of guests to another, repeatedly noting down overheard anecdotes and jokes—undoubtedly to share them upon returning to his own estates.

  Franciscus, meanwhile, was quickly surrounded by flatterers who actually wanted to curry favor with his uncle. Given his indifferent approach to these devils, Justinian guessed the boy knew how to handle them.

  'It turns out I am the one having the most trouble fitting in...'

  A quick look around the room revealed a sparsely populated snack buffet. Though he had certain unpleasant associations with devilish food, he was inclined to at least see what it offered. He was just about to move when a familiar aura caught his attention, focusing on him with hostility.

  'Level 3 Foundation Stabilization?'

  It was none other than Bahadyr, hidden under a boar mask with long bangs, who must have noticed him earlier. Justinian did not consider himself a hot-headed man, but the amount of nonsensical provocations this devil from the 64th dimension sent his way was becoming irritating.

  Before he could decide to release his own aura, however, the sound of a metal fork hitting a glass goblet rang through the air. Arouet de Deviliare stepped into the center of the hall and solemnly announced the next attraction.

  "Time for the most beautiful part of the evening! If this does not sharpen your paltry conversations, I swear there is no hope for you!"

  In this manner, the host announced the start of wine tasting.

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  The guests were led to another room. There, they were given the chance to sit at long tables laden with alcohol, dominated by carafes of a dark, thick liquid.

  Near where Justinian sat, two devils in animal masks already began drinking and a bit too quickly.

  Elsewhere, a she-devil showed her lack of enthusiasm for the served drinks.

  Some of the beverages were in corked bottles that, after a wave of the host's hand, turned into colorful flies that dissolved into the air.

  "Did you know that in some countries in the human world, they call us the Lords of the Flies? What barbarism!"

  De Deviliare’s comment was a signal for everyone to delve into conversations. Alcohol, as expected, was great for loosening tongues. Though some guests began to head for the exit, for many, the party—its most interesting part—had only just begun.

  Tasting the wine in the carafes, Justinian quickly gave an awkward smile. It turned out to be exceptionally bitter, and even despite his cultivation base, it managed to cause a grimace on his face.

  The two devils who had recently been commenting on political events now moved on to the general troubles of hellish society.

  "Morals are falling, and no one does a thing about it."

  "In the 50+ hells, we at least used to have an aristocracy that set a great example for others. What is left of that today?"

  Their disappointed comments drew the attention of de Deviliare, who was just explaining how his doctor had assured him that alcohol was a poison.

  "...I told him it must certainly be a very slow one! I have lived for thousands of years and have been drinking for nearly as long!"

  As he focused on nature of the problem the two devils earlier were talking about—the lack of role models in the current world—the host could not refrain from adding his own thoughts.

  "In truth, the aristocratic class falls lower and lower; if this continues, what will we have left to laugh at?"

  The devils in animal masks looked at each other with embarrassment.

  "Lord Arouet, but you are an aristocrat yourself!"

  The host smiled meaningfully.

  "That does not mean we cannot have standards for ourselves! Look at my dear Franciscus, for instance!"

  Here, de Deviliare beckoned to his young nephew, who approached obediently a moment later. Arouet patted him on the shoulder and returned to his conversation partners.

  "Isn't he a great example of working aristocrat?"

  The devils could only nod to that.

  "Definite..."

  Arouet however was not really interested in their reply. His sight was still set on Franciscus.

  "Even though it was known from the start that he lacked talent, he does not stop his efforts to change that."

  The young devil’s eyelid flickered slightly at these words, but he did not dare rebuke his uncle.

  The comment itself garnered much attention from the guests, especially those who

  were already tipsy. This reaction pleased the host, who could not resist dedicating a few more sentences to the topic.

  "Can you imagine such a situation? This clumsy little fellow has been with me for years, has total peace to write poetry, and I even recently arranged for him to stay in the circus of the 66th dimension... Yet the results are still so meager that only a true nobleman could aspire to them!"

  This statement was met with a large burst of laughter from the room. Clearly, the joke did not just land; it hit the mark regarding the dislike of the 66th dimension. Franciscus himself was quite pale, seeing that Arouet was not saying anything more, he asked his uncle for permission to leave, which the host readily granted.

  "You see, my dears? Not only weak-minded but also very sensitive. Truly, I do not know how today’s youth intends to..."

  "Is this buffoonery necessary?"

  "Ah?"

  De Deviliare looked toward the voice that dared to interrupt him. It was, of course, none other than Justinian, whose mask hid angry emotions.

  "My dear human guest, - many things are unnecessary, yet at the same time, needed. Do you not cultivate your so-called justice to do exactly what is needed?"

  Mentioning justice, he crossed his fingers, wishing to avoid triggering the dimension's wrath. As their verbal sparring unfolded, attention of the entire room shifted to them.

  "I see no connection between the two."

  Justinian cut him off in a cold manner that made Arouet, momentarily lifting his mask again, strike a theatrical pose, placing a hand to his forehead.

  "Then all the greater fool you are! The aristocracy is endowed with greater rights than the rest, even in this pathetic dimension you represent here. Is it not just to demand higher standards from them, or a payment for even a fraction of the common blood they have shed over the centuries?"

  Saying all this, he looked as if engaging in theatrics, totally unrelated to himself.

  His words caused whispers to spread through the hall. Although many of his guests were aristocrats from various dimensions, it was clear this was a very resonant topic. People began to look at Justinian with even more curiosity, waiting for his answer.

  "I cannot speak regarding the nobility in infernal dimensions, for I simply do not know them... Even if you are right, however..."

  Here, he pushed his chair back with force, standing ceremoniously from the table he found repulsive.

  "What does any of that have to do with bashing a child?"

  Saying this, he turned toward the door and, without casting another glance at the host or the guests, walked away from the table. Silence covered the hall, which moments ago had been filled with murmurs; everyone looked at de Deviliare to see his reaction, when something else happened.

  One more chair was pushed back, though in a calmer manner. It was the nobleman Seweryn, who had previously been jumping around the host like his biggest fan, now making an important decision. Removing the mask from his face, he looked toward Arouet.

  "Your opinions on the aristocracy are your private business. However, if you offend Franciscus again—whom I consider a brother—or if you offend the 66th dimension, you should prepare for a duel."

  Leaving his mask behind, he bowed to the remaining guests and followed Justinian. He did not notice a small, dark fly materializing on his shoulder. Nor did he care about the words the host hissed as he left.

  "My dear guests, today’s times are so wretched that even the small fry think they are entitled to everything!"

  Few noticed that as he spoke these words, met by a burst of laughter, a terrifying anger flashed in his eyes.

  Seweryn caught up with Justinian and Franciscus, who were already leaving the estate.

  "Is everything alright?"

  The young devil nodded, not answering aloud. His companions did not try to pry it out of him. They asked neither about his uncle’s strange behavior nor about the matter of the poetry. Soon, they were simply walking in silence through the darkness of de Deviliare’s massive estate grounds.

  Then, something strange happened.

  "Damn it!"

  Seweryn, who had been walking at a steady pace until then, suddenly swore loudly, swatting his shoulder as if something had bitten him. Then he exuded a terrifying burst of power and... fell to the ground, shaking all over!

  "What happened to you?!"

  Justinian was the first to react. He could sense no other energy in the air, yet it looked as if his friend had been attacked. To his horror, however, he noticed that Seweryn’s aura was beginning to weaken drastically!

  "This..."

  Justinian, grabbing Seweryn who was visibly succumbing to weakness, completely lost sense of the world around him. All that mattered was that his friend was withering before his eyes, as if his life was being sucked out by this cruel dimension.

  The memory of another friend he had lost flashed before his eyes, and his limbs began to shake violently as his cultivation base exploded with power!

  He had no intention of letting that tragedy happen again. He wanted to immediately tear through the air to reach their estate and find a doctor, when he realized that his outburst only made things worse!

  Seweryn began to wither faster and faster, and the soft groans he let out began to sound more and more piteous.

  As his situation became increasingly deadly, neither Justinian nor Franciscus noticed the sound behind them. It came from the steady footsteps of a large group of devils, drawing closer and closer.

  "And what do we have here?"