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Meanwhile, though Hell suffered the loss of several Archdukes in internal clashes, and the Overlord now stood in a near-death state, all the Infernal Kings remained. It could be said that if a Realm War broke out at this instant, Hell held a 100% chance of victory.

Yet, no demon could rejoice.

There was no cause for celebration.

Now, Heaven and Hell’s elites finally realized they’d always been frogs trapped at the bottom of a well, blind to the vastness of the sky. Entities able to make the Warden and the Overlord look like ants existed, eyeing them from the shadows, ready to end them all at a whim. The Chthonian Primogen was one. That armored lady was another, and those old deities didn’t doubt that more lurked in faraway lands.

Beyond the Three Realms, more existed. And that "more" mastered their life and death. Having always believed themselves at the summit of all, that knowledge was not easily digested. But while even aloof deities such as Ashara and Dolgron felt humbled, another problem lingered in the minds of all, devas and demons alike.

"Is he...truly dead?"

Rati wondered, unable to believe that the awe-inspiring Chthonian Primogen had fallen so easily. And the same words lingered in the mind of her surviving peers and predecessors.

"The Chthonian Primogen is the master of the Underworld, the Supreme Lord of Death. Can such an existence truly perish in battle? This is fishy."

Dolgron rationalized, and wasn’t the only one with such a train of thought. But as the bloodied Blood Nether dragged her unsteady self back to Heaven’s sky, no trace of the Chthonian Primogen remained. It was almost as if he’d never been there to begin with.

With a smile, Talroth retrieved his Transmission Mirror and turned heels. In that world-rending clash, none dared compare the facial similarities between Talroth and the Chthonian Primogen. Their minds didn’t dare dwell in that territory. Someone else, however, couldn’t help but notice it.

And as Talroth returned to his royal palace, a sober Malkam awaited in the throne room, meeting him with unprecedented gravity.

"Is it him?"

Malkam directly asked. Though the thought seemed inconceivable, as he observed the clash from within the Infernal Realm, the striking resemblance between Konrad, Talroth and he struck him immediately. Either this was one of those one in a billion chance of unrelated look-alikes, or they all shared similar genes. Malkam desperately hoped for the former.

Alas, Talroth chose to disappoint him.

"It is indeed him. Happy? In the future, if anyone bullies you, you can go beg your little brother for help."

Talroth leisurely replied before crossing the carpeted stairs to reach his purple throne and sit within. The words gave Malkam no relief. Worse, he trembled while his face twisting in a succession of horrid grimaces. From Talroth’s tone, it didn’t take a genius to realize that the Southern King firmly believed Konrad to still be alive. Those were tragic news.

With an abrupt spin, Malkam turned to face Talroth who’d already closed his eyes to fall in silent cultivation. That throne was the equivalent of a cultivation mat, and one of Talroth’s most precious commodities. But seeing the leisurely look his father boasted, Malkam felt confusion add to his apprehension.

"How can you remain so relaxed? The situation is horrible. In the past, we only had to worry about the likes of Dolgron and the Overlord, but now that that monstrosity appeared, all have become inconsequential. Unless he perishes, in the future, won’t we all have to grovel before him? But that is only one issue. More importantly, he clearly brings with him enemies that the combined might of Heaven and Hell can’t afford to offend. Being linked to him will undoubtedly lead us into a catastrophe. And for what? The right to kiss his boots?!"

Malkam snarled, unable to comprehend how the shrewd Talroth could allow things to progress in such a manner. Clearly, he’d been paying attention to Konrad’s growth. When it stepped into dangerous territory, why didn’t he stop him?!

"My Crown Prince is well-known for his filial piety. How could he have his father grovel? Also, what are you worrying about? Let’s assume for one second that those Primordial Entities realize the connection. Do you think they will care for ants of your caliber? I’m not trying to bring down troop morale but we’re talking about entities that most likely look down on Overgods.

Perhaps to them, letting us breathe in their presence is an incommensurable glory. How could they bother with trampling you?"

Talroth replied without opening his eyes, causing the trembling Malkam to flounder in indignation. Indeed, his father spoke true. Before the likes of the Chthonian Primogen and that woman, even the Overlord couldn’t raise any waves, to say nothing of an early-stage Legendary God such as he.

And having always been proud of his bloodline and cultivation talent, Malkam couldn’t endure this truth.

"I know what you’re thinking. You were born one million years ago at the Minor God Rank, honored as the only true Pureblood Demon of the second generation, and after one million years, finally reached the Legendary God Rank, but are forced to accept that you’re not qualified to scrub your 258 years old brother’s shoes.

I admit, it’s a harsh blow. But look at it in a different way. If in less than three centuries, he can trample the Overlord and the Warden, in another three hundred years, perhaps that woman won’t be able to resist ten of his moves. You will soon be a relative of the Omniverse’s Ruler. Isn’t that a good compromise?"

Talroth inquired with a taunting smirk. Those words were the last straw, and Malkam snapped.

"Loads of horseshit! Who wants to spend eternity in the shadow of a bastard? Royal father, although the world gave you the title of Lord of Lust, in truth, you are the Father of Domination. All demons descending from you yearn to trample all. It’s in our blood...because of you!

All along, you’ve coveted the lordship over Hell and the rest of the Three Realms! I refuse to believe that you, of all people, can accept living in the shadow of your son!"

Malkam bellowed while indexing Talroth for emphasis.

But little did he expect that the echo of those words would only produce a mild sigh from Talroth’s lips.

"Alas, I am a Son of Hell and cannot go against its will. So long as Hell’s Will stands, we are its puppets. Even if by some majestic miracle my strength caught up to that of those entities, Hell’s Will could still control me.

That being the case, instead of yearning for what we cannot have, we might as well forge a new road."