"I see you're slacking off here again."
Two Hell's Registrars—one red, one green—approached. To them, Basil Bertram was just a Blackskin Registrar. He immediately broke into a sinister grin.
"A little less torment won't hurt anyone. I'm just taking a break here—I drank too much."
As Basil Bertram spoke, he burped. I saw the two Hell's Registrars laugh loudly and pinch their noses. Alcohol fumes kept wafting from his mouth, which surprised me—his powers not only confused sight and touch, but even smell.
Soon, the two Hell's Registrars slung their arms around Basil Bertram's shoulders. What truly amazed me was that, from my vantage, their hands rested atop his shoulders as if on an invisible cushion—Basil Bertram was already taller and bulkier than most, nearly two and a half meters, yet even their sense of touch was deceived. That was the most astonishing part.
"Hey, have either of you ever gone outside? This place is pretty dull. Our marsh isn't much better, either—I can't stand that stench."
The Greenskin Registrar across from him burst out laughing and patted Basil Bertram's shoulder. Once again, I noticed—the spot he struck wasn't Basil Bertram's shoulder, but a little higher, as if slapping thin air.
At that moment, I noticed Basil Bertram's feet—each extended a mass of fine black tendrils, utterly silent and without the slightest hint of power or aura. They crept into the wine jar as the two Hell's Registrars drank merrily.
"What's so unbearable? How many years have you been here?"
Basil Bertram immediately shook his head woodenly.
"No idea. I just couldn't stand that smell, so I came over to your side."
The Greenskin Registrar said.
"It used to be fine. We rotated between four areas, but after a while, it just felt pointless. Running around was a hassle, so everyone got lazy and stopped switching. As long as there's something to play with here, that's enough."
I looked at the Hell's Registrars here in surprise. Something felt off—they shouldn't have even the slightest desire to leave this place.
"Don't you want to leave here?"
Basil Bertram voiced the question I'd been wondering, but the Redskin Registrar grew silent and set down his wine bowl.
"Where would we go if we left? I heard the boss say once that we're executioners, but also the executed. I don't really get it, but every day feels new in my memory. Eating and drinking, that's a day gone."
I couldn't help but widen my eyes and immediately glanced at the Wraithlord beside me.
"Are the Hell's Registrars here the same? Do they only have seven days of memory, just like the lost souls?"
The Wraithlord nodded, a sinister smile spreading across his face.
"Otherwise, what do you think happens if you stay in a place like this too long? It would drive anyone mad. In other hells, Hell's Registrars rotate their duties—some even earn reincarnation, some live in cities under the Underworld Court. But Abyssal Hell is different. The registrars here were all evil in life, so there's no need to treat them kindly. Just like the lost souls, tormenting others means tormenting themselves. Most of their memories remain, but the memory of how long they've been here is always stuck in a seven-day cycle of eating and drinking."
I stared in shock, eyes wide.
"Wouldn't that mess them up?"
The Wraithlord shook his head.
"Do you all remember? There was someone before—who was it? He killed himself, I think."
Basil Bertram's face grew serious as he looked at the Redskin Registrar.
"Suicide? You can kill yourselves? Have you ever tried?"
The Redskin Registrar immediately shook his head.
"No, not really. Honestly, every day isn't so bad—there's food, drink, and things to play with. That's enough."
Gradually, the two Hell's Registrars slumped over the table and drifted into sleep. Basil Bertram rose and strode quickly away, returning to the entrance where he'd come in, watching quietly.
He seemed to notice something different, but couldn't be sure. I glanced at the Wraithlord beside me—his face was full of smug satisfaction.
"Among the Seven Ghost Sovereigns, Basil Bertram is second only to John Chou in cleverness. It's a pity he lacks ambition—otherwise, he'd be even more formidable."
I nodded; it was true. Though Basil Bertram was usually quiet and played the peacemaker, he quickly grasped whatever John Chou said and could sit calmly while the other Ghost Sovereigns bickered. He always struck me as a wise elder, his demeanor serene and unruffled.
Speaking of Basil Bertram's ambitions, it was likely limited to his daughter, Leah King. Now that father and daughter were safe, Basil Bertram simply wanted to be with her, seemingly unconcerned about the coming war.
Thinking of this, I recalled the three rulers of Old Hell.
"Why don't you seek out your three children? They want to rescue you—wouldn't that be faster if you found them yourself?"
The Wraithlord raised a finger and shook it.
"Those who betrayed me once will never get a second chance. When I get out, they'll be the first I kill."
I stared at the Wraithlord in shock. His words stunned me—after all, those three were his children. But the coldness in his eyes showed he no longer saw the rulers of Old Hell as his offspring.
"Betrayal?"
This was the first I'd heard of it. Those three seemed desperate to bring the Wraithlord back to life—even stealing a piece of the Heavenly Dao. If they hadn't interfered, the Heavenly Dao would have been sealed, and Zhang Qingyuan would still be alive.
"But why?"
I asked, and the Wraithlord burst into wild laughter, his eyes flashing with madness as he stared at me.
"Back then, my three souls and seven spirits were separated and sealed because those three betrayed me. They chose their mother, Nuwa, and the others over me. In Hell, they conspired with the Nine Nether Couple and the corpses of the gods I'd slain, severing my connection to Hell. They also secretly allied with two ancient Sheqing Wraiths, cutting me off completely. So when I fought against Tang Tian, I couldn't kill him—my strength kept fading. Hell, the source of my power, was totally sealed off. I kept losing power with every battle, unable to replenish my ghostly energy, and in the end, I lost. Completely."
The Wraithlord's gaze was terrifying, as if he were reliving that rage-filled memory. He trembled all over, his eyes reddening.
"When even those closest to you betray you, what in this world can you trust? There's nothing left. If they hadn't betrayed me, maybe I would have changed, maybe we could've talked. But they listened to Nuwa and joined forces with those ancient Sheqing Wraiths under me, and in the end, I lost everything."
Power began to swell inside the Wraithlord, growing ever larger. Eyes red, he looked at me and asked:
"What would you do? If your three children became ghosts just to get close to you, to learn every secret of Hell, only to stab you in the back? That kind of betrayal is impossible to guard against. That's why I lost—because I trusted them. Trust is the cheapest, most worthless thing in this world. I trusted them, so before fighting Tang Tian, I opened Hell and let them in. But they worked from inside and out, all for some nonsense about peace between Yin and Yang, and sold out their own father."
I felt something click into place, quietly watching the Wraithlord.
"Was that the final straw that broke you?"
The Wraithlord turned, blood-red eyes fixed on me. He nodded, his mouth twisting into a grotesque smile.
"The reason I speak to you is that I see in you a future much like my own. Even Zhang Qingyuan's ghostly spirits seem to sense it—those beings have existed since before humans appeared, without consciousness, but I see and hear them often. Of course, it's not about someone betraying you—after all, you have no one at your side. The only one who could betray you is yourself."
My mind buzzed, as if the Wraithlord had stripped me bare, leaving me utterly exposed.
"It's good that you understand. Now, after this realization, you instantly deny yourself. Whatever it is, self-acceptance matters. Admit it—you're nothing, just a piece of trash. You lack Zhang Qingyuan's perseverance and hope, and you don't have the Heavenly Soul's resolve or keen insight. You're just worthless, cold inside, aimless, clinging to meaningless goals you've forced on yourself. Face it, Earth Soul."
I collapsed onto the ground, head bowed as a wave of bitterness surged from my heart and spread through my body.
"There's a saying: 'Heaven gives everyone a purpose.' But it doesn't apply to you. You're nothing but trash—your fate was sealed the day you were born."
I snapped my head up, glaring fiercely at the Wraithlord.
"I'm not trash, and I don't need anyone else to define me. What you see is your definition, not mine. Wraithlord, teach me everything you know."
"You don't want to be trash anymore?"
I shook my head.
"I will surpass you, Wraithlord."