The Butler

What does owning a fortress of one's own in Hell signify?

It signifies power, authority, wealth, and the promise of even greater power, more formidable authority, and untold riches.

But in the pursuit of "more, stronger, and richer," one must also face greater dangers. Azazel understood this deeply. Previously, they were just a small band wandering aimlessly, but now, even the ownership of a remote, inconsequential fortress meant enemies would no longer be limited to a few angels. Azazel's adversaries could number in the hundreds or thousands, a force or an army. Therefore, Azazel needed to strengthen his power swiftly. For now, the vast fortress stood empty, devoid of anything but space.

The "Hall of Blood" was the main hall of the Bloody Fortress, with soaring domes and round Roman columns standing sentinel on either side of the hall, stretching into the darkness. The hall was so vast that even a gathering of a thousand would not seem crowded.

Azazel now sat upon the deep crimson throne at the far end of the hall, the seat reserved for the lord of the castle. The throne was austere and cold, devoid of ornate carvings, spikes, or blades. Its singular distinction was its color, the red of fresh blood. The entire throne was carved from a single block of bloodstone.

Beneath the throne stood Azazel's three lieutenants—the fallen angel Valis, the cloaked elven mage Falling Star, and the minor devil Ganzaleth. The butler Robin, still in her black gown, stood coldly by Azazel's side, ready to offer counsel to the master of the castle.

Only five beings populated the vast Hall of Blood.

Azazel, seated high upon the throne like a sovereign, asked expectantly, "Excellent, we have this fortress now. I've given you all a full day to acquaint yourselves with it. So tell me, what do we have?"

Valis shook his head, "Empty rooms, more empty rooms, and yet more empty rooms. There's nothing here, though I do like the furniture and the soft beds—I haven't slept so comfortably in ages. Alright, don't glare at me, I'm getting to the point. There are still some human mercenaries lurking somewhere within this vast castle; heaven knows where they're hiding."

Falling Star complained, "The mage tower is as if it's been looted—no spell components, no golem servants, no magical reserves. The library is barren, not a scrap of paper to be found. There are some instruments in the laboratory, but no raw materials or reserves—just a cork and a tiny conduit to the Plane of Water in the wall. I must admit, though, the water is pure and sweet. But that's not a mage tower; it's more like a water tower!"

Ganzaleth exclaimed excitedly, "I'm very satisfied, so very satisfied. You can't imagine how vast and sturdy the dungeons are. And the most thrilling part—there's a perfect interrogation room with all the equipment. Oh, heavens, there are so many gadgets I've never seen, some new torture devices I don't even know how to use yet. It's so exciting. Do you want to know what's there? I saw a shiny new iron maiden..."

Azazel cut Ganzaleth off, "Enough about your toys. You can study those when we have prisoners. Right now, we have serious matters to attend to. My butler Robin, what's going on? Why is everyone complaining (and Ganzaleth, you're included in this)? What's missing in my fortress aside from soft beds and pure water? What else do we have?"

Robin bowed slightly and replied, "I regret to inform you that aside from soft beds and pure water, your fortress has nothing. After the angels took over, they ransacked the place, taking what they liked and selling off the rest at bargain prices to passing Yugoloth merchants in exchange for their preferred goods. Some areas, like the torture devices in the dungeons, were perhaps overlooked by the angels, so we are not entirely bereft."

Robin's calm tone irked Azazel, "You regret it? I can't hear it."

"It's merely a figure of speech; in truth, I am indifferent."

Azazel was now even more infuriated and frustrated. The current situation was far from what he had envisioned. In his imagination, opening one door would reveal a room filled with gold; opening another, a room full of gems. And in the corridor, countless other doors awaited his touch.

But reality was harsh.

Azazel rubbed his temples, leaning back against the bloodstone throne, contemplating how to strengthen his forces. Was it time to start a massive construction project?

"You mentioned Yugoloth merchants passing by?"

"Yes, they pass by the fortress regularly every two months."

"And when will they come next?"

"Next week."

The Yugoloths, a third power in the Lower Planes—if demons represent chaos and devils order—then the Yugoloths claim neutrality, at least that's what they say.

These Yugoloths typically play the role of merchants in the Blood War, declaring they take no sides and are simply honest traders. In reality, they often aid the weaker side because only in war can one make a fortune.

Dealing with these avaricious merchants was one avenue, but Azazel had no capital to trade with them, and he couldn't muster anything in two days. The lord of the fortress had a total capital of thirty-three calamity coins, three of which he had earned by selling his own body and had yet to spend. The other thirty were merely an IOU from Falling Star. The elven mage who had just lost their bet had no means to pay her debt, which she might settle in another way, a prospect Azazel wouldn't object to—he'd even gladly pay ten times the price for such an arrangement.

Thus, the lord of the fortress was, in essence, penniless.

Suddenly, Azazel understood why a powerful succubus like Robin had so readily pledged her allegiance to him.

Was she unwilling to be the lord? Did she not crave power? Of course not; how could a devil not desire power? It was as absurd as asking if a goblin could be taller than a titan.

But why had she handed over the fortress to him? Azazel finally understood.

On one hand, the lord of a fortress needed to lead in battle, to have the might to back their claim. Even a remote fortress required a strong leader, for the weak had no place in Hell, and even those with status faced the constant threat of being usurped. If Robin had an army of powerful hellish creatures at her command, she wouldn't have spouted nonsense like "I am but a butler, so I must abide by the rules and not be the lord." But at present, Robin stood alone, her only subordinates a horde of idiotic lesser devils incapable of anything beyond the simplest tasks. And Robin herself was neither inclined nor adept at combat.

For the beautiful, proud, and versatile succubi, their battlefield was never on the fields of war.

Handing over the fortress to Azazel was like dumping a mess in his lap. Who knew what formidable beings might pass by the Bloody Fortress tomorrow? Perhaps the angels would return for another sweep, or a horde of demons might pass through. Whatever happened, Robin wouldn't have to worry or fret; for now, she was just a butler.

Aside from the disorderly demons who liked to throw things around, who would dislike a succubus butler? Even if the angels raided, Robin would remain unscathed.