Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

Shirley was taken aback.

“He…he wants nothing! His cathedral was built with his own strength, his apostles voluntarily accepted his influence, his—”

“Sweetie.” Hesk put down his glass, his two furry paws resting on the bar, his yellow eyes fixed on Shirley. “Your Highness, do you know what’s the most expensive thing in this place?”

Shirley blinked.

"what?"

"Free stuff."

After saying that, Hesk grabbed the rag and turned to leave.

785 >>

The person's face showed the trust they placed in him when he transferred money, and the despair he felt as he huddled in his rented room after discovering he had been scammed.

He saw the photos of the corpse, he saw his own hand, he saw everything.

His hands hung at his sides, and the golden light in his palms was gradually replaced by a deeper, burning amber light.

“I can give you—the opportunity for redemption. True, thorough, and final redemption. No longer endless suffering, no longer the annual slaughter by angels, no longer numbing yourselves with solitude and sex.”

"It is a path of redemption—at the end, where one can glimpse heaven."

He withdrew his outstretched arms and took out a pale blue, translucent crystal from under his clothes.

“Accept this Soul Stone, become my apostle, and then—begin your atonement.” His voice softened, like a lullaby, a mother’s soothing words, a lover’s whisper.

"You will no longer suffer, no longer wander aimlessly. You will feel happiness, you will leave hell."

Alan trembled, and the instant his fingertips touched the Soul Stone, blue light exploded from his chest, slowly condensing into a Soul Stone embedded beneath his skin. His body went limp, but the next second, he rose again.

He stood up straight, tears streaming down his face, but under the watchful eyes of everyone, a peaceful smile, unlike anything he had ever seen before and indescribable, one that would stir the hearts of every sinner and demon.

He raised his head, his eyes now changed, a golden halo appearing deep within the pupils, and looked at Tsurugi before kneeling down.

"My Lord."

Tsugumi smiled, took Allen's hand, looked at the yearning sinners, and shouted loudly.

"An apostle has joined our ranks, who will be next?!"

Soon, hands shot up one after another!

They joined the ranks, some with skepticism, others simply picking up the Soul Stones with the intention of getting something for nothing.

Then, without exception, they all knelt on the ground and shouted that Dongjiang was their master!

Today, another 370 sinners and demons accepted the branding of the Soul Stone and joined Dongjiang's team. As for those who did not join, Dongjiang knew clearly that they would leave here and continue to spread this deadly poison called faith and peace of mind.

Because in this hell, there is one thing that Tsurugi offers that no one else can afford to give—hope.

Even false hope is still hope; a hungry person will even gnaw on a stone. What's more, it's poison disguised as honey.

"Come, let's go visit that princess of hell and ask her for the true path to salvation."

Trinity Kill Kill Kill: 513. Visitors to the Hell Inn

In the chaotic city of Pentagram, there is an inconspicuous building that stands out from its surroundings.

It was a hotel, standing amidst burning rubble and strewn corpses. It was an old Victorian hotel with pointed towers, stained-glass windows, and a hand-painted sign on the porch with a single, crookedly drawn sentence.

Welcome to the Hell Hotel, where every soul deserves a second chance!

What a great slogan! It's inspiring. If only this weren't hell.

The owner of the Hell Hotel, the royal family of Hell, who was born to stand at the very top, Shirley Morningstar, was like a lit firework, rushing from the inn's main entrance to the bar, from the bar to the stairwell, and then back to the main entrance. Her speed was so fast that her red high heels made a series of almost continuous clattering sounds on the floor.

She clutched a crumpled cleaning list in her hand, her pale face etched with anxiety.

"Vicky! Vicky! The windowsill to the left of the main entrance is still black!"

Shirley screamed, waving her hands in the air as if she were conducting an invisible symphony orchestra. (Readers are at http://)

She had twirled in front of the mirror at least twenty times in this outfit, asking Vicky if it was too formal, then if it wasn't formal enough. In the end, Vicky had to push her out of the dressing room to end this endless dress-up show.

Vicky, her hair swept back so that only half her face was visible, was standing on a rickety chair, stretching her arm to reach the window that was almost never opened. She turned her head and looked at Shirley with a "Are you serious?" look.

“Shirley, there was an explosion on the street outside that window last week. Even if I clean the glass until it’s clear, all I can see is a charred ruin.”

“That’s not the point!” Shirley completely ignored her. “The point is—attitude! We need to show our attitude! Mr. Martyr is a guest, and I want him to see that Hell Inn is organized, disciplined, and—”

"There's a bug!" Nefertie screamed as she burst out from the end of the corridor, her one eye darting wildly in its socket, holding a struggling centipede in her hand, as excited as if she were carrying an Olympic torch.

"I found it under the kitchen sink! It's huge! Can I hang it by the door as decoration?!"

"No!!!" Shirley and Vicky exclaimed in unison.

Nefertti's expression instantly fell, like a puppy whose toy had been snatched away. She stuffed the bug into her apron pocket—heaven knows how she could fit such a big bug in her pocket—muttered "Nobody appreciates my art," and dashed back to the kitchen.

Shirley took a deep breath, pressed her hand to her temple, closed her eyes, and silently repeated "I can do it" three times.

Then she opened her eyes and continued rambling.

“You know what?” she said, spitting out words at an almost soliloquy pace as she inspected the items on the coffee table: an inn brochure, a small bunch of dried flowers supposedly surviving in hell, transported from the Ring of Fury, and a half-empty glass of beer that someone had placed there.

"The Martyr has only been around for a month and a half! A month and a half! He has already convinced more than a thousand people to follow him, more than a thousand one hundred! Our inn has been open for so long, and the number of sinners who have voluntarily registered to stay is not even a fraction of that number!"

She bent down and hid the broken beer glass under the coffee table—though she knew someone would find it again later.

"And you know what? What's most admirable isn't the quantity, but his method."

Shirley straightened up, turned towards the bar, gestured with both hands, her face full of admiration and anticipation.

"He doesn't force anyone. He doesn't use violence or threats like those hell lords—he doesn't even take money! He doesn't take money! Think about it, in the Ring of Pride, someone who doesn't take money, territory, or any benefits, but simply offers opportunities for redemption, isn't that a miracle?!"

Hesk flapped his wings, leaned against the bar, and wiped the glasses one by one with that perpetually dirty gray rag. His ears were perked up, and his face said, "I don't want to hear it, but I am." Hearing this, he snorted, making a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and not a laugh.

"Not taking money? Princess, have you considered what he wants?"

Shirley was taken aback.

“He…he wants nothing! His cathedral was built with his own strength, his apostles voluntarily accepted his influence, his—”

“Sweetie.” Hesk put down his glass, his two furry paws resting on the bar, his yellow eyes fixed on Shirley. “Your Highness, do you know what’s the most expensive thing in this place?”

Shirley blinked.

"what?"

"Free stuff."

After saying that, Hesk grabbed the rag and turned to leave.

786

I wiped the wine rack behind me.

Vicky jumped off the chair, walked over to Shirley, and put a hand on her shoulder. "He's right, Shirley. We really should stay vigilant."

“I know, I know!” Shirley said, hands on her hips, her face serious. “But think about it—even if he had other motives, wasn’t his act of helping sinners atone for their sins truly helping them? Not one of his apostles said they regretted it, not a single one! The twenty-odd people I interviewed were all completely transformed. This isn’t something that can be achieved through deception!”

“That shows he’s a master swindler.” Angel walked down the stairs, stretching all four arms at once, the movements so exaggerated they looked like he was dancing a modern dance.

He was wearing a black silk robe today, the collar wide open, revealing the gray downy hair on his chest. His hair was as messy and tousled as ever, and he looked like he had just been dragged out of bed. In fact, he had. Shirley had burst into his room fifteen minutes earlier, yanked off his blankets, and forcibly dug him out of a grave of pillows.

“Baby,” Angel said lazily as he walked to the bar, plopped down on a high stool, and rested his arms on the bar, a half-smile on his face, “is it possible that he actually bound them with some kind of contract?”

“No, I’ve seen those people! They—” Shirley paused, then said, “There’s absolutely no trace of them being bound by contract magic!”

Angel thought for a moment, snatched the freshly wiped glass from Hesker's hand, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and raised his glass with a smile before Hesker could start cursing.

“That’s great, let’s pay homage to this Jesus—by the way, is he really Jesus? If so, I want to try what it’s like to have sex with Jesus!”

"Does Jesus really exist?" Hesk interjected.

“I—” Shirley paused, then looked confused as well.

"I do not know."

Does the legendary Son of God truly exist? Lucifer's daughter didn't know, just as she didn't know whether God truly existed.

“Okay, honey, when someone looks like Jesus, does things like Jesus, but isn’t Jesus, it means they’re definitely impersonating him for a purpose,” Hesker concluded.

“Princess, if you don’t even know the answer to this question about your family background, then I think he’s probably not him. But then another question arises: he looks exactly like a human, so how did he fall into the cycle of pride?”

"Is he a demon? A human? Or an angel?"

These questions left Shirley speechless and stunned.

Vicky intervened just in time, pulling Shirley aside and whispering, "Ignore him. By the way, Shirley, are you sure he'll be there at three o'clock this afternoon? I remember you said he wrote 'around three o'clock' in his reply."

"About three o'clock!" Shirley said decisively. "A man like him won't be late. We must have everything ready before he arrives!"

“Okay, but Shirley, do you really need to be so… humble?” Vicky looked at the agitated Shirley with some annoyance.

"He came to visit you, not the other way around. You are the princess of hell."

"Thank you, Vicky, but I feel that being a member of the royal family is a burden for me."

Vicky sighed helplessly. On the bright side, Shirley's easygoing and humble attitude was key to her having so many friends; on the other hand—

Her overly approachable attitude is one of the reasons why the demons of the Pride Ring don't take Shirley seriously.

After all, Machiavelli said it well: the best monarch is one who inspires both love and fear; if that's not possible, inspiring fear is a good alternative; and the worst monarch is one who inspires no fear.

But what could Vicky say? In every respect, she had neither the right nor the need to persuade Shirley.

But Vicky was honestly very curious about this martyr; was he a demon or a human? There's a surprise in Chapter 787, click here: http://

In fact, the entire Pride Ring is paying close attention to this newly risen saint—after all, in terms of influence alone, he is already qualified to call himself an Overlord of Hell.

"Alright, alright!" Shirley clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention back to her. "Now—let's go over the procedures!"

She pulled the crumpled list from her pocket and coughed.

“First, when Mr. Martyr arrives, everyone should line up at the entrance of the hall to welcome him. I will stand at the very front, and Vicky will stand to my right—”

"Why the right side?" Vicky asked.

“Because the right side is the seat of honor!” Shirley said matter-of-factly.

"Are you sure a saint who has lived for an unknown amount of time... would care about those around him?"

"Attitude!" Shirley once again unleashed her ultimate weapon, "Attitude is the most important thing!"

Angel laughed out loud.