"Outsider food is not allowed here, you sickly reed!" The Horror Demon snatched the cookie away and raised his Flame Whip. "You worthless trash, staying here is a complete waste of time! If you let out that nauseating idiot cough again, I'll smash your head, you fool!"

Lynch watched coldly, aware that other devils were also paying attention to the situation. Many knew that it was him who threw the cookie to the person across. As a mage, Lynch estimated that if he didn't take action, he might be categorized as a "weakling" in this survival of the fittest world, and his future would be full of torment and humiliation.

The Horror Demon turned around, ready to eat the "luxurious clean food" in his hand, but suddenly his action halted. Though his arm remained raised, the cookie was hovering close to his lips; his eyes started to fill with blood, then turned a shade of blue, finally settling into a deathly black. Before anyone realized what was happening, the Horror Demon had already collapsed to the ground, his heavy body producing a dull thud, his whip flung aside, the cookie shattered.

Lynch withdrew his finger, resuming his previous sitting posture. Against such devils, only a deadly spell could serve as a deterrent, and now, Lynch had evidently achieved his goal.

"Your spell is impressive." The black-robed figure finally spoke, his raspy voice sounding like it came from a lung riddled with holes, akin to a sandstorm arising from a dried ravine. "But that mode of death was too merciful for him; you should've let him eat that cookie."

Lynch chuckled softly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the black-robed figure's comment.

The figure across flipped his fingers, and an Elf Cookie reappeared. He nodded and smiled at Lynch, saying, "But still, thank you for the kindness. The food here is just too horrible."

Lynch frowned, having no clue how the other had hidden the cookie or fooled the Horror Demon in an instant. As a mage, he had confidence that his Eye of Insight could capture all movement trajectories, yet he failed to see the instant's action.

For a mage, his hands were undoubtedly his second life, a crucial tool second only to the mind. The gestures of magic are complex and obscure, and whether he can grab casting materials at a critical moment concerns life and death. Nimble hands are exceedingly important for a mage.

"How did you do it?" Lynch asked curiously.

"This is how I make a living," said the young man in the black robe. After eating an entire Elf Cookie, his face no longer appeared so pale, though his body continued to tremble weakly. He seemed to need to gather strength for a long time before he could speak, enduring continuous intense pain that tortured his flesh. "It's a delight to see another young mage here."

However, as he said this, the black-robed figure's gaze no longer appeared as sharp and aggressive, as if the Elf Cookie had left him with some goodwill. Eryies gently leaned close to Lynch's ear, perhaps fearing others would hear her words, or perhaps just to let Lynch feel her soft, warm lip line. The Desire Demon said, "I don't like this person. He makes me anxious. Dear, you must be careful at all times."

The mage nodded gently, still keeping his gaze locked on the figure's surroundings. But the black-robed patient, after eating, wrapped his body tightly with his soft and smooth robe, closed his eyes, and leaned against a pillar to doze off. That posture didn't seem to resist the surrounding threads of hostility but to carefully keep his remaining life force protected in his broken body.

"What is your name, black-robed one?" Lynch knew the other wasn't truly asleep. In this Bator Hell, sleep and death shared the same meaning. "How should I address you?" Lynch asked.

"You've already found a way to call me," he replied with a cough. "Names possess immense power beyond your imagination in this hell. Never use them lightly, nor should you reveal yours easily, Red Robed Mage!"

Lynch nodded, having gleaned much information from the other's speech. With such attire and a language style similar to his own, it was certain he was not a magician but a mage. The other didn't have any followers, not even a Desire Demon and countless necromancy servitors like Lynch. Apart from the staff cushioned behind him with considerable magic power, he didn't possess anything particularly rare.

'If he can survive in battle, it would indicate he's a formidable presence.' Lynch and the black-robed figure shared the same thoughts mentally, and both were confident the other had similar intentions. 'There might be places for potential leverage.'

As the two mages engaged in a silent face-off, more devils arrived. They held longswords in their hands, appearing bewildered. Only when the sound of a whip cracking echoed behind them, and the burning sensation spread from their spine to their entire body, did they gain awareness—this place was a barracks, and ahead lay a bloody battle. Such characters were called "cannon fodder," insignificant yet essential components on the battlefield. Despite how others despised and loathed these cannon fodders, Lynch and the black-robed figure understood: The more cannon fodder there were and the farther they were, the greater their chances of survival.

The rookie camp was packed to the brim, many devils having no room to turn around. Countless voices of complaints and angry noises echoed above this crowded tent settlement. Devils pushed and shoved, using fists and sharp teeth to threaten their companions beside them—they all wanted better conditions to enjoy before facing the threat of death.

Only a few areas appeared spacious because the lower-level devils didn't dare approach those powerful figures. The fury emanating from the Horror Demons and Quasits was intensely hot, making the soldiers wish they could escape as far as possible, not daring to court disaster. However, around Lynch and the black-robed figure, it was another scene. The imps stood still, not daring to take a step forward because the space around the two mages was filled with a chilling cold, enough to freeze blood. The Horror Demon's corpse lay not far from them, yet no imp dared to collect it. That corpse was a warning, a mark, reminding all reckless fools to quickly move away, not to lose their lives before the battle even started.

The Desire Demon hid behind Lynch, feeling like the black-robed figure's eyes could steal the warmth from her body, and she suspected that he was using this predatory method to sustain his fragile life. Only hiding behind Lynch could Eryies feel at ease. Lynch and the black-robed figure wore the same smile, seemingly very pleased with the effect they had produced. Only Lynch's gaze was like a massive shroud, completely encompassing the space around them, preventing any devil in this area from acting rashly. The black-robed one, however, had closed his eyes, as if he had foreseen future happenings, no longer worried about any fool daring to disturb him.

Absolute confidence without any blind spots.

Until an Abyss Demon called out loudly from outside, breaking the profound silence.

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