The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

At this moment, in the corner of the pub, a goblin waiter was skillfully polishing a glass, while the demon bartender beside him was wiping the table and occasionally glancing at the newspapers pinned to the wall.

— Those were today's freshly delivered issues of the Magic City Daily and Abyss Times.

He glanced at the headline of the Magic City Daily:

[Seldo Port Battle Report—Logistics Department and War Department Hold Hearings on the Mobility of Magic Crystal Cannons]

He smirked.

Same old bureaucratic tone, a bunch of arguments and buck-passing, not a word that could stir the blood, as if the bickering in those bureaucrats' parliament hall could somehow lead Hell's soldiers' boots onto the Old Continent.

"It's hopeless."

He shook his head, shifting his gaze away, ready to focus on his work, but his attention was soon drawn by the headline of the Abyss Times beside it.

[Lord Demon King Furious at Bureaucrats' Cowardice and Incompetence in the Hearing, Vows to Seek Justice for 80,000 Fallen Frontline Soldiers!]

This sentence was like a blazing flame, exploding in the cold pub, bringing a touch of warmth not belonging to Hell to this dark little nook.

"Justice?"

The bartender murmured involuntarily.

That concept was so rare in Hell that his brain froze for a moment upon seeing it.

Here, only the will of the strong and the power of the victors mattered; what was right or wrong, no one would bother to discuss.

No need for a frontline veteran, any living or dead creature born in Hell knew that perishing on the battlefield was merely par for the course, no one would argue for you, much less pursue the reasons behind it.

After all, soon they'd be forgotten.

At that moment, a voice from behind snapped him out of his daze.

"Is this true?"

The speaker was a Hell Dwarf named Burke, his bright red nose like an overloaded Flame Crystal.

This fellow was a notorious drunkard in the area, appearing in this pub every day, money or not.

The demon bartender snapped back to reality and resumed wiping the table, disguising a fleeting lapse in composure, muttering without looking up.

"...It's said to be some insider talk overheard by an anonymous Dream Demon employee at the hearing. Whether it's true or not, you figure it out."

Burke said nothing, just stood silently, finishing reading the headlines pinned to the wall, then turned to the demon bartender.

"Get me a copy... of that Abyss Times."

The demon bartender looked up at him in surprise but soon regained composure, hurriedly fetching a recently delivered newspaper and handed it to Burke.

These guys rarely paid for anything other than drinks, yet today they were willing to buy a newspaper?

It's like the Crystal Dome lighting up at night!

With a snack bought for 5 Kela, Burke silently returned to the wooden table.

He gulped down gulps of cheap beer while reading the newspaper's contents, his nose buried in his beard twitching occasionally, as if shooing away flies from the edges of his whiskers.

The patrons sitting nearby exchanged glances, surprised expressions crossing their faces.

An old goblin soldier teased,

"That's a rare sight, Burke, since when did you start reading newspapers?"

Burke disdainfully glanced at that goblin, chuckling.

"I've always read them."

A one-eyed demon belched and mocked,

"Why read the nonsense those politicians spew? I could guess with a bottle of booze that it's the same load of crap up there."

Suddenly, Burke laughed.

"Haha! I bet you've got it wrong this time!"

His weathered face bore two drunkenly rosy patches, speaking loudly as if he were drunk, though he'd just started drinking.

Hearing Burke's voice, the nearby goblin veterans exchanged glances, jumping off the table and gathering next to the stinky Hell Dwarf.

Not all of them knew how to read, but with bits and pieces they pieced together the headline's content.

When they reached the critical headline, a goblin couldn't hold back a sneer.

"'Justice'? That Lord Demon King must be drunk."

"Seeking justice for the 80,000 soldiers fallen at Seldo Port? Ha, come on! I've lived over thirty years, and it's the first time I'm hearing this nonsense... What's 80,000 brothers matter anyway."

"Exactly, exactly!"

Burke shook his head, muttering.

"A group of dreamless fools."

The goblins didn't hear what he said, chattering excitedly.

But as they talked and discussed... the conversation slowly took a 180-degree turn.

"But after all, it's at the Parliament hearing... no newspaper would dare concoct rumors from there, right."

"So what? No matter how loud they get, in the end, it's those big shots making the final call. You believe that stuff?"

"I don't know, but no one's ever mentioned 'justice' before. Maybe this time... it's different?"

Someone whispered, and the pub fell silent for a few seconds.

A few veterans exchanged looks, the initial mocking expressions turning subtly complex.

They're not naive young goblins; they know most of it is political theater. But this time... seems a bit different.

They'd seen countless lords, generals, and parliament members; after every battle defeat, they either stayed silent, busied themselves with tweaking figures in the reports, or argued over who to blame. But never had anyone, in Parliament, stood tall and said—they'd seek justice for them.