Chapter 981

Batman stood atop the highest mound, gazing down at all the demons, and said in a deep voice: “The shadow demons in the mine witnessed everything that just happened. If the overseers spoke the truth, then General Rotheart already knows a rebellion has broken out in the mine—there’s no turning back now.”

As he finished speaking, many demons began to tremble. They had remained in the mine for so long, enslaved as miners, largely because their races had severe flaws—they simply could not stand against soldiers. Should conflict arise, they could only wait helplessly for death.

In Hell, no race is born equal.

Trolls are tall and possess immense arm strength, and they can use tools, but their skeletal structure provides insufficient support for their lower limbs, making movement slow and turns awkward—escape is impossible.

Slitherfiends have powerful leaping ability and rapid short-term bursts of speed, but their serpent tails are unsuited for long-distance marches and cannot sustain migration.

Red demons resemble humans in body structure and are relatively balanced in development, but in Hell, their small size is their greatest weakness.

Not to mention the clearly flawed lesser demons, shadow fiends, and other subordinate demons—the gap between demons is greater than the gap between demons and humans.

These severely flawed demon races have not been eliminated by natural evolution because Hell, like Heaven, is a high-magic environment. Most demons do not need to spend half their day, as humans do, on eating and sleeping to survive.

Even the weakest lesser demons need neither water nor food more than once every three to four days; all demons require no sleep. Though they still feel mental fatigue and tension and need relaxation and entertainment, under extreme conditions they endure far longer than humans.

Many demons reproduce in ways far simpler than humans. Shadow fiends, for instance, are born naturally without mating—their population remains consistently stable.

Lesser demons reproduce even more simply: they are parthenogenetic. Once they reach adulthood, they need no mating and can immediately begin reproduction.

They give birth to two or three offspring roughly every month; from birth to sexual maturity takes only about a year. Though the Hellish environment is so harsh that pup survival rates are low, even so, these little demons can be found in nearly every corner of Hell.

Yet these demons possess virtually no combat capability, and Hell’s system is fundamentally militaristic—almost entirely classical militarism, where all are soldiers and everything serves war.

Under such conditions, demons incapable of military service naturally occupy the lowest rung of the food chain: either enslaved in mines, forced laborers in smelting plants, or, when war intensifies, sent out as cannon fodder.

These people have lived this way for generations; they have no concept of rebellion. Here, one cannot cry out, “Are kings and generals born of noble blood?” because in Hell, kings and generals truly are far stronger than ordinary demons.

For example, Ancient Demons are a major category among demons; nearly all humanoid demons can be called Ancient Demons. They are descendants of divine creation. Though their bodies are not especially large and their appearance not overtly fearsome, they can wield magic and command the primal forces of Hell.

Human mages acquire this power through deals with demons. Demons possessing this power can kill these inherently flawed common demons as easily as swatting flies—even powerful demon lords can unleash massive Tunshi magic to obliterate entire cities.

Many theories suggest that humanity still has a chance to develop in peace precisely because differences between individuals and between groups have not reached absolute domination. Only then do human individuals and societies continually pursue fairness.

If a certain group or race possessed, at birth and without societal aid, power that crushed 90% of all other individuals, then all rules and morals would be meaningless to them; other individuals would have no room left to survive.

But now, Batman faced a Hell-level challenge: these inherently flawed, weak races had just taken their first step toward rebellion. Yet what awaited them next were enemies whose equipment, strength, wisdom, and discipline were many times superior.

Under such conditions, can the collective truly outweigh the individual? Can unity truly matter? Is joining together in rebellion truly a wise choice?

Batman did not yet know the answers to these questions, but by taking this step, he had already burned the bridges behind him.

He was not a man to waste time in philosophical contemplation. He leapt down from the mound, whip in hand, and shouted to all: “Now, everyone come to me—I’ll unlock your shackles. First, we must seal every entrance to the mine, ensuring no one can enter…”

At that moment, the Slitherfiend elder slithered over, tail swaying, and spoke in a hoarse voice: “If we seal the gates, yes, the overseers may be temporarily blocked—but if the entire Central Mine breaks free from General Rotheart’s control, he will rage and send a powerful army here…”

The Slitherfiend elder shook his head: “We cannot possibly stand against those soldier demons. A single fully armed squad could kill everyone here.”

But Batman looked at him and said: “Precisely why I must seal the gates. Though this may provoke General Rotheart, once the Central Mine is cut off from the outside, he will assume the entire mine has rebelled.”

“Beyond this mine, the Central Mine has over sixty other tunnels. In the deepest levels dwell powerful Lava Demons, Mud Demons, Dark Crimson Trolls, and more.”

“They remain unaware. My goal is to seal the gates and drag them into our rebellion.”

The Slitherfiend elder suddenly understood. “Yes—if the Central Mine is now cut off, the overseers and General Rotheart will believe every demon here has rebelled en masse—even if demons in other tunnels have done nothing…”

“Then, when they attack, they won’t distinguish friend from foe—they’ll simply hurl every demon in every tunnel into the lava. Once the other demons learn this, they’ll have no choice but to unite and rebel against General Rotheart…”

“Exactly. I intend to pull everyone onto this boat,” Batman said grimly. “I don’t believe General Rotheart would dare use magic to blow up the entire mine.”

“Demon Lord Belial is urgently rushing troops to the front. If the Seven Mountains Mine is the first to collapse and becomes the target, General Rotheart will suffer terrible consequences. So he must maintain stability—he cannot afford major unrest. He also needs enough laborers to mine ore and fulfill his promises to Belial.”

“These factors together are our chance to turn defeat into victory. This war may be the breakthrough.”

After speaking, Batman turned and walked into the depths of the mine. He left the whip with the Slitherfiend elder, instructing him to unlock everyone’s shackles, while he himself went to other tunnels to inform the other demons.

Though the gates were not yet fully sealed, in Batman’s words, this was already a battle with no retreat. He laid bare the stakes to the demons in other tunnels: the central message was simple—I’ve already dragged everyone into rebellion. If you don’t join, you’ll be branded rebels and thrown into the lava to die. Is it better to die fighting?

Most demons didn’t understand why he was rebelling against General Rotheart. But now the facts were before them: this madman had fired the first shot; Overseer Jacob’s head had become the offering on the banner. With the Central Mine’s gates sealed, every demon in every tunnel was forced onto the cliff’s edge.

The tactic worked. After initial fury and terror, most demons had no choice but to seek survival. Their first task: hunt down and kill every overseer.

Whether to rebel or not could wait—these overseers must die before they could flee to report. Even if death was inevitable, the overseers must die first.

After killing the overseers who had long oppressed them, many demons ignited their bloodlust. Especially the stronger, older demons began roaring and bellowing, like soldiers on a battlefield.

If you kill one, kill them all. Since the overseers were dead, the Eye Demons had no reason to live. Driven by the bloodlust surging through their veins, the demons dragged out and slaughtered every Eye Demon.

Countless demons gathered around the subterranean sea of lava, pounding the ground with their fists, roaring endlessly. One corpse after another was cast into the lava. The roars grew louder; the hunger in their eyes, fiercer.

All entrances to the Central Mine were sealed. Several overseers came to investigate, attempting to break through the gates by force.

But overseers were not especially powerful demons. Under the militaristic system, truly capable demons had long risen through the ranks—or joined General Rotheart’s elite forces—rather than remain stuck as mediocre overseers.

Precisely because they were stronger than common demons but not strong enough for military rank, they ended up here. Thus, they possessed no powerful area magic. Their only weapon—the whip—was useless against gates built of piled ore.

Yet everyone knew these Shitan attacks were merely appetizers. As expected, on the third day after the Central Mine was sealed, General Rotheart’s official forces arrived.

At the peak of the Central Mine, Batman directed the demons in building several watchtowers. Messages of troop movements flashed across the sky like streaks of light, igniting each tower in sequence—smoke and fire linked, beacon signals relayed. Batman saw armies converging into a sea between the seven mines.

In just half a day, the Central Mine was completely surrounded. Inside the largest tunnel, representatives of all demon races stood solemn and grave—but without fear.

In these three days, they had not been idle. They killed overseers as offerings, stirred bloodlust. Batman organized each race to demonstrate their abilities, construct defenses, assign roles, and train actively. Multiple drills yielded strong results, greatly boosting their confidence.

Batman leapt once more to the top of the mound, surveying all around. He understood: the situation had reached its most desperate moment. This would be Hell’s true opening gambit.

At the top, Batman stood alone—no strategist, no staff, not even a proper command center. At the bottom, whether in troop numbers or quality, they were vastly inferior.

Batman’s era had long passed since humanity’s last great war. He had never experienced large-scale warfare—no strategic reserves, no combat experience.

The soldiers were of poor quality: weak bodies, inflexible minds, largely uneducated, with zero combat experience.

Equipment and logistics were virtually nonexistent. There was plenty of ore, but no smelting methods. Resources were abundant, but could not be held—everything was useless.

By all appearances, this was a war impossible to win. Yet Batman had not lost hope.

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For in his mind, rich with knowledge spanning ancient and modern times, remained a fragment of real human history.

Before Batman’s eyes flashed scenes like old film reels: train wheels grinding along rails, muster horns piercing smoke. The same frantic mobilization, the same crushing, hopeless disparity.

As warships and cannons shattered the gates of the ancient Eastern realm, a tale of hardship, sorrow, yet legend whispered to Batman: what manner of people, through what miraculous battles, dared to change the very face of Hell?