My Wives are Beautiful Demons Chapter 701: New information about our enemies

Vergil walked with firm steps down the corridor leading to the area of ​​the second test.

The tallic sound of his boots echoed rhythmically against the ancient floor of the coliseum, mingling with the distant murmur of the audience and the almost imperceptible vibrations of the magical barriers surrounding the Labyrinth of Daedalus. There was sothing heavy in the air. It wasn’t just expectation—it was the unsettling feeling that many different wills were converging on the sa point, so of them dangerously misaligned.

He kept his gaze ahead, his expression neutral, his mind in constant motion.

Then, the air beside him bent.

There was no flashy teleportation sound. Just a slight distortion, as if the space had taken a deep breath—and Viola appeared before him, forcing Vergil to stop.

She bowed in a quick, respectful gesture, but wasted no ti on excessive formalities. Imdiately afterward, a second presence materialized behind her: the maid, silent steps, impeccable posture, eyes as sharp as blades hidden beneath silk.

Vergil raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Report," he said simply.

Viola nodded and turned, walking beside him as he resud walking, now at a slower pace.

"Starting with Dante," she began, her voice low and precise. "He has considerably improved the 9.9.9 organization since the last incident."

Vergil didn’t react imdiately, but sothing in his gaze darkened.

"They were the sa ones who tried to eliminate Viviane," Viola continued. "Back then, they were disorganized. Fanatics with resources, but without clear direction. Now... that has changed."

She made a subtle gesture with her hand, as if rearranging invisible pieces in the air.

"The hierarchy is more rigid. The operations, cleaner. There’s a real chain of command—and Dante is at the top."

Vergil let out a brief sigh through his nose.

"And the deeper details?" he asked.

"Still incomplete," Viola admitted. "But there are clear indications of outside involvent. Other Rulers of the Underworld."

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing.

"The chances of more people besides Yama being involved remain high. As for the others..." she activated a small translucent magic circle, projecting symbolic data. "Osiris and Ereshkigal: thirty-five percent probability."

Vergil tilted his head slightly.

"And that Yanluo Wang?" he questioned.

Viola closed her eyes for a mont.

"He recently awakened," she confird. "After a deep sleep. No significant movent... until now. Despite being one of the five judges of the Chinese underworld, he has strong ties to power and ambition. It’s strange."

She looked up at Vergil.

"The tournant caught his attention."

This made Vergil stop walking.

The silence around them seed to tighten.

From what Vergil had heard and studied before coming to this tournant. Yanluo Wang didn’t awaken out of trivial curiosity. If he was observing, sothing there was touching very ancient gears of the balance between worlds.

"I understand," Vergil murmured.

They resud their pace.

"As for Angelo," Viola continued, changing her tone. "He is... a different problem."

Vergil noticed the tension in her voice.

"We haven’t found any record connecting his creation to Hephaestus," she said. "Nor to the Nordic Dwarf Brothers. The forge... the signature... everything defies known patterns." She took a deep breath.

"It’s the work of an absurdly powerful blacksmith."

Vergil narrowed his eyes.

"Confirm it."

"The body," Viola said carefully, "was constructed using the carcass of a Demon Dragon."

The corridor seed to grow colder.

Vergil stopped again, this ti abruptly.

"...How many demon dragons are there?" he asked, his voice low, too controlled.

Viola shook her head negatively.

"Impossible to know," she replied. "Dragons are extrely reclusive entities. They avoid any direct contact with the underworlds."

She paused before adding:

"Except for the two Dragon Empresses."

Vergil said nothing.

"Crymsaria and Nivara disappeared recently," Viola continued, unaware of the true weight of those words for him. "There are no clues, records, or traces of mana to indicate their whereabouts."

She crossed her arms.

"Besides that, we have no concrete information about other Demon Dragons. The only one currently known and active is Fafnir."

Vergil closed his eyes for a mont.

Within him, sothing stirred. Two ancient, colossal, silent presences—alive.

He opened his eyes again and sighed.

"Killing a dragon," he said, "to use as raw material... is too risky."

Viola nodded imdiately.

"I agree," she replied. "Dragons are beings superior even to Gods. Their flesh, bones, and essence are volatile. Unstable."

She frowned.

"Using sothing like that to build an automaton isn’t just daring. It’s completely insane."

Vergil resud walking, now more slowly.

"Insane," he repeated. "Or desperate."

Viola remained silent, absorbing the comnt.

"Keep checking," Vergil said after a few seconds. "Everything. Every detail. I want to know who dared to touch sothing of this level."

Viola stopped and leaned forward again.

"I’ll do anything," she replied without hesitation.

Vergil nodded once.

"And one more thing," he added. "Have Zex and Iridia start hunting down all the remaining mbers of the Inquisition."

Viola blinked, surprised.

"The Inquisition?" she questioned. "After you made Wukong kill the Pope, they fragnted. They lost leadership, resources—"

"I know," Vergil interrupted, without raising his voice.

He turned his face enough to look at her in profile.

"But for so reason," he said slowly, "I feel that the Inquisition is connected to 9.9.9."

Viola’s gaze turned serious.

"An alliance?" she asked.

"Or sothing worse," Vergil replied. "Fanatical faith mixed with infernal ambition."

He looked ahead again.

"That sort of thing never truly disappears," he concluded. "It just changes form."

Viola nodded.

"Understood," she said. "I will relay the order."

She took a few steps back, preparing to disappear.

"Viola," Vergil called.

She stopped.

"Be careful," he said. "I don’t want you to get into trouble. Please prioritize your safety."

Viola smiled slightly, a sharp smile.

"I know," she replied. "Don’t worry, Master." She spoke before disappearing into the shadows and walking away.

Vergil continued walking in silence.

The corridor seed to stretch out before him, each step echoing like a ti marker between one phase of the tournant and another. The outside world was noisy, chaotic, full of conflicting wills—but within his mind, another space opened.

A much older space.

Much more dangerous.

"Hm... they used a Dragon’s body to create a puppet?"

Crymsaria’s voice ca naturally, as if she weren’t trapped inside him, but seated at the tea table of so forgotten palace. The Dragon Empress rested elegantly, legs crossed, holding a cup too delicate for soone who had already reduced cities to ashes.

In front of her, Nivara maintained an upright posture, hands resting in her lap, a serious expression. Qlippoth, on the other hand, seed completely at ease, playing with a strand of his own red hair while watching the steam rise from the tea.

"That’s impossible," Nivara replied imdiately, his tone firm, almost offended by the idea. "The most they could have used would be scales. Discarded bones. Fragnts."

She shook her head slowly.

"A real Dragon? No. Certainly not."

Crymsaria tilted her head thoughtfully, her golden eyes narrowing slightly.

"I agree," she said. "Using a real dragon as raw material would be... suicide."

Qlippoth let out a long, exaggerated sigh, resting his elbow on the table.

"Yes, yes, real dragons are impossible," she said, twirling the cup between her fingers. "Most likely they used the body of a Wyvern. Smaller creatures love to pretend to be sothing they are not."

She took a sip of her tea before continuing, her gaze growing more serious.

"The Dragons of the Underworld haven’t been active for thousands of years. Even the youngest are in a state of deep seclusion. It’s practically impossible that anyone could have captured a true Western Dragon."

Qlippoth paused.

The smile vanished for a mont.

"Unless..." she added.

Vergil, who continued walking down the coliseum corridor, felt the weight of the word.

"Unless?" he questioned, without slowing his pace, his voice echoing both in the physical world and in that ntal space.

Qlippoth slowly raised her gaze, her eyes shining with a mixture of amusent and concern.

"That it’s not a Dragon from our Underworld," she replied calmly. "But a Chinese Dragon."

A heavy silence fell.

Even the steam from the tea seed to freeze for a second.

Qlippoth took another sip, completely calm, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

Vergil narrowed his eyes.

There it was.

"Yanluo Wang..." he murmured.

Crymsaria crossed her arms, her expression hardening.

"Chinese dragons are... different," she said. "They aren’t rare in the sa way. Many live integrated into the flow of the world, disguised, venerated, ignored."

Nivara nodded.

"They’re more ’common’," she agreed, though the word sounded wrong coming from her. "Unlike Western dragons, who have completely distanced themselves from mortal existence."

Vergil let out a slow sigh.

"So now we have a clue," he said. "Chinese dragons are accessible. Manipulated. Especially for soone like Yanluo Wang."

Qlippoth smiled slightly.

"Exactly," she replied. "And if he’s involved, then this goes far beyond a simple tournant."

The corridor ahead of Vergil ended.

He stopped before the large door of the second phase waiting room. The runic inscriptions glowed faintly, reacting to his presence.

"Right," Vergil finally said. "We’ll delve into this later."

The tea table dissolved in his mind like smoke.

Vergil pushed open the door.

As soon as he entered the waiting room, the atmosphere changed.

The air was heavy, laden with mana, intent, and nervousness. Combatants of all kinds occupied the space—minor gods, ancient demons, hybrid entities, cursed mortals.

And the instant Vergil took his first step inside...

Everyone looked at him.

It wasn’t curiosity.

It was instinct.

Like prey facing a predator.

The murmur died down. Conversations ceased. Even the most aggressive auras seed to recoil slightly, as if the environnt itself had recognized sothing that shouldn’t be provoked.

Vergil observed the scene with a neutral expression.

He sensed dozens of hostile intentions. Fear disguised as hatred. Ambition mixed with despair.

He sighed.

Tired.

And he spoke, his voice calm, laden with an almost offensive boredom.

"Does everyone want to die?"

The effect was imdiate.

Glances shifted. Presences recoiled. So swallowed hard. Others pathetically pretended they were too busy to maintain eye contact.

Vergil closed the door behind him.