Nether Hotel stood at the foot of Nether Mountain. A vast lawn stretched out in front of it, with a lake nestled in its center.
For countless years, countless powerful figures had charged into Nether Mountain in a frenzy to obtain Nether Fruits, only to end up as fertilizer one after another. Yet Nether Hotel had always stood firm, amassing a fortune beyond anything the outside world could imagine. Rumor had it that the owner of Nether Hotel was the lord of Greenleaf Castle.
"Please, come in, sir."
The young man in a green robe, Kewen, led Ren into the hotel, wearing his trademark smile. He was clearly very practiced at his job.
Ren nodded slightly and glanced around the interior. The hotel was divided into two sections: a lobby and a restaurant. Dozens of tables filled the restaurant, where several Highgods who looked quite powerful were sipping drinks.
Ren surveyed the hotel, then let his gaze settle on the lawn. A pretty red-haired girl sat beside the lake, and a glimmer passed through his eyes.
The reason Nether Hotel had stood firm on Nether Mountain for so many years was its owner, who loved fishing. The hotel staff believed she was a friend of the lord of Greenleaf Castle, while many people outside claimed she was one of the castle's lords.
But as someone who had memories of Blue Star, Ren naturally knew the pretty red-haired girl's true identity. She was none other than the Netherworld's true ruler, the foremost Overgod of Death, and one of the Four Rule Overlords: the Sovereign of Death.
"Sir, that's the owner of our hotel. Don't let her cool demeanor fool you—she's actually very kindhearted, and treats all of us well." Noticing Ren's gaze, Kewen lowered his voice and whispered.
"Kewen!"
Though Kewen hadn't spoken loudly, the pretty red-haired girl was powerful enough to hear every word. Still holding her fishing rod, she didn't turn around as she snapped at him.
"I'm sorry, Boss."
The young man in the green robe, Kewen, hurriedly apologized, but he didn't look nervous at all. Clearly, this had happened many times before, and the owner had never truly been angry with him.
Soon, the young man in the green robe led Ren to the front desk.
"It's ten thousand Nether Stones per day. How long are you planning to stay, sir?" A woman in green behind the counter asked Ren.
"Seven days. Here are seventy thousand Inkstones." Ren didn't say much. He tossed over seventy thousand Inkstones and spoke in a calm voice.
In the Higher Planes, hotels in ordinary cities usually charged by the year, and a year's stay cost no more than eight or nine hundred Inkstones. Nether Hotel could certainly be called a racket. However, those who came here were all powerful figures, and with the hotel's backing, none of them dared complain.
"Inkstones? Are you from Hell?"
The woman in green looked surprised when she heard Ren. Her voice drew everyone's attention.
"People from Hell are even coming to compete for Nether Fruits now? What a nuisance!" A middle-aged man with brown hair muttered irritably.
"Looks like the competition's getting fiercer and fiercer." A blue-haired young man sighed helplessly.
Outside on the lawn, the pretty red-haired girl came in carrying a bucket. She seemed to have heard the discussion from the restaurant and glanced over in confusion. Then her gaze fell on Ren, and her usually unruffled expression showed a rare flicker of surprise.
Not long ago, after receiving word from the Nether Overgod, she had used the Heart of the Underworld to check the records of those who had come to the Netherworld from Hell. She was naturally familiar with Ren's appearance. She just hadn't expected him to come here.
Her thoughts churned, but her steps didn't falter. Carrying her fishing rod, the pretty red-haired girl walked straight over to Ren.
"Boss?"
The woman in green looked at her in confusion. As far as she could remember, the boss was either fishing or on her way to fish. She only showed up when someone caused trouble at the hotel and the staff couldn't handle it herself. She had no interest in ordinary guests.
The pretty red-haired girl ignored the woman in green and looked Ren up and down, her voice tinged with amusement.
"Prefect of Liang'an, Ren."
Her voice wasn't loud, but the divine beings had excellent hearing, so everyone heard her clearly.
The whole hotel fell silent for a few seconds. The guests in the restaurant stared at Ren in shock, wariness flashing in their eyes.
"A Prefect from Hell?"
The woman in green stared at Ren, dumbstruck. She had worked at Nether Hotel's front desk for countless years and seen many powerful figures enter Nether Mountain, including quite a few Seven-Star Fiends. But this was her first time seeing a Prefect.
Even Asers, the Sovereign Envoy said to have obtained a Nether Fruit countless years ago, hadn't been a Prefect when he first entered Nether Mountain.
"Oh? You know who I am? Then you must be a powerful figure on the level of a Prefect, too." Ren raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise as he made a "reasonable" guess.
He knew the Sovereign of Death's true identity, of course, but he wouldn't expose her here. This was the game she'd enjoyed most over countless years. Since he wanted her help, playing along once couldn't hurt.
"Oh? Why would you think I'm a Prefect?" The Sovereign of Death chuckled, asking teasingly, as if she'd heard an amusing theory.
Ren kept it simple, offering his "deduction." "I've been Prefect of Liang'an for less than a hundred years, so word probably hasn't even spread throughout Hell yet. Yet you know about me all the way here in the Netherworld, which means you must have excellent sources of information. Besides, anyone who's been able to run a hotel on Nether Mountain for countless years can't be weak."
He then looked at the pretty red-haired girl with an expression that said he'd seen right through her.
"You're quite an interesting person. But with your strength, you shouldn't need a Nether Fruit. So why did you come to Nether Mountain?"
The pretty red-haired girl's lips curved slightly. She neither confirmed nor denied Ren's guess that she was a Prefect, leaving room for speculation, and changed the subject.
Inside the purple-black hall atop Nether Mountain.
"Interesting! He actually came here?" The figure seated on the throne murmured, a faint ripple entering her otherwise calm voice.
"Overlord?"
The Nether Overgod looked at the Sovereign of Death in confusion. As he remembered it, the Overlord's voice was usually calm. Only when one of the cannon fodder who came to Nether Mountain stumbled into the hall and saw her true face—that she was the owner of Nether Hotel—did she ever show much emotion.
"That boy Ren has come to Nether Hotel." The Sovereign of Death glanced at the Nether Overgod, her voice once again as calm as before.
"Hmm? He came to Nether Hotel?" The Nether Overgod was taken aback and instinctively stroked his beard.
"Interesting, interesting. He thinks I'm a Prefect? I wonder what kind of expression you'll make when you discover my true identity." Seated on the throne, the Sovereign of Death curved her lips into a lovely smile, anticipation filling her eyes.
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