No matter what, the devil commander was in serious trouble when he returned this time. Given the current situation, regardless of the outcome, the devils' losses would certainly not be minor. Devils were no forgiving race. Mistakes would inevitably be punished. Even if his superior had gone soft in the head and chose not to hold him accountable, his colleagues would make him pay the price.
His only chance now was to lead his army to victory in this war. Better yet, he needed to retake one or two fallen fortresses. At the very least, that would lessen his trouble and keep him from being demoted.
To devils, the most terrifying punishment was neither death nor torture, but demotion. Devils were an extremely orderly race. Every form they took represented their status and authority, and every devil—aside from devil nobles born as high-ranking devils—basically advanced from the lowest ranks.
Advancing to a higher rank and gaining greater power and status was every devil's greatest goal. It was carved into their bones. They would do anything for it. Accordingly, demotion had become the thing they feared most.
It did not merely mean that they had to discard their current bodies and return to the lowly, humble shells they once possessed. It also meant that all their power and status would vanish like bubbles, perhaps never to return. Once a devil was demoted, death was a very likely outcome! Their former colleagues and subordinates would hardly allow them to live and become a threat to them!
In other words, to a devil, demotion meant being stripped of all dignity and authority, while also spelling death. Wasn't that more terrifying than simple death?
Thus, the devil commander had to make amends now, at least enough to spare himself from demotion. Even if he