"What do we do, then?"
"What else can we do? We can only handle it ourselves! What do you say, Zaebos?" The spearhead was pointed directly at Zaebos.
Zaebos's face darkened terribly. He finally understood why those bastards had dumped the responsibility on him from the start. So they had planned to carve a piece off him all along.
It was rather ironic. The dignified Dark Eight of Baator had no money to send troops, yet private individuals had to pay out of pocket for military wages. It was simply absurd. But what existed had its reasons. Baator's dictatorial system meant that, after layer upon layer of exploitation, the wealth in private hands was inevitably greater than public funds.
Zaebos had no choice. No matter how capable he was, he could not possibly stand against the other six. At most, he would lose some blood now. If things truly fell apart, it would not be something a little blood could solve. The six of them were united now. If this reached Bel, would Bel listen to the six of them or to him? Was there even a choice?
"Thirty percent!" Zaebos said through gritted teeth. He might have to bleed, but that did not mean he had to provide all the resources himself.
"Too little!"
They had known one another for thousands of years. Who did not know the others inside out? Thirty percent sounded like a lot, but compared to Zaebos's vast accumulated wealth, it was absolutely not much! In the Lower Planes, resources were strength. Making Zaebos bleed more was the greatest possible weakening of his power.
There would be no tender affection among the Dark Eight. They still had struggles for power. After all, each of them oversaw different matters, and their actual authority naturally varied in