Leading this devil army was a group of Greater Devils.
Just like the demon hierarchy.
The devils' caste system was even more rigid and orderly.
Imps, Lesser Devils, Intermediate Devils, Greater Devils, and then Archdevils.
The gulf between each rank of devil was as clear and stark as a chasm.
Demons could advance on their own.
Devils, however, were different. Their advancement required promotion from a superior devil.
In short, if their leader did not approve and use their power to aid the advancement, then no matter how gifted a devil was, it would never be able to grow stronger in its lifetime.
Thus, throughout devil society, there was a kind of pathological order.
Only upon reaching the rank of Archdevil did this situation ease.
After becoming Archdevils, they could be considered true residents of Purgatory. They were now devil nobles.
Only devils at this stage could continue increasing their strength through their own cultivation and slaughter.
These Greater Devils leading the army, along with their subordinates, might have belonged to a certain devil noble.
It was only because that devil noble had not appeared that Charles had a sliver of a chance to fight.
Outside the volcanic range.
On a battlefield where fighting had just ended.
Corpses lay everywhere. The overwhelming majority were demons, while a small portion were devils.
Among the corpses, most of the imps had died with twisted, hideous expressions.
There were all kinds of deaths—some had been slain by devils, while others had been stabbed in the back by fellow demons.
A powerful Pit Fiend strode slowly across the battlefield, surveying the corpses around him.
He spoke in a rumbling voice. "These foolish worms!"
"Are they trying to confuse us by using these fragile imps as bait?"
"Do they think we are idiots like them?"