Baier, the noble Devil Archduke, had once been a figure of considerable standing in Hell. Now, he could only remain stationed in this barren backwater of the Mainland Plane, guarding his "counterfeit" fortress modeled after Hell's Bronze Fortress.
That was the life of a Devil—sometimes rising, sometimes falling. One day, you might be a ruler whose might shook an entire region of Hell; the next, you might be defeated in a challenge, crushed or framed amid some messy conflict between factions, reduced to an imprisoned captive, or perhaps die in some unknown corner like a dead Hellhound by the roadside.
Compared to that, his fate was not too bad.
At least he could change locations and continue being the lord of a city, the ruler of the Mainland Plane version of Bronze Fortress.
And honestly, in terms of desolation, even the bleakest place on the Mainland Plane was far more fertile than the best place in Hell.
There was a reason Hell had become synonymous with torment and Pain. It was not that the Devil Race suffered merely because they lived there; Hell itself was suffering, and the Devil Race was simply another group being tormented within it.
Either blistering heat or bitter cold; hurricanes that could blow Lemures straight into the air and rage for half a year at a time; acid rain, poisonous swamps, scorched earth—
Lava and mudslides were everywhere, along with the bottomless Abyss in the deepest reaches, capable of devouring everything. Once something fell in, it could never climb back out, its life or death unknown. That was what Devils said, but every Devil knew perfectly well that life or death unknown meant it was dead.
Set beside Hell's environment, the Northern Wasteland—with its slightly low temperatures, somewhat hard soil, and difficulty growing crops—could hardly