Eight-Layer Hell Dimension

The Demon King Conference lasted a long time—long enough for Russell to memorize every Hell Lord's face.

Though Hell Lords could change forms at will, and no one had recognized Dormammu when he became Russell, remembering their appearances was not particularly meaningful. But the meeting was so boring that he could only use it to pass the time.

No one knew what the Hell Lords were really planning. Each voiced their own opinions, insisting that no one else was trustworthy and that only they were the ideal candidate for "Satan."

As long as everyone supported their ascension, they could build a great Hell family where everyone was equal, share the benefits in the future, and take turns sitting on the throne.

The wheat had not even been planted, yet they were already selling dreams!

Forget the cunning Hell Lords—even Russell, a newbie who had just joined the group, did not believe that crap.

Almost everyone knew it was nonsense, yet they kept droning on and on. This was not an old woman's foot-binding cloth; they were force-feeding everyone shit.

Russell was so bored that he kept nodding off. Several times, he wanted to suggest a fight, with the last one standing becoming Satan.

After all, this was Hell. Eloquence and deception were one thing, but a bigger fist was far more convincing.

But in the end, he did not make the suggestion. Several muscle-bound lords at the table who were poor with words had already fallen asleep. If even those brutes did not want to take the lead, why should he make trouble for himself?

With nothing else to do, Russell could only keep watching people, treating it as broadening his horizons and studying bizarre species.

After two rounds, Russell had basically exchanged looks with everyone except Cyttorak and the