My Wives are Beautiful Demons - Chapter 589

589: Some information 589: Some information The main hall was lit only by the bluish lights emanating from the large screen suspended in midair-an ethereal panel made of pure demonic energy.

Symbols floated, rearranging themselves into names, faces, and titles as the system compiled the records of the Celestial Tournament competitors.

Vergil sat relaxed in one of the dark leather armchairs, one leg crossed over the other.

Ada rested on his lap, her golden eyes half-closed, watching the projection with a curious-and slightly bored-expression.

“So…

these people are the competitors?” Vergil asked, tilting his head slightly, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“Hmph.

How disappointing.” He paused, and the ironic tone deepened.

“I thought it would be more…

interesting.” Across the room, Paimon let out a long, weary sigh-the kind of sigh only someone emotionally exhausted could produce.

“Don’t underestimate others, man…” she murmured, adjusting her reading glasses with her index finger.

“Stop being a child.” Vergil looked away, arching an eyebrow.

Paimon looked…

a charming mess.

Even with all her natural elegance-the tight dress, the carefully tied hair-her fatigue was evident.

The deep dark circles under her amber eyes betrayed days without rest.

“Oh, please,” Vergil commented, amused.

“Don’t blame me for being honest.” After a pause, his gaze narrowed curiously.

“And by the way…

what happened to you?” Paimon slowly turned toward him, with the unsteady gait of a forcibly resurrected zombie.

“Who do you think,” she began, pointing a trembling finger at the screen, “had to figure out every name, prepare every record, confirm every kingdom, validate every damn seal, only to hear, ‘I thought it would be more…

cool’?” She mimicked Vergil’s voice mockingly, but she could barely keep her tone steady.

Vergil just looked at her, his expression completely neutral-the kind of look that said, wordlessly, “I didn’t ask for this.” Paimon rolled her eyes and sighed, turning back to the screen.

A wave of her hand, and the inscriptions began to rotate, revealing new information.

“Anyway…” she said, trying to sound professional despite her fatigue.

“What I can guarantee is that you won’t be bored.” Vergil raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Hm?” Paimon crossed her arms, staring at the floating panel.

“Many of them decided to send members of the Hero Faction instead of heralds or divine entities.” “It makes sense.

It’s easier to send exceptional humans than to risk putting a god in the middle of this chaos.” Ada, still in Vergil’s lap, tilted her head to the side, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“‘Hero Faction’?” she asked disinterestedly.

“The last time I saw them was when I went to beat up the Pope.” “Exactly,” Paimon replied without hesitation.

“But they’re powerful.

Blessed humans are better than before; you’ve probably caught some newbies.

Some are strong enough to rival lesser gods.

Well, it’s more interesting to deal with the heroes than to fight the gods.” “Hm… ‘face a god,’ is that it?” he said neutrally, without looking away.

“You’re referring to the heralds, right?” Paimon raised an eyebrow, a little surprised.

“Exactly,” he replied, adjusting his tie.

“Direct emissaries of the gods.” Fragments of divine authority itself channeled into mortal bodies.

When a herald enters the field, it’s more than power-it’s the will of a god manifesting itself.

Vergil made a slight sound of disdain, almost a low chuckle.

“So they’re just extensions…

puppets that carry the echo of divinity.” He leaned back in his chair.

“It makes sense.

A god would never risk descending personally to such an…

earthly tournament.” Ada looked away from the screen, finally interested.

“In other words, lesser gods with a servant complex.” Paimon gave a short, tired laugh.

“That’s a blunt way of putting it.” With a gesture, she zoomed in on the screen.

Names began to stand out: The Herald of Ares, The Herald of Poseidon, The Heir of Yama.” “Fortunately,” Paimon continued, moving the panel with a swipe of her fingers, “only a few pantheons have chosen to resort to this kind of power.” Zeus, for example, is sending heralds of Athena and Ares.

Yama, as always, chose his own successor.

Other than that, most preferred to keep the gods out of it.

She paused briefly, her eyes resting on the golden emblem of Olympus that shone in the center of the screen.

“Frankly, this tournament is the most pointless I’ve ever seen.” She sighed.

“None of the great ones wanted to participate.

Not even Shiva.” Vergil arched an eyebrow, a half-smile forming.

“Shiva refusing a fight?

Now that’s news.” “It was forced,” Paimon said, crossing her arms.

“The celestial council demanded a representative from each major pantheon.

He was reluctant, but eventually relented.

He had no choice.” Vergil gave a slight, humorless, nasal laugh.

“As always,” he commented.

“Gods create their own rules…

and yet they become slaves to them.” Ada rested her chin on his shoulder, her tone soft but curious.

“And what do you think of that?” Vergil kept his gaze fixed on the screen, his blue-gray eyes reflecting the ethereal glow of the projections.

“I think,” he said calmly, “that if the gods are sending their representatives instead of fighting for themselves, it’s because they know they might lose.” A brief silence fell over the room.

Paimon looked away, almost a tired smile on her lips.

“Hmph…” she murmured.

“Always so confident, aren’t you?” Vergil smirked.

“Confidence isn’t the same as arrogance.

I just know what I can do.” Paimon huffed and slumped onto the couch, dropping the holographic papers on the table.

“Okay, okay.

Just try not to kill anyone before the tournament starts, okay?

I still have reports to fill out, and honestly…

I deserve a break.” Vergil slowly ran his fingers through Ada’s hair, never taking his eyes off the screen.

“I promise…

I’ll try.” …

The Garden of Eden remained untouched by time-vast, golden, silent.

The light there came not from the sun, but from the air itself.

Rays of purity shimmered on the translucent leaves of the trees, and the distant sound of celestial choirs echoed like the beating of wings.

In the center of that sacred paradise, a figure of authority walked slowly across the reflecting pool that served as the floor.

The waters lapped beneath her feet-not daring to wet her.

Uriel, Archangel of Purity and Judge of the Eternal Flames.

His presence was like a silk-covered blade: graceful, yet sharp enough to split the sky.

Before her, a vast, luminescent structure floated-a circle of celestial runes forming a sort of ethereal table.

Names, faces, and dates of creation alternated rapidly, projected by the will of Heaven.

She sighed, a sigh too heavy for a being of her nature.

“Less than a hundred years of existence…” she murmured, running her finger over the projection.

“And yet, they must represent the Throne of the Father.” Each word was laced with tension.

Across the table, Sandalphon, the angel of melodies and scribe of Eden, watched her silently.

Unlike her, he seemed calmer-serene, even.

His blue wings folded in perfect composure.

“You’re too worried, Uriel,” he said, his tone almost melodic.

“Youth doesn’t mean weakness.” “It doesn’t mean strength, either,” Uriel replied, his golden eyes staring into the infinite information.

“And if one of them falls before the demons or the gods?

What will that say about Heaven?” Sandalphon smiled faintly.

“It will say that, for once, Heaven dared to trust those who still believe.” Uriel closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

With each beat of his translucent wings, a light shower of golden particles fell around him.

He gestured-and the panel expanded, showing dozens of young angels.

Each face reflected newly awakened innocence and power, but also inexperience.

“Many of them have yet to wield a sword,” Uriel said quietly.

“Some have never even flown outside the gates of Eden.” Sandalphon tilted his head.

“And yet…

they are the only ones who fit the rules.” The Father was clear: “New wings for a new era.” Uriel remained silent.

The weight of divine command was something even she dared not question.

With another gesture, two images appeared in the projection.

The first-a young woman with silver eyes and wings as white as the glow of morning clouds.

Seraphina, the Sword of Dawn.

Created only 87 years ago.

Loyal, disciplined…

but emotionally unstable.

The second-a young man with a calm expression, golden hair almost white, and wings with shades of gray.

Caelum, the Guardian of Silence.

Created 93 years ago.

High in power, but overly questioning.

Uriel watched them for a long time, the reflection of heavenly light dancing in his eyes.

“The Sword and Silence…” he murmured.

“A fitting symbol for Heaven, I suppose.” Sandalphon gave a small laugh, echoing like distant bells.

“Or a harbinger of chaos, if they disagree with you.” Uriel slowly raised her gaze, and the air around her seemed to heat-the tension emanating from her was almost palpable.

“If they disagree… they will learn the meaning of obedience.” She touched the seal of approval.

The two images lit up, seared with the golden fire of divine authority.

“It is decided,” he said firmly.

“Seraphina and Caelum will represent the Father’s Throne in the Celestial Tournament.” Sandalphon bowed slightly, a sign of respect.

“May Eden guide them…” Uriel, however, remained motionless.

His gaze lost in the horizon of Eden-where the pure brilliance of the sky touched the boundaries of infinity.

“May He be right,” he murmured, barely audible.

“For if they fail… all Heaven will fall in shame.”