The castle only became more grand as the Ebon Blade and its wielder approached it. Though it did not shrink away from them, its walls grew more substantial and its towers grew taller. With that increasing grandeur, though, also came increasing suffering. As the city grew and the crowds increased, the blade saw more and more poverty, including limbless and occasionally deformed beggars. It didn’t pay them much attention as it entered the largest building in the city.

-11 Life Force.

It kept walking and kept expecting someone to stop it, but strangely, no one did. Instead of stopping, doors were opened, and occasionally people even bowed to its wielder as if it were someone important. The surprised the blade, but not as much as when the footman outside asked for its name to announce it before it entered.

“Baraga,” it rumbled.

That was not its name, of course. It considered using Warbringer, but its wielder was an infernal creation, and so there was a small chance that someone would have heard of it. There was no recognition at the announcement of its first wielder’s name, either, though, and as it marched into the lavish throne room, the only thing that barred its way was the men in line before it, passionately laying out some petty case before a bored-looking king.

When the man on the throne saw the blade, though, he perked up and quickly settled the issue. Then, he welcomed the blade’s wielder and asked, “What can I do for one who has traveled so far?”

That was a surprise. In its entire time in hell, this was the first person, demon, or damned soul that had shown it the slightest bit of difference, which it supposed made sense for someone called the Penitant.

-9 Life Force.

“How do you know how far I’ve traveled?” the blade asked through the metal mouth of its wielder.

“I well, I can’t exactly,” the king admitted, “It's more like I can see the weight of your soul… the whole world bends around you, like you’re a demon prince all on your own.”

The blade had noticed such a thing. Even though it hid its power quite effectively with Aethershroud, the sheer power of the souls that churned within its soul gem distorted the world around it to a minor degree. The blade had been aware of it, but it didn’t think anyone else was.

That’s going to be a problem,

it told itself. Instead of addressing that point, the weapon said, “I have been forced to slay several other demon princes on my way here, and it is my hope that you will not force me to do that again. All I seek is some information from you, the Penitent, and then I will be on my way.”

The king was silent for several seconds, then, before he answered, “The Penitent rules this city, it’s true, but I am not he, and the Last City is not a place where the powerful are given thrones.”

“Then what is it?” its wielder asked. The blade’s tone was one of mild exasperation, but the metal man who spoke the words was monotone as ever.

“It is a place for the prideful to come to grips with their lives and find humility,” the King answered. “I was… I wasn’t a good man, but I lived my life in the gutter. The same is true of all the nobles within these walls. Those who toil for us were once the lords of the land, and now they are tormented in the same way they once tormented others.”

“An inversion then,” the blade answered, not particularly surprised by the concept. It didn’t think it was particularly clever, or even hellish, but it cared nothing for hierarchy and little for pride, so it was probably even more blind to those things than it had been to emotional suffering until recently.

“Yes, exactly,” the King continued. “Until they see the error of their ways, and transcend their sin. Only then can they move on.”

“I see,” the blade answered, even though it didn’t really. “Tell me where I may find the Penitent then, and I will be on my way.”

“I…” the king paused, lost for words. “The master of this circle is not someone you can just visit. He will find you when it is time.”

“But I was told to seek him out,” the weapon protested through its borrowed mouth.

“As are we all,” the King nodded, “and we will find them in due course, when we are ready. Then we will be allowed to leave and continue on our way.”

“Allowed?” the Ebon Blade rankled at the word. “Why would you need to be allowed? Just walk back out the gate and start up the slope. You can leave whenever you like, can’t you?”

“That way leads only back into the jungle,” the King answered. “Only madness lies in that direction.”

-7 Life Force.

That's all that can be found here, too, the blade said silently to itself. A king that doesn’t rule, proud nobles crawling through the dirt, and entrances that apparently can’t be exits. I suppose I should be grateful that this insanity hasn’t taken a turn toward violence.

Well, violence wouldn’t have been so bad. If the King called for its head, it would gladly cut down every one of these demon guards. That wouldn’t be a challenge. The concern was what strange powers this Penitent person might have. If it were anything like the demon prince of the fifth circle, then being blindsided would be exceptionally dangerous.

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“So I may leave, just not through the north gate, but even if I do, you won’t let me reach the volcano?” The blade asked, trying to better understand the pretender's angle. The man didn’t have a shred of nobility in either bearing or manner.

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all,” the King answered hastily. “Neither I nor any of my men… no one in the Last City will stop you. We wouldn’t dream of interfering in your business, Sir. Baraga, it’s just that… well, the city won’t let you go. Not until your soul is unburdened and you have spoken with the Penitent. I can’t change that, I swear I would if I could, but no one can.”

“So I can go anywhere I want, but the city won’t let me leave?” the blade’s wielder asked. “Does that happen? Being allowed to leave?”

“More often than you’d think, but it’s still a rarity,” the king agreed. “Regardless, you can do whatever you like, and if I can be of help in any way…”

As the king of this strange place began to act like a toady again, the warbringer spun on its heel, and the blade left the hall. It had heard enough. Rather than leave immediately, though, the blade wandered around the building, seeking to test its boundaries. It was still missing something, and it was going to find out what it was.

-7 Life Force.

No one stopped it, though, and guards as well as courtiers and maids quickly stepped out of its path as it made its way higher and higher into the building. Eventually, it reached the topmost battlement, offering it a fine view of the city, but the weapon found a set of stairs and kept climbing; there was no reason not to.

From the height of the tallest tower, though, the city spread out larger than ever around it. The jungles were still there around the foot of the volcano, and past them, the ocean stretched in every direction. It could even see the burn scar and the section of dead vegetation that stretched around it.

The blade contemplated that patch of desolation for a couple of minutes, appreciating its victory there, hard fought though it was. From this spot, the weapon realized that it could see the fifth, fourth, third, second, and first circles. Well, it could see the magma flowing from the first circle, which was obscured by smoke, but that was close enough. It had almost come all the way through the maze that was hell, and even if the bestial guardian of the second circle lurked somewhere on that mountain, the blade was confident it could run up it in a day.

Eventually, its gaze shifted to the northern gate, though. As the King of the Last City had told it, it was shut, though it did not seem any larger or more heavily guarded than the southern gate it had entered previously. Even if it had been, there didn’t seem to be a reason it couldn’t leap over it or cut through it.

-4 Life Force.

And if some magic prevents me, why couldn't I just leave through the south gate, then walk around this place, and continue on to the center of hell?

For a moment, it was tempted to do just that. It could leap to the ground from here without taking much damage. If it distorted space, it could be free of this place in two or three jumps without the need to gain the Penitent’s blessing, but it refrained. Instead, it looked around the city at the tens of thousands of them milling about.

Every one of them was a prince or a lord, it thought to itself as it looked down on them. King Paralon would have ended up here without doubt if I hadn’t stolen his soul for my own. I wonder what he would have ended up doing if the highest truly became the lowest. Would he have been a beggar perhaps?

The blade could see a handful of them in each of the market squares, and a few more on every street. Though the Last City was idyllic as far as hell went, from up here it was clear that a great many of the souls were suffering and being shamed for it.

“That’s hardly suffering, though,” it said to itself as it recalled the damned souls in the jungle, or the ones that drifted in eternal sorrow in the ocean.

-3 Life Force.

Still, it was a fitting place, and a fitting day to finally unburden itself of one soul it had clung to for too long. The blade’s gaze turned inward, to the heart of its soul gem, where a few bright souls still lingered, and there the blade demanded, “Why would you do this, to me, and to your own daughter?”

For a long time, the blade had thought that it would ask him who else was responsible for the Butchery of Baraga’s soul. The question might not even have been in vain, given that some of the Aetherarchs had lived long past their natural limits, but something in the blade had changed since it had taken this life.

Was it dwelling amidst the sorrow of others for months or years? The blade asked itself, or was it just the pointless violence and horror it faced down here?

The blade loved violence, but save for a couple of fights like the Bug Queen, there was no joy or skill involved. It was simply striking down the disgusting and enduring the unendurable, and the blade cared for neither. It wanted nothing more than to fight stronger opponents, but cutting a wide and bloody swath to reach them was nearly as distasteful as the toxic blood and poisoned flesh of demons.

The blade might be conflicted about that, but not about this, and as King Paralon’s gossamer soul shredded at its touch, the King told it everything that he could, but none of it really eased the weapon’s disquiet. It had expected excuses and justifications and it found those in droves. The King was willing to argue about how everything he’d done was for the greater good, even when it came to sacrificing his daughter to replicate some of the magic they’d learned from the forging of the black blade.

“You… Baraga, whoever,” the king blathered. “You weren’t summoned to this world to fight one measly dragon. You were summoned to slay the Prime Evil, as it was stated in the prophecy, but I took one look at you and knew you’d never be able to do such a thing. So, even as I promised my daughter’s hand to him, err, you, I made a pact with the mages. They promised me that if you couldn’t fully use your own strange leveling magics, then they would produce a vessel that could.”

The blade scoffed at that but said nothing, not even after he said something similar to justify the existence of the Golden Throne. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse, at least not until it came to the Golden Throne and what it had done to the King. Then his only sadness took the form of self-pity as he'd been used for centuries by the device he’d sacrificed so much to create.

He didn’t seem to feel like his own personal sacrifice was nearly as justified as Baraga’s or Princess Roselli’s had been. As much as the blade appreciated the man’s brazen explanations up until now, this was the part it enjoyed the most. As he explained exactly what he’d done to justify all those years of stolen immortality, the blade watched golden chains thread through his soul.

By the end of the explanation, the King had been reduced to little more than a very expensive puppet, a fate that the Black Blade had only narrowly avoided. Still, before the ghost of the man had time to curse the blade rather than thank it for ending his enslavement and severing those golden chains, he disappeared into the ether, leaving the weapon little better than where it had started.

-1 Life Force.

Still, its soul felt slightly more at peace after that. If this was the city where the Prideful fell, then it was fitting that the weapon finally see things from the King’s perspective here, and as it went down the stairs, to the city below, its black heart felt a little lighter. It was surrounded by demons here, but that didn’t mean it needed to become a devil as well.