Hades's shadow silently loomed over Hecate.
In her workshop, filled with strange magical materials and ancient scrolls, Hades's figure solidified in the flickering candlelight, his cold temperature making the air freeze.
Hecate was leisurely reclining on a soft velvet divan, her fingertips tracing dark purple light, inscribing new spells into a heavy grimoire.
Her apprentice, Medea, respectfully stood aside, carefully handing her the magical ink and special quills she needed.
The workshop was filled with a mix of herbs and starlight dust, creating a calm and focused academic atmosphere.
However, Hades's appearance instantly shattered this tranquility.
His cold gaze glided over Hecate's relaxed demeanor.
It seemed the previous punishment was still too lenient; she had completely failed to learn her lesson!
"Hecate."
Hades's voice was not loud, but it struck the silent floor of the workshop like a cold chain, making Medea tremble with fear, and even the magical radiance at Hecate's fingertips flickered.
Hecate looked up and saw Hades's emotionless yet terrifying face. Her heart skipped a beat, and a sinister premonition arose within her.
She forced a strained smile: "Your Majesty, King of Hades? What wind brings you to my humble workshop?"
Hades ignored her pleasantries and directly announced his verdict, as if stating that the waters of the Styx were flowing:
"Considering your 'outstanding contributions' and 'abundant energy' in the affairs of the Underworld, from now on, your workload will be increased fivefold. At the same time, Catia's duties of managing lost souls, and Charon's work of ferrying the dead across the Styx, will be temporarily taken over by you."
He paused, looked at Hecate's instantly frozen smile, and added the most crucial phrase, one that precisely hit her pain point: "Until you complete these new duties to my satisfaction, all your personal research time is cancelled."
The blood drained from Hecate's face in an instant, and the magical quill in her hand fell onto the book with a 'click', splattering a few drops of ink.
Five times the work?
Having to also perform the duties of managing wailing souls and braving the cold wind on the Styx?
And most importantly—cancel all personal research!
This was even harsher than throwing her into Tartarus!
For Hecate, conducting magical research was her lifeblood!
"No! Your Majesty! Wait!" Hecate nearly jumped up, forgetting all decorum, and rushed towards Hades, her face full of panic and bewilderment.
"Why? Lately, I've kept to myself: teaching Medea, compiling grimoires, hardly ever leaving my home! What have I done to anger you? You can't do this!"
She defended herself enthusiastically, even raising her hand to swear an oath: "I swear by the name of Hecate, I am absolutely not involved in any conspiracy! If you don't believe me, look into my memory! I voluntarily submit to an inspection to prove my innocence!"
Her green eyes were full of sincere confusion and grievance, and it didn't look like a lie at all.
However, Hades simply looked at her coldly, as if his gaze could penetrate her soul and see through all her past 'little movements'.
"No need," Hades's voice didn't waver in the slightest.
"It doesn't matter if you are innocent this time."
His words were like a final judgment:
"The debts you owed before have not yet been cleared."
What's more—
"And," Hades turned, his figure beginning to fade, leaving only his final words, which sent Hecate falling into an ice cave, clearly echoing in the workshop.
"I think your distress is reason enough."
As soon as the words were spoken, Hades's figure vanished, leaving only the stunned Medea and Hecate, who wanted to cry but had no tears left, in the workshop.
"Ma... Master?" Medea called out timidly.
Suddenly, Hecate came to her senses. She looked at the mountains of blank scrolls before her, and then recalled the days she had wanted to go to the banks of the Styx to feel the wind and listen to the wails of the dead, and her personal research... postponed indefinitely...
"Aaaaah——!" A cry of grief and indignation finally tore from Hecate's throat, echoing for a long time in the magical workshop.
"What in the world did I do wrong?! Hades, you tyrant! Dictator! Unreasonable bastard!!"
She waved her arms, the sleeves of her magical robe causing a chaotic vortex of magic, making the scrolls clatter.
Medea shrank her neck in fear, trying to minimize her presence as much as possible.
Amidst this chaos, a cold voice interrupted Hecate's wails:
"I haven't left yet..."
Hecate's waving hand froze in mid-air, and her angry expression froze, replaced by a mix of extreme terror and the despair of being 'finished'.
Her neck turned like a rusty gear, slowly rotating towards the source of the sound.
He saw that Hades's figure had not completely disappeared, but had re-condensed in a shadowy corner of the workshop, even more substantial than before.
Those deep eyes looked at her without emotion, as if watching a fool about to be thrown into the deepest part of Tartarus.
"..." Hecate's lips trembled, but she couldn't utter a word.
She felt her blood run cold all over her body.
Hades slowly took a step forward, the shadows spreading.
He looked at the grieving Hecate and clearly spat out the cruel phrase:
"Ten times."
These two words were like the falling hammer of a final verdict, striking heavily into Hecate's heart.
The workload increased from fivefold to a tenfold increase.
This meant she would be in the company of endless paperwork and wailing ghosts for hundreds or even thousands of years, saying goodbye to her beloved magical research.
Hecate's legs gave way, and if Medea hadn't quickly stepped forward to support her, she would have nearly collapsed to the ground.
She opened her mouth, wanting to beg for mercy, but found she couldn't utter a sound, only boundless regret and despair—not regret for what she had done, but for having to curse cheaply when the cautious King of Hades hadn't gone far!
Hades indifferently glanced at Hecate, who had completely lost her life force.
This time, his figure truly disappeared, as if dissolving into the shadows.
At the same time, at the Styx ferry, Charon, who was preparing to pole his boat, watched in astonishment as Hades's oracle unfolded before him, informing him that he was temporarily on leave and that Hecate would take over the ferry.
The old ferryman was stunned for a moment, and then a nearly ecstatic smile appeared on his wrinkled face.
He put down his oars, hummed a running tune, and slowly headed towards the depths of Hades, ready to enjoy this sudden vacation.
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