The sky of the Grey Ruins always maintains the same color, or rather, in this foggy world, all living beings forget the definition of color. Even Lynch's Eye of Insight cannot penetrate the formidable power of this plane. All objects are reduced to mere outlines, devoid of other visual features.

Only when a new devil army arrives at this Nether River dock does a hint of crimson appear, like the only flickering candlelight in a thick fog. Even though it will soon vanish, that red's final flickering moment feels as long as a lifetime to Lynch.

So whenever the devil's army arrives, he rushes to the harbor to warm his eyes with the fleeting sight—even if it's merely the color of evil.

Eryies often watches the mage do this, then whistles idly from the sidelines. Recently quite idle, she enjoys spending her days hiding on the dimensional travel ship. Lynch always restrains the urge to seek refuge there, forcing himself to overcome the feeling of bleakness here. Although the Desire Demon calls this behavior foolish and overambitious, she must admit the mage's spiritual control is growing stronger.

"Eryies, why are you not in a hurry anymore?" Lynch sometimes speaks to the Desire Demon. He's not truly concerned with the answer, but merely wants someone to chat with, even if it's a devil. He'll ask, "Haven't you always wanted my soul? Why not act on it anymore?"

"Darling, one day you'll willingly offer your soul to me," the Desire Demon blinks, her tail swaying back and forth behind her. "Since you're hiding here now and not in any life-threatening danger, why should I hurry?"

"No danger? Dear Desire Demon, are you trying to dull my vigilance?" Lynch stops his work, standing to stretch his limbs. "How many of the items I made did those hags sell yesterday?"

"About 400," Eryies tilts her lips, putting on a look of grievance: "So many of them, yet you expect me to count the number of transactions, it tires me to death. My feet are swollen. Darling, why don't you take a look?"

"If I were as careless as you, I'd happily walk over and take care of your little feet," Lynch shakes his head. "No, those hags must have their own schemes. They always intentionally leave some stock. I give them five hundred, they sell four hundred; give a thousand, sell eight hundred..."

"Your goods are so good, of course they want to keep some. Darling, what are you worried about?" Eryies jumps down from the magic ship, standing upright in front of Lynch. "With time, you might as well care about yourself. I know, you're very lonely..."

Lynch just waves his hand, and the Desire Demon is tossed back into the cabin safely and unscathed. The mage looks at the full basket before him, filled with the "low-quality temporary magic items" he hastily made. He closes his eyes, tapping his chin lightly with his magic wand, muttering to himself: "Those hags clearly know these items become ineffective once they're a certain distance away from me, so why preserve them? It'd make sense to sell them quickly!"

Nevertheless, the days continue to pass. Even though there's no sun or stars to mark time, nor flowers blooming and withering to indicate the changing seasons, there's still a way to express the passage of time. Every so often, dense fog emerges over the Nether River, covering the river's surface like a thick quilt of mist. During that time, no vessel dares to sail in the Nether River, no new soldiers arrive. And so, the hags and devils find little work, opting to rest. Although afraid that when they close their eyes they might never wake—the plane itself can seize souls—Lynch still refers to those moments as nighttime.

When night falls, the entire camp becomes eerily silent, akin to a cemetery on a cold winter's night, where everything is frozen, ghosts alike. Without the usual chaotic activity, the Grey Ruins further reveal themselves to be a place full of despair. Until the mist dissipates, even the devils dare not open their eyes, fearing the sight of such desolation and losing the sliver of ambition they need to survive—that which is their only hope for existence.

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