As Orsaga finished reviewing the mission world's general overview, the other Purgators began waking up one after another.
The space around them shook twice—
Then, two portals appeared before them.
One was marked [Great Song], and the other, [Great Yuan].
Simple and direct—choose your side and step through the portal.
Orsaga didn't bother to overthink it. It didn't matter to him which side he joined—he wasn't even remotely interested in the story, nor did he need to be.
He simply stepped into the nearest portal—Great Song.
And just like that, he was now "technically" part of the Great Song faction.
If he actually acknowledged the concept of factions, that is.
Seeing him take the lead, the other Purgators cast cautious glances at each other, then began making their own choices, stepping through their preferred portals in small groups.
A few chose to observe first—trying to assess which faction had the stronger Purgators so they could ride the winning side.
Others frantically pulled up notes and archives from their Matrix Purgatory storage, attempting to figure out what this "Battle of Xiangyang" was all about.
Because truth be told, even many Asian players had never heard of this historical event—let alone Westerners.
Who was stronger? Who was weaker?
This world was an amalgamation of over a hundred Wuxia universes. But what exactly was a Wuxia world?
What was the Song Dynasty?
What was the Yuan Dynasty?
The only thing everyone shared was a head full of question marks.
---
Upon exiting the portal—
Orsaga found himself in a simple, wooden room.
The decor was plain, not unlike the old taverns seen in classic Wuxia dramas.
On the bed lay a set of traditional robes—perfect for blending in with the locals.
On the table, a parchment announcement:
---
[Call for Heroes]
I am Lü Wenhuan, commander of Xiangyang's defenses. Recent intelligence reports that the Yuan forces are preparing to invade.
Our reinforcements will not arrive for another ten days. All talented fighters are invited to aid in the defense of the city...
---
As Orsaga finished reading the notice, a system prompt sounded in his mind:
[Faction: Great Song — Secondary Objectives Unlocked]
Secondary Objective: Eliminate Yuan General Wulianha Ashu
Secondary Objective: Eliminate Yuan Elite Fighter Golden Wheel Monk of the Vajra Sect
Secondary Objective: Eliminate Yuan Elite Fighter Demon Sect Operative
…and more.
Upon seeing these, Orsaga instantly deduced what the Yuan-side Purgators' objectives would be: kill the Song side's major figures.
These "secondary objectives" were little more than assassination hit lists.
Occasionally there'd be a task that didn't involve arson or murder, but that was rare.
Just then, another system message appeared:
---
[Aesthetic anomaly detected on the Purgator's appearance. Mask features for local NPCs?]
(This will not affect other Purgators.)
[Decline / Accept]
__
[Decline]
Orsaga knew exactly what they meant by "aesthetic anomaly": his silver-white hair and crimson eyes.
That kind of look was conspicuous even in modern times. In ancient times, it was only a step below wearing a dragon robe in public.
But Orsaga had never once cared about other people's opinions.
As far as he was concerned, disguising his race was already the most he was willing to do.
"Blending in" was simply not in his vocabulary. If anyone has a problem with it—come fight me.
With that arrogant attitude, he walked straight out the door in a pure white suit, completely ignoring the period setting.
The moment he stepped out, the young inn servant carrying a teapot nearly dropped it in shock.
It was like spotting an alien walking through town.
His entire appearance—from the silvery hair to the scarlet pupils, from the immaculate white suit to the spotless white leather shoes—was completely foreign and jarringly out of place.
The servant was so stunned, he forgot how to think, staring blankly at Orsaga.
Orsaga paid him no mind and casually hummed a tune as he descended the stairs.
Someone sitting in the dining area, halfway through chewing a mouthful of noodles, noticed a flash of white out of the corner of his eye.
He turned to look—and froze.
His chewing stopped.
His mind blanked.
Ten seconds passed before he realized he hadn't even been breathing.
---
As Orsaga strolled through the street, countless citizens' worldviews were immediately shattered.
They had never known a human could look so perfect—nor clothes so blindingly pristine.
Compared to his suit, jade was practically dull.
The crowd following Orsaga began to grow, soon drawing the attention of local guards.
Not long after, a small patrol squad dressed in armor and armed with long blades intercepted him.
But once they got a good look at Orsaga's appearance, they were just as stunned.
It was instantly obvious why a crowd had formed.
Orsaga casually tossed a small gold ingot to a street vendor and picked up a candied hawthorn skewer. As he did, he lazily addressed the guards:
"Is there a problem?"
His tone was flat—calm and unbothered. His demeanor exuded confidence and composure, as if it were only natural for him to be superior.
Just by speaking, he gave off an undeniable aura of arrogance—like a god descending from the clouds to speak with mortals. Even deigning to walk the earth seemed like a gift.
Not for a second did he acknowledge that his actions had stirred up a scene.
Because in his mind, whatever he did was always right.
If there was a problem, then clearly the world—or everyone else—was wrong.
The captain of the guards felt as if he were kneeling in the imperial court, awaiting an audience with the emperor—or worse.
Orsaga's emotionless crimson gaze regarded him the way one might glance at a speck of dust.
It wasn't even disdain—it was pure indifference.
The captain's forehead began to sweat, and his legs trembled slightly.
After stammering for a moment, he swallowed hard and forced a respectful smile:
"...No problem at all."
Receiving his answer, Orsaga didn't even bother acknowledging him further. He resumed his casual walk through the street, not caring in the slightest that a growing crowd was tailing him like curious villagers gawking at an alien.
One of the guards leaned in and whispered to the captain:
"Isn't this a bit… off? He looks really suspicious..."
"You just said it—he's way too suspicious!" the captain snapped, slapping him on the back of the head.
"You think the other guards are blind? Of course they noticed too!"
He turned to his squad and barked:
"We saw nothing. You hear me? Nothing!. Let someone else deal with this mess!"
He didn't know who Orsaga was, but even just thinking about it, his instincts screamed:
"Do. Not. Mess. With. Him."
That wasn't a look or aura a commoner could pull off.
That was a storm in human form.
'I'm just a humble guard. I saw nothing…'
He repeated the mantra in his mind a few times, then quickly led his squad away from the street.
As if nothing had happened at all.
As if Orsaga had never passed through.
No one dared interfere—not with someone who radiated that kind of pressure.
They dipped. Quietly.
And they were absolutely right to do so.