It didn't take long.
Due to the small size of the town, Orsaga quickly found his destination.
It was a three-story, old-fashioned building.
There was nothing particularly grand about it—its footprint covered barely half a soccer field. While the facilities were clearly maintained, the visible signs of age couldn't be hidden.
After entering and searching for a bit, Orsaga located a particular bookshelf.
[Derry Town – Historical Records]
Following the chronological order from most recent to oldest, Orsaga soon found the earliest records of the town.
He began reading carefully.
He didn't need proof.
He already knew that the force that had drawn him here was now watching him.
Yet, for reasons unknown, it hadn't revealed itself.
Maybe it was for amusement. Maybe it was bound by certain limitations. Regardless of the reason, Orsaga clearly wasn't the one in control.
So there was no point in overthinking things.
All he could do was quietly prepare for what was to come.
As he read through the book and sensed the faint, tenuous connection between this clone and his true self, a vague premonition began to form.
This incident might implicate his true body—and could even be a matter of life and death.
But Orsaga wasn't surprised or alarmed by that possibility.
He understood very well that in the endless multitude of planes, it was not impossible to cross the barriers between realities and kill a target by following the connection between a clone and its source.
In fact, such events weren't rare at all.
The principle was simple.
As long as one possessed enough power.
Absolute force was often the most direct and effective solution.
And so, even in the face of potential annihilation, Orsaga remained calm, unlike most beings who would be paralyzed by fear.
From the moment he was born, he'd believed that he could kill anyone—and anyone could kill him. It was never about right or wrong. Life and death were simply determined by skill, or the lack thereof.
So, with death possibly looming, he didn't see it as a problem.
Lack of power? Then your survival depends on luck.
In his eyes, that was the natural order of things.
Frustration and resentment? Completely useless.
—
In the Abyss.
Through the fragmented information received from his clone, Orsaga's true body—currently in the middle of a massacre—quickly grasped the general situation.
Ignoring the pleading of a beautiful succubus beside him, he casually ripped out her spine and tossed her corpse away like trash.
Then he stood in place, his expression calm as he fell into thought.
After a brief pause, he made a decision.
Using the brand he shared with Golariel and the others, he sent them something.
It wasn't a backup resurrection plan.
It wasn't anything too precious.
Just resources—items that would help them eventually ascend to the rank of greater demon.
To other greater demons, that might seem like an extravagant gift. But to Orsaga, who was already on the brink of becoming an Archdemon, it wasn't much at all.
Besides, they were just resources.
Whether they could actually break through to Greater Demon rank still depended entirely on their own potential.
It might take a hundred years.
It might take ten thousand.
Or it might never happen at all.
Shortly after the gifts were delivered, a familiar voice came through the Deathblossom Brand.
Golariel.
She asked with concern, "Why did you suddenly send us all this? Aren't you about to ascend soon?"
Based on the time flow of her plane, it had already been a year since she last saw Orsaga.
As a naturally long-lived being, a year wasn't exactly long or short to her.
Still, she missed him deeply.
Feeling the concern in her voice, Orsaga was silent for a moment before replying, "It's fine. I've already stockpiled enough. Those things were just extras."
Hearing that, Golariel beamed and asked excitedly, "So, are you finally going to ascend?"
Having spent time in the Abyss herself, she understood what a demonic advancement meant.
Each stage was a profound metamorphosis, and the difference between ranks only grew more dramatic the further one progressed.
Normally, a Archdemon was already a top-tier predator across the multiverse—an entity that even Demon Lords couldn't ignore.
Even within the Abyss's countless layers, such beings often served as generals, commanding legions of demons.
So at this moment, Golariel was genuinely happy for Orsaga.
To her, his glory was close at hand.
It was as if she could already see him crowned as a true demon lord.
Then came a brief, concise message from Alison via the Deathblossom: "Good luck."
Following that came blessings from Iris, Kayla, and others.
Having never been to the Abyss themselves, they lacked a clear understanding of what an Archdemon truly was. Most of their feelings were vague and only half-formed.
Soon, the topic began to shift.
Because Orsaga had granted them access, the Deathblossom Brand now functioned like a group chat, and the girls quickly began chatting about all sorts of topics at once.
Orsaga, meanwhile, quietly listened to their chatter while submerged in a pool of blood.
Every now and then, he chimed in with a brief reply.
After about ten minutes—
He shifted his attention away from the conversation.
His wings gently unfurled behind him.
With his eyes closed and a faint smile on his lips, he murmured:
"…Reluctant to let go? But in the end, the weak can only accept the outcome. Let's see if my life is tough enough to endure."
With those words, Orsaga took a slow breath.
The air around him, thick with the stench of blood from tens of thousands of corpses, flowed into his lungs.
Through the power of Agony Authority, he could clearly sense all the agony those victims had experienced as he killed them.
The sorrow, confusion, helplessness, hatred, jealousy…
This was what it felt like for the weak to be slain by the strong.
And he had experienced it billions of times—though always from the other side.
Thinking that he might soon get to feel it firsthand, Orsaga was even slightly looking forward to it.
Still, he didn't choose to stand there and wait for fate to play out.
With a twist of his form, he shifted through space and reappeared elsewhere—resuming his slaughter.
In his mind, stockpiling more energy could never be a bad idea.
_____
T/N:
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