A little over ten minutes later, a luxurious carriage drawn by four pure-white horses, its top adorned with several fluttering banners, came to a halt at the entrance.
Accompanied by the lady butler and two beautiful maids, Orsaga stepped up into the carriage.
The interior was not only lavishly decorated but also incredibly spacious—enough to comfortably seat five or six people.
However, while Orsaga lounged casually, the other three sat on their knees respectfully at his side, visibly restrained and reserved.
He didn't mind. With a calm voice, he instructed the coachman, "No destination in particular. Just take a random stroll."
Peering through the curtain-covered windows at the faint traces of blood along the roadside, Orsaga—for once—wasn't thinking about anything. No spells, no strategies, no plans.
He simply enjoyed the scenery around him—a landscape that bore a strong resemblance to a medieval Western city from his previous life.
As a kingdom with millennia of history in a world of magic, the royal capital of the Mardain was undoubtedly far more majestic than any ancient city on Earth. Its towering city walls stood nearly twenty-five meters high, the streets were neatly paved and regularly cleaned—nothing like the filth-ridden, excrement-strewn medieval cities of Earth.
Culturally and civilizationally, this world had a significant edge over Earth's past. But when it came to technology, progress had been severely stifled by the dominance of supernatural forces and the power structures built around them. Even after seven or eight thousand years, the world had only just barely reached a level equivalent to Earth's Renaissance period.
But now that signs of advancement were beginning to appear, Orsaga could already foresee a future where technology would rise and suppress the influence of the supernatural.
After all, the supernatural system in this world was fundamentally limited by the low concentration of ambient energy. It simply didn't have the power to absolutely dominate mortals. Once knowledge and resources were grasped by the masses, those so-called "extraordinary beings" would no longer be able to control the tide of history. They would be reduced to mere grains of sand swept along in the current.
Personally, Orsaga held no particular prejudice or admiration for technology. However, from a pragmatic standpoint, he acknowledged that the technological path, particularly in its early stages, was more accessible than the path of magic—primarily because of the advantage of collective brainstorming by large groups.
The supernatural route prioritized individual talent and innate ability.
If you had it, you had it. If you didn't, then no amount of effort could change your fate. A single magical formula could yield wildly different results in different hands, making widespread standardization virtually impossible.
Technology, by contrast, didn't care who you were. A mathematical formula remained the same regardless of one's personal aptitude. At most, it depended on intelligence and understanding, not inborn gifts.
From the standpoint of universal accessibility, technology clearly had the upper hand.
Even the Abyss wasn't devoid of technological development. In fact, Orsaga's inherited memories included knowledge of nuclear-powered demons and biomechanical monstrosities. Gun-wielding demons going pew! pew! pew! wasn't as absurd as it sounded.
Of course, the technological route had one major drawback when it came to dimensional travel: the base laws of different worlds could vary drastically, leading to computational errors or complete breakdown of technological systems. If you were lucky, it just meant your gadgets wouldn't work for a while. If you were unlucky... you might disintegrate on the spot from being rejected by the world itself.
For instance, a physical formula that produced a power output of 1 in World A might produce 15 in World B—something entirely unacceptable for precision-based tech.
So while piloting a spaceship through the multiverse sounded exciting, one small miscalculation could lead to a catastrophic crash before you even left your home base.
Only those standing at the pinnacle of scientific civilizations had the power to override the fundamental laws of other worlds, allowing them to colonize at will and turn the multiverse into their personal pasture.
While Orsaga, thanks to the system, had the means to pursue such a path, he simply wasn't interested.
Why bother building a whole society or running a tech empire, especially in the chaotic, lawless Abyss? Just imagining the effort needed to climb the tech tree in such a hellhole made him feel exhausted.
And let's face it, his charming fellow demons weren't exactly the kind to give him time to "slowly develop." Compared to that, the path of brute strength and magic—blasting obstacles out of the way—just made more sense.
As the carriage meandered through the streets of the capital, curious glances from passersby frequently landed on them.
Yet not a single person was foolish enough to cause trouble. In fact, the crowd was overly polite, hastily stepping aside in deference to the royal banners mounted atop the carriage.
Bored, Orsaga leaned on his hand and stared lazily through the curtains, observing the mundane spectacle of the crowd passing by.
'Ugh... I really feel like picking a fight,' he thought with a sigh.
Noticing Orsaga's expression, the lady butler hesitated, then respectfully suggested in a soft voice, "My lord, would you like to visit the Zenith Club or the Beast Arena? These are the most popular spots among the nobility here in the capital."
The Zenith Club was the finest establishment in the city, known for its refined environment and high-end service staff—women from once-prominent families who had fallen on hard times. Compared to common streetwalkers, they were leagues apart in both appearance and education. Typically, only nobles and wealthy merchants could afford their company.
The Beast Arena, on the other hand, was the capital's most barbaric form of entertainment, akin to the Roman Colosseum. Death-row prisoners and slaves were forced to fight to the death for the amusement of the crowd. It was brutal, primal, and extremely popular. Nobles and commoners alike bet heavily on the matches—many lost everything.
After a brief moment of thought, Orsaga said, "Take me to the Beast Arena. I have no interest in the Zenith Club. If I need that kind of thing, you lot are more than enough."
Demons weren't exactly known for caring about fidelity. But thanks to lingering instincts from his previous life as a human, Orsaga had something of a mental cleanliness about these things—a possessive streak, even. The idea of "public resources for private use" didn't appeal to him at all. And really, if he ever wanted company, what were the butler and maids for?
They had been personally selected by Jaemar himself. Their quality was unquestionable.
The lady butler blushed at his words but didn't protest. Though her status was far above that of a commoner, she had no power to defy her master—everything she had came from Orsaga. She'd long since come to terms with this.
As a woman—especially a beautiful one—she knew exactly what her greatest advantage was.
Back when she was selected for butler training, she had prayed more than once to the gods, hoping to serve a kind master.
And Orsaga, with his striking appearance, noble bearing, and the kind of status that even princes went out of their way to flatter, was far beyond anything she had dared hope for.
She often found herself silently thanking the gods for their blessing.
What she didn't know was that if Orsaga ever heard her thoughts, he'd probably laugh and say her gods were either blind or dead—how else could a demon like him sneak in and pretend to be heaven-sent?
---
Not long after, the carriage stopped before a massive marble arch.
Several young male attendants, clad in formal livery, caught sight of the royal banners and the imposing carriage—and immediately tensed up.
Plastering on their best bootlicking smiles, they scrambled to place a small redwood step beside the carriage door.
The door opened.
Orsaga stepped down, glancing briefly at them from above. The butler and maids followed closely, standing respectfully at his sides—clearly marking him as the one in charge.
A slightly chubby, middle-aged man in fine attire quickly approached, smiling warmly.
But when he got a good look at Orsaga's striking, otherworldly appearance—crimson hair, golden irises with red pupils—he froze for half a second.
Even someone as well-traveled as him had never seen such features.
Still, he recovered quickly, putting his professional smile back on. "My lord, welcome. I'm Manan Oates, one of the arena's managers. You seem unfamiliar—perhaps this is your first visit with us?"
Orsaga tilted his head slightly and took a curious sniff. He liked the scent.
"Yeah. Got anything fun to recommend?"
Seeing his interest, Manan became even more enthusiastic. "Ah, I thought I hadn't seen you before—someone as eye-catching as yourself would be hard to forget! You've come at just the right time, my lord. We're about to host a duel between a Arcane Lion and a Captain Knight. Both are premium combatants we acquired at great cost. Each one could take on a hundred men—easily one of our biggest matches of the year!"
Orsaga nodded casually. "Sounds good. Get me the best seat in the house."
"Of course, my lord! However, because this is a major event, the price will be slightly higher—700 gold coins…"
"No problem."
With a wave of his hand, Orsaga gestured for the butler to pay.
As he watched Orsaga being escorted inside by the arena attendants, Manan's smile briefly faltered.
'A half-breed? Or something else?
Let's just hope he doesn't interfere with the plan…'
He had never heard of any humanoid race with features like that. The crimson hair and dragon-like eyes made his skin crawl—just being looked at by him gave off a strange, indescribable feeling.
But with the royal insignia on his carriage and that noble bearing, Manan dared not risk arousing suspicion. He treated Orsaga like he would any other distinguished guest.
--
Walking down the opulent corridor, Orsaga hummed a chilling nursery rhyme—his mood surprisingly light.
'Such a thick scent of sin… it's almost like I'm back in the Abyss. How nostalgic~'
In his eyes, this place existed in two forms.
To the naked eye, it was dazzling, resplendent, steeped in culture and historical depth.
But through his other senses, every inch of it oozed malice. It was as if the floors had been painted with endless blood, the air saturated with resentment that refused to fade, clinging to the very walls.
Even most cult temples didn't reek of evil quite this strongly. This was the result of years—centuries—of accumulated atrocity.
Its wickedness and cruelty reminded Orsaga of his fellow Abyss-dwelling demons... so sincere and unapologetic.
_____
T/N:
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