The next day.
At the very center of the Wizarding World, there lay a place known as the Heart of the World.
Here stood a vast and ancient structure, erected during the first unification of this realm—an era that dates back millions of years. It was more than just a building; it was a symbol of the wizards' authority over this world. Every brick, every stone, carried the weight of endless ages.
Within its walls were etched the soul imprints of countless wizards—some long faded into darkness, others still shining with brilliance.
At the heart of this grand structure—
Dozens of glowing orbs of various colors floated at different heights above an ancient altar.
From the white orb at the highest point came the voice of an old man, aged and solemn:
"Seventeen infiltrators. Eleven killed. Six captured. This alone is what we've confirmed from those sent to the world known as Gaiensar. There may be more, still undetected. Even the weakest of these infiltrators are at the level of a Tier Four wizard. The stronger ones rival Tier Five."
"They wear specialized gear that allows them to greatly evade detection and resist most forms of attack. From what we can tell, their mission is to probe our world for information. This is not only the prelude to a hostile act—it's an outright provocation. We must retaliate."
After he finished, another orb spoke up:
"Were we able to retrieve any concrete data on their civilization from the captives?"
For wizards—who had built their power through conquest—there was no misunderstanding what an infiltration meant. The moment an enemy reached out its hand, peace was no longer on the table. Intelligence-gathering was the bare minimum.
The white orb replied:
"Their souls were encrypted through special methods. Even with our arcane techniques, we were only able to extract fragmented information. As for their physical bodies, most have been biologically modified, likely to throw off analysis. We couldn't even determine their precise race."
None of the others seemed surprised by this.
To be chosen as infiltrators by such a force, these agents had to be well-prepared. The real surprise would have been if they'd yielded useful intelligence so easily.
Still, someone asked, "So, what do we actually know so far?"
"We've confirmed that their civilization is based on a combination of machinery and an extraordinary power called Psionics. In some ways, they resemble the Kaylon Civilization we encountered 177,785 years ago. However, unlike the Kaylon, who focused purely on technology, these people have a robust cultivation system as well. It's hard to say which is more troublesome—but both are formidable."
A previously silent orb in the corner murmured,
"Kaylon… weren't those the silicon-based beings who had overwhelming numbers and devastating weapons? That war left our Wizarding World battered. If you're comparing these new intruders to them, then this is going to be rough."
The orb at the top replied with a trace of resignation,
"Judging by the level of tech used by their infiltrators, they'll be a tough opponent. That's why I've already reached out to the Crimson Void—those information brokers. I asked to purchase any data they might have on the Gaiensar Civilization. No reply yet. Not sure if they have anything."
Someone else interjected,
"Well, since they've already revealed their hostility, and seem more dangerous than average, let's sound the alarm. Prepare for full-scale war."
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
"…"
Seeing that his colleagues were in unanimous agreement, the topmost orb said no more, silently approving the decision.
And just like that, in less than five minutes, the Wizarding World reached a global consensus for wartime mobilization.
From start to finish, not a single soul hesitated in the face of the unknown.
No one questioned the cost.
They all understood one simple truth: when a ravenous beast shows its teeth, there is no room for negotiation. Until fists are thrown, peace is an illusion. So a fight was inevitable.
Whether the enemy was strong or not—that wasn't their concern.
After all, the Wizarding World had survived for millions of years. What challenge hadn't they faced?
Until the first blow is struck, no one can truly judge the outcome.
Orders began cascading down the hierarchy.
After years of dormancy, the Wizarding World stirred once more. The gears of war began to grind forward, just as they had hundreds of thousands—even millions—of years ago…
---
But all of this—
Had nothing to do with Orsaga.
Ever since he'd finished eating that roasted lizard head yesterday, Orsaga had resumed his leisurely lifestyle.
As for the memory crystal he had given to Hawthorne—a heavily redacted version—it wasn't really his concern what sort of chaos it might cause.
Whether the Wizarding World or Gaiensar came out on top, Orsaga wouldn't lose either way.
In fact, he loved war.
The lizardmen's psionically-reinforced souls might be a tough puzzle for the wizards to crack—
But Orsaga was a demon.
And demons? They're absolute masters of soulcraft. Gourmet-level experts, even.
Extracting memories? That was a basic, instinctive skill for him.
After spending just a bit of time, he'd managed to retrieve the entire life's worth of memories from that lizardman named Glenva.
He now had a thorough understanding of Gaiensar's civilization.
If he really wanted, he could even use teleportation magic and pretend to be a local over there.
Thanks to this deep dive, he could see it clearly:
The Wizarding World was highly aggressive.
Gaiensar was no less so.
Put the two together, and war was inevitable. That made it all the more delightful for him.
That's exactly why Orsaga, who could've chosen to do nothing, had handed that partial intel to Hawthorne—just enough to put them on alert.
After all, lightning raids are boring.
If you're going to fight, then make it a proper clash between two armies!
A brutal, meat-grinding battle—that's the true demon aesthetic.
As he lazily mused over how epic this war might become, he suddenly sensed a faint ripple of power.
It was subtle, radiating outward from deep within the planet—as if scanning for something. Anything that wasn't native to this world would be flagged.
In response, Orsaga calmly summoned the aura of his Abyssal Contract.
That contract bore the soul imprint of VIP local citizen Hawthorne.
In this moment, that soul imprint was like a good-conduct certificate, loudly declaring: "I'm one of you!" and shielding Orsaga from scrutiny.
So, he remained untouched by the scan—unbothered, unrushed—as he looked up toward the sky.
There, a massive, translucent curtain was descending—like a giant glass dome preparing to envelop the entire world.
He grinned and thought:
"Looks like the Wizarding World's higher-ups aren't wasting time. Breaking out the big stuff already? Yep… they're getting ready to throw down."
___
T/N:
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