After successfully moving Grigg to tears and securing his wholehearted investment in the new technology, Orsaga strolled down the street feeling like his demonic life was suddenly bathed in sunshine. Walking along the broad avenues of the city, his back didn't hurt, his legs weren't sore, and even beating a few useless passersby to death felt like child's play—effortless and satisfying.
But soon, he noticed something odd.
Looking around, he realized that most of the passersby barely reached his waist in height. It gave him the uncomfortable sensation of wandering into the Dwarven Kingdom. From his vantage point, he even had the urge to kick them like soccer balls.
After some thought, he decided to shrink his height a little—down to around two meters.
Not too tall, not too short.
He glanced around and nodded with approval. "Mm, this height feels just right."
Orsaga wasn't entirely sure how other demons matured physically, but for himself, his strength had always been proportional to the size of his true body. At the rate he was growing, reaching several hundred meters tall in the future didn't seem out of the question.
He hadn't been wandering for long when a public notice plastered across the walls caught his attention.
---
[WAR BULLETIN]
Noble Demon Lord, The master of the Lava Wastelands, Lord Ignarok, is currently waging a planar war against the world of Myling. He intends to sink the entire realm and deliver it into the embrace of the Great Abyssal Will. To this end, we are recruiting wild demons to join the invasion and expand the spatial rift. We provide coordinates and teleportation services. You only need to pay either:
30% of your total loot from the war, or 10 souls from beings of your equivalent rank (this option requires payment before teleportation).
---
After reading the notice, Orsaga stroked his chin thoughtfully.
'This deal sounded pretty decent.'
Because it wasn't a summoning, there were no contracts or obligations binding him. And since demon lord was taking the brunt of the enemy world's counterattack, free-roaming demons like him could let loose without worrying about hiding in the shadows or playing it safe.
Native powerhouses and world suppression were the two things demons loathed most. But with a boss tanking all the aggro? Way less pressure.
As for giving up 30% of his loot?
Out of the question.
A demon aiming to make it big would never agree to such terms. But ten souls from same-rank beings? That, he could manage. Most same-rank creatures were trash in his eyes. He was confident he could take ten of them down with one hand.
But then another issue came to mind.
'For a demon lord who ruled a layer of the Abyss to recruit wild outsiders like this, the target plane must be crawling with powerful beings. If Ignarok's own demon army weren't taking heavy casualties, there's no way he'd let others share the spoils. After all, why share the meat when you can keep it in the family?'
'Should I go or not…?'
Orsaga, suffering from decision paralysis, fell into deep thought.
After some intense deliberation, he turned to the tried-and-true, scientifically backed method—
Guessing odd or even!
Odd: go.
Even: don't go.
He reached out casually and grabbed a random bystander.
The unlucky soul stood about 2.1 meters tall, had a squid-like head, and two pairs of colorful chicken wings growing out of his back. Despite being similar in height, Orsaga lifting him by the neck made it look like he was holding a baby chick.
Naturally, the deep abyss creature tried to resist. But it was pointless.
Orsaga had only used a tenth of his strength and nearly snapped his neck clean off. Realizing he was one squeeze away from decapitation, the fellow wisely gave up and flashed a bright, bootlicking smile.
"Is there anything I can do for you?, sir"
Able to bend or stand tall depending on the situation—that's how you survive.
Be stubborn, and you'll end up bone meal.
Ignoring the terrified look on the guy's face (and the fact he was about to piss himself), Orsaga asked seriously:
"How many teeth do you have?"
"?"
Caught off guard by such a bizarre question, the squid-headed creature froze.
'I think I have three layers of teeth… but how many per layer…?'
In all his centuries of life, this was the first time he'd ever tried to count his own teeth.
As the guy struggled to recall the number, Orsaga frowned in displeasure.
'Really? Even this simple question required thinking?'
With a snap of his wrist—smack!
A crisp slap rang out.
The guy's teeth exploded from his mouth like fireworks, scattering in all directions.
Before the teeth even hit the ground, Orsaga had already finished counting.
"Odd. I'm going."
Satisfied with the answer, he casually tossed aside his one-time-use divination tool.
He didn't care about the trauma he'd left behind in the poor guy's heart. With a relaxed expression, he headed straight for the recruitment center mentioned in the notice.
---
Recruitment Center
Wiping fresh blood from his hands, Orsaga pushed open the door.
The scene that greeted him: severed limbs and pools of what could maybe be blood, scattered everywhere.
At the center of the room sat a bloated demon, oozing strange pus all over, who was casually gorging himself on skewers of roasted meat.
Orsaga raised an eyebrow at the sight.
He bent down, grabbed a few broken bones off the floor, and quickly fashioned them into a crude chair. Setting it beside the table, he sat down as if it were his own living room.
Only then did he speak up to the pus-covered demon still devouring food:
"I want to join this planar war."
The demon didn't even look up as he tossed Orsaga an eyeball.
"Take this. When you're ready, activate it. It'll lead you to the teleportation array."
He continued munching, seemingly in excellent spirits.
Orsaga caught the eyeball and gave it a brief inspection.
It was both a simplified teleportation tool and a signed Abyssal contract. As long as someone signed the contract, the teleportation authority would activate.
As he skimmed through the contract terms, the pudgy demon didn't seem to care. He casually handed Orsaga a skewer.
"Hungry? Want a bite?"
Orsaga took one glance and immediately declined, "No thanks."
It was clearly grilled intestines—and there were still droppings stuck to it.
Hard pass.
The fat demon looked visibly disappointed, sighing as he withdrew the offering.
"Tch, no taste. This stuff is delicacy level, and you're turning it down?"
Then, without hesitation, he stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, face full of bliss.
"…I'll be going now."
Facing a being who could devour feces with such enthusiasm, Orsaga felt a rare flicker of admiration—but also a healthy amount of fear. He made a mental note to never mess with this guy.
The fat demon didn't care in the slightest that Orsaga was leaving and kept right on feasting. His job was simple: weed out the weak. Demons who weren't strong enough were worthless. They'd just die like cannon fodder, wave after wave. What he really wanted were demons like Orsaga—ones powerful enough to cause serious trouble for the enemy.
___
T/N:
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