Seven days later.
On a massive island situated at the very center of the plane.
This island served as a central hub for the entire realm, containing the highest concentration of teleportation arrays and ships anywhere on the plane.
Historically, it had always been the shared stronghold of the Three Great Churches, each of which represented the mortal influence of one of the three major divine pantheons.
Given their close proximity, friction among the three factions was inevitable.
Most of the time, their conflicts were subtle—outwardly cordial, inwardly hostile. But with enough people and enough years, the occasional scandal or power struggle was inevitable.
In the shadows, schemes, betrayals, and manipulations had been ongoing for centuries.
Religious conflict, political maneuvering, and personal ambition played out like a timeless tragedy—restaged again and again, every few years like clockwork.
Because, after all, everyone has their own interests to protect. Peaceful coexistence? That was a fantasy.
But now…
For the first time in history, the island had achieved total unity.
The long-standing factional disputes were over.
After all, the leaders of every faction… were dead.
Only a handful of clever survivors remained—those wise enough to abandon sinking ships and cling to new masters.
And with no one left to stir the pot, peace came swiftly.
All it had cost… was three-quarters of the island's population.
Truly, a major step forward for both peace and forced peace.
---
At that moment, the five Greater-Rank Demons, including Orsaga, were seated in the grand central council chamber once used by the Three Great Churches.
They were waiting for the president of the Chloroya merchant guild, who was scheduled to discuss a matter of significant importance with them.
The chamber's once-pure white walls—once adorned with blessings, prayers, and murals representing regional cultures and divine worship—had since been defiled.
Now, only dried, rust-colored bloodstains remained.
Jagged and chaotic, the splatters covered every surface like wild brushstrokes.
The blood hadn't been cleaned. And that, to the demons present, was just right.
They found this décor far more pleasing than any so-called art.
After all, their tastes were straightforward—nothing energized them like the scent of blood in the air.
---
A few minutes passed.
Then a wet crunching sound began echoing through the chamber.
Everyone turned to see the fat demon pulling dried corpses from the ceiling and munching on them like jerky.
One of the other Greater-Rank Demons frowned. "Hey! Those are my decorations! Why are you eating them?!"
This demon prided himself on his artistic sensibilities.
He considered himself a cultured, elegant, aesthetically gifted Abyssal Demon.
One of his hobbies was arranging the corpses of his victims into "artistic" displays—carefully posing them just so, like sculptures.
As the one responsible for conquering this island, the council chamber was one of his galleries.
The materials, of course, had been personally selected—high quality.
Like, say… the Popes of the Three Great Churches.
Now, watching his nth masterpiece get chewed like a snack, he was deeply offended.
But the fat demon looked baffled.
"What? Decorations?
I thought this was spicy dried meat?"
He chewed a few more bites and nodded with confidence.
"Yep—definitely spicy. It's jerky."
The offended demon instantly exploded.
"I'm an artist, you uncultured swine! You dare call my work jerky?!"
"I said it's jerky, so it is!"
"I said it's art, so it's not!"
"You—!"
---
Watching the two idiots argue, Orsaga sighed, clearly annoyed.
"We're all teammates. Why argue?, Fight. Kill.
Let's set the mood!"
The other two Greater-Rank Demons, who had been disinterested until now, immediately perked up.
"That's the spirit!. Nothing like a good brawl to lighten the mood."
"Kill one! The survivor gets to be right!"
"I'm in. Let's go—today's a good day for carnage—"
Around the room, the few remaining attendants glanced up at the hanging corpses, then at the five utterly insane demons in the room.
None of them dared say a word.
They didn't want to die for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
---
Just as the dispute was about to turn physical, a pitch-black void began to form at the center of the chamber.
From it emerged a tall, slender figure.
At first glance, he looked like a well-dressed human man in his forties.
He wore a tailored formal suit—not particularly handsome or ugly—and his face carried a professional, practiced smile.
Upon stepping out, he immediately addressed the two demons mid-quarrel:
"Gentlemen, could I trouble you to take your duel to a more spacious venue?, I'll still be using this room later. Oh, and just so you know—if one of you kills the other, I'm happy to buy the corpse on the spot at market price. So no need to worry about losing value in the scuffle."
His tone was polite, articulate, and precise.
Clearly, he was an experienced negotiator—calmly encouraging one of them to die for everyone's convenience.
Sitting nearby, Golarial and Alison exchanged a wordless look of disbelief.
Even after all they'd seen, they still couldn't get used to the Abyss's cultural norms.
---
Two hours later…
After an exciting and utterly inconclusive brawl, the two Greater-Rank Demons finally slumped back into their seats, exhausted.
Neither had managed to defeat the other.
The president of the Chloroya merchant guild shook his head in disappointment.
He had hoped that at least one of them would die.
That way, he'd save 10% on the planar ownership payout and get a fresh demon corpse to work with.
But clearly, neither had been up to the task.
Worse, the gods of this world turned out to be complete trash.
According to the Chloroya guild's extensive calculations, at least two or three of the five demons were expected to die during the war.
That was why they'd sent only five Greater-Rank Demons and withheld additional support—expecting to minimize investment and maximize gain.
It was a cost-control strategy, plain and simple.
But instead, not a single demon died.
They absolutely crushed the gods of this world.
A devastating and unexpected expense.
The president could only watch in silent anguish as his balance sheet took a hit.
He glanced at Orsaga—still relaxed and indifferent, even among the other demons.
According to internal reports, this one's combat strength had wildly exceeded projections, which was a key reason why the campaign had gone so smoothly.
Roughly half the gods had been slain by Orsaga personally.
He was a powerhouse already edging dangerously close to Archdemon status.
If nothing unexpected happened, it was only a matter of time before he officially reached that Rank.
And with that thought, jealousy stirred in the president's heart.
As a member of a mortal race, climbing the ranks of power was an uphill battle.
By contrast, Abyssal Demons—one of the top extraordinary species—had a clear, brutal progression path.
All they had to do… was keep killing.
It was so disgustingly straightforward.
If you ignored their self-destructive tendencies, their gleeful habit of killing their own more than the enemy, and their insane mortality rate—
Then yes, Abyssal Demons were basically invincible.
__
T/N:
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