After gathering his thoughts, the president of the Chloroya Merchant Guild gave a polite cough to clear his throat.
Then, in an unhurried and measured tone, he began:
"Everyone, this is my first time meeting you in person. I am Chlorel, current president of the Chloroya Merchant Guild.
Let me be brief. Our planar invasion campaign has been a near-total success. Most objectives have already been accomplished—only a few final matters remain."
'Among them, there's just one that requires your direct involvement. Namely: eliminating those factions that still refuse to surrender. Over the past month, all willing parties have submitted their documents and signed binding contracts with us."
"What's left are the diehards who insist on fighting to the end—and some fence-sitters waiting to see which way the wind blows. Now that all the Abyssal Demons summoned through ritual have returned to the Abyss, I ask you five Greater-Rank Demons to handle the rest personally. How you do it is entirely up to you. If you want to treat them like divine leftovers for dessert, feel free. Once this final phase is complete, I'll distribute your agreed-upon rewards—per the contract."
As his voice fell, a set of scrolls floated through the air and landed in front of each of the five Greater-Rank Demons.
Each scroll was filled with detailed lists: islands, nations, factions—even outlines of their weaknesses.
These were compiled from intelligence provided by the so-called surrendering factions.
Notably, those weaknesses had been volunteered.
Their surrender had never been out of genuine loyalty—they were simply hedging their bets in a losing situation.
Even the Chloroya Guild hadn't expected such enthusiasm.
But after putting themselves in those traitors' shoes, they understood:
"If I've already bent the knee, and others haven't… doesn't that make me look like the coward?"
A perfect example of how traitors are often more ruthless than enemies.
---
Orsaga casually unfurled his scroll.
Dozens of densely packed locations were listed, along with five glowing symbols.
In his perception, those five symbols were the signature marks of each of the five Greater-Rank Demons.
By placing his own mark beside a target, the others would instantly see that it had been claimed.
Essentially, this scroll functioned like a live, magical navigation system—updated in real time to show which targets were still unclaimed.
As the demons examined their scrolls, Chlorel smiled politely and added:
"Do you have any questions?, If so, feel free to ask now."
He waited for a dozen seconds, but no one spoke.
Satisfied, he nodded.
"No questions?, then let's begin. I hope we meet again soon."
And with that, a pitch-black spatial vortex opened behind him—and swallowed him whole.
---
Walking through the streets of the island, Orsaga casually flipped the scroll in his hand.
Ignoring the terrified stares and recoiling pedestrians on either side of the road, he turned to Golarial and Alison and asked,
"Wanna come with me and take care of the last batch of stubborn fools?"
His tone was calm and casual—no different from asking if they wanted to go grocery shopping.
But both women knew full well that his "errand" involved nothing but killing.
So they shook their heads in unison.
"Pass. We're not interested."
Orsaga didn't push the issue.
"Fair enough. Then you two stay here and kill some time. Just keep an eye on those fake-surrender types."
He could clearly feel it.
Although the remaining population on the island was terrified of them, beneath that fear burned deep resentment.
Clearly, whoever had been in charge of this island hadn't done a good job of breaking the locals.
Maybe they were lazy. Maybe they just didn't care.
But one thing was certain: at this rate, the island was bound to see an uprising sooner or later.
Not that it surprised Orsaga.
After all, just days ago, these people had been devout believers of the Three Great Churches.
Of course some hardliners were still hidden among them.
That was exactly why he had warned Alison and Golarial in advance.
Golarial swept her gaze across the crowd.
Thanks to her elven senses, it didn't take her long to understand what Orsaga meant.
She nodded.
"Got it. You take care too."
"Mm."
He responded absentmindedly, and in the next instant—vanished.
A moment later, his true form appeared high in the sky.
Ever since devouring the gods and their legacies, Orsaga's true form had grown to over fifty meters tall—a towering figure resembling a colossal war God.
Even with the clouds obscuring much of him, just a glimpse was enough to make nearby mortals nauseous with dread.
He glanced down at the scroll in his hand and picked a target at random.
"You'll do. First sacrifice."
Without another word, his body surged forward—blazing across the skies at terrifying speed, even without going full throttle.
Within moments, he had crossed a vast ocean that would take mortals weeks to traverse.
He arrived at his destination: a massive mountain rising from the sea.
Even the part above water was over two thousand meters tall.
Built into its upper cliffs was a sprawling complex of elegant buildings shrouded in sea mist—giving it the look of a floating city in the clouds.
"Domus Magic Academy… So this is the place."
The moment he approached, the academy's sentries noticed the threat.
After a few stunned seconds, the alarms blared to life.
The defenders—long prepared for a possible demon assault—swiftly mobilized, rallying around the academy gates.
Orsaga didn't interrupt them.
He allowed them to finish their preparations without concern.
From the front lines, an elderly mage shouted:
"Demon! Leave this place!, our academy wishes no quarrel with anyone—we serve no one!"
But before he could finish, Orsaga vanished from sight—rising higher and higher into the sky.
At first, it looked like he might be leaving.
But then, at ten thousand meters up, he suddenly dived.
He dropped like a meteor.
Seeing this, the old man's face went pale.
No longer hesitating, he activated the academy's defensive barrier at full power.
But it made no difference.
With a body weighing tens of thousands of tons, Orsaga plunged downward like the main cannon of a warship—tearing through the barrier as if it weren't even there.
Then he struck the mountaintop with catastrophic force.
It was like smashing an iron boulder into a sponge.
The mountain was instantly and completely pulverized—from peak to base.
A shockwave exploded outward, sending dust and debris flying in all directions.
When it finally cleared…
The mountain was gone.
No buildings.
No academy.
No survivors.
Only a massive crater remained.
"So weak… and they still thought they could stay neutral? Pathetic."
With that, Orsaga flapped his wings and flew away, completely unharmed.
__
T/N:
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