"Absolute dominion…"
Orochimaru whispered the words, fully grasping the weight of Shen Mo's statement. It wasn't mere rhetoric—it was a literal truth, a hierarchy as unyielding as his command over the newborn undead he crafted.
Yet—
"Such a world would be more stable," Orochimaru said, his smile unfazed, even eager. "The weak bowing to the strong is the world's primal order. Now, I'm even more curious about the realm of the undead."
Shen Mo remained silent.
He saw little appeal in an undead world, but without a definitive reason to stop him, Orochimaru would only be swayed by experience. Shen Mo's role was to observe and contain the fallout.
Orochimaru resumed opening cans.
Though he'd finally secured a Grand Prize, its staggering power only heightened his anxiety. If his prize was this potent, what had others gained?
One prize in one hundred seventy cans was meager.
If the rest yielded nothing, his five hundred cans might pale against someone's mere dozens.
Fortunately, probability favored large samples. The more cans opened, the closer the outcome aligned with expected odds.
At the two hundred fiftieth can, a second Grand Prize emerged.
A transparent crystal, faintly echoing with roars.
Orochimaru held it up, a glint of recognition in his eyes.
"Good fortune," Shen Mo said with a smile. "This gives you a hint of a lich archmage's presence. Sealed within is a mature double-headed bone dragon—high-tier, no less."
"Bone dragon?" Orochimaru's raspy voice brimmed with delight.
He knew their might. A Level 2 can had once yielded a juvenile dragon corpse for crafting, but this—a Blue Rare mature double-headed bone dragon—was leagues beyond.
"Bone dragons are a necromancer's prized summons," Shen Mo said, grinning. "Their magic resistance is immense. Most spells, even your world's ninjutsu, can't scratch them."
"I know," Orochimaru nodded, his anticipation for Level 3 Grand Prizes surging.
He licked his lips, eyeing the remaining two hundred thirty cans.
One by one, he opened them.
No ten-pull shortcuts here. Each can demanded individual attention, a numbing yet exhilarating ritual. Every opening carried the hope of a Grand Prize, a sudden thrill that could erupt at any moment.
But Orochimaru's luck was abysmal.
Another hundred cans passed without a prize.
His excited grin soured into a grim scowl. Even his intellect and newfound power couldn't shield his psyche from the rollercoaster of can opening.
With so few cans left, even Orochimaru's composure cracked, his face darkening.
"Five hundred cans for just two prizes?" he muttered.
"That's… unusually low," Shen Mo admitted, a twinge of pity in his voice.
It was rough.
Rasa had snagged two prizes in just over two hundred cans—average luck. Orochimaru was teetering on non-lucky charm territory.
Frustration gnawed at him. He even considered gritting his teeth and buying more, reasoning that after two hundred twenty prize-less cans, another hit was due.
Perhaps fate took pity.
With only a dozen cans left, a blue dragon of mist roared forth again.
Shen Mo glanced at the prize list. As expected, three Blue Rare Grand Prizes in five hundred cans.
This was the last.
A miniature model of a spire-like structure.
Orochimaru looked to Shen Mo. "Sir, what is this?"
"A mage tower," Shen Mo explained. "A necromancy-specific one, at that. You know what mage towers are, don't you?"
"Of course," Orochimaru said, unable to hide his glee. His inherited knowledge flooded back. "Mage towers are costly, especially powerful ones requiring rare materials. But a mage within their tower is at their peak."
Amplified magic, enhanced spells, bolstered defenses…
Defeating a mage in their tower required overwhelming power.
Orochimaru was thrilled. Building one himself would've been a nightmare—many materials didn't even exist in this world. Now, he had a ready-made one.
"It's sealed," Shen Mo noted. "You can deploy it anywhere, but choose wisely—once placed, it's fixed."
"A permanent base, then?" Orochimaru's eyes flickered with calculation.
He carefully stored the tower, then opened the remaining dozen cans.
Hope lingered for another stroke of luck, but his non-lucky charm streak held—no more prizes.
Disappointment stung, but Orochimaru quickly steadied himself.
"I feel…" he said, closing his eyes, voice raspy with conviction, "like I'm brimming with endless drive. There's so much I want to do. The world is so wondrous—the more I learn, the more I taste the brilliance of truth."
"All because I opened the door to a new world for you," Shen Mo said with a soft chuckle. "I told you long ago: revere the 'infinite.'"
"Sir," Orochimaru opened his eyes, his smile blending humility and confidence. "I won't disappoint you. I will change my fate and fulfill my ambitions."
In that moment, he resembled the young Orochimaru under Hiruzen Sarutobi—hungry for power, craving recognition, and brimming with self-assurance.
"I'll be watching, Orochimaru," Shen Mo said, his tone heavy with meaning.
With that, he vanished, taking Ikaros and Hiju back home.
In their house, Ikaros clutched her watermelon, still processing.
"Something on your mind, Ikaros?" Shen Mo asked, settling into a chair with a warm smile.
"…That client seemed happy," Ikaros said hesitantly, "but… he might make others unhappy."