A massive, swirling red vortex—clearly a dimensional portal—appeared in the distance, looming into view.
After a moment of quiet observation, Orsaga stepped off the head of his mount and casually kicked the creature aside.
With a wave of his hand, he summoned a gust of wind that blasted away the surrounding debris, clearing a path straight ahead.
Without hesitation, he followed the direction indicated by his token.
Along the way, Lesser demons scurried out of his path, cowed by the overwhelming aura he made no attempt to conceal. None dared to stand before him.
Even the more powerful demons, while sensing his aggressive presence, merely gave him a cursory glance—most ignoring him entirely. Only a few revealed open hostility.
Orsaga didn't pay them any mind.
Because in truth, it didn't matter whether there was hostility or not. In the Abyss, given the right circumstances, anyone would gladly kill their own allies for personal gain. Malice was simply a default setting—a meaningless reflex born of instinct. In this place, killing oneself wasn't even unheard of. Here, strength alone defined worth.
Passing step after step, he approached a massive table—behind which stood a six-armed snake demoness reading a book, her eyes locking onto him.
Her appearance was close to that of a human woman—strikingly beautiful—but her face was slightly longer in proportion, like the "serpent spirits" often depicted in films.
She wore ornate armor brimming with powerful magical energy. Her upright upper body alone measured over three meters, while her sinuous lower half—a long snake's tail—extended nearly ten meters. Six slender, muscular arms moved with precision; two held the book, while the remaining four rested at her sides, poised to draw weapons from her belt at a moment's notice.
Though Orsaga could sense that she was stronger than him—at least a Greater rank Demon, by his estimation—he remained perfectly relaxed. With a nonchalant motion, he handed over his token, along with ten Soul Crystals forged from the souls of high Ranking Demons.
Casually scanning the unfriendly expressions of the nearby demons, he smiled and said, "Reporting for duty."
She sniffed lightly at the aura emanating from him. It only took a moment for her to identify his pure demon bloodline. Yet the faint scent of something akin to an Infernal, mixed with an unfamiliar twist, left her uncertain of his exact lineage.
The one thing she could confirm was that this newcomer's bloodline was undeniably pure—and dangerously powerful. The fact that even she, a Greater-Ranking Demon, could sense a subtle threat from him meant he was clearly a formidable type.
She eyed Orsaga warily. Seeing no sign of erratic behavior or madness in him, only calm composure, she finally reached out to take what he had offered and began processing his teleportation registration.
"Name?"
"Orsaga."
"Race?"
"Mutated Flame Demon."
"Power level?"
"High Rank Demon."
Three simple questions, answered, and that was it. The entire registration process felt more like a formality than anything serious.
She pointed toward a gathering of demons not far away and instructed, "Go wait over there. Once the numbers are sufficient, you'll be mass-teleported to the battlefield in the Myling World."
Orsaga shrugged. "Alright, you're the boss."
Looking at the six-armed serpent demoness, he felt a faint nostalgia for the naga he'd once known—their appearances weren't all that different.
He wondered if she was still alive.
The area he was directed to was different from where the Lesser Demons were clustering. Here, the weakest among them were still High Ranking Demons, and many were Greater Ranking Demons—this group represented the Abyss's mid-tier powerhouses.
As Orsaga approached, they gave him a few uninterested glances and then returned to stillness, not even bothering to shift their stances.
It wasn't because they were polite or liked peace and quiet.
It was because the six-armed demoness had given explicit orders: no infighting during assembly.
Once they arrived in the Myling World, and fulfilled the contract terms—expanding the dimensional passage—then anything would go. Killing teammates? Slaughtering the native species? No one would care.
After all, the culture of the Abyss was one of constant civil strife. Suppressing that was a lost cause.
---
Not long after, when the numbers were deemed sufficient, the six-armed serpent demoness gave the order. The massive red vortex began to rotate violently, and a wind without substance or form howled through the air. A colossal tornado formed in midair, and the portal at its center burst open.
"Teleportation sequence initiated! Enter immediately!" she commanded.
The hordes of demons surged forward like a tidal wave, swept into the mass-teleportation ritual.
Orsaga, too, stepped in without hesitation, a flicker of excitement in his eyes as he joined the swarm.
This portal was unlike ordinary summoning rituals. Everything that entered was converted into another form. Orsaga felt his body transform into an abstract flow of information—a strange and enlightening sensation, like his mind expanded in strange ways.
Weaker demons, however, lost their sense of self almost instantly under this transformation, and began merging with others who had also been stripped of identity.
In Orsaga's perception, they were fusing into grotesque creatures—somewhere between Abominations and Flesh Golems.
He understood perfectly: this was the will of the Demon Lord, culling the weak and repurposing worthless cannon fodder into more efficient war machines—fuel for the fire of the impending war.
---
He didn't know how much time passed.
Within a peculiar current of glowing energy, Orsaga finally saw it—a massive golden barrier, stretching endlessly.
He could not gauge its height. Nor its width.
From the very first second his gaze fell upon it, he was overwhelmed by a sense of vastness!
It was like an ordinary human staring straight at a planet—staggering and incomprehensible.
When he finally regained his senses and looked more closely, he saw that the brilliant golden surface was laced with faint streaks of black mist.
From those wisps, he caught the scent of pure demonic energy. In a moment of clarity, he seemed to glimpse two burning eyes—he recognized the mark of Demon Lord Ignarok.
As the stream of demon essence moved closer, the golden barrier suddenly burst with a flare of black fire, and a thin, nearly invisible crack was torn open—just enough to allow passage.
They were being forcefully inserted through.
But at that moment, a massive golden hand—so large its size defied measure—extended from within the barrier, aiming to crush them all in a single strike.
In that instant, Orsaga felt an overwhelming sense of danger unlike anything he'd ever known. He understood: this was power he could not resist.
Yet there was no fear or panic in his heart. Instead, a strange excitement surged through him—the thrill of witnessing a higher realm of power.
Before the golden hand could fully descend, the black fire flared once more, clashing with the hand and enveloping Orsaga and the others, hurling them through the crack in the barrier.
In the aftermath, two voices echoed in the void—one a cold snort, the other a mocking laugh—locked in opposition.
As their powers collided, both the golden hand and the black flames vanished, and the forcibly torn crack began to close.
_
T/N:
Hello everyone! My Patreon is just $3 — a perfect opportunity to access 40+ advanced chapters and support the translation.
🔗 patreon.com/user?u=79514336
Or simply search Translator-Sama on Patreon