One year later.
In a certain city—so unimportant the author couldn't even be bothered to give it a name—there was a dark, remote little shack that hadn't seen a broom in years.
Inside, a terrifying spirit that looked like a corpse dug up after being buried for a month and then hung up to dry, was howling madly.
The effect was similar to the spell [Banshee's Wail], an invisible shockwave radiating outward from her gaping, broken mouth.
Everything in the room—whether it was brittle glass or rotting wood—began to shudder and crack under the pressure.
Dust exploded into the air.
And yet, her intended target, Orsaga, faced this weak attack with utter calm, casually picking his ear. He wasn't disturbed in the slightest—not even his hair was out of place.
"Everyone in this world is so pathetically weak, it's hard to even feel interested in them…"
Muttering to himself, he lazily pulled out a container shaped like a thermos and aimed it at the Spirit.
Immediately, a suction force emerged from the thermos, sucking the frantically struggling spirit straight into it.
Click — he sealed the lid.
Shake left twice.
Shake right twice.
And just like that, a fresh bowl of spirit Stew was ready!
Opening the lid, he took a casual sip of the steaming hot broth and nodded in satisfaction.
The spirit's strength might have been lacking, but the flavor? That could still make up for it.
Over the past year, Orsaga had wandered through various places, capturing over thirty Monstrosities and more than a thousand spirit. He'd also spent time perfecting his recipes and improving his culinary skills.
He even developed various auto-cooking tools based on the unique traits of the spirits and monsters, greatly simplifying the cooking process.
Among all his inventions, the most successful one was this thermos in his hand.
The Spirit and Monstrosities he'd captured were now all imprisoned within it.
They weren't disposable ingredients—they had evolved into long-term resources.
Each time the thermos brewed a new soup, it would automatically extract just enough flesh and essence from the imprisoned beings to use as ingredients—tailored exactly to Orsaga's preferences.
Under the effect of his skill [Agony - Intensification], the suffering they endured was nothing short of soul-shattering.
And once the cooking was done, the container would siphon energy from the surrounding environment and forcibly heal the "ingredients," prepping them for the next round of torment.
As long as Orsaga kept replenishing it with Spirit and Monstrosities and didn't go overboard with his consumption, this thermos alone could permanently solve his food supply problem.
Moreover, as everyone knows, the power of spirit and Monsters often comes not just from killing, but from the sheer malice they harbor.
The more hatred, the more savagery, the more strength they possessed.
Incredibly emotion-driven!
And after enduring Orsaga's cycle of endless torment—unable to live, unable to die—their hatred naturally deepened, making them even stronger.
Of course, Orsaga had a countermeasure for this, too.
The thermos was imbued with growth potential, automatically absorbing power from the prisoners at regular intervals and upgrading its quality—ensuring they remained permanently suppressed.
It was, in every way, a flawless loop. Aside from needing a little energy to help the prisoners regenerate, it was a closed system.
Their eternal lives had been transformed into eternal torment, locked in that container, endlessly reliving the feeling of being flayed alive with a dull blade.
This invention could easily be crowned as the perpetual motion machine of the new era!
The kind of thing that would win the Abyssal Invention Award for Best Next-Gen Design.
Sipping the soup while watching the numbers on his system panel tick upward, Orsaga savored the pain and hatred infusing every drop.
Not only was his wealth growing, but the torment served as fuel for his [Agony - Intensification], deepening his mastery over the concept of suffering. The hatred and other negative emotions worked as nourishment for [Self-Evolution – Malignant Armament], supplying the energy his body required.
Simply put, the thermos was a multi-functional generator, and [Crimson Sin] acted like its battery.
Together with his immortal physique, the synergy between the three was flawless.
Even in a world devoid of humans and negative emotion, as long as there was energy to keep the prisoners alive, Orsaga could continue regenerating indefinitely.
With that in mind, he grew even more satisfied with his genius invention. "It needs a proper name…"
After squinting in thought for a moment, he finally made his decision.
[Eternal Agony].
Because everything that went into it was doomed to a fate worse than death—for eternity.
Satisfied with the name, Orsaga hummed a tune and walked out of the shack.
Outside, a crowd had gathered, drawn by the howling from earlier—but not a single person could perceive his presence.
This wasn't some kind of magic.
It was simply a difference in life Rank.
If Orsaga didn't want to be seen, the weak had no way of sensing him at all.
---
That afternoon.
Orsaga boarded a random train out of the city.
No destination. No goal.
If the train's endpoint had any Spirit or Monstrosities, he'd catch them.
If not, he'd just spend a while exploring.
It wasn't that he couldn't search more efficiently. He simply found this method more entertaining—it felt like a lucky draw.
In his mind, so long as nothing was urgent, having fun was priority number one.
After all, the prey wasn't going anywhere. They were stuck on this planet.
He could round them all up when it was time to leave.
Thanks to a year of recovery, his strength had returned to about 80% of his peak.
If he wanted to, the entire planet could be enveloped within his domain of power.
With such strength as his foundation, Orsaga hadn't just been collecting unfortunate victims—he'd also unleashed a wide array of diseases across the planet, neatly prearranging their future public health crisis.
In his eyes, this world had finally started shedding some of its ignorance and was gradually stepping into modernity.
Industrially and agriculturally, they had reached a certain threshold. It was foreseeable that within a few decades, their population would skyrocket alongside improved living standards.
In short, they were prime, freshly grown leeks—ripe for the harvesting.
With an eye toward sustainable development, Orsaga didn't go overboard.
Most of the diseases he released were standard types, with only a few being genuinely dangerous.
And all of them were cloaked by [Self-Evolution – Malignant Armament], keeping them under the world's Will radar and avoiding unnecessary attention.
According to his settings, the diseases would slowly evolve over time, adapting to the changing eras so they wouldn't be rendered obsolete.
Under these conditions, it was clear that these custom-crafted diseases would plague this planet's civilization for a very, very long time.
If the world advanced through science and technology, they'd likely never be free of them—not until they reached the level of a space-faring civilization.
This would guarantee Orsaga centuries of uninterrupted exploitation.
Thinking this far, a smile crept across his face.
"A truly excellent demon… never runs out of luck."
____
T/N:
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