The residents of the Abyss welcomed all outsiders.
Not because they were hospitable, but because the more living beings that entered, the more resources there were to exploit.
To the native inhabitants, every outsider was a walking bundle of profit.
After hearing this logic directly from Orsaga, Golarial was left speechless.
It was as if something had suddenly clicked. Problems she hadn't fully understood before were instantly resolved in her mind.
Just as Orsaga was about to continue speaking, he sensed something.
He immediately pulled out a token he'd obtained a few days prior.
Its previously blank surface lit up with lines of text and a set of coordinates.
After reading it carefully, Orsaga smiled and showed it to Golarial. "Looks like the banquet's about to start. Go let Alison know, and you both get ready."
Golarial read the message too, but her expression wasn't nearly as relaxed. She nodded seriously. "Alright."
She turned and quickly ran off to find Alison.
Due to their distrust of the otherworldly elves living nearby, the elves from the Myling World had settled close together to watch each other's backs.
So delivering the message didn't take long.
In contrast, Orsaga was completely out of place in this neighborhood. A demon mingling in an elven district—he was practically disrupting the local balance.
In a way, it was like slipping behind enemy lines.
Still, even though the nearby elves were well aware of his presence, none dared speak up. In the Abyss, demons reigned supreme. Unless you had overwhelming power, no ordinary race would provoke a Greater-rank demon.
Especially not one like Orsaga—his true form practically radiated feral power, swagger, and danger.
To survive in the Abyss looking like that without being torn apart by jealous rivals? It meant one thing—Orsaga was undeniably strong.
---
Not long after, Alison and Golarial returned, fully equipped and standing before Orsaga.
They were both clad in armor bearing the elegant patterns of the elven race, long swords sheathed at their waists.
As for the signature weapon of the elves—the longbow—it had already been stored away in their personal dimensional spaces, ready to summon when needed.
There was no way they'd forget it. For elves, the longbow was a soul-bound weapon.
Whether or not an elf was skilled in close combat didn't matter—every elf could shoot arrows.
Orsaga glanced at their equipment, rubbed his chin, then casually grabbed his own wrist—and tore his arm clean off.
Before either of them could react in shock, a new arm instantly regenerated from the wound.
Under their stunned gazes, Orsaga held the severed limb aloft and incinerated it using demonic blood flames, refining it into a thick mass of crimson liquid.
With a flick of his hand, the blood divided into two portions.
They floated into the air, hovering just above Alison and Golarial's heads.
Seeing their confused expressions, Orsaga calmly explained, "Don't move. You two are still a bit too weak. I need to give you a layer of insurance."
"And I'll handle the basic protections needed for an interdimensional journey as well."
As soon as he finished speaking, the blood masses extended countless thread-like strands, fine as hair, which began to seep into their bodies.
This was high-grade, greater-rank demon blood. Normally, it would have instantly corrupted them, turning them into demonic entities.
But under Orsaga's complete control, the blood instead formed layers of protection inside their bodies.
As crimson light rippled across their skin, a blooming sigil appeared on their chests—deep red, vivid, and shaped like a Deathblossom.
It was identical to the pattern engraved on Orsaga's armor.
Beautiful, yet deadly.
This protection was strong enough that even most Greater-Rank Demons wouldn't be able to break it in one blow—they'd have to wear it down slowly.
More importantly, it would shield them from the crushing force of foreign world laws, preventing them from being destroyed outright by the differences in planar rules.
After all, every world had its own unique structure.
Not every creature was qualified to move freely between realms the way Abyssal Demons could.
Take, for example, a creature from a universe built on the four fundamental forces—if it were thrown into a world entirely composed of spiritual energy, it might not fly away in awe—it would likely instantly disintegrate.
Orsaga's protection ensured that wouldn't happen.
On top of that, the blood served one more purpose:
It marked Alison and Golarial with Orsaga's personal signature—telling every other demon that they were his. Anyone with sense would steer clear.
As the sensation faded and they grew used to the changes in their bodies, Alison and Golarial immediately understood what Orsaga had done.
Golarial accepted it without hesitation. She had long since come to terms with such things.
Alison, however, wore a more complicated expression—but said nothing.
Because it wouldn't change anything.
After taking a moment to adjust, the three of them set out.
---
They stood before a towering building.
Orsaga looked up at the sign that read Chloroya merchant guild, and knew they'd arrived.
The guard at the gate immediately noticed his overwhelming presence and broke into a fawning smile. With excessive politeness, he greeted them: "May I ask what business you fine lords have with the Chloroya merchant guild? If you need assistance, I'd be honored to guide you."
He wasn't a native of the Abyss—just a slightly powerful mortal. Unlike abyssal creatures who didn't care about life and death, he was all too aware that a wrong word could get him killed.
So he chose the path of least resistance—total submission.
He'd perfected the art of being a bootlicker, dedicated to making every guest feel right at home—even ones who might murder him on a whim.
Orsaga didn't bother with any theatrics. He casually handed over the token. "Lead the way."
The guard took one glance at the token and froze. A shiver ran through him. His expression grew even more respectful. "Ah, so you're here for the meeting! Please, this way!"
Sweat dripped down his back uncontrollably.
He knew what that token meant—only Greater-Rank Abyssal Demons were ever entrusted with one.
And demons were notorious for their tempers.
Moments ago, he had thought these three were just customers.
Now he realized they could kill him at any moment—and his employers wouldn't even avenge him.
To the Chloroya merchant guild, low-level staff like him were nothing more than consumables.
—
After a short walk, they arrived before a grand bronze door.
The guard stopped and bowed deeply. "My lord, this is the meeting chamber. I'm not authorized to enter. I'll take my leave here."
Even in his farewell, there was a subtle tremor in his voice.
Orsaga heard it and immediately understood what the man feared.
With little concern, he waved a hand. "Alright. You can go."
Once the guard left, Alison and Golarial exchanged a glance and quietly chuckled.
They hadn't even done anything threatening. Hadn't changed their appearance at all. And yet people instinctively backed off in fear.
That was just the kind of presence Orsaga had.
"…"
Faced with their teasing smiles, Orsaga didn't know what to say.
So he simply pushed open the meeting room doors and walked straight in with the two women behind him.
Inside, over a dozen individuals turned their heads to look at them, eyes instantly locking onto Orsaga.
They barely spared a glance at the two demon-marked elves.
In the Abyss, where volatile lunatics were commonplace, not every demon cared about women.
But a mysterious demon like Orsaga—one whose background couldn't be read at a glance—was someone worth watching.
As for their blatant stares?
Orsaga met them with a scornful glance, then led Alison and Golarial to an empty seat and sat down.
He waited patiently for the meeting to begin.
____
T/N:
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