Staring at the man in front of him, Orsaga grinned and said:
"I need you to perform a special ritual for me. In exchange, I'll protect human civilization—for a time."
The man frowned slightly and responded bluntly:
"Let's set aside whether you'd actually keep that promise.
Even at your current level of power, you're not much stronger than I am. Maybe a bit—but nothing game-changing. Your so-called protection doesn't mean much."
Yes, he was willing to admit Orsaga might outmatch him slightly. But only slightly—and certainly not enough to take seriously as a protector of an entire civilization.
Unbothered by the dismissal, Orsaga nodded calmly:
"You're not wrong. But the proposal isn't for right now.
Give it time. My strength is on the verge of a qualitative breakthrough. Once I evolve further, you can reconsider. Besides—I'm open to business. Scientific knowledge, cultivation techniques, supernatural systems… I can trade them all. There might be room for collaboration between us."
Scientific knowledge? Cultivation techniques?
Hearing that, the man's thoughts stirred. He glanced toward the direction of Mars, but didn't immediately respond.
He needed more time to think.
Seeing an opening, Orsaga gestured toward himself.
"Oh, and I never introduced myself properly. You can call me Orsaga—an Abyssal Demon from another dimension."
Other dimension? Abyssal Demon?
Those words struck a chord—far too familiar to be ignored.
The man's gaze turned strange.
He recalled how, long ago, someone had created a religious system based on his existence—calling him "God."
He hadn't been thrilled about it at the time, but since he had been experimenting with religion as a method to guide humanity, he'd let it slide and used it to his advantage.
However, as time passed, he realized religious systems inevitably bred corruption. Eventually, he abandoned the concept entirely—sparking a cultural renaissance and pushing society toward scientific progress.
As for the demons described in holy texts?
They were modeled after the Warp demons he had long fought to contain.
And now, standing before a so-called "Abyssal Demon," his feelings were… complicated.
'What now—are we gathering every kind of demon for a reunion?'
After a moment of thought, the man finally spoke:
"You can call me Mara. Or just 'Ra.'"
The latter being the name of the supreme deity in Egyptian mythology.
Not just Christianity—countless mythologies, legends, and stories had been inspired by his actions. Most of them were simply humans witnessing his power and spinning their own versions of it.
With that, he turned and walked away.
Truth be told, he didn't think there was much of a future for collaboration between them.
That bit about Orsaga "evolving into something greater" later? It sounded too much like empty bluster.
Still, Orsaga didn't press. He simply watched the man disappear into the distance.
Then, glancing at the lingering spatial traces left behind, he looked toward the hidden pocket dimension connected to this world—and whistled.
His lips curled into a satisfied smile.
"I like this dimension."
The moment he laid eyes on that warped subspace, Orsaga knew—this was his kind of place.
What started as a casual visit had just taken a sharp turn.
He was already approaching the threshold of becoming a Archdemon.
Soon, he'd ascend into a Archdemon.
And once that happened, he'd need to start planning his rise to Demon Lord.
One of the prerequisites?
Owning a layer of the Abyss.
You could either seize a claimed layer by killing its current lord, conquer an unclaimed one, or build your own from scratch.
Originally, Orsaga hadn't given it much thought—those goals still felt far off.
But the moment he sensed that unique subspace, an instinctual urge overtook him.
To destroy it.
To ruin this world.
To reshape their remains into the foundation of his own domain.
'This... this would be the perfect place for my Abyss.'
He didn't need proof. He didn't need to investigate.
He just knew.
After standing silently for a few moments, Orsaga licked his lips.
A glint of excitement lit up his eyes.
"No rush... take it slow. A hundred years… a thousand… ten thousand. I've got time."
As a being born with immortality, patience came naturally to him.
"I just need to find a way to get my true body into this world—legally. Otherwise, there'll be too many restrictions."
And he already had a rough plan forming in his mind.
Mara was the key.
In countless mythologies, similar stories appear:
A nobody releases an ancient evil due to selfish desires, triggering catastrophe. Later, after much suffering and reflection, he rises against all odds and defeats the very evil he unleashed—saving the world.
But think about it—how could an ordinary person pull that off?
How could someone unleash such danger… then miraculously find the strength to undo it?
Redemption arcs don't explain away impossible gaps in power.
Unless…
They're the Chosen One.
The truth is, every dimension has its "main characters."
Chosen individuals blessed with overwhelming fortune and cosmic favor. Until they fulfill their destiny, they are protected by absurd levels of luck and survivability.
As an Abyssal Demon, Orsaga possessed a special ability:
At close range, he could sense who the protagonists of a given time and place were.
They didn't need to be all-powerful. They didn't even have to be the only protagonist—just someone important enough to shape an era.
An orphan who becomes the richest man in the world…
A beggar who finds a martial arts manual in the trash and becomes invincible…
Every era has its Chosen.
They're born different—carrying fate, luck, and narrative weight.
Now, technically, anyone can perform a summoning ritual to bring a demon into their world.
In those cases, the world's natural defenses might not expel the demon immediately…
But it would still heavily suppress and restrict them.
However—
If the one performing the summoning is a Chosen One, blessed with great destiny…
Then the demon receives preferential treatment.
Restrictions ease.
Power suppression drops.
You don't need the ultimate protagonist—just someone important enough to change the game.
That's why many Abyssal Demons, when trying to sneak into another world, seek out individuals with powerful fate signatures and try to manipulate them into performing the summoning ritual.
It's a shortcut—a way to bypass the world's natural resistance.
Of course, this comes with risks.
Sometimes, the world fights back.
If the summoned demon goes too far, the world's will might awaken the Chosen One's latent potential—twisting fate to force them to clean up the mess they created.
Thus, many great evils and their vanquishers…
Are actually the same person.
And Mara?
Mara was Orsaga's chosen protagonist.
He didn't know exactly what Mara's backstory was, or what his life path would be.
But he could sense it.
A dense, unmistakable aura of fate surrounded the man.
Even if he wasn't the supreme protagonist of this world, he was definitely one of the key figures of his era.
If Orsaga could manipulate Mara into summoning him directly...
His future plans would become much easier to execute
Orsaga wasn't particularly worried that Mara would refuse him.
Even though he could sense that Mara wasn't very interested in the proposal and possessed an iron will, Orsaga knew something important:
Sometimes, what someone wants doesn't matter.
Especially for those who carry heavy responsibilities—like Mara.
Time, fate, circumstance... All of these weighed heavily on Mara's decisions. Unlike Orsaga, who simply did whatever made him happy and crushed anyone who got in his way, Mara had too many factors influencing his choices.
If Orsaga could identify and exploit just one of those pressure points, the rest would fall into place.
Mara was one of the key protagonists of this era. Considering the growing threat Earth faced, Orsaga didn't believe Mara's path would be smooth forever.
As long as there were obstacles and hardships, there would be opportunities for him to intervene.
And until then, all he had to do was quietly advance to the rank of Archdemon... and wait.
---
After loosely organizing his future plans and deciding how to deal with Mara, Orsaga turned his attention to the device in his hand.
At first glance, the object looked sleek and futuristic—like a hardened, high-tech metal wristband. It had no touchscreen or interface, just a sturdy, compact design.
This was the device he'd taken earlier from the rescue team member.
Even from Earth, Orsaga had sensed that something was off about that man—the moment he saw him, he knew the guy wasn't from this world.
Though he hadn't consumed any humans from this dimension yet, Orsaga had extensive experience in gourmet matters. His years as a connoisseur of sentient beings gave him a keen instinct.
And this man didn't belong here.
When Orsaga killed him and tried to devour his soul, a mysterious force erased the soul completely—something that only stoked his curiosity further.
---
Calling upon a trace of his true body's power, Orsaga transformed his consciousness into an electromagnetic wave and dove into the surrounding digital networks.
He bypassed firewalls with ease and infiltrated the central data servers of various governments, filtering out the full profile of the deceased rescue team member.
He then cross-referenced the man's residential history, schools, workplaces, surveillance footage, spending patterns, social activities, contacts, chat logs, and personal networks—categorized and verified by timestamp.
Two seconds later, he withdrew his mind.
Even with the support of his true body's power, his current human brain struggled to handle such massive data processing. A mild headache followed.
Still, he had learned everything he wanted.
In addition to analyzing the rescue team member's identity, he'd also quietly investigated Mara's background.
Even though Mara's life form far surpassed normal humans, as long as he continued to live among them, traces of his existence inevitably accumulated—traces Orsaga could now use to better understand his thinking and behavioral patterns.
But Mara could wait.
For now, he was more interested in the wristband.
"The data was altered just before the Lewis and Clark launched… and there were 12 others who received the same treatment. The purpose behind that power is pretty clear—they were planted aboard the rescue ship."
He stroked his chin, then made a decision.
Pointing to the rescue team member's corpse, Orsaga activated his power.
Instantly, the body's flesh and bones converted into pure, crimson life energy. That energy flowed outward across the ground, tracing a ritual array covering dozens of square meters.
A few seconds later, a flash of red light appeared, and a tall figure stepped out from the formation.
It was him—a new version of himself, made to look and feel exactly like an ordinary human being.
This clone was far more refined than the first. Created directly by his true body in the Abyss, it was flawless in both form and spirit.
Orsaga tossed a clean set of clothes toward the new clone, who dressed himself without a word. He then handed the wristband over as well.
Once it was strapped onto the clone's wrist, a strange energy pulse began to scan his vital stats.
Orsaga's innate ability activated automatically, altering the data in real-time to match human parameters.
When the scan was complete, a flood of information appeared in the clone's mind.
[New lifeform detected]
[Vital signs recorded]
[Soul frequency recorded]
[Species: Human
Gender: Male
Combat Level: E-Rank]
[Welcome to the Matrix Purgatory, a hub between countless dimensions. Continue succeeding, and everything can be yours]
[Join: Yes / No]
Both clones smiled at the message.
Yes.
The one wearing the wristband vanished without a trace—spirited away by an unknown force.
The remaining clone casually cleaned up the scene, then strolled back into the villa as if nothing had happened, seamlessly returning to his everyday life.
There had been no need for the two clones to speak. They were the same person. Their thoughts were unified. Conversation was redundant.
Meanwhile, in the Abyss, Orsaga's true body sensed that the clone's signal had been cut off—but the vital signs were still intact.
He didn't bother interfering.
He simply soaked in the warm light of a nearby star, relaxing in his cosmic hot spring.
Whether it succeeded or failed—he didn't care. It was just a side project.
---
From the clone's perspective—
His head spun for a moment.
When his senses returned, he found himself lying on a cold floor, staring up at a plain white ceiling.
He instantly realized his connection to the true body had been severed.
Not that it mattered—he didn't care about such trivial things.
As clarity returned, he instinctively tried to sit up.
Halfway through the motion, he paused.
Something felt off.
So he lay back down, closed his eyes for a second… and then opened them again.
"Ah. A strange ceiling," he muttered.
Only then did he rise.
His behavior left the woman standing nearby momentarily speechless.
Whatever she'd been about to say was completely derailed by his odd reaction.
She looked to be in her early thirties, wearing a sleek leather outfit. Attractive, confident.
After a brief pause, and apparently satisfied with his looks, she skipped the formalities and got straight to the point.
"Never mind. I'm your guide. Any questions?"
Orsaga shook his head without hesitation.
"Nope. This is the Matrix Purgatory, right?, I know the drill. Let's move things along."
He cracked his knuckles and grinned.
"Just so you know—I'm about to break the game."
Hearing Orsaga's comments, the guide could only sigh.
"Alright..."
She genuinely didn't know what to say.
Thanks to the popularity of web novels, some newcomers entered the Matrix Purgatory already familiar with how it worked.
But someone like Orsaga—who treated the whole thing like a sightseeing trip—this was a first.
With a look of mild resignation, she said, "As a newbie, you get to pick one item as a starter gift. Go ahead and choose something."
She pointed toward a section nearby, where rows of display racks were neatly lined up, each one holding various items:
Rifles, pistols, grenades, combat knives, longswords, stimulants...
Orsaga gave a casual nod. "Not bad."
Then he began browsing.
Doing her job dutifully, the guide added helpfully, "Firearms are decent, but most only come with one clip. Once you're out of ammo, that's it. And, let's be honest, most newbies have terrible aim. If you've got any close-quarters experience, I'd recommend a melee weapon. At least—"
She didn't get to finish.
Because just then, Orsaga pulled a 350ml bottle of kvass from one of the racks.
Eyes lighting up with joy, he exclaimed, "Ah~ I haven't had this in ages."
Without hesitation, he popped the cap and took a long, satisfied drink.
"..."
"Tastes decent."
Screwing the cap back on, he turned to her with a curious look. "What were you saying?"
Facepalming, the guide waved it off. "Nothing. As long as you're happy."
She pointed to the nearby screen. "Your list of starter worlds is up. Pick one."
[Resident Evil: 2], [Swordsman Legends], [Dead Rising], [Jurassic Park]...
"Resident Evil, huh? A main storyline copy? That'll do."
Without hesitation, Orsaga tapped [Resident Evil: 2].
He'd never played the game, and he only vaguely remembered the first movie.
He had no idea what Resident Evil: 2 even entailed.
But that didn't matter.
The only thing that did—was fun.
Once his selection was confirmed, the guide glanced at the kvass in his hand and quietly sighed.
'This guy had potential in every area... except his brain.'
At last, she asked, "Got any final words?"
Orsaga didn't hold back:
"You're pretty hot. Wanna hook up? No strings attached, though—I'm not looking for commitment."
Before his bold statement had even faded from the air, the guide delivered a spinning roundhouse kick faster than the eye could follow.
In the fraction of a second it took to land, Orsaga had already calculated her strike trajectory.
He sneered, "Amateur…"
And was promptly kicked clean across the room.
His reflexes had been fast enough to analyze it, but not fast enough to react physically.
Still, that didn't stop him from being smug.
A moment later—
The Matrix Purgatory's teleportation activated.
A flash of white light enveloped him, and he vanished.
Watching him disappear, the guide muttered through gritted teeth, "What kind of lunatic did I just get assigned...?"
She pulled up his file:
[Purgator ID: 8748574]
[Species: Human]
[Gender: Male]
[Power Level: E-Rank]
"...?"
Her jaw dropped.
"That psycho's only E-rank? What is he, some elite special forces agent?"
Thinking back to his perfectly smooth skin, she immediately dismissed the idea.
"His body's way too clean. No way he's trained."
---
When Orsaga opened his eyes again, he found himself staring up at a crystal chandelier.
"Another unfamiliar ceiling," he muttered.
Sitting up, he patted his chest.
"Hm… doesn't hurt. Looks like the system provides some kind of damage immunity buffer at the start."
He had expected a few broken ribs from that kick.
Judging by the speed and power of her strike, he'd already calculated the damage it should've caused.
He had even prepared himself to enter the zombie scenario in a wheelchair if needed.
As for why he'd made that comment earlier?
No reason. It just felt right in the moment.
That's all that mattered—fun.
He'd been goofing off for centuries. Old habits died hard.
He shifted his gaze to the shimmering protective barrier surrounding the room.
"An energy field?" he guessed.
Seemed like a containment or isolation mechanism.
Then he noticed the others.
Several people lay scattered around the room.
Including himself, there were ten Purgators—men and women, old and young.
One looked like a preteen boy. Another was a half-toothless old man.
"This Matrix Purgatory… just picks people at random, huh?"
Shrugging at the thought, Orsaga examined the shield more closely and confirmed he couldn't leave—yet.
So he found a spot and sat down.
Three minutes later—
The first person woke up.
A muscular Asian man in his thirties. The way he moved, the way he stood—Orsaga could tell instantly. This guy had military training.
Not that it mattered.
Even if they were both "ordinary humans" under the system, Orsaga could still flatten him in one move.
Which made him lose interest almost immediately.
Still, the man noticed Orsaga the moment he woke up. Sitting alone in a corner, staring blankly with lifeless eyes, Orsaga looked anything but ordinary.
The man's training kicked in—instinctively wary.
His guide had told him awakening time usually scaled with strength.
If Orsaga had woken up before him, that meant he was stronger.
Subconsciously, the man touched the weapon he'd been issued.
A .44 Magnum revolver. Six bullets only.
But as a military sharpshooter, he was confident he could land four kills in under a second at twenty meters.
He didn't draw the gun, of course. Orsaga hadn't done anything threatening.
He was just... squatting in the corner like a bored ghost.
But still, the man couldn't shake the feeling.
This guy was weird.
Perfectly symmetrical features—almost too perfect. Hair and eyes a deep, unnatural red.
He couldn't even tell if Orsaga was Asian or Caucasian. The features were too blended.
There was something off about him. Something alien.
Another ten minutes passed.
The other Purgators gradually woke up.
One of them—the oldest—immediately had a heart attack.
The room descended into chaos as everyone scrambled to help him.
Orsaga rubbed his temples.
This batch of Purgators… left a lot to be desired.
"Hang in there, old man! If we survive this world, you'll get a full physical restoration! Heart problems? No problem!"
Hearing that, Orsaga thoughtfully stroked his chin.
He hadn't gone through the tutorial, so he didn't know about the post-mission healing perk.
Then, a system prompt appeared:
[Newbie World Mission Initiated...]
[Current Scenario: Resident Evil: 2. Timeline divergence: 27%]
[Participants: 10 Purgators]
[Mode: Free Teaming (No rewards for PvP)]
[Role: Resident of Raccoon City]
[Primary Mission: Survive for 7 days — 1500 points]
[Optional Missions:
1. Help Alice's survivor team escape the city — 4000 points.
2. Assist Umbrella Corporation in capturing the survivors — 3000 points.
3. Eliminate Umbrella's stationed forces in Raccoon City — 5500 points.
4. Prevent the detonation of the nuclear warhead set to cleanse the city — 12,500 points.
5. Help... ]
'Timeline divergence? What the hell is that supposed to mean?'
Having skipped the orientation, Orsaga was still half-clueless.
Not that it mattered.
He was here to have fun.
If he didn't die, he'd keep messing around.
If he died—so what? Just a disposable Clone.
No fear.
Only chaos.
As the mission objectives appeared, the protective barrier that had been covering the room vanished in an instant.
Orsaga was once again free to move—and, more importantly, reconnected with his true body in the Abyss.
A few thoughts immediately crossed his mind.
Just then, a middle-aged man dressed like a typical office worker stood up. After the group had spent a few moments eyeing one another warily, he took the initiative to speak:
"We're all newcomers here. Some of you might have prior knowledge of how things work in the Matrix Purgatory, and yes, it's brutal inside. But at this point in time, we don't have any direct conflicts of interest. Which means the only way we'll survive is by working together. I suggest we all briefly introduce ourselves and share what starter items we received, so we can form a proper strategy as a team."
"I'll go first. My name is Li Wei, from China. I was an office worker. My starter item is a machete."
He pulled out a thick-bladed chopper and gave it a few solid swings for emphasis, clearly trying to build trust.
From his tone and manner, he was likely a mid-level manager or team lead in some corporate or administrative role.
His lead seemed to ease some of the tension. One by one, the others began to speak up.
"I'm Huang Liu, also from China. Military background. My starter item is a handgun."
"I'm Zhang Hai, university student. Starter item: reinforced steel wire rope."
"Logan Grant, American. I'm an interior designer. My starter item is an adrenaline shot."
...
The group was a mixed bag of East and West—even one guy claimed to be from a settlement near the Sahara Desert.
A teenage girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, muttered, "Good thing the system has auto-translation. Otherwise, this would be a nightmare."
After the last introduction, everyone turned to the only person who hadn't spoken—the red-eyed man silently observing the streets outside the window.
When Orsaga turned to face them, his crimson gaze swept over the group with a calm, indifferent air.
There was no fear, no urgency—just the vibe of a man out for a stroll.
In that moment, they all had the same thought:
'This guy doesn't belong in the same category as the rest of us.'
That untouchable aura... He's operating on a whole different level.
Li Wei hesitated, but eventually cleared his throat and asked, "Friend, everyone else has introduced themselves. Your turn."
Orsaga raised his half-empty bottle of kvass and replied plainly:
"Orsaga. No nationality. My starter item… is this."
He took another sip, then added, "I don't plan on fighting any of you—seems pointless—but I also don't have any intention of working together. I prefer to act alone. So… see you around."
With that, he turned, opened the door, and stepped out.
He even closed the door politely behind him.
A man of courtesy—just one marching entirely to the beat of his own drum.
"…"
After a few moments of stunned silence, someone finally muttered, "Forget about him. Let's continue."
Most people preferred to act in groups—strength in numbers.
Even Huang Liu, who'd trained with elite special forces, knew it was foolish to try and survive a zombie outbreak solo—especially when the threat of mutated creatures like Lickers was very real.
You needed at least two or three competent allies to stand a chance.
While some of the recruits looked like they'd fold under pressure, a few had decent potential.
That was enough to justify sticking together—for now.
After Orsaga's departure, Li Wei clapped his hands to refocus the group's attention.
"Alright, now that the lone wolf has gone, I assume the rest of us are on the same page—we're a temporary team. Let's discuss our next steps. Based on what I know of the Resident Evil franchise, if we prepare properly, surviving seven days isn't impossible. But remember—this might be the least dangerous world we'll face for a long time. So if we want to succeed in the long term, we need to do more than just the main mission. We have to aim for some side objectives too. That's how we build up our initial resources.
Anyone have thoughts?"
A woman in her twenties spoke up thoughtfully:
"I'm concerned about the part that mentioned a '27% Plot Divergence.' My guide said the scenarios in Matrix Purgatory are never exact copies of movies, games, or novels. They're much more complex. The 'Plot Divergence' is a key metric.
Once divergence passes 25%, major deviations from canon can occur. At 50%, events might completely contradict the original story. And if it hits 75%… all bets are off. My guide gave me an example: one team entered a 79% diverged version of Sword Art Online."
"They thought they were trapped in a VR game. But after clearing the final level, they discovered the game world was actually a digital Matrix built by an AI called Yui's Heart—like a twisted mix between SAO and The Matrix. The real world outside was ruled by armies of machines. So once they beat the game, they had to join the human resistance, led by Nobuyuki Sugou, to fight against those mechs…"
She glanced at the mission prompt.
"And here, we're dealing with 27% divergence—that's already serious. Things could go very differently. The nuclear warhead Umbrella plans to drop on Raccoon City? It might be launched earlier. Or later. Who knows?, Personally, I think we should get out of the city as soon as possible."
Her words made Li Wei frown slightly.
His own guide had mentioned divergence, but only in passing—not in any meaningful detail.
Which was why he hadn't taken it seriously until now.
But now?
If the risk was this high, maybe a safer strategy was better for their first big score.
Huang Liu—who had also received vague guidance—felt the same.
But unlike Li Wei, his military training kicked in.
If different guides provided varying levels of information depending on personality and compatibility with their Purgators…
Then maybe he could piece together a full beginner's guide by carefully listening to everyone's input—filling in the blanks and avoiding rookie mistakes.
With that thought, he fell silent, quietly deep in planning.
As the mission objectives appeared, the protective barrier that had been covering the room vanished in an instant.
Orsaga was once again free to move—and, more importantly, reconnected with his true body in the Abyss.
A few thoughts immediately crossed his mind.
Just then, a middle-aged man dressed like a typical office worker stood up. After the group had spent a few moments eyeing one another warily, he took the initiative to speak:
"We're all newcomers here. Some of you might have prior knowledge of how things work in the Matrix Purgatory, and yes, it's brutal inside. But at this point in time, we don't have any direct conflicts of interest. Which means the only way we'll survive is by working together. I suggest we all briefly introduce ourselves and share what starter items we received, so we can form a proper strategy as a team."
"I'll go first. My name is Li Wei, from China. I was an office worker. My starter item is a machete."
He pulled out a thick-bladed chopper and gave it a few solid swings for emphasis, clearly trying to build trust.
From his tone and manner, he was likely a mid-level manager or team lead in some corporate or administrative role.
His lead seemed to ease some of the tension. One by one, the others began to speak up.
"I'm Huang Liu, also from China. Military background. My starter item is a handgun."
"I'm Zhang Hai, university student. Starter item: reinforced steel wire rope."
"Logan Grant, American. I'm an interior designer. My starter item is an adrenaline shot."
...
The group was a mixed bag of East and West—even one guy claimed to be from a settlement near the Sahara Desert.
A teenage girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, muttered, "Good thing the system has auto-translation. Otherwise, this would be a nightmare."
After the last introduction, everyone turned to the only person who hadn't spoken—the red-eyed man silently observing the streets outside the window.
When Orsaga turned to face them, his crimson gaze swept over the group with a calm, indifferent air.
There was no fear, no urgency—just the vibe of a man out for a stroll.
In that moment, they all had the same thought:
'This guy doesn't belong in the same category as the rest of us.'
That untouchable aura... He's operating on a whole different level.
Li Wei hesitated, but eventually cleared his throat and asked, "Friend, everyone else has introduced themselves. Your turn."
Orsaga raised his half-empty bottle of kvass and replied plainly:
"Orsaga. No nationality. My starter item… is this."
He took another sip, then added, "I don't plan on fighting any of you—seems pointless—but I also don't have any intention of working together. I prefer to act alone. So… see you around."
With that, he turned, opened the door, and stepped out.
He even closed the door politely behind him.
A man of courtesy—just one marching entirely to the beat of his own drum.
"…"
After a few moments of stunned silence, someone finally muttered, "Forget about him. Let's continue."
Most people preferred to act in groups—strength in numbers.
Even Huang Liu, who'd trained with elite special forces, knew it was foolish to try and survive a zombie outbreak solo—especially when the threat of mutated creatures like Lickers was very real.
You needed at least two or three competent allies to stand a chance.
While some of the recruits looked like they'd fold under pressure, a few had decent potential.
That was enough to justify sticking together—for now.
After Orsaga's departure, Li Wei clapped his hands to refocus the group's attention.
"Alright, now that the lone wolf has gone, I assume the rest of us are on the same page—we're a temporary team. Let's discuss our next steps. Based on what I know of the Resident Evil franchise, if we prepare properly, surviving seven days isn't impossible. But remember—this might be the least dangerous world we'll face for a long time. So if we want to succeed in the long term, we need to do more than just the main mission. We have to aim for some side objectives too. That's how we build up our initial resources.
Anyone have thoughts?"
A woman in her twenties spoke up thoughtfully:
"I'm concerned about the part that mentioned a '27% Plot Divergence.' My guide said the scenarios in Matrix Purgatory are never exact copies of movies, games, or novels. They're much more complex. The 'Plot Divergence' is a key metric.
Once divergence passes 25%, major deviations from canon can occur. At 50%, events might completely contradict the original story. And if it hits 75%… all bets are off. My guide gave me an example: one team entered a 79% diverged version of Sword Art Online."
"They thought they were trapped in a VR game. But after clearing the final level, they discovered the game world was actually a digital Matrix built by an AI called Yui's Heart—like a twisted mix between SAO and The Matrix. The real world outside was ruled by armies of machines. So once they beat the game, they had to join the human resistance, led by Nobuyuki Sugou, to fight against those mechs…"
She glanced at the mission prompt.
"And here, we're dealing with 27% divergence—that's already serious. Things could go very differently. The nuclear warhead Umbrella plans to drop on Raccoon City? It might be launched earlier. Or later. Who knows?, Personally, I think we should get out of the city as soon as possible."
Her words made Li Wei frown slightly.
His own guide had mentioned divergence, but only in passing—not in any meaningful detail.
Which was why he hadn't taken it seriously until now.
But now?
If the risk was this high, maybe a safer strategy was better for their first big score.
Huang Liu—who had also received vague guidance—felt the same.
But unlike Li Wei, his military training kicked in.
If different guides provided varying levels of information depending on personality and compatibility with their Purgators…
Then maybe he could piece together a full beginner's guide by carefully listening to everyone's input—filling in the blanks and avoiding rookie mistakes.
With that thought, he fell silent, quietly deep in planning.
Orsaga paid no attention to what the other Purgators were doing.
After stepping out of the hotel, he casually strolled away, aimlessly wandering the streets like someone out shopping, without the slightest trace of tension or urgency.
After all, he was just an "ordinary person" who didn't know the plot.
The memories from his previous life offered only vague fragments about this world. He knew that in the first film, something called the T-virus leaked from a secret underground facility, which led to an outbreak—zombies and mutated monsters running rampant.
He also remembered that this setting was practically a required first stop in most "infinite flow" worlds.
That was why he had chosen this one for his tutorial mission.
As for what Umbrella Corporation really was, or who Alice actually was—he had absolutely no clue.
Even the "Raccoon City" mentioned in the mission brief? He wasn't entirely sure what or where that was. But judging from the "Resident" part of his assigned identity, he could at least assume that this city was it.
So the question became:
When does the nuke drop?
Orsaga scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Yeah... That's a problem."
Just as he was pondering such trivialities—
WEE-OOO! WEE-OOO!
THWUP-THWUP-THWUP—
A line of police cars screamed past him, while an armed helicopter buzzed overhead and quickly sped off.
Moments later, a shrill emergency siren began echoing across the entire city. Official announcements rolled through the speakers, advising civilians to stay indoors.
Though he still didn't know exactly what was going on, Orsaga had seen enough Hollywood movies to recognize the signs.
"Ah, so the plot's probably about to start."
He casually picked up a piece of wire from the ground, then swung a leg over a nearby parked scooter.
"?"
The scooter's owner, just stepping out of a fast-food shop for a soda, blinked in confusion.
Without hesitation, Orsaga jabbed the wire into the ignition lock and gave it a gentle twist.
Click-click-click...
The engine started.
Then he gently twisted the throttle and drove off like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"!"
The owner's face went pale.
"He… he just stole my scooter?!"
In broad daylight?! Right in the middle of a busy street?!
That thing had cost him two months of hard-earned savings!
Outraged, he bellowed, "SOMEONE STOLE MY SCOOTER!!"
Then he bolted after Orsaga with all the determination of a man possessed.
Fueled by rage and desperation, he sprinted like he was channeling the spirit of Usain Bolt. But the scooter quickly pulled ahead, and with every second, it shrank into the distance.
Despair settled in. Even the scorching sun couldn't compete with the chill in his heart.
Meanwhile, Jill Valentine—Raccoon City's very own police beauty—had just suited up and was locking her apartment door, preparing to head to the station.
That's when she heard the panicked shouting echo from down the street.
Turning her head, she saw a sharply dressed man riding off on a scooter, followed closely by a breathless man flailing after him.
"?"
She caught the word "stolen" in the frantic yelling, and when she looked closer at Orsaga's tailored outfit, she couldn't quite believe he was a thief.
The value of his clothes alone could probably buy dozens of scooters.
Still, her instincts as an officer kicked in. Duty before doubt.
She stepped forward and called out sharply:
"HEY! PULL OVER, NOW!"
She hoped to stop him for questioning and figure out what was going on.
But Orsaga didn't even blink—let alone slow down.
He just cruised past her, totally unfazed.
Jill's eyes narrowed. Something about this guy was definitely off.
As Orsaga approached, she spun and launched a whip-like roundhouse kick—meant to show him what Raccoon City's finest were made of.
Behind him, the scooter's rightful owner lit up with hope.
'Justice! Finally!'
He recognized Jill—she'd hauled him in multiple times for petty weed dealing when he was scraping together money to buy that scooter in the first place.
But in that moment, all past grudges were forgotten. Jill was the shining beacon of justice he so desperately needed.
He yelled, breathless, "Get him, Officer! Don't let him get away!"
But Orsaga merely tilted his body slightly—dodging the kick at an impossible angle—then smoothly accelerated past without missing a beat.
He even tossed over his shoulder, in a low, mocking tone:
"Pathetic."
The smirk on his face. The way he didn't even look back.
Jill's chest tightened with disbelief and burning humiliation.
She gritted her teeth and took off in pursuit, muttering under her breath,
"You bastard... if I catch you, I swear I'll make you pay!"
And so the scene became one of chaotic farce:
One man leisurely riding a scooter, trailed by two furious pursuers.
To keep things "fair," Orsaga even adjusted his speed now and then—letting them almost catch up, only to pull away again at the last second.
The sheer frustration on their faces was delicious.
This was what Orsaga called simple joy.
His happiness often came from something as basic as watching other people suffer.
"Keh-heh-heh-hehhh~"
Eventually, as the two behind him gasped for air, completely out of strength, Orsaga laughed like a comic-book villain and sped off down the road.
Behind him, Jill and the scooter's original owner collapsed to the ground, panting like two dogs who'd just lost a chase.
(:з」∠)
↑ That's how they flopped down.
Tears slipped from the scooter owner's eyes. He could only weep for a city where even a humble scooter couldn't be protected.
(:D)∠)
↑ Still flopped.
Jill, meanwhile, was so furious she could hardly breathe. Her liver ached from the effort.
In all her years on the force, she had never encountered a thief so smug.
That look on his face—"You wish you could kill me, but you can't."
She'd very nearly drawn her gun right then and there.
After finally losing them, Orsaga drove for a while longer before parking near the back entrance of a large supermarket.
Thanks to the city-wide lockdown, the place had closed early.
The employees had all happily gone home—rolling down the steel shutters behind them.
But did any of that matter to Orsaga?
Of course not.
He took the same wire from before, slid it into the shutter's lock, twisted twice—and click—the door popped open like magic.
He stepped inside, then rolled the shutter closed behind him.
Time to do some "shopping."