In truth, those who noticed the abnormal phenomena weren't just the native inhabitants behind the front lines.
It was actually the abyssal demons of the polluted Lands who were the first to sense it. After all, they possessed an innate sensitivity to negative energy.
To them, those drifting, coalescing clouds of black mist were glaringly obvious—so much so that they didn't even need magic to perceive them.
At first, many abyssal beings were intrigued by the appearance of the black mist. They swarmed toward the source, hoping to scavenge some benefits. But as the scale of the black mist grew—so large it was clearly unnatural—they immediately turned tail and fled even faster than they had arrived.
After all, that overwhelming wave of resentment and hatred blanketing the mountains didn't resemble the emergence of a rare treasure or sacred relic. From every angle, it looked like the prelude to the appearance of some kind of apocalyptic demon or legendary monstrosity.
Driven by the primal instinct to avoid disaster, even low-intelligence creatures like Lesser demons, with minds barely more advanced than wild beasts, instinctively realized that sticking around would not end well.
Who knew if some ancient horror might wake up and decide to snack on a few demons for an appetizer? When faced with that possibility, fleeing was the obvious choice.
They came fast, but they ran even faster!
From afar, those within the front line watched the abyssal creatures' frenzied retreat through scrying spells—and their faces turned grim.
While this confirmed that the unknown entity—likely some ancient evil—had no allegiance with the abyssal creatures…
…it also confirmed how dangerous that presence truly was. Otherwise, those Demons, who normally threw themselves at the front line without hesitation, wouldn't have run like they'd grown extra legs.
After some thought, Henry found himself deeply unsettled.
If it truly was an ancient evil awakening, and they didn't start preparing for evacuation immediately, the consequences could be catastrophic.
But if it wasn't an ancient evil, and he pulled his forces out preemptively—causing the entire front to collapse—the responsibility would fall squarely on his shoulders.
Caught between two impossible choices, he felt paralyzed. He wanted to investigate, but he also knew that venturing into the polluted Lands without certainty was tantamount to suicide. The abyssal creatures wouldn't mind a free meal.
"What the hell am I supposed to do…"
He felt like his head was about to explode. Completely lost.
BOOM!!!
Just then, a long-drifting crimson lightning bolt in the sky suddenly surged toward a single point. Countless branching arcs split the sky like veins of burning blood, painting the entire sky red.
With a deafening roar, the lightning struck. A massive crater—several kilometers deep—instantly appeared where it hit. Flickering currents and boiling air writhed within the impact zone, while shockwaves churned the earth into a tidal wave of dirt that surged outward like a tsunami.
———
Ever since Orsaga merged himself with the swirling negative energy, he had submerged into his inner consciousness.
Within that inner world, voices of temptation, threats, and seduction echoed endlessly—riding the influx of black mist into his mind. It felt like a billion voices were trying to brainwash him all at once.
Because he had willingly merged with the energy, he couldn't block them out. All he could do was passively listen as chaos and madness flooded his soul.
"Help me…"
"Why was I the one to die…"
"Kill them… kill them all…"
"Hahahahaha…"
"Why did it have to be back then…"
The cacophony of deranged whispers mixed into a storm of insanity—grating, maddening. Yet he could hear every word with unnatural clarity, unable to ignore even a single syllable.
In this inner world, time flowed differently than in the physical world. Orsaga endured the mental assault for what felt like years—maybe one year, maybe ten—before his patience finally snapped.
His rage began to swell uncontrollably.
"A bunch of worthless wretches! You're testing how much nonsense I can tolerate? You're dead, and yet you still run your mouths like this. Seems like you didn't die thoroughly enough…"
In the next instant, his will materialized into his original form within his inner world.
The whispers around him transformed into countless grotesque apparitions—demons, humans, elves—every race imaginable. Bloodied and crazed, they lunged at Orsaga with murderous intent.
With a single punch, he shattered a charging dwarf into mist and scattered the remains into the sky. Then, grinning wildly, Orsaga charged into the horde of mad spirits.
He triggered a storm of carnage—a crimson tidal wave of violence that drowned the phantoms in blood. These beings, already long dead, were slaughtered anew with brute force, their final remnants crushed and devoured to nourish his soul.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha!!"
Time passed. Orsaga didn't know how long. He didn't know how many he had slain.
But still lost in the ecstasy of slaughter, he suddenly burst into laughter.
He had sensed it clearly—those lingering souls, despite already being dead, had begun to fear him.
He didn't know what that meant, didn't know its significance—but it felt good. It felt right. And so, he killed faster, smashing his enemies into dust with greater joy.
Meanwhile, in the real world, the black mist centered around his body had grown so dense that even ordinary people could see it with their naked eyes.
It resembled a colossal vortex of darkness, sucking in resentment, pain, and hatred from the surrounding land and funneling it straight into Orsaga's body—feeding him endless power.
Inside his body, both his magical energy and his bloodline began to undergo strange and unpredictable changes. It was as if a new source of power and a new evolutionary path had been grafted onto his very being, shining with a light completely unlike before.
Hidden potential was unearthed and purified. His internal evolution system, like a machine injected with stimulants, ruthlessly trimmed away unnecessary flaws—perfecting his transformation, forging a path of evolution more flawless than ever.
Everything was proceeding smoothly.
There were no interruptions.
The abyssal creatures believed a major boss was about to emerge and wisely fled to avoid becoming snacks. The locals couldn't reach the area because of the terrain and were likewise preparing to flee.
For a time, within hundreds of kilometers, there wasn't a single living being left.
But the World Will of Myling refused to sit still.
Orsaga's actions were a direct affront to it!
The ancient evils of the past had been terrible, yes—but at least they were native to this world. Orsaga, however, was a foreign invader trying to pull the same tricks. That was simply intolerable.
So just as his metamorphosis neared completion, the lightning that had been gathering for so long in the sky finally struck—without mercy.
Deep in his subconscious, Orsaga instantly sensed mortal danger.
Without hesitation, he forcefully interrupted the transformation and woke from his trance.
The dozens of emergency spells layered on his body activated simultaneously, buying him a mere 1/200th of a second to escape.
In that blood-red flash of light, he teleported dozens of kilometers away from his original location.
It was then that Orsaga finally saw the storm of crimson lightning covering the entire sky like branching trees, woven across the sky.
And from it, he felt an overwhelming malice—and a bone-deep warning.
Clicking his tongue, he reluctantly gave up the idea of completing his metamorphosis in this world.
Even the World Will was getting ready to throw hands. He wasn't some Archdemon or Demon Lord—there was no way he could endure that.
Admitting defeat to the bigger fist, Orsaga spat toward the sky and muttered under his breath:
"Can't deny it. You're stronger than me right now. Fine—I'll let you win this round."
__
T/N:
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