Staring at the bronze shard placed before him, he ran his fingers over the blood-colored rust.
He felt the fine, almost crack-like patterns etched into the surface.
A curious woman standing next to Orsaga asked with bright eyes, "Do you know what this is? Don't tell me it's actually a fragment of a divine artifact?"
Despite her words, she didn't truly believe it. Even if it had once been part of a divine artifact, in its current state, it was nothing more than a relic of past glory.
At most, it was a decorative trinket now—she couldn't imagine any real use for it.
Casually handing money to the maid, Orsaga replied calmly, "It might be a fragment of a divine artifact. But that hardly matters anymore. It's far too damaged to be worth repairing. From my point of view, it only has residual value now."
"Residual value?"
Puzzled, she passed the item back to Orsaga.
Though her curiosity was piqued, her upbringing reminded her that if Orsaga chose not to elaborate, it was better not to push further.
Sometimes, knowing too much wasn't a good thing.
Orsaga didn't bother with her thoughts. He took the fragment and examined it carefully.
What he'd said just now wasn't a lie.
He really had no clue what this thing was.
The only reason he bought it was because he could sense the presence of a half-dead soul sealed within.
Lifting it to his nose, he gave it a light sniff. Beyond the faint scent of rusted bronze, there was something else—an alluring aroma.
It was like an ancient wine aged for centuries, exuding a rich, intoxicating fragrance.
Even he found himself slightly entranced.
'Jackpot. I didn't expect the soul's quality to be this high…'
'Hmm... and such a strong stench of hatred too. The perfect finishing touch…'
It was the most delicious soul scent he'd ever encountered!
Compared to the ones he'd consumed in the past, those were garbage—completely inferior, not even in the same league.
Just inhaling its aroma was enough to stir the hunger of the demon inside him. Every fiber of his being was screaming to devour it now.
His instincts urged him: Eat it. There will be benefits.
As stomach acid churned hungrily inside him, he glanced around at the people nearby and muttered, "Damn it, now I'm starving…"
After a brief moment of thought, he decided to endure—for now.
He'd find a quiet place later to properly enjoy the delicacy.
So he popped the fragment into his mouth.
Didn't even chew.
Just swallowed it whole!
Reason: 'What the hell are you doing? I told you to keep a low profile!'
Instinct: 'Eat first, ask questions never! Let me enjoy my demon life—you just wouldn't understand!'
Regret followed immediately.
"Shit… ate too fast. Forgot to chew and savor the flavor…"
Around him, the people who were wondering what he would do with that thing now looked like they'd seen a ghost.
No one had expected that move.
No one could've expected it!
"Wasn't that thing said to be unbreakable even by demigods? Are you sure it's even edible?"
Looking at the satisfied expression on his face—even the two seasoned hosts on stage—everyone struggled to process what they were witnessing.
It was like watching a regular person bite into the armor plate of a battle tank and enjoy it.
People stared at the few distinctive traits on Orsaga's body, and the same question echoed through their minds:
'What is this guy? What race does he even belong to?'
Seeing the two women next to him frozen in shock, Orsaga waved a hand in front of their faces to snap them back to reality.
Casually, he asked, "What's wrong?"
The two of them hurriedly shook their heads. "N-nothing… nothing at all…"
One of them hesitated for a moment, then glanced at his stomach and asked, half-doubtful, "Doesn't eating like that… upset your digestion?"
She genuinely couldn't imagine what kind of stomach could possibly digest that.
Orsaga patted his belly and answered with a slight grimace, "Uh… it does feel a bit hard to digest, I guess."
The other woman immediately leaned forward, concerned. "Are you okay? Do you need to rest for a bit?"
She was clearly showing care for Orsaga.
Which caused the woman next to her to clench her jaw in irritation.
Orsaga just shrugged indifferently and declined, "Nah, I'm fine. Just a bit of a rumble, that's all."
Seeing that he wasn't suffering from any serious reaction, the two women relaxed slightly. One of them added:
"Well, if it gets worse, I know a pharmacy that sells potions to help digestion."
Of course, it wasn't like they really cared about Orsaga.
At the end of the day, they just didn't want to lose their golden goose.
People are practical like that. They hadn't known him long—there was no time to develop genuine feelings.
They knew very well: if this man were to suddenly die, not only would they lose a powerful protector, even the legendary artifact they'd just acquired would probably be seized by some noble higher-up.
Given that, Orsaga's bizarre behavior earlier didn't matter anymore.
As long as their own interests remained safe, he could be as insane as he wanted.
Orsaga, fully aware of their true intentions, didn't bother explaining further.
He didn't clarify that when he said "a bit of a rumble," he didn't mean an upset stomach—he meant that fragment was quite literally causing trouble inside him.
Right now, it was bouncing around like a rabid dog inside his stomach acid.
Still, he wasn't too worried.
The soul sealed inside was half-dead. It might've once been stronger than him in raw power, but now it had barely any strength left.
Once it entered his stomach, it couldn't escape.
As a Flame Demon, Orsaga's stomach and heart were the hottest, most dangerous parts of his body—like living furnaces. Temperatures easily reached hundreds of thousands of degrees. With all his innate traits, the corrosiveness and toxicity were off the charts.
By danger level alone, they were far deadlier than the center of a nuclear explosion.
And it wasn't just matter. Even souls—intangible entities—could be dissolved in seconds.
"Aargh… I'll kill you… Glenn! Glenn! Aargh…"
Listening to the fragmented howls echoing from within his gut, Orsaga scratched his head with disinterest.
He quietly urged his stomach acids to work faster, wearing down the intruder.
He could tell—it was just a fragment of a soul, barely clinging on thanks to the unique properties of the bronze shard.
If it hadn't sensed danger and awakened on instinct, it probably would've stayed asleep until it faded into nothingness.
Even now, the soul's memories were likely shattered beyond repair.
It probably didn't even know who "Glenn" was—just some name it kept repeating in blind hatred.
As he absorbed the dissolving essence, Orsaga could clearly feel his evolution—once interrupted by the world's consciousness—picking up again with new material to refine.
Like comparing multiple models of something, he suddenly realized that what once seemed perfect… could actually be improved.
At the same time, fragments of the soul's chaotic memories began to flow into his mind.
All of the soul's remaining value was now being transferred into him—slowly but surely.
In this world, it was a fundamental rule:
The victor takes all from the defeated.
Even if that victory came effortlessly.
__
T/N:
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