After failing in his attempt to make an extra profit off the dark God, Orsaga casually took a glass of wine from a large tray carried by a passing servant and found a seat.
He made no attempt to interfere with the ongoing argument between the women in front of him, letting them hurl sarcasm and insults at one another freely.
Not long after, as he listened to their intense verbal exchanges, Orsaga even managed to expand his vocabulary. His understanding of the various languages in this world had subtly improved.
Half an hour later, although no one emerged victorious from the argument, the pressure of being watched by so many onlookers forced both sides to maintain some sense of decorum. Eventually, they each took a step back and dispersed before things got too ugly.
Feeling stifled and frustrated, Golarial turned her head and saw Orsaga calmly sitting on a sofa nearby, still wearing his usual unbothered expression.
Unhappy, she picked up a glass of wine and downed it in one go.
Then, she lightly nudged Orsaga with the toe of her high heel, frowning in frustration. "You really don't care at all? Not even a little?"
Orsaga replied calmly, "Why should I? I have nothing to do with them. Why should I be concerned?"
After observing his face for a while and realizing that he truly didn't care, Golarial shook her head and sighed. "Those women used to be your companions. You show such indifference… haven't you ever felt a hint of sympathy for them?"
Shaking his head, Orsaga answered bluntly, with no attempt to soften his words, "That kind of thing doesn't exist in me. As far as I'm concerned, our relationships were nothing more than mutual benefit. There were no emotional entanglements involved."
Then he added, "At least not on my part."
His attitude remained calm and composed from beginning to end.
Faced with that, Golarial could only shake her head again, sighing, "You really are cold. I doubt you'll ever fall for anyone in this lifetime."
In her view, Orsaga's mentality was that of someone fundamentally isolated—he simply didn't share his inner thoughts with anyone.
He disregarded all external influences.
She suspected he would never truly love anyone, nor could he sincerely connect with another person.
In response to her remark, a long-deceased figure appeared in Orsaga's mind—someone who had died over a hundred years ago.
She was the only person Orsaga had ever truly indulged in his life.
His brows furrowed slightly as he pondered, then he gave an uncertain answer: "Fall for someone? I suppose… maybe once?"
Even he wasn't sure if what he had felt back then could be called love, but whatever it was, it had only happened that one time in his life.
After killing her with his own hands, the most direct consequence was that what little humanity he once had nearly vanished, leaving behind only pure rationality.
Hearing this unexpected response from Orsaga, Golarial studied his expression. Sensing his usual, deep-rooted indifference, she couldn't help but think:
'This heartless man… doesn't look like someone who's ever been in love.'
Curious, she asked, "If even you fell for her, just how beautiful must she have been?"
Comparing the face in his mind with Golarial's, Orsaga replied calmly, "She was just an ordinary person. Nowhere near as beautiful as you."
A mortal from a low-tier world had no grounds for comparison with a legendary elf from a high-tier world in terms of appearance.
Golarial raised her brows, intrigued, and asked, "Can I meet her? I'm genuinely curious what kind of woman could move someone like you."
What she didn't say was that part of her wanted to compare herself directly with this woman.
Seeing through her thoughts, Orsaga remained unbothered and answered flatly, "You can't. She's dead. I killed her myself."
Golarial froze instantly.
She carefully studied Orsaga's expression again and, seeing no sign of deceit, a look of realization crossed her eyes.
She finally understood part of the reason for Orsaga's emotional detachment.
At the same time, she let go of the little desire she had been secretly harboring.
Over the centuries, she had seen many people who, for various reasons, were forced to kill the one they loved.
But none of them had ever been able to remain as calm and composed as Orsaga.
'He's not someone I can change...'
Golarial recognized this clearly and wisely chose to abandon any unrealistic hopes she might have had.
That said, she didn't feel the need to distance herself from Orsaga.
After all, even if they couldn't take things further, maintaining their current relationship was still worthwhile to her.
She had nothing to lose.
As for Orsaga, he didn't react at all. He calmly accepted Golarial's choice.
In the end, whether she chose to leave or stay, it didn't matter to him—it was too trivial a matter to waste time thinking about.
---
A few dozen days passed.
Orsaga had already left Misturk.
He had gathered all the information he needed from that city, so there was no longer any reason to stay.
Now, he was riding in a carriage toward the most prosperous nation among all the surrounding countries.
According to the information he had gathered, this country was primarily composed of mages. The circulation of knowledge there far exceeded that of the region Orsaga had been in. Most of Misturk's resources were purchased by this nation and constantly funneled into magical experiments—like a massive gold-devouring beast.
As for why Orsaga chose to travel by carriage instead of using faster transportation methods, the answer was simple: he wanted to observe the world along the way.
That said, the jolting motion of the carriage was far from pleasant.
After a while, the carriage finally stopped shaking. A respectful voice sounded from outside:
"My lord, the convoy needs to rest for a while. You may step out to stretch your legs."
"Understood," Orsaga replied casually and stepped out of the carriage.
The coachman began removing the saddles from the horses and led them away to rest and graze.
In this world, most horses had been magically enhanced.
Generations of selective breeding and subtle modification by the locals had made them far stronger than their distant relatives in lower-tier worlds.
Even ordinary civilian horses could reach speeds of several dozen kilometers per hour and possessed excellent stamina, running for hours without tiring.
As for warhorses—they were like living engines, capable of traveling day and night on long marches without rest.
This was one of the main reasons why traditional cavalry still held an important role on battlefields filled with supernatural beings, serving as the core force in many wars.
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T/N:
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