The finest inn in Augustus.
Inside one of its luxury suites.
Orsaga, who had been lying in bed for the past six months, slowly opened his eyes.
"All the knowledge has been absorbed. But to fully comprehend it all… that'll probably take a few more years."
At that thought, he swept a glance across the room. Although it hadn't been maintained for half a year, thanks to the influence of magic, everything remained impeccably clean and tidy.
He reached over and gently rang a small bell by the bedside.
A soft female voice immediately responded, "Honored guest, what may I assist you with?"
"Bring me some local specialties from this city."
With his instructions given, he adjusted his posture slightly and let out a faint sigh.
Even for someone like him, spending six full months absorbing and organizing that immense volume of knowledge had taken its toll.
"After I eat, I should go out for a walk… It's been too long."
With that thought, he came to a decision.
Fortunately, the wait for food wasn't long.
After a series of quick knocks on the door and Orsaga's response, four beautiful attendants pushed in a serving cart and entered the room.
The lead maid's eyes lit up when she saw Orsaga lying in bed. She smiled and said, "Please wait a moment, we'll set up your meal right away."
The other three maids subtly glanced at Orsaga as well, sneaking peeks as they worked.
They were quite curious about this elusive guest who had booked an entire luxury suite for a whole year, yet hadn't made a sound for half of it. He was fast becoming a spooky legend among the inn staff.
According to the rumors, he was supposed to be an extraordinarily handsome man.
Judging from what they now saw, Orsaga certainly lived up to the expectations—he matched the rumors perfectly.
With practiced efficiency, the maids arranged the dishes neatly.
The lead maid then gave a slight bow and asked, "My lord, would you like us to assist you with your meal?"
"No need. You may go."
Orsaga waved his hand calmly, signaling for them to leave.
Though the maids had hoped to engage him further, a trace of disappointment flashed in their eyes. Nevertheless, their professional demeanor held, and without another word, they quietly exited.
Casually glancing at the food laid out not far from him, Orsaga didn't even move from the bed. His mouth began making chewing motions.
As he did, the food on the table several meters away started to vanish, bit by bit—an eerie sight.
After a while, with his meal finished, Orsaga performed a perfect kip-up, springing to his feet.
"Time to stretch my legs. Haven't moved in half a year."
With the sound of joints cracking like firecrackers, he loosened up his long-unused bones, then opened the door and stepped out.
The moment he hit the street, Orsaga noticed something different.
There were a lot more people than half a year ago.
"Is there some kind of festival going on?"
He took a few more glances and quickly ruled that out.
Most people didn't look happy—in fact, their expressions were more on the gloomy side. Many of them were dressed decently, yet carried an unmistakable air of defeat, like stray dogs down on their luck.
Perplexed, Orsaga tuned into the conversations around him.
In an instant, the voices of thousands of people flooded into his ears.
After a few minutes of sifting through fragments of conversations, he pieced together the full picture.
Two months ago…
A nation just over two thousand kilometers from here had been infiltrated by a group of fanatical Abyss cultists. These lunatics had somehow managed to open a portal deep within the country's interior—one that led directly to a corrupted wasteland.
The Abyssal monsters, starving, desperate, and isolated, couldn't resist such an all-you-can-eat buffet. They surged through the portal in waves, overwhelming the region in what could only be described as an internal detonation.
Half of the royal family and a third of the country's population were wiped out that very day.
It took dozens of neighboring nations deploying troops across immense distances—regardless of cost—to finally contain the tide of abyssal monsters within a defined area.
But no matter how well-constructed, such an emergency containment zone had its limits.
Even now, abyssal creatures continued to slip past patrols and cause chaos, turning into rogue threats that plagued nearby regions.
Soon, surrounding areas were caught in a spiral of violence and fear. Tragedies became a common occurrence—especially for small villages and traveling merchant caravans. If they encountered an abyssal creature alone, they often didn't survive long enough to see the arrival of a rescue team.
To stay alive, many smaller caravans began traveling in groups, while rural villages and even small towns started migrating toward major cities.
Under such circumstances, Augustus—being the largest, most secure city in the region—naturally had to bear the brunt of the influx.
In just two months, the city's population had doubled. And the number was still climbing.
Even with dedicated personnel trying to manage the situation, the sheer volume of new arrivals outpaced their efforts. Prices for everything—housing, food, you name it—were skyrocketing.
With tensions rising, the local residents, who felt unfairly affected by this sudden wave of migrants, began clashing more and more with the newcomers.
Protests and demonstrations erupted all over the city.
And then—just like that—it was over.
The authorities acted swiftly and decisively. No lengthy negotiations. No back-and-forth.
In Augustus, the real power lay in the hands of the mage class, and their perspective was far broader than that of common folk. The high-Rank mages, some of whom had lived even longer than elves, understood the situation perfectly.
They knew that while brute-force suppression wouldn't solve the root of the problem, it could still remove the people causing the problem.
Take out the ringleaders, and the rest of the civilians would scatter like loose sand. Dissatisfied they might be, but without a leader, they posed no real threat.
No need to worry.
And for the powerless common folk, even if they understood this logic, there was nothing they could do.
In this world, power spoke louder than anything else. A high-Rank mage could single-handedly slaughter tens of thousands of regular people. Resistance simply wasn't a viable option.
Throughout history, the only successful uprisings by the lower classes had always involved external backers. Without that kind of support, no matter how corrupt the elite were, they could easily crush any rebellious commoners with their eyes closed.
Having sorted out the full story, Orsaga couldn't help but let out a low whistle.
What a delightful surprise to learn such good news on his first day out.
Sympathy? Not a chance.
Watching others suffer was a daily joy. It was, in fact, the essence of a demon's life.
If a few demons died horribly in front of him, that would double the entertainment.
Preferably in the most gruesome, miserable way possible.
'Enemies suffering? Allies dying?, Now that's what I call a good time!'
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