Just as the leading man was chugging his drink with gusto—
A completely unfamiliar voice suddenly entered his ears.
"This booze isn't all that great."
He immediately retorted, "Nonsense! This is expensive, top-shelf stuff!"
Turning his head to argue, he froze the moment he saw Orsaga. The slight buzz from the alcohol only made his reaction quicker—he blurted out without thinking, "Who the hell are you?"
The rest of the group, hearing this, also turned their attention toward Orsaga.
Their gazes were filled with confusion and suspicion.
In response to their bewilderment, Orsaga casually replied, "Just here for the buffet."
Then, right in front of them, he tilted the bottle in his hand and took another swig. "Can't say whether the wine is expensive or not, but the taste is garbage."
He licked his lips. "Although… the flavor of a few of the poisons in it isn't bad. Adds a unique accent."
The leading man caught onto the keyword and stiffened. "A few poisons?"
He distinctly remembered only poisoning the food, not the wine.
Meanwhile, the faces of the others went pale, expressions shifting instantly to disbelief.
But before any of them could react—
The combined effect of the multiple toxins kicked in.
Foam began leaking from their mouths on the spot.
Their bodies trembled and convulsed, staggering like epileptics caught in a seizure.
Seeing this, Orsaga just shrugged. "Looks like you guys didn't coordinate very well. Your plans overlapped."
The leading man curled up on the floor. Looking at Orsaga's laid-back demeanor, he weakly tugged at his pants leg, gasping, "S-Save me…"
Orsaga took a bite of food and responded unhurriedly, "Don't worry. I'm usually a merciful guy. Of course I'll help."
And then—
Before they could even register the hope in his words, he helped them escape their suffering… with a swift, brutal kick each.
Fast, precise, ruthless.
Highly efficient.
The only downside was that their faces didn't look the least bit peaceful.
After generously lending a hand, Orsaga sat back down and resumed eating, leisurely pulling out his tail and plunging it into each corpse's brain to extract their memories.
"There were three kinds of poison in the food too. Damn, your synergy was on point."
Before long, after finishing the meal, he used his tail to nudge aside the shriveled husks drained of all blood and essence, chuckling as he commented, "Even your own corpses came pre-marinated for me. Now that's thoughtful."
From the memories of these guys, Orsaga gained a solid grasp of this world's customs and basic knowledge—enough to blend in as a well-informed local.
Not only that, but they had even "kindly" included a good number of juicy rumors, allowing him to gain even more insight into this world.
To be honest—
He hadn't expected this level of considerate service.
Originally, he had picked them because they were a minor but powerful local gang—nobodies in the bigger picture, unloved by both the law and the underworld. No one would care if they disappeared, making them the perfect low-impact targets.
And because of their profession, they had extensive intel networks. Their memories were likely to contain plenty of useful information.
That's why Orsaga had selected them as his lucky test subjects.
He never would've guessed that he'd stumbled upon such a golden combo of incompetence and value—it almost made him feel a little bad.
In appreciation of their unexpectedly stellar service, Orsaga even lit a fire as he left, offering them a half-hearted cremation at least.
What he didn't know was—
Because the fire he used was an ordinary one, and the area was so humid and damp…
By the time emergency services arrived, the corpses had only been roasted to medium rare.
Dozens of firefighters looked at the warped and grotesque remains, faces pale and unsure what to make of it.
This event would later become a notorious urban legend in Ironmist City, spawning countless horror stories.
---
The Next Day
Inside a large steam-powered vehicle known in this world as a Steam Railcar—similar in purpose to a train but still relying on mechanical steam engines—
Orsaga sat in a VIP compartment, leisurely sipping a cup of tea, one leg crossed over the other.
On the table before him were a variety of delicacies brought by the attendants. He looked perfectly content.
When it came to food, clothing, and comfort, no matter the world, as long as conditions permitted, Orsaga never skimped on himself.
Just then, a soft announcement rang out from the intercoms around him:
"Dear passengers, this train will be departing in a few minutes.
Estimated arrival at destination—Glenser Town—is tomorrow afternoon."
That's right.
The final stop of this train was exactly where the mansion he intended to clean up was located.
As for why he chose to take the train, such a slow means of travel—
Simple. He wanted to experience the local life.
In his view, every world has its own culture and flavor. When time isn't a concern, there's no need to rush.
His pursuit of power had always been for the sake of convenience—so he could live more freely and enjoy life to the fullest.
Which is why pleasure was essential.
Living like a monk, training day and night, ignoring everything outside, never tasting fine food, never touching beauty, never wearing stylish clothes, never sleeping in luxury—
That kind of life was never Orsaga's ideal.
Power was a tool—if you didn't use it to enhance your life, then what was the point?
He liked to enjoy the best things in life.
And he really liked the looks people gave him—the jealousy, the hatred, the helpless rage. He found it amusing. Truth be told, he was just a twisted bastard at heart.
At least, he was always honest about that.
He knew exactly what he wanted. What kind of person he was. Where he stood.
If you couldn't answer those questions clearly, trouble was only a matter of time.
---
Not long after—
As the train slowly started moving, a strange ripple passed through the link of his Abyssal Contract and reached Orsaga.
In that moment, he understood—
The middle-aged man who had summoned him… was dead.
Cause of death: organ failure.
When he was first summoned, Orsaga had immediately noticed the man's condition.
Gunshot wounds mixed with the lingering residue of some peculiar power—definitely lethal for a regular person.
The man had survived up until now purely by sheer willpower.
That was why Orsaga had reminded him to prepare a proper burial plot. After all, being left to rot in the wild was just undignified.
Sure, Orsaga could've healed him on the spot.
But of course, he didn't.
For a demon, a dead summoner was a good summoner.
A healthy one? That just spelled trouble.
Now, hearing the news of the man's death, Orsaga gently swirled the tea in his cup. A faint smile curled at his lips.
A short distance away, a few rich young ladies who had been secretly observing him blushed at the sight.
They were clearly tempted to come over and strike up a conversation.
No surprise there.
Orsaga's appearance had always guaranteed he never lacked attention from the opposite sex.
____
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