Amidst the rhythmic chugging of wheels and the distant cry of the train whistle, a long day's journey finally came to an end.
The steam railcar that Orsaga had boarded finally pulled into its destination.
After politely bidding farewell to the wealthy young ladies he had been traveling with, Orsaga stepped into a steam-powered taxi waiting by the roadside.
From what he'd gathered, taxis in this world were still a relatively new industry and considered something of a luxury.
The interior decorations of the vehicle were quite decent—tasteful, even.
Once he had settled into his seat, he turned to the driver and said courteously, "Fifth Avenue, please."
Still maintaining that same polite demeanor—after all, he was a model "Good Demon."
"Of course!"
With the car in motion, the driver naturally began to display the occupational instincts of taxi drivers everywhere: casual, familiar small talk.
Through the rearview mirror, the driver took one look at Orsaga's face, his elegant bearing, and most especially the countless expensive-looking rings adorning both hands—and immediately realized this was someone he couldn't afford to offend.
So when he spoke, he did so with extra respect: "You seem unfamiliar, sir. Are you here in Glenser Town for business?"
Orsaga replied offhandedly, "Yes, I was sent by someone to take care of a few matters."
Hearing this, the driver tried to get a little chummy while also offering a kind reminder: "Well then, you might want to be a bit careful. There've been some bad rumors going around Fifth Avenue lately—something about strange phenomena."
"People say quite a few have gone missing, and even the military was dispatched there recently. That very night, someone heard explosives going off. Word is the army tried to detonate something—but failed in the end."
At that, Orsaga casually flexed his ten fingers and smiled, nodding. "Is that so? I'll keep that in mind."
—
Before long, the taxi arrived at its destination.
The driver said politely, "That'll be 4 cogs, sir."
Orsaga casually pulled out a 100-cogs worth note and handed it over. "Keep the change."
As he stepped out, the driver called after him with heartfelt gratitude.
To most ordinary people in this world, 100 Cogs was equivalent to four or five days of wages.
Even this steam taxi, for all its value, wasn't worth more than 15,000 Cogs.
So naturally, the driver was overjoyed.
Even for someone like him—who made a relatively good income—it would take two days of work to earn that much.
He felt quite pleased with himself for having been so accommodating earlier.
—
Standing on a quiet, somewhat empty street, Orsaga glanced at the surrounding house numbers and quickly confirmed his location.
With a calm expression, he headed toward his target based on the numerical sequence.
Since this was just a small town, large-scale steam machinery wasn't as common as it was in the city. As a result, visibility here was much better, with only light amounts of steam drifting through the air.
As he passed by, the locals often paused and blinked, taken aback by his appearance and aura—he seemed like someone straight out of a different world.
As a firm believer in the supremacy of appearances, Orsaga's looks had evolved through multiple transformations. While they didn't carry any enchantment effects, his attractiveness had reached a level far beyond what ordinary humans could hope to match.
On the street, he was without a doubt the most dazzling presence.
Eyes filled with envy, jealousy, and resentment were drawn to him from all directions—exactly how Orsaga liked it.
He relished the expressions of people who clearly hated him but could do absolutely nothing about it.
Even the more intimidating-looking local toughs didn't dare mess with him. Most gave way from a distance the moment they saw him approaching.
Their eyes may have burned with desire at the sight of his flashy rings, but no one made a move.
After all, when a short, shabby man dresses well, people feel the urge to knock him down a peg.
But when someone handsome and charismatic dresses well, others just assume he's someone important—someone they shouldn't mess with.
That's the power of first impressions.
—
When he reached a barricaded zone guarded by soldiers preventing anyone from entering, Orsaga let out a casual whistle.
Then, as if no one else existed, he strolled straight past the barricade. The soldiers standing there—faces stern and focused—acted like they didn't see him at all.
With an easygoing pace, he wandered forward until he reached the target villa.
Over a hundred armed soldiers were stationed nearby in a tight formation—not to mention several individuals with strange auras, presumably the local supernatural operatives.
But Orsaga took just a single glance at them before looking away.
They were pathetically weak.
Their strength barely surpassed that of the middle-aged man who had summoned him—probably on par with a Juvenile demon, and utterly lacking in resistances. Just breathing in the Abyss for too long would be enough to poison them to death.
In short: utterly useless.
As for the soldiers' firearms—he didn't even bother to assess them seriously.
A quick glance told him everything he needed to know: the weapons might be strong enough to polish the scales of a Juvenile demon, but that was about it.
And the so-called "villa"? While it gave off a strange energy, the power within was mediocre at best.
Weaker than even a Lesser demon.
At most, it could bully some common folk.
Seeing this, Orsaga shook his head slightly. "The power systems in this world are seriously underwhelming… whether it's supernatural or technological."
Among the group of supernatural operatives, the middle-aged woman in charge turned to an old man in white robes standing nearby and asked with a troubled expression, "Dr. Arley, still no progress?"
The elderly man, cradling a strange-looking device, frowned and replied, "Captain Clara, science is a rigorous discipline. These so-called 'anomalies' have only been around for two or three years, and their structure is far too unusual. Our understanding is still extremely limited. It's impossible to develop any effective countermeasures in such a short time."
The woman sighed in frustration. "In that case, I'll have Logistics dispatch more personnel…"
The old man didn't respond, merely sighing along with her.
He knew full well that the "personnel" coming from Logistics were essentially convicts pulled from various prisons.
They were being sent here as sacrifices—feed for the villa.
According to the patterns they'd observed, the house required "feeding" roughly once a week, and its preferred food source was none other than its own residents.
If no one was inside during feeding time, it would randomly "consume" one or more people from the surrounding area as substitutes.
So, since destroying the building wasn't an option, the only way to control the situation was to schedule regular offerings.
Even though the sacrifices were criminals, the idea of feeding fellow humans to some unknown entity still sat uneasily with them.
—
Watching the troubled expressions on these mortals as they debated how to deal with the villa, Orsaga casually glanced at the old man's notebook.
It contained detailed information on the house's characteristics:
1. Residents are highly likely to experience nightmares.
2. Residents may come and go freely at first, but as feeding time approaches, they'll gradually become unable to leave the premises.
3. The house is made of ordinary materials but possesses a mysterious force that makes it impervious to most external attacks. It can also regenerate rapidly.
4. Shadowy figures sometimes appear inside the house…
After skimming through the notes, Orsaga shook his head, looking utterly relaxed as he strolled right into the villa.
____
T/N:
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