Dawn broke on the third day.
A ring of fire burned in the middle of the valley.
Its flames twisted into a spiral, as if dancing around a colossal shadow slowly dissolving at the center. The charred body of the Doom Lord—a level 70 creature in the form of a skeletal warrior clad in black plates and shrouded in purple smoke—evaporated before Satoru's eyes. Its body crumbled like dust carried away by an unnatural breeze.
Before him, a lone figure stood motionless.
Satoru slowly lowered his right arm, dispersing the embers still floating around him. The magical energy surrounding his fingers gradually faded, marking the end of the fire spell he had cast.
The creature had been summoned by him just hours earlier. A high-level Doom Lord, created for the sole purpose of testing both its endurance and offense. It hadn't been a battle, but an exercise. A warm-up. A way to adjust his control over the local magic and compare it to what he wielded in Yggdrasil.
"Not bad for a test," he murmured.
A few meters away, three figures silently watched him.
They were Death Mages—hooded figures in dark robes, skeletal remains visible beneath the folds, and a faint purple mist floating around their hands. Each had been created using the bodies of three mages Satoru had eliminated the night before. Silent killings, without witnesses, chosen for their magical potential and disregard for the law. Criminals whose names would not even be remembered.
With them, Satoru had begun a new cycle of experiments. He still didn't fully understand the magical structure of this world, but each step brought him closer. Every fragment of information was recorded. Every deviation from Yggdrasil was noted.
Even so, he knew this was not enough.
"It's still lacking. This is only the surface."
He had expanded his shadow network. The [Shadow Demons] worked tirelessly, gathering information across the entire region. All he had to do was wait. Soon, he would have a complete map of the relevant forces in this area—names, behaviors, customs. Everything useful.
With one last glance at the site, Satoru turned on his heel and opened a portal that took him directly to his inn room.
The smell of breakfast was already drifting through the air.
Satoru stepped out of the portal in complete silence. The interior of the room was just as he had left it: orderly, austere, with no trace that someone resided there.
Unhurriedly, he shed the clothes marked by training, summoned a simpler change of garments, and covered himself with his dark mantle. It was the sort of attire that wouldn't draw attention among adventurers or travelers, though sharper eyes would still notice something amiss. Not in the clothing, but in him.
He descended the stairs to the inn's first floor. The atmosphere was lively but not noisy: the murmur of conversations among soldiers, merchants, and early adventurers; the sound of dishes; and Martha's cheerful voice serving steaming bowls. Everything looked like an ordinary morning.
Satoru took a seat at the same table he had used the previous night for dinner.
Martha appeared only seconds later. Her smile was professional, but the tension in her shoulders still betrayed the nervousness she hadn't quite shaken off.
"Good morning. Would you like something in particular for breakfast?"
Satoru looked at her briefly before replying calmly:
"Whatever you recommend is fine."
He was not picky about food. Eating was a necessity, not a pleasure.
While waiting for his order, his gaze drifted toward the window. It didn't take long for him to catch fragments of conversations from the nearest patrons: rumors about a shadow that had appeared during the night in front of the local lord's castle.
Satoru closed his eyes for a moment. Everything was proceeding according to the demon's plan.
The Eyeball Demon had no history or identity. It was nothing more than a parasitic presence, seeking to carve out its own domain through chaos. Its goal was to create a labyrinth within the city, dragging civilians, soldiers, and authorities into the same snare.
To do so, it needed to gather as many people as possible. It had manipulated rumors, corrupted letters, disguised warnings as prophecies. And now, its main tool was a face that inspired "faith": the priest of the temple of Zycuon.
It was an institution weakened, displaced by other religions like Parion or Galleo due to its lack of holy magic users. That made it the perfect target—desperate, unprotected, and easy to bend.
Everything was designed for one thing: to gather people and then drag them into chaos.
The food arrived soon after, interrupting Satoru's train of thought. He gave a quiet thanks with the slightest incline of his head and pulled the plate toward himself, beginning to eat in silence.
***
The morning sky still held soft tones, and the breeze carried the sounds of distant conversations, carts in motion, and scattered footsteps. Satoru walked with his hands hidden beneath his mantle, unhurried, following a path he had memorized the night before.
The area ahead was known as one of the few open public spaces in the lower city. An ideal gathering point. He hadn't chosen it, of course. He was simply following the script others had written.
In the original story, Satou had walked through that same city in Zena's company. They visited the temple of Parion, one of the few religious institutions that still retained relevance.
It was there that one of this world's key elements was introduced: the heroes.
Summoned from other worlds through a ritual, they were chosen by the goddess Parion to wield holy swords. Others could hold those weapons, but only heroes could unleash their true power.
With them, they could do what most humans—and many other races—could not: face and defeat a Demon Lord.
That detail had been ignored by many, but not by him. In a world where threats were defined by hierarchy and role, knowing who could kill whom was vital information.
But heroes were not the only axis of power in this world.
Demons, even in their lowest ranks, possessed resistances that nullified physical damage. Only magical attacks or enchanted weapons could affect them.
From the mid-ranks upward, they were already considered a sufficient threat to destroy a city if a quick response wasn't mounted. Most humans couldn't harm them… let alone defeat them. They could barely endure.
High-ranking demons were another matter entirely. Against them, the goal was not to fight but to survive—resist the initial attack, distract them, buy time until someone with a holy sword appeared… if they appeared at all.
And above them stood the Demon Lords—legendary figures who not only surpassed any demon in power but also commanded them. Many high-ranking demons served directly under their rule.
Not all heroes managed to defeat a Demon Lord. Some succeeded. Others died.
And even so, even Demon Lords had natural rivals.
Dragons.
Even the weakest were comparable in power to a high-ranking demon. And if one were to ask—any scholar, cleric, or seasoned adventurer—who would win in a fight between a Demon Lord and a Dragon… most would side with the dragon.
And yet, the protagonist of the original work, Satou, annihilated 80% of the living dragons in the world in his first days.
Satoru had done no such thing. Not yet.
But he knew: if demons and dragons were so powerful, it was because their entire species was structured for combat. Innate abilities, superhuman attributes, racial magic.
And in that structure, he himself—a being from Yggdrasil—was a total anomaly. A species apart, superior even to the very concept of the species in this world.
It didn't take long for him to hear the voice.
Loud, clear, tinged with false faith.
"Brothers and sisters! The judgment of the heavens has descended upon this city!"
Satoru stopped and slowly turned his gaze. A few meters away, in the center of the plaza opening before him, the priest of Zycuon had already begun drawing a crowd. Around thirty people stood gathered, with others approaching out of curiosity.
The moment was near.
The Zycuon priest lifted his voice to the heavens.
"Brothers and sisters! Dark times are approaching!"
His tone was energetic, steeped in fervor and theatrics. The crowd began to grow, drawn by the words and the presence of a man who, to many, represented the gods.
"The Rain of Stars that fell upon the world was a divine warning! A clear sign that the impure walk among us!"
From the edges of the plaza, Satoru observed in silence. He knew the speech would follow a precise route. He had seen this scene before, though here it had been sharpened by the Eyeball Demon's intervention.
"And not only that! Even the lord's castle was touched by the shadow of a demon during the night! Do you see? Evil has set its eyes upon this city!"
Some people exchanged glances. Others nodded in fear. Among them, the members of the Rats nodded more emphatically, feeding the collective emotion.
"But the heavens have not abandoned us. There is still redemption for the faithful! You can still prove your devotion!"
He opened a box one of his attendants had brought. Inside were common stones—some polished, others with a faint, false glimmer. He held them up to the crowd.
"These holy jewels have been blessed with prayers! Use them to strike at evil, and the heavens will look upon you with favor!"
And then he said it.
"There they are! The spawn of the demon race!" He pointed toward the center of the clearing, where three figures stood in chains. "Sin incarnate! Punish them, and earn divine grace!"
The two girls were the same ones Satoru had interacted with the day before—one with cat ears and tail, the other with canine features, no older than ten. And now, as an addition, there was a young woman of about eighteen with reptilian traits. They remained silent. Their dirty faces, ragged clothing, and the magical seals visible on their necks reinforced the image the priest wished to impose. They could not move. Not even defend themselves.
And the stones began to fly.
Some missed. Others struck. The eldest tried to shield the smaller ones as best she could, hunching over them, but the chains restricted her.
A larger stone cut one of the girls' eyebrows. Her body trembled. Her eyes closed instinctively. The next projectile never landed.
Satoru appeared.
No sound, no flash.
He simply stepped in.
A magical barrier formed instantly before him, stopping the impact with a muted resonance. The stones bounced away with a dull thud against the invisible shield.
Silence was immediate. A murmur swept through the crowd.
A man had appeared, not to join them.
But to stop what they were doing.
Before the priest could open his mouth, Satoru had already given the order.
—[Message], he cast silently, addressing the Hanzo hidden among the nearby shadows. "Identify the members of the Rats; knock out every one of them in the crowd. Make them vanish before anyone notices."
"Who are you?" the priest of Zycuon's voice cut through the silence. "Are you another ally of the demon race?"
A man in the crowd—one of the Rats' infiltrators—shouted, "He must be a servant of chaos too!"
Another stone was thrown. It bounced again off the barrier, falling to the ground with a dry thump.
Satoru didn't reply immediately. He simply turned his gaze toward the man who had thrown the projectile, watching him in silence.
The man paled and lowered his head. Not because of magic. Not because of active intimidation. But simply because of the way he was being looked at.
Then Satoru spoke.
"How curious."
His voice was calm, controlled. It did not seek to dominate, only to point something out. The same man as before seemed about to say something, but at that moment something struck his neck. The man's body nearly collapsed to the ground, unconscious, but was swiftly removed by a barely perceptible shadow. No one noticed. No one asked.
"These stones… are they truly blessed? Or just polished and handed out with a convincing speech?"
A murmur ran through the crowd. The priest frowned.
"Those are dangerous words! You are insulting the faith of the temple of Zycuon!"
"I'm asking if the temple of Zycuon has anyone capable of using holy magic. Because, as far as I know, it's been years since you've manifested a single miracle."
The priest faltered.
"Whoever defends unholy creatures is an enemy to the faith of all temples! Even those who remain silent!"
And that was when another voice rose.
"That is not the position of all temples."
A young man in a white robe, unarmed and unadorned, made his way through the crowd. Though not a high-ranking official, he was a priest with genuine holy power. His presence alone was enough to impose order.
"That is your opinion. Not that of the temple of Galleon nor of others who follow the precepts of justice."
"No religious doctrine that respects the law would support public torture without trial or defense."
The impact was immediate. People began murmuring in confusion. The weight of an external, respected figure had shattered the theater the Zycuon priest had constructed.
Satoru said nothing else. He simply stepped closer to the demi-humans, positioning himself more firmly between them and the crowd. He was not yet finished.
"Priest of the so-called philanthropic temple of Galleon…" the Zycuon priest muttered, each word dripping with sarcasm. "If you love these animals so much, why don't you take them to your home tonight?"
The Galleon priest didn't answer. His face remained serene, but indignation was evident in his eyes.
Satoru was the one who spoke.
"There are many things one can allow in a discussion. But the language you use, priest, is not one that should be spoken before the faithful. Or before anyone."
The Zycuon priest immediately turned toward him.
"You are nothing more than a servant of evil! You've come to stand in the way of these souls' salvation! What truly motivates you? Are you an emissary seeking to prevent us from earning divine grace?"
But it was the Galleon priest who raised his voice, now addressing the people directly—especially the residents of the western block.
"I know many of you are afraid. I know you feel the pressure of what has happened in recent days. I understand that. But we must not let our fears become an excuse to harm the weakest. That is not strength. That is cowardice."
Zycuon opened his mouth, ready to strike back, when a body fell in the middle of the crowd.
Everyone turned their heads.
It was a man dressed in a red vest, pale-faced and wide-eyed before losing consciousness.
The priest recognized him instantly.
"Woose-dono!"
The original owner of the demi-humans had just collapsed in front of everyone.
"What is this?" exclaimed the Zycuon priest, bending to see his face. "What did you do to this man, you bastard?! How dare you attack a good citizen?!"
Satoru didn't flinch. He stepped forward, letting his voice carry naturally—without urgency, without the need to impose.
"This is nothing more than a farce," he said. "A scam orchestrated to sell common stones as holy jewels, using faith as a cover for personal gain."
The statement made the air tremble. Among the crowd, a figure holding a dagger pointed it at another man.
"Give me my money back!" the accused shouted a second later.
It was Hanzo, using his position to stir things from within the crowd. The words had an effect. More voices began to rise—complaints, confusion, broken murmurs spreading like fire through dry grass.
Satoru needed nothing more.
He used the distraction to step closer to the Galleon priest and speak in a low voice.
"That man is not who he seems. His body hides a demon. I need your help evacuating the square."
The priest listened, without taking his eyes off Woose. His eyes, still doubtful, showed inner conflict… but it didn't matter whether he believed him or not.
Satoru didn't wait for his approval.
With a simple magical whisper, he activated [Silent Magic] on himself and cast a wrathful spell.
A black energy churned beneath the unconscious man's skin.
And then, from within Woose, two black hands burst out violently—elongated, humanoid, with fingers ending in twisted claws. They slashed through the air in an instant and tore into the Zycuon priest's body from behind, as horror seized the crowd.
The scream came almost immediately. Someone in the crowd shrieked, then others began to run. The square descended into chaos. The Galleon priest raised his voice above the noise, authoritative and clear.
"Evacuate the area!"
He began reciting a spell, the words flowing in a magical language that did not belong to mortals. One phrase resonated with spiritual force, followed by a second that seemed to weigh heavily in the air.
Woose's body writhed. His skin swelled and turned pale, as if something inside was forcing its way out.
Satoru stood firmly before the demi-humans and stepped toward them. Without a word, he placed both hands on their chains and broke them with nothing but his strength.
The eldest demi-human raised her head and spoke for the first time.
"We can't move… even without the chains, we're under our master's order. He forbade us to flee. Even if you break the shackles… it won't free us. Just… escape yourself."
Satoru looked at her. He didn't answer. He simply raised his hand and shattered the second and third shackles.
A crash came from the center of the square. Woose—or what was left of him—let out a discordant scream, like tearing flesh mixed with pressurized steam. The demon, in a state of unrestrained rage, began destroying its host.
Satoru turned his head slightly.
"Very soon…" he murmured.
With a gesture, he activated a sixth-tier [Magic Bind], and ethereal chains emerged from the air, wrapping around the demon and freezing its movement momentarily.
"[Message]," he whispered. "Hanzo, any sign of the military?"
"My lord, militia soldiers are approaching from the south," came the immediate reply. "With them is a high-ranking priestess from the temple of Parion."
Nodding at the information received, Satoru directed his attention to the Galleon priest, who continued his incantation, now surrounded by a holy aura emanating from the ground. One last phrase was spoken, clear and solemn, and in the next instant a white light appeared in the shape of a circle beneath his feet.
"[Anti-Evil Circle]."
Magical energy shone in the Galleon priest's hands, drawing a sacred circle right beneath the possessed body's feet. A network of lines of light tried to close like a trap, seeking to immobilize the demon before its full emergence.
The priest let out a sigh, trying to push aside the pressure he felt from the situation, and turned to look at Satoru.
"I'm grateful for your help. How long will your magic hold?"
"Not long."
As he answered, Satoru began to slowly weaken the magical chains. He said nothing more—he simply allowed the demon to free itself at its own pace. The priest, who seemed about to ask something else, decided to remain silent as he prepared himself.
Woose's flesh trembled one last time before collapsing. The shadows beneath his skin expanded violently, forcing every muscle, tearing through the human shell until nothing was left but a melted mass, destroyed from within.
And then, the true enemy rose.
The air distorted. A grotesque figure emerged from the collapsed flesh: a massive floating eye, surrounded by black, muscular arms that seemed to grow and twist with a life of their own. Thin claw-like talons, dark skin, and a voice that resonated more in the mind than in the ears.
The Eyeball Demon.
The sacred circle still glowed, but the demon looked at it only once before spitting out a mocking click. The light went out instantly, as if it had never held any real power.
Screams erupted again from the edges of the square. At that moment, from the eastern avenue, a group of soldiers burst in at a trot, uniformed and armed. At the front, a man with commander's insignia raised his voice urgently.
"Low-class demon, prioritize the safety of the mages!"
Satoru turned his attention to the demi-humans and addressed them.
"Can you move?"
Their gazes were tense, but they nodded, still afraid. Satoru nodded silently and, with a measured movement, began to withdraw with them, making sure to keep them behind his figure as they moved.
The demon roared with a wet, harsh tone, as if its throat were made of living flesh and frothy fluids.
The Eyeball Demon twisted in the air, its enormous eye blinking with a sickly restlessness. From it came scattered words, each one soaked in a primitive hatred whose origin it didn't understand.
"…humans…" "…stones…" "…blood…" "…crush… everything!"
Its body shuddered in an uncontrollable spasm, and with a sharp shriek like blades tearing metal, it unleashed a blast of dark wind. The air, charged with malignant energy, swept toward the militia's front line.
"Defensive formation!" the commander bellowed.
The soldiers raised their shields. Some were knocked down by the brutal force of the impact, while others barely withstood the blow. Around them, battle mages and priests cast spells: holy lances, bursts of compressed wind, and small circles of light were fired toward the demonic figure.
From a safe distance, Satoru observed.
The three demi-humans stayed close to him, trembling—whether from earlier injuries or the situation itself—but without real danger.
Without changing his expression, Satoru activated [Life Essence].
Before his eyes, soft halos of greenish energy surrounded every living being. The light around the Eyeball Demon was dense, heavy, but it had already begun to fluctuate. Its vitality was slowly being consumed… yet it still endured.
Satoru did not rush. He waited, for the opportunity he sought had not yet arrived.