After confirming his conjecture, Ol'ksa's thoughts stirred.
His true body, still suspended within the spatial passage and ready to escape at any moment, immediately received the safety signal.
In a way that Salter and the others couldn't perceive, he silently descended into the material realm, using the avatar created by Trans-dimensional Projection - Simulacrum as a coordinate to swap his true body with it, then effortlessly reabsorbed the avatar, integrating it seamlessly with himself.
Salter, who stood close to Ol'ksa, felt only a momentary blur in the air. The demon before him seemed to undergo some fundamental change—the cold indifference and madness in his eyes transformed into burning fanaticism and joy as he began meticulously observing his surroundings with intense focus.
Even though he had already surveyed the area twice before.
Salter found this behavior curious, but his instincts screamed that meddling in demonic affairs would be fatal. Self-preservation demanded silence, so he didn't dare utter a single sound.
The cultists behind him trembled like strangled fowl when Ol'ksa's gaze swept over them.
A three-meter tall, powerfully built form—a face nearly human yet covered in small, perfectly arranged scales, curved demonic horns large enough to serve as weapons, majestic armor covering his entire body that radiated immense power, massive wings spread across his back, and a sinuous tail bristling with razor-sharp barbs.
The revealed form alone made Jem, who had initially been merely curious, feel his heart skip several beats.
He silently marveled that demons were truly a race born for slaughter; even their appearance possessed such overwhelming, oppressive presence.
However, when he caught the thoughtful intelligence gleaming in the depths of those scarlet eyes, he immediately recalled his family's descriptions of demonkind, and an extremely ominous feeling surged through him.
Demons began as beast-like creatures with primitive intelligence, capable of nothing beyond mindless slaughter. Yet their intellect grew with their power—the stronger they became, the more cunning they developed. Therefore, demons whose appearance and intelligence approached humanity were the most dangerous of their kind. They engaged not merely in simple carnage and destruction, but wove elaborate schemes and deceptions into their malevolence.
At this realization, Jem Woz swallowed hard, feeling his hair stand on end as a bone-deep chill surged through his heart. He watched the demon survey everything around him with the calculating gaze of a predator studying its hunting ground.
This certainly doesn't seem like a weak demon...
I only wanted to observe a demon of modest strength to satisfy my curiosity—not one this overwhelmingly powerful...
Recalling the catastrophic consequences of historical demonic invasions, his heart filled with crushing regret.
If he had known Salter possessed such abilities, the royal family would have venerated him like a divine ancestor, begging only that the powerful figure refrain from unleashing his terrible gifts.
Defeat by the Marton Duchy meant, at worst, ceding territory and suing for peace—a bearable outcome. The Yar Duchy's national power alone couldn't completely annihilate Marton, and even if it could, surrounding nations would never permit such devastation.
But triggering a demonic catastrophe? That couldn't be resolved through territorial concessions and peace treaties. The Marton Duchy would struggle to find even a handful of survivors.
No living souls, rivers turned to dust, land rendered barren and cursed.
This was the most accurate description of demonic aftermath.
In the initial stages of a demon's descent, the world itself suppressed and greatly weakened their strength. This represented the optimal—perhaps only—opportunity to destroy them.
I can do this. I still have hundreds of knights here!
For a moment, Jem genuinely believed he could succeed.
But then he turned to observe his warhorses, which had been foaming at the mouth since the demon's appearance, and his subordinates, who looked as though their mothers had perished—wilted like frost-bitten vegetables from a single demonic glance. He silently abandoned that tempting notion.
He placed his desperate hope on Salter's ability to control the demon before them.
This powerful figure must simply prefer discretion, he thought. To summon such a formidable demon using merely dozens of corpses, while being hunted by the church—he's truly hidden his depths!
Even the secret scriptures contained no record of such overwhelming power!
If I had known you possessed such might, how would the Church dare provoke you?!
What he didn't realize was that Salter, upon whom he pinned such desperate hopes, was now nearly wetting himself with terror, his legs trembling so violently he could barely remain upright.
"Human, are you my summoner?"
After completing his thorough inspection, Ol'ksa felt completely at ease. He turned toward the quaking wretch before him and spoke in a deep, resonant demonic voice.
"Uh... that... yes, it's me."
Upon hearing Ol'ksa's question, Salter couldn't fathom why he understood this alien language, but facing Ol'ksa's unwavering stare, he abandoned such trivial concerns. Instead, he frantically considered how to respond.
Recalling the summoned creatures described in magical texts, then observing Ol'ksa before him, Salter felt a wave of profound despair.
Though he desperately wanted to deny any involvement in the summoning, seeing the cultists nearby burying their heads like ostriches, Salter could only steel his resolve and admit in the continental common tongue, Yartian, that he was indeed the summoner.
Despite their linguistic mismatch—one speaking Demonic, the other Yartian—the demon's innate ability Unimpeded Communication allowed perfect understanding between them.
Hearing Salter confirm his identity, Ol'ksa nodded with satisfaction. He raised a single finger, stared directly into the man's eyes, and spoke in a harsh, commanding voice:
"Wish!"
"What?!"
Upon hearing this, Salter's legs gave way uncontrollably. He had recognized Ol'ksa's true nature.
Demon!
These creatures, in countless fairy tales and legends, always exhibited the same behavior: tricking others into making wishes, then according to infernal contracts, devouring the summoner's soul after granting their desire.
My soul is his target—he wants me to make a wish!
What should I do?!
Salter's thoughts raced in desperation.
His mind churned frantically, wondering if he could wish for the demon to return to the abyss voluntarily, thereby escaping this nightmare.
But the events that followed taught Salter that fairy tales were indeed cruelly deceptive.
"Wish! Since you summoned me, you must fulfill my wishes!"
"At least one hundred of them!"
Ol'ksa declared with deadly seriousness.
Salter, who had been contemplating his own wish, suddenly heard this terrible pronouncement. His body went rigid as if struck by lightning.
Just as his legs buckled and he began to collapse, Ol'ksa extended two clawed fingers, gripping Salter's collar and effortlessly lifting him. He repeated his previous statement with deliberate emphasis.
"I said I want you to fulfill one hundred of my wishes. Do you understand?"
Feeling utterly defeated, Salter faced Ol'ksa's burning gaze, forced back the tears threatening to spill, and managed trembling flattery: "I understand completely. It would be my honor!"
"Excellent. You are now my first servant."
Casually dropping him, Ol'ksa stated with chilling calm, "Choose five of the most useful individuals here."
Ol'ksa's words caused Salter, still drowning in despair, to pause in confusion.
But he quickly grasped the demon's intention. After swallowing hard, he surveyed the numerous cultists around him, then glanced toward Duke and the others nearby. His expression shifted as he selected three trusted followers from among the cultists, then pointed toward Jem Woz.
"My lord, this man is a crown prince of a kingdom, wielding tremendous authority. He deserves consideration, and I would ask him to choose the final candidate."
"Interesting."
Hearing Salter's words, Ol'ksa realized this human might not be entirely worthless after all—he possessed surprising cunning.
He had expected Salter to simply choose five personal allies, but the man understood how to seek greater advantage even in these dire circumstances. Truly promising.
Observing Salter's anxious expression, Ol'ksa understood the human's calculations, though he remained indifferent. He had promised five positions, after all.
How those positions were utilized mattered little to him.
Perhaps influenced by memories from his previous existence, unlike other demons who treated promises as meaningless wind, Ol'ksa generally honored his genuine commitments.
Absolute adherence to every promise?
That would be an insult to demonic nature.
Do such demons even exist?
He waved his hand dismissively, and Jem Woz, who had been attempting to retreat stealthily, was effortlessly dragged through the air, completely powerless to resist.
Ol'ksa gestured toward Salter and his chosen cultists, still gripping Jem by the throat, and commanded, "Besides these, select one more useful person."
Hearing this cryptic pronouncement, Jem Woz, already panicking, became even more bewildered.
Only when Salter shot him several meaningful glances did he begin to comprehend Ol'ksa's implications.
Choosing one more useful person meant everyone else was... expendable.
At this realization, Jem, who had barely maintained his princely composure, went deathly pale.
He instinctively wanted to protest, but meeting those golden vertical pupils burning within Ol'ksa's scarlet eyes—pupils that observed him like an amusing plaything—he wisely swallowed his words. With trembling fingers, he pointed toward Baron Duke, who was desperately trying to reach them.
"Perfect. The positions are filled, so it's time to eliminate the refuse."
With another casual gesture, he pulled Duke through the air as well, depositing both him and Jem roughly on the ground. Ol'ksa smiled with terrible anticipation.
The moment his words faded, an invisible ripple emanated from him, blanketing several hundred meters.
Salter and the other five witnesses then beheld the nightmare that would haunt them forever.
Whether cultists or knights, prisoners' corpses or warhorses, even insects in the vicinity—anything possessing flesh and blood rapidly withered at a horrifying pace. Their life force and souls were torn directly from their bodies by Ol'ksa's will.
Every agony of this violent extraction, amplified by Ol'ksa's passive talent Agonizing Torment, forced them to release the most wretched and final screams of their existence.
When the supernatural carnage ended, a palm-sized orb of condensed blood floated before Ol'ksa, materializing from the absorbed essence.
He swallowed it in a single gulp.
Ol'ksa spent several seconds processing the influx of power, then regarded Salter and the others—now completely paralyzed with terror—and spoke in a low, commanding tone:
"Come. Take me to your royal capital. I wish to see this world."
He initially spoke in Demonic, but his final sentence shifted to the world's common tongue, Yartian. Simultaneously, his massive form rapidly contracted, transforming into a red-haired, sinister young man clothed in an elegant black robe.
Salter and the others could only lead the way for Ol'ksa in dejected silence, abandoning this killing ground that had become a mass grave.
Long after their departure, crimson flames began spreading from the ritual circle's core, eventually consuming the entire ancient prison in an infernal blaze, reducing everything to smoldering ash...