Two months later, in the capital of the Kingdom of Marton.
Within a luxurious manor's grounds, Ol'ksa sat in human form beneath a garden gazebo, draped in opulent clothing that perfectly matched the local customs. The table before him displayed exotic fruits delivered by express courier from across the kingdom, while clear sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns across his handsome features.
Though he appeared serene and motionless, an inherent malevolence radiated from his very presence—like a blade held perpetually at one's throat. The temperature throughout the gazebo seemed to plummet several degrees, and even the warm sunlight felt cold against the skin.
Ol'ksa gazed calmly at a misty substance hovering in his palm.
The translucent gray-black essence flowed and swirled like constantly shifting fine dust, yet possessed no substantial form—appearing as insubstantial as air itself.
At that moment, Salter entered the courtyard, no longer wearing the hooded black robes of a cultist but dressed in fine noble attire. He approached respectfully, stopping at a proper distance from Ol'ksa.
"My lord, everything you required has been collected."
"Good. You may go."
Ol'ksa nodded without even glancing up, his tone utterly indifferent.
Salter naturally didn't dare object—truthfully, he preferred avoiding Ol'ksa's presence entirely. Simply standing before the demon felt like repeatedly dancing on death's precipice.
The creature before him, though wrapped in human flesh, remained a pure monster within.
In the depths of night, whenever Salter recalled the summoning ritual, remembering the disbelieving eyes of the cultists who perished before him, he would tremble uncontrollably.
Though he had always regarded them as insignificant subordinates—expendable and easily replaced—witnessing their agonizing deaths firsthand stirred unexpected emotions within him. Despite spending considerable time with these followers, Salter felt an inevitable pang of compassion and growing guilt toward them.
It was a profoundly strange sensation, one that even Salter—who had always considered himself thoroughly wicked—found difficult to bear. Perhaps this reflected human nature's complexity; he had sacrificed subordinates before without any remorse, cursing them only as worthless failures.
This time felt different. Perhaps empathy had finally awakened, as many only learn to consider others' perspectives after experiencing true despair themselves.
Until the blade pierces your own flesh, you never understand the depth of that pain.
Before Ol'ksa forced him to comprehend his true position, such thoughts would never have occurred to him.
After all, he had always considered himself a genius, far superior to common rabble and worthless masses. What use was "consideration for others"?
As someone powerful, why should he care about a pack of weaklings' thoughts? Wasn't serving him their greatest honor?
This simple philosophy was mercilessly shattered the moment Ol'ksa appeared.
No struggle, no resistance—merely Ol'ksa's pure gaze, the inherent aura and frigid detachment radiating from those golden vertical pupils, the predatory stare of an apex being—these destroyed all of Salter's arrogance, utterly crushing his courage and completely obliterating his dignity as a warlock.
Only after truly realizing that in Ol'ksa's eyes, he too was merely a fragile insect to be casually crushed, did he automatically adopt the perspective of the powerless, finally understanding his former subordinates' feelings.
Ol'ksa didn't fully perceive Salter's internal struggles, but based on the man's words and actions over these months, he could guess the general direction of his thoughts.
However, knowing didn't mean he intended to address it.
He found it somewhat amusing—like a fox mourning the rabbit's death after the chicken was killed to warn the monkeys.
Would a truly virtuous person summon a demon?
Were the corpses from the summoning ritual and Salter's identity as a warlock someone else's generous gifts?
Absurd.
If he couldn't be good, so be it—but to be such a pathetic excuse for evil? Did he really believe a change of heart could erase the past?
The man clearly hadn't awakened from his delusions yet.
Even without employing special abilities, Ol'ksa could sense through his innate demonic powers the vast resentment clinging to Salter—souvenirs left by victims of his warlock experiments. Did such a person truly wish to reform and embrace goodness?
Ol'ksa thought it would be more practical for the man to sleep; at least dreams offered some possibility of redemption.
However, Ol'ksa had no intention of voicing these observations. After all, he genuinely wanted to witness whether a cult leader who had wantonly slaughtered innocents and treated human life as refuse could truly commit to virtue. What if a miracle actually occurred?
It would certainly add entertainment to his existence, and watching it unfold like theater would prove quite enjoyable.
Speaking of which, Ol'ksa still owed Salter gratitude. Without his summoning, this windfall might have fallen to someone else.
He truly hadn't expected his fortune to prove so favorable.
He had simply encountered a novice who'd been thoroughly deceived by a predecessor.
The 'deception' referred to the magical array used to summon Ol'ksa initially.
After casually appropriating Salter's spellbook, he immediately recognized that a small portion of the knowledge within was completely falsified, harboring profound malice.
The array designed to summon an abyssal demon was actually labeled as one for summoning a magical creature called a 'Raging Ape.'
Moreover, a standard summoning array typically consisted of five components:
'Search,' 'Communicate,' 'Summon,' 'Restrict,' and 'Banish'—representing respectively 'locating summonable entities,' 'establishing communication with the summoned entity,' 'transporting the entity to the destination,' and most crucially, 'restraining the summoned entity to prevent hostility,' and 'returning it to its origin if cooperation fails.'
However, Salter's array contained only the first three elements, with the final two sections filled with meaningless runic gibberish. This meant he possessed no means of restraining the summoned entity, nor could he banish it. Furthermore, the 'communication' runes within the array contained extensive fraudulent information, simulating the spiritual resonance of thousands of sacrifices using merely dozens—a classic commercial scam.
It transformed a ritual capable of summoning at most an 'Imp' into one functioning to call forth a 'Lesser Demon.'
Under normal circumstances, due to this 'deceptive' effect, the summoned demon would reject the terms. No Abyssal Contract could be established between them, so the demon would typically be returned to the Abyss immediately—as if it had made a pointless journey.
But the critical flaw was that Salter's array completely lacked 'banishment' functionality. It resembled a one-way portal, serving only to entice and transport—like inviting a demon to an all-you-can-eat buffet through half-coercion and half-deception, with the understanding that if you don't eat your fill today, you're not leaving. What magnificent, benevolent hospitality!
It truly transcended species and worlds!
In this situation, if the demon responding to the summons had been anyone other than Ol'ksa—say, another lesser demon—upon realizing the deception, they would naturally demand immediate compensation from the defenseless summoners and pay a friendly visit to this world.
From this perspective, Ol'ksa could arguably be considered a savior!
He could only humbly accept this role without making a great fuss, lest he be met with fervent worship from everyone.
As for the root cause of everything—the summoning ritual recorded in that spellbook—Ol'ksa understood it was nothing more than a long-dead warlock's final act of spite. Before perishing, the warlock had hoped to mislead whoever eventually acquired the tome with false information, thereby creating catastrophe and adding some chaos to the world.
The simple philosophy: "I'm dead, so no one else should live peacefully either."
Similar incidents had occurred repeatedly, mostly ending with demons successfully freeloading, and occasionally with people getting thoroughly destroyed.
If given the opportunity, Ol'ksa sincerely hoped all future summons would involve such circumstances.
However, he also knew that such lottery-winning fortune rarely occurred even once.
According to Ol'ksa's innate Abyssal biological clock, he could clearly sense that the time ratio between this world and the Bottomless Abyss was 3:1—meaning time passed three times slower here, perfectly aligning with his objectives. If the magical saturation could be somewhat higher, conditions would be ideal.
This world's magical energy was remarkably sparse; atmospheric mana concentration was less than one-twentieth of that found in even a novice demon settlement like the Howling Forest.
And that was after billions of monsters in the Howling Forest had been constantly drawing upon ambient magic day and night.
In this relatively barren magical realm, though spellcasters still existed, based on intelligence gathered by the Kingdom of Marton, Ol'ksa judged their methods remained extremely primitive—likely in their earliest developmental stages.
Perhaps exceptional geniuses emerged among them occasionally, but the broader environment ultimately constrained advancement, blocking paths to true power.
When first summoned, the world's suppression had reduced Ol'ksa's strength to approximately half. Now, after recuperation, he had largely recovered his full capabilities.
This was thanks to the resistance provided by Armored Runes - Crimson. Creatures like demons were essentially lifetime VIP members of every world's blacklist; upon entering foreign realms, they immediately became targets. Strength suppression of 70-80% was standard—50% was remarkably lenient.
This was precisely why demons often initiated massive slaughters immediately upon arrival.
Only through extensive carnage and Soul Plunder could they accelerate their own recovery.
Even so, Ol'ksa could feel the entire world rejecting his presence, constantly attempting to expel him. The influence pressed from all directions; even drawing magic from the atmosphere required forceful extraction, and the resistance was steadily intensifying.
Eventually, the world would forcibly eject him back to the Abyss, and even Armored Runes - Crimson could only delay the inevitable.
But Ol'ksa felt no particular concern about this limitation, as he couldn't remain here indefinitely regardless. Achieving his objectives would be sufficient.