A little rigid.
And a little stubborn.
In Orsaga's eyes,
that was his true assessment of the Nine-Layered Hell.
Compared to a complete world—or rather, a complete race—
the devils here were, to a certain extent, more like a bunch of corporate drones working in a company...
They had to fight over the fallen souls brought in by Jieyin for their wages, or even go out into the outside world to actively lure mortals.
They were a bit like salesmen scraping by.
Promotion required their superiors' approval, and it was all too easy to get stuck waiting for an opening.
Everything was regulated by rules and restrictions!
It truly did not quite fit Orsaga's preference for free development.
But, overall,
he did not actually dislike this place.
Because, as one of the only two current lords of the Nine-Layered Hell,
he would undoubtedly be a beneficiary of this social structure.
Like the crown of a tree, which only needed to bathe in sunlight and had no need to care what efforts the roots made to compete for nutrients beneath the soil.
He was already standing at the peak, looking down upon all living things.
How miserable the workers below lived, what did that have to do with him?
Thus,
in the eighth layer of the Nine-Layered Hell, the place he had named Scorching Hell,
he watched those newborn devils striving to build up their performance records with a thoroughly content expression, only lacking a cigar between his fingers.
Every now and then,
as he watched those busy fellows, stirred by the pleasure in his heart, he would even open his mouth to instruct them.
As for what he taught them?
Nothing more than how to torment those fallen souls in order to extract their value more smoothly...
In this regard,