Wishes

After confirming his suspicions, Orsaga merely willed it.

His true body, still within the spatial passage and ready to flee at any moment, immediately received the signal that it was safe.

In a manner Salter and the others could not perceive, he descended upon the Material Plane without anyone noticing. Using the Avatar created through Boundary Projection—Simulacrum as coordinates, he swapped his true body with it, then casually reclaimed the Avatar and merged it back into himself.

Standing close to Orsaga, Salter only felt as though the air had blurred for a moment. The demon before him seemed to have changed somehow; the indifference and madness in his eyes had become fervor and delight, and he began examining his surroundings with extreme seriousness.

Even though he had already looked around twice before.

Salter was curious, but his instincts told him not to meddle in other matters. Staying alive was what mattered, so he did not dare utter a single word.

As for the Cultists behind him, when Orsaga's gaze swept over them, they trembled all over like ducks being strangled.

His powerful three-meter-tall body had a vaguely human face covered in neat, tiny scales. His curved demonic horns were large enough to be used as weapons, while the imposing armor covering his entire body—an exoskeleton—radiated immense strength. Add to that the enormous pair of wings on his back and the long, slender tail lined with sharp barbs.

His mere appearance made Jem, who had only come out of curiosity, feel his heart skip a beat.

He silently marveled that this truly was a race born for slaughter. Its very appearance carried such overwhelming pressure.

But when he saw the thoughtful look hidden beneath those Scarlet eyes, he immediately recalled his family's descriptions of demons, and an intense sense of foreboding rose within him.

Demons had originally been beast-like creatures with very low intelligence. Other than slaughter, they were completely impossible to communicate with. However, their intelligence was tied to their strength. The stronger they became, the smarter they grew. Thus, demons with appearances and intelligence close to humans were the most dangerous kind. They did not merely kill and destroy—they also brought countless Conspiracy and Trickery with them.

Thinking of this, Jem Woz watched the demon in the distance sweep its gaze over everything like a beast eyeing prey. He swallowed hard, his hairs standing on end as a bone-chilling coldness flooded his heart.

This really didn't look like some weak Lesser Demon...

I only wanted to see a demon with decent strength and satisfy my curiosity. There was no need to bring out something this powerful...

The moment he recalled the devastation caused by Magic Disasters throughout history, he was instantly overwhelmed with regret.

If they had known Salter possessed such ability, the royal family would have worshipped him like an ancestor, begging this great master not to casually use his divine powers.

Even if the Duchy of Maldon lost the war, at most it would have to cede territory and sue for peace. They could endure that. With the Duchy of Yar's national strength, it did not possess the ability to destroy the Duchy of Maldon, and even if it did, the surrounding nations would never permit such a thing.

But if a Magic Disaster were unleashed, surrendering land and making peace would not solve anything. By then, finding even a few living people in the Duchy of Maldon would be difficult.

Neither man nor beast would remain. Rivers would dry up, and the land would be ruined.

That was the most accurate description.

When demons first descended, their strength would be suppressed by the world and greatly weakened. That was the best Time Period to kill them!

I can do this. I still have several hundred knights here!

For a brief moment, Jem felt that he could do it.

But when he turned and saw his warhorses, which had begun foaming at the mouth one after another ever since the demon appeared, as well as his subordinates, who had been reduced to wilted vegetables with dead-mother expressions from nothing more than a glance, he silently abandoned that tempting idea.

Instead, he placed his hopes on Salter being able to control the demon before them.

He thought that true masters really were low-key. Salter could summon such a powerful demon with only a few dozen corpses, yet he had somehow still been wanted by the church. He had hidden himself remarkably well!

Not even the secret tomes had recorded such a powerful expert!

If they had known you possessed this ability!

How would the church have dared provoke you?!

What he did not know was that Salter, on whom he had placed such high hopes, was now so terrified he nearly wet himself. His legs shook violently, and he could barely stand.

"Human, are you my summoner?"

After carefully inspecting everything, Orsaga was finally completely at ease. He turned toward the worthless fool before him, who was nearly scared senseless, and asked quietly in Demonic Language.

"...Uh, well... that's me."

Hearing Orsaga's question, Salter did not understand why he could comprehend this language. But with Orsaga staring at him, he gave up thinking about that question and instead rapidly considered how he should answer.

Recalling the summoned beings recorded in the Magic Book, then looking at Orsaga before him, Salter was overcome with grief.

He truly wanted to say that he had not summoned him, but after glancing at the Cultists beside him, who had their heads buried like ostriches, Salter could only brace himself and admit that he was the summoner in Art Language, the Continental Common tongue.

Though their languages did not match at all—one spoke Demonic Language while the other spoke Art Language—the demon's innate Special Ability, Unimpeded Communication, allowed them to communicate normally. P.S.: Unimpeded Communication—so long as a demon wishes it, any Sentient Beings can communicate with him without obstruction. Even if they speak entirely different languages, they can still understand each other's meaning. Even gestures will do!

Hearing Salter admit his identity, Orsaga nodded in satisfaction. He raised one finger, stared directly into Salter's eyes, and spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Wishes."

What?!

Upon hearing that word, Salter's legs began shaking wildly. He had now recognized Orsaga's identity.

A demon!

In all kinds of fairy tales and legends, such creatures were portrayed in the same way: they deceived others into making wishes, then, after fulfilling their summoner's wishes according to the contract, devoured their souls!

He has his eyes on my soul. He wants me to make a wish!

What should I do?!

Salter thought warily.

His brain immediately began racing as he wondered whether he could make a wish that would send the demon back to Hell, allowing him to escape this calamity!

But what happened next made Salter deeply understand that fairy tales and legends truly were nothing but lies!

"Wishes! Since you summoned me, you have to grant my wishes!"

"At least a hundred of them!"

Orsaga said with extreme seriousness.

Salter, who had been considering how to make a wish, suddenly heard this terrible news. His body instantly stiffened as if struck by lightning.

As his knees buckled and he was about to collapse, Orsaga extended two fingers, pinched Salter's collar with his claws, and lifted him up. Then he repeated himself.

He asked word by word, "I said you are to grant me one hundred wishes. Do you understand?"

Feeling unbearably wronged, Salter met Orsaga's gaze and forcibly held back the tears in his eyes. He answered bravely and flatteringly, "I understand. That would be this humble one's honor!"

"Very good. You are now my Lackey Number One."

Casually tossing him aside, Orsaga said calmly, "Choose the five most useful people here."

Orsaga's words left the still-grieving Salter slightly stunned.

But he quickly understood what Orsaga intended. After swallowing hard, he looked at the numerous Cultists beside him and Duke and the others in the distance. His expression shifted several times before he chose three trusted subordinates from among the Cultists, then pointed at Jem Woz in the distance.

"My lord, this man is the Crown Prince of a kingdom and holds immense power. He should have one spot, and I also hope to let him choose the remaining spot."

"Oh?"

Only after hearing Salter's words did Orsaga realize that this man might not actually be useless. Surprisingly, he had some brains.

Orsaga had thought Salter would only choose five trusted subordinates. He had not expected that even at such a time, Salter would still understand how to seek greater benefits. He could be considered somewhat talented.

Seeing the nervous look in Salter's eyes, Orsaga understood what he was thinking but did not care, because he had promised him five spots.

As for what Salter would use those five spots for, Orsaga did not care.

Perhaps influenced by memories of his Previous Life, Orsaga differed from other demons who lied through their teeth and treated promises like farts. So long as something truly came from his own mouth, he would generally choose to honor it.

As for honoring promises absolutely?

Were you insulting the name of demons?

Did such demons even exist?

With a beckoning motion, Jem Woz, who had been trying to sneak away, was dragged through the air without any ability to resist.

Orsaga pointed at Salter and the Cultists he had selected, then grabbed Jem by the neck and said, "Other than these people, choose one more useful person."

?

Hearing those words for no apparent reason, Jem Woz, who had already been panicking, was filled with question marks and did not understand.

Only after Salter gave him several meaningful looks did he vaguely understand Orsaga's intent.

Choose one more useful person—didn't that mean everyone else was useless?

With that realization, Jem, who had barely managed to maintain the composure of a Crown Prince, immediately turned deathly pale.

He instinctively wanted to say something, but when he saw the Golden Yellow Vertical Pupils within Orsaga's Scarlet eyes looking at him as though he were a toy, he wisely swallowed his words and tremblingly pointed toward Baron Duke, who was trying to rush over and save him.

"Very good. The spots are full. Now it is time to clear out the trash."

Casually pulling Duke through the air as well and throwing him to the ground alongside Jem, Orsaga smiled.

The moment his words fell, an invisible ripple spread from him, covering an area several hundred meters wide.

Then Salter and the other five saw the Nightmare of their lives.

Whether Cultists or knights, even the corpses of death-row prisoners nearby, warhorses, and insects—anything made of flesh and blood rapidly shriveled at a visible speed. Their Life Force and souls were directly extracted by Orsaga from afar.

The pain of having everything stripped away, intensified by Orsaga's passive talent, Suffering Torment, made them release the most miserable—and final—cries of their lives.

When the disturbance ended, a palm-sized sphere of blood had appeared floating before Orsaga at some point.

He swallowed it in one gulp.

After spending several seconds digesting it, Orsaga looked at Salter and the others, who had been completely consumed by fear, and said quietly, "Come. Take me to your Royal Capital. I want to see this world."

He had begun in Demonic Language, but by the time he spoke his final sentence, his words had become Art Language, the common tongue of this world. At the same time, his body rapidly shrank, transforming into a sinister red-haired youth clad in an elegant black robe...

Salter and the others could only lead the way for Orsaga in a daze, leaving behind the dead land that had become a mass grave.

After they had gone far away, Scarlet flames began spreading outward from the Magic Circle at the center, eventually turning the entire old prison into a sea of fire and burning everything to ashes...