Whether you offended me or not wasn't important.
Since we had met, and the atmosphere was just right.
Then naturally, I couldn't let you off.
All in all.
Since I'm here, the weather was nice today, what I had just eaten tasted good, and my mood had suddenly become inexplicably pleasant...
Those had always been among Orsaga's many reasons for going around bringing disaster upon the masses.
It was also one of the pursuits he persevered in.
Right now.
The fortunate Sodda was one such unlucky victim.
Yet in the face of Orsaga's friendly arrangements—this training whose gift was light but whose sentiment was weighty—
As the victim, though moved, Sodda ultimately did not dare refuse.
He could only force himself to offer thanks.
He cried out that the great Lord of the Scorching Hell was considerate of the weak, even personally arranging trials for them!!
This was not something ordinary people and ordinary gods could accomplish!
Thus, beneath Iolam's look of grief at another's misfortune that felt like the death of a rabbit grieving the fox,
Sodda, having lavishly praised Orsaga,
Was directly sent away on the spot by Orsaga.
All that remained for Iolam was Sodda's final look.
"Take care of yourself." Though the words had not been spoken, Iolam still read those simple, unadorned words in the other party's complicated gaze.
Then he could only watch helplessly as the man was sent to the Blood War (the D&D plane), where the survival rate was said to be only one in a thousand.
At the end of it all.
The aftershock of the teleportation caused a trace of sulfur and blood to slowly fill the tavern.
Like a bit of air drifting in from across the window after one opened it.
They were the remnants left behind by