At the very beginning.
This spacetime he had stumbled upon while wandering about was, to Orsaga, nothing more than an appetizer before the meal.
He had not taken it too seriously at all.
Even so.
Even after he had imprisoned this spacetime and turned it into a fishpond, he had still held much the same view.
At most, he had merely wanted to raise it a little longer before eating it.
But now, Orsaga had new ideas.
Because its components were excessively mixed and chaotic.
This place was like a special cultivation vessel containing all five poisons, highly suitable for laying the foundation for one of his plans.
Thus.
As his will continued to shift.
Crimson Heaven and its various subordinate factions also steadily intensified their efforts to capture Transmigrators, Reincarnators, Reincarnators...
Most of the targets were like fish fry being constantly sorted through.
Before they even knew what had happened.
They, along with the regions they belonged to, had silently been tossed into the fishpond, becoming part of it—as though they were some additional factor hidden in a corner of the map.
Quietly waiting to be discovered by others.
However, some people, for all manner of reasons, sensed many unusual changes.
Among them.
Meeting misfortune on the spot was hardly a rare occurrence...
In a certain plane.
A certain Transmigrator, whose age had fully entered the physiological stage of old age, sat calmly within the imperial palace of the dynasty he had personally founded. Seated upon that magnificent imperial throne carved with dragons and phoenixes, crafted with incomparable precision, he quietly listened as the officials below reported one matter after another, issuing orders and instructions in an orderly fashion.
As a Soul Transmigration Type Transmigrator, he had come to this world nearly seventy years ago.
At first.
This place