The Boredom of Life

Had he not signed a contract with this academy and spent twenty years here, his temperament would not have become so much more placid.

His violent tendencies had declined in a straight line.

In the Bottomless Abyss, he would never have entertained the notion of dealing fairly with the weak. He would have started by extracting their souls.

Deals could only be made with beings of equal standing. The weak were not qualified to bargain.

After all, Demons had always taken whatever they wanted with their own hands.

Being able to suppress his nature and converse calmly with the weak was, in Orsaga's view, already giving them more than enough face.

If they still could not see the situation for what it was, he would no longer bother with formalities and would choose the simplest method to teach them the truth that the weak were meat for the strong.

Ignoring the man with the swollen face, who respectfully saw him off, Orsaga wandered down the street while focusing his attention on that spell.

To be honest, Orsaga did not consider the contents of this spell particularly profound. It was barely passable, nowhere near a complete work—rough and mixed with much that was unnecessary. But what he needed was not any so-called "profound knowledge," but more fundamental lines of thought—or rather, inspiration.

To him, it was a guidepost that could point him in a direction.

With his current level of knowledge, all he needed was a seed to grow it into a towering tree.

Thus, although this guidepost contained only a rough outline of information, it was enough for him to use.

Not long afterward, after expending a little effort,

following the other party's train of thought, he resolved his own issue and successfully obtained the result he wanted.

With a try-it-out mindset, he casually cast his gaze at a tree not far away.

At once, the tree shuddered, and together with the birds and insects upon it, instantly exploded. Countless Death Tribulation Flowers rained down from the air.

He lightly pinched one flower drifting toward him between two fingers, sniffed its fragrance, and murmured with satisfaction, "Truly beautiful."

That so-called Activation Spell was essentially a method of infecting other Dead Things with power and temporarily granting them a certain degree of Life Force.

But that was all. They came alive, yet possessed neither intelligence nor the authority to be controlled. Even their vitality could only last for a time. If that were its sole use, many abilities could achieve similar results.

For example, once the high-ranking wizards of this world reached a certain level of strength, a special layer of radiation would appear over their bodies.

That radiation constantly exerted unpredictable effects on surrounding matter. Sometimes, wardrobes even grew two legs and ran away, causing them no small amount of trouble.

But what level of strength did they possess?

Any wizard Orsaga considered high-ranking was at least Level Four.

And what was that young wizard supposed to be?

Nothing but a tiny ant—trash that could be burned to death with a mouthful of spit.

Furthermore, one was passive and uncontrollable, while the other was active and relatively controllable. That was why Orsaga had taken an interest in it.

Previously, all he could do was use the effects of plague to invade others with his will, borrowing the power of living creatures themselves to transform them into Death Tribulation Flowers. As for Dead Things such as stones and trees, he had no good method. But with that spell's underlying idea as a reference, his ability had now advanced another step.

So long as something possessed a physical form, Orsaga could transform it into a Death Tribulation Flower. The only difference was the material's strength and how much power it would cost him.

This was extremely important to him. It signified that his erosion of the world had become easier, and even blood sacrifices were no longer a necessity.

After casually examining the flower in his hand for a while, he held it out beside him and said with a smile, "This is for you."

At some point, a cold and beautiful woman in a black robe had appeared there.

Other than her lovely face, every part of her was shrouded beneath a black robe that slowly emitted gray mist, lending her a distinctive air of mystery.

She glanced at the flower Orsaga offered her but did not reach out to take it. Instead, she pointed at the Death Tribulation Flowers carpeting the ground in the distance and said coldly, "No need. I think you should clean up this pile of poisonous things. This is already close to the busy district, not the Forbidden Forest where hardly anyone goes. It will cause quite a bit of trouble for other people."

In her eyes, those scattered flowers were like the most virulent poison. Ordinary wizards had no ability to resist them, and Orsaga's act of scattering them everywhere was clearly extremely irresponsible. It was simply making things harder for their security department.

Under such circumstances, it would have been strange if she had shown Orsaga a pleasant expression.

Facing her disdainful gaze, Orsaga helplessly waved a hand and casually snapped his fingers. The flowers instantly ignited with Blood Red flames, blooming in a magnificent burst of color that cast the surroundings in an illusory, dreamlike beauty. Then, in the blink of an eye, they vanished without a trace, leaving not even the slightest remnant behind, like a fleeting dream.

Seeing that she had already been stunned by the scene, Orsaga tucked the last Death Tribulation Flower in his hand into her hood and said casually, "Beautiful scenery, isn't it? If destruction cannot be avoided, I think it is better to make it look more magnificent. There is nothing harmful on this flower. I hope you like it. After all, giving beautiful flowers to beautiful women is always fitting."

Then, without bothering to wait for her reaction, he began strolling the streets at leisure, humming an inexplicable folk tune.

From his lips, that originally ordinary melody reached heights its composer had never imagined, taking on a strange and gorgeous quality. With one or two casual changes in tune, it seemed to have been elevated entirely.

As he had been somewhat idle these past few years, he had projected Avatars over long distances to study painting and music outside the academy. With the enhancement of his Talent Abilities, in merely a month or two he had earned the reputation of a great artist there. He had reached the point where a single casual painting of his could bankrupt an ordinary noble, and they still might not be able to afford it.

Besides that, in his daily life, apart from eating well, drinking well, and sleeping well, he would occasionally go out to do such things as eliminating the weak and wiping out the strong, punishing the good and rewarding the evil. After all, as a Demon, he could not forget his roots.

Yet boredom still inevitably crept into his heart from time to time.

Perhaps this was the boring life of the strong—nothing to worry about, no mortal enemy wandering about, and everything going smoothly.

Wasn't it said that once you got cheats, enemies would be everywhere?

How come no enemies seemed to give a damn about me...

Because of this, Orsaga often doubted his identity as the Protagonist.