Number of Lackeys: Joy +1

Looking at the fellow before him, so excited he seemed about to drop dead on the spot,

Orsaga remained utterly calm.

Even with the other party prostrate at his feet, worshipping him as though he were a god,

his gaze could not be bothered to change from beginning to end.

Indifferent.

As if he were watching ants crawl.

Without the slightest emotional ripple.

He had clearly done nothing.

Yet a lackey had voluntarily bowed his head in submission.

And even brought his own provisions!

Orsaga had long grown accustomed to treatment like this.

He did not find it surprising in the least.

All he could say was that life was lonely as snow.

Though he was not human.

Still, deep down, he truly wanted to experience what it felt like to be hated by everyone.

Preferably the kind where merely eating a hamburger could provoke several people.

He rather liked that gradual sense of, "Beat the little one, and the big one comes."

Just thinking about it gave him the feeling of grinding monsters.

Chopping monsters like vegetables—what bliss!

But regrettably,

throughout his long life,

even though he had constantly messed around and went after anyone he disliked, he still could not draw the Hate Value he wanted.

It was as though he were innately cut off from such things...

Even when he had been in the Bottomless Abyss, no enemies had come to bother with him.

After habitually reminiscing over his regrets,

Orsaga casually extended one hand, aiming it at the still-prostrate old man.

Under the other party's pilgrimage-like gaze, he said offhandedly:

"Since that is the case, from today onward, you are my lackey."

His tone was as flat as if he had picked up fifty cents on the road.

Indeed, it even carried the feeling