After confirming his conjecture, Olthagia had a sudden thought.
His true form, still within the spatial passage and ready to flee at any moment, immediately received the safety signal.
In a manner imperceptible to Sartre and the others, he descended into the material world unnoticed. Using the avatar created by [Cross-Boundary Projection - Simulacrum] as a coordinate, he replaced his true form with it and then seamlessly reintegrated the avatar back into himself.
Sartre, who was standing close to Olthagia, only felt a slight blur in the air. The Demon before him seemed to undergo some kind of transformation. The coldness and madness in his eyes were replaced with fervor and delight, and he began to scrutinize his surroundings with utmost seriousness.
Although he had already surveyed the area twice before.
Sartre was curious, but his instincts told him it was best not to meddle in other matters. Survival was paramount, so he didn't dare make a sound.
The cultists behind him, after being glanced at by Olthagia, trembled like ducks with their necks caught.
Olthagia's imposing figure stood three meters tall. His face, resembling that of a human, was covered in fine scales. His curved demonic horns were large enough to be used as weapons, and his majestic armor (exoskeleton) exuded immense power. A pair of massive wings and a long, slender tail with sharp barbs completed his terrifying appearance.
Just the sight of his form made Jem, who had initially been there out of curiosity, feel a sudden pang of fear.
He silently marveled at how this race, born for slaughter, could exude such overwhelming pressure just by its appearance.
But when he saw the contemplative look in Olthagia's crimson eyes, he immediately recalled his family's descriptions of Demons, and a sense of foreboding washed over him.
[Demons were initially beast-like creatures with low intelligence, incapable of communication beyond slaughter. However, their intelligence is tied to their strength—the stronger they become, the smarter they grow. Thus, Demons who resemble humans in both appearance and intellect are the most dangerous. They do not merely engage in mindless killing and destruction; they are also accompanied by numerous schemes and plots.]
Thinking this, Jem.Woz swallowed hard as he watched the Demon nearby, who was scanning his surroundings with the gaze of a predator eyeing its prey. A chilling sense of dread crept up his spine, making his hair stand on end.
This was definitely not some Lesser Demon…
I just wanted to see a Demon of decent strength to satisfy my curiosity. I didn't expect to encounter one this powerful…
Recalling the devastation caused by historical demonic disasters, he felt an overwhelming sense of regret.
If he had known Sartre had such capabilities, the royal family would have treated him like an ancestor, begging him not to misuse his powers.
If the Duchy of Marton were defeated, at worst, they would cede territory and sue for peace. They could endure that. Given the strength of the Duchy of Yal, they didn't have the ability to annihilate the Duchy of Marton, and even if they did, the surrounding nations would never allow such a thing to happen.
But if a demonic disaster were to break out, it wouldn't be a matter of ceding territory. The Duchy of Marton would struggle to find any survivors.
[No living beings would remain, rivers would dry up, and the land would be destroyed.]
This was the most accurate description.
[At the initial stage of their descent, the strength of Demons is suppressed by the world, significantly weakened. This is the best time to kill them!]
'I can do it, I still have hundreds of knights here!'
Thinking this, Jem had a fleeting moment where he felt he could succeed.
But after turning to look at his warhorses, which had started foaming at the mouth one after another since the Demon appeared, and his subordinates who, under just a single gaze from the Demon, looked as if they had been frostbitten, wearing expressions as if their mothers had died, he silently abandoned this tempting idea.
He placed his hopes on Sartre being able to control the Demon before them.
Thinking to himself, 'The big shot is indeed low-key. To summon such a powerful Demon with just a few dozen corpses and still be wanted by the Church, he must be deeply hidden!'
Not even the secret texts had recorded such a strong individual!
If they had known you had this ability!
How dare the Church provoke you!!
What he didn't know was that Sartre, on whom he had placed such high hopes, was now so scared he was almost pissing himself, his legs trembling so much he could barely stand.
"Human, are you my summoner?"
After a thorough inspection, Olthagia was completely reassured. He turned to look at the terrified waste before him and asked in a low voice in the Demon tongue.
"...Uh, that... it's me."
Hearing Olthagia's question, although Sartre didn't understand why he could comprehend this language, he gave up pondering the question under Olthagia's gaze and instead quickly thought about how to respond.
Recalling the summoning creatures recorded in the magic book and looking at Olthagia before him, Sartre felt a wave of sorrow.
Although he wanted to say he wasn't the one who summoned him, after glancing at the disciples burying their heads like ostriches beside him, Sartre had no choice but to brazenly admit in the common language of the continent, [Atlan], that he was the summoner.
Although their languages were as different as night and day—one using the Demon tongue and the other Atlan—thanks to the Demon's innate special ability [Unimpeded Communication], they could still communicate normally. ps: [Unimpeded Communication (As long as the Demon wishes, any intelligent being can communicate with him without barriers, even if their languages are as different as chicken and duck, they can still understand each other, even without gestures!)]
Hearing Sartre admit his identity, Olthagia nodded in satisfaction, extended a finger, and looking directly into his eyes, said in a hoarse voice:
"Wish!"
'What!'
Hearing this, Sartre's legs trembled uncontrollably. He had now recognized Olthagia's identity.
Demon!
This creature, in various fairy tales and legends, always had the same behavior: luring others to make a wish, then fulfilling the summoner's wish according to the contract, and finally devouring their soul!
'My soul is being targeted, he wants me to make a wish!'
'What should I do!!'
Sartre thought alertly.
So his brain started racing, pondering whether he could make a wish for the Demon to return to hell, thus escaping this calamity!
But what followed made Sartre deeply understand that fairy tales and legends are indeed deceptive!
"Wish! Since you've summoned me, you must fulfill my wishes!!"
"At least a hundred of them!!"
Olthagia spoke with utmost seriousness.
Sartre, who was pondering how to make his wish, was struck by this devastating news as if hit by a thunderbolt. His body stiffened instantly.
Seeing him about to collapse, Olthagia extended two fingers, pinched Sartre's collar with his nails, and lifted him up, repeating his words once more.
He asked word by word:
"I said you have to fulfill a hundred wishes for me, do you understand?"
Feeling deeply wronged, Sartre forced back the tears in his eyes under Olthagia's gaze and bravely flattered, "I understand, it's truly an honor for me!"
"Good, you are now my number one lackey."
With that, Olthagia casually tossed him aside and calmly said, "Choose the five most useful people here."
Olthagia's words left the still grieving Sartre momentarily stunned.
But he quickly grasped the other's intent. After swallowing hard, he glanced at the numerous cultists beside him and Duke and others not far away. After a moment of hesitation, he selected three trusted followers from the cultists and then pointed to Jem.Woz in the distance.
"My lord, this man is the crown prince of a kingdom, wielding immense power. He deserves a spot, and I wish to let him choose the remaining one."
"Oh?"
Hearing Sartre's words, Olthagia realized that this man might not be a waste after all, surprisingly having some brains.
He had thought Sartre would only pick five trusted followers, but at this moment, he actually knew how to think about gaining greater benefits, which made him somewhat of a talent.
Seeing the nervous look in Sartre's eyes, Olthagia understood what he was thinking but didn't care, as he had promised him five spots.
As for what Sartre would do with these five spots, he didn't mind.
Perhaps influenced by memories from a past life, unlike other demons who lied through their teeth and treated promises as farts, Olthagia would mostly choose to keep his word if he had indeed said it.
As for absolutely keeping promises?
Are you insulting the name of a demon?
Is there such a demon?
So with a wave of his hand, Jem.Woz, who was trying to sneak away, was pulled over effortlessly from a distance.
Olthagia pointed at Sartre and the cultists he had chosen, holding Jem by the neck, and said, "Apart from these, pick one more useful person."
?
Hearing this sentence out of the blue, the originally panicked Jem.Woz was also full of questions, somewhat confused.
It wasn't until Sartre gave him several meaningful looks that he vaguely understood Olthagia's intent.
Choosing one more useful person meant the others were useless?
Thinking of this, Jem, who had barely maintained his composure as a crown prince, immediately turned pale.
He instinctively wanted to say something, but upon seeing the golden vertical pupils in Olthagia's crimson eyes, which were gazing at him as if he were a toy, he wisely swallowed his words. Trembling, he pointed a shaky finger toward Duke, who was about to rush over to save him.
"Very well, the quota is full. Now it's time to clean up the trash."
With a casual wave, Olthagia pulled Duke over from a distance and tossed him to the ground alongside Jem. Then, with a smile, Olthagia spoke.
As soon as the words left his mouth, an invisible ripple emanated from him, covering an area of several hundred meters.
What followed was a sight that would haunt Sartre and the other four for the rest of their lives.
Whether they were cultists, knights, or even the corpses of prisoners, warhorses, and insects nearby—anything with flesh and blood—began to shrivel up at a visible rate. Their life force and souls were directly extracted by Olthagia from a distance.
The agony of having everything stripped away, amplified by Olthagia's passive ability, Suffering Torment, caused them to let out the most harrowing and final screams of their lives.
When the disturbance ended, a palm-sized ball of blood had somehow appeared floating in front of Olthagia.
He swallowed it in one gulp.
After taking a few seconds to digest it, Olthagia looked at Sartre and the others, who were now utterly consumed by fear, and said in a low voice:
"Let's go. Take me to your capital. I want to see this world."
At first, he spoke in Demonic, but by the time he uttered the last sentence, his language had shifted to Atlian, the common tongue of this world. Simultaneously, his form rapidly shrank, transforming into a red-haired, sinister young man dressed in an opulent black robe...
Sartre and the others, now utterly broken, could only lead the way for Olthagia, leaving behind the desolate graveyard that had once been a prison.
As they walked further away, a crimson flame began to spread from the center of a Magic Circle, eventually engulfing the entire old prison in a sea of fire, reducing everything to ashes...