Standing inside the cage, gazing at the distant island approaching on the horizon, Harry knew that this would be his home for a considerable time to come.
Turning to look at the other captured Yar soldiers beside him, Harry felt an indescribable sense of shame.
Some were severely wounded and on the brink of death, others were listless from being drugged, and a few lay half-conscious, their thoughts unknown. All of them bore the dejected look of defeated strays, as if their spines had been broken.
Gritting his teeth, Harry still couldn't accept how they had gone from high-spirited warriors to this wretched state.
But he also understood that voicing such thoughts in front of the Maddon Duchy soldiers nearby would only make them a laughingstock. So, he silently kept accounts in his heart, swearing to repay this humiliation a hundredfold one day.
As the fleet entered a certain range near the island, following the signal flags from the lead ship, all vessels came to a stop.
Long wooden planks extended from the sides of the ships.
The Maddon Duchy soldiers on board tossed each prisoner a large piece of driftwood—to prevent them from drowning—before mercilessly forcing them onto the planks. Weapons in hand, they drove the captives one by one to leap into the sea.
This was to prevent them from banding together to seize the ships, leaving them no chance to escape.
The direction and distance had been carefully calculated by seasoned sailors.
Even those who couldn't swim could easily reach Mobius Island by clinging to the driftwood and riding the waves. The captors had no worries about the prisoners failing to make it ashore, which would mean an incomplete mission.
As the enemy's supreme commander, Harry—thanks to someone's unnamed behind-the-scenes maneuvering—was the first to jump, leading the way as the vanguard.
Standing on the plank extending from the lead ship, feeling the weight of countless eyes upon him, Harry fought the urge to curse. But his upbringing and the weapons trained on him forced him to swallow his words.
Instead, he silently cursed the ancestors of those responsible in his heart.
When under someone else's roof, one must bow their head.
Perhaps he had never heard this saying before, but faced with such a predicament, its truth became self-evident.
Standing on the plank, Harry glanced at the sea below and, in a daze, thought he saw the broad fin of a shark.
After days of brutal treatment, Harry—a man from high society—decided to set aside his hatred for now and focus on surviving the immediate challenge.
With a stern expression, he asked the Maddon Duchy soldiers forcing him to jump, "You're certain there are no sharp-toothed sharks or sea monsters down there, right?"
Seeing the soldiers exchange uncertain glances, clearly unsure of the answer, he added gravely, "Don't misunderstand—I'm not worried about myself. I'm concerned for the wounded. If such creatures are lurking, they'll never make it to the island, and your mission will fail."
One of the soldiers hesitated, then nodded at Harry's reasoning and hurried off to the ship's conference room—likely to report the concern.
Though Harry's face remained impassive, inwardly, he felt a flicker of satisfaction.
"Trash, with your level of intelligence, you think you can challenge me?"
Not long after, the soldier ran out again and shouted to the others, "The general said that during this season, there aren't many magical beasts or carnivorous fish in this area. Even if they're full, they won't eat many people. Just throw these prisoners in. If they die, it's their own fault."
Upon hearing this, the soldiers immediately used long poles to push the stunned Harry into the water.
Due to the anesthetic, Harry could only watch helplessly as they did this, unable to even attempt to dodge. His body moved as slowly as an old woman with rheumatism.
Staring at the approaching sea surface, he glared at the soldiers above and opened his mouth: "Damn you, remember this..."
Before he could finish his words, seawater flooded his mouth.
——
The Royal Capital.
Olthagia sat leisurely in a chair, legs crossed.
Before him floated a pale blue ring of light, within which the scene of Harry being washed ashore on Mobius Island by the waves was displayed.
This was the spell [Far-Light Mirror], used to project the image of a specific area. Its range depended on the user's strength, making it a decent reconnaissance spell.
"The first phase of the Death Plague experiment is complete. Next comes the second phase. If the plague can alter a creature's life state at the cellular level, can it also modify their physical structure and genetic state? In my memories from the previous life, there was something called a 'zombie' that seemed quite interesting..."
Though Olthagia hadn't studied much scientific knowledge and knew little about cells, magic held many similar fields of study.
Through the power of the [Source of Death Plague], the intangible plague served as his medium, granting him a unique perspective on microscopic phenomena. He could observe the state of the infected with greater clarity and, through the plague, exert a degree of influence over them.
What others might consider rigorous and complex appeared in a different light to him, giving him the strange sensation that he could reach out and alter things at will.
He knew full well that his mastery of these abilities was still rudimentary. The [Source of Death Plague] was far more than just a tool to spread disease—it had far broader applications. The same went for abilities like [Magic Trait - Corrosion.Pain] and [Elemental Talent - Bloodflame]. The evolution system hadn't handed him fully developed powers but had instead added new branches to his existing foundation, offering him more choices. How far he could cultivate them depended entirely on himself.
Now, he was attempting to carve out his own path. After all, even the same road could be walked in many ways—only the most suitable one was the best.
In his eyes, the moment Harry touched the island's soil, he became the primary carrier of the plague.
This was the reward Olthagia had granted to the first person to set foot on the island. The plague would spread outward from him, and he would possess a degree of resistance—effectively becoming a mobile poison gas canister.
One that wasn't tightly sealed.
In his observation, the seeds of plague had taken root within him—slow yet unstoppable. When fully matured, every breath he exhaled would become poisonous gas, every drop of blood he shed would serve as a vector for pestilence, and even his own body would become a breeding ground for the plague.
Since Olthagia descended upon this world, the lives lost directly or indirectly by his hand had become countless. The world's suppression against him grew fiercer with each passing day. Even the air seemed to solidify before him, every step and gesture feeling as though he were trudging through mud, weighed down by an indescribable resistance.
After casually aiding Jem.Woz in crushing the army of the Yar Principality, that same suppression reacted once more. Even though the decision had been Jem's, the debt still fell upon Olthagia—after all, the power belonged to him.
He could sense the world's tolerance for him was nearing its limit. One more step might trigger other reactions—troublemakers seeking him out, divine retribution, falling meteors...
For Demons, foreign entities like him, the world's patience had always been thin. And for troublemakers like Olthagia, they were prime targets!
Were it not for the effects of his two innate abilities, [Armed Rune - Scarlet] and [Camouflage - Silence], there would already be countless heroes, influenced by the world's will, knocking at his door. He certainly wouldn't be lying low as comfortably as he was now.
These deep-rooted parasites had always faced the same treatment across worlds—being ganged up on the moment they appeared.
Just like the other Demons who had previously entered this world, each had been beaten half-dead upon arrival, their strength suppressed to a fraction. Then came the endless parade of heroes seeking to pick fights.
Either they hacked their way through all the challengers and conquered the world, or they met a violent, unpeaceful end—or were forced back to where they came from. Either way, they were never given time to rebuild their strength or expand their influence.
Unlike them, Olthagia, with more options, chose to develop quietly. Moreover, he didn't crave human souls the way other Demons did. To him, they were all just fodder for his Evolution System—nutrients to be converted.
Whether a soul tasted unique or delicious didn't matter. Unlike other Demons, who sought out pure souls or sinful ones, he saw them all as the same—only differing in the amount of Evolution Points they yielded after conversion. There was no fundamental distinction.
If possible, he'd rather harvest souls en masse in the Bottomless Abyss, where talent was abundant and survival was a kill-or-be-killed affair.
But compared to causing havoc across dimensions, that was far more difficult. Without the strength of a [Demon Lord], recklessness could easily get him crushed.
And according to his inherited memories, interdimensional invasions were also tied to the favor of the Abyssal Will. Only by destroying enough worlds could one qualify to step into the ranks of the Abyss Lords. Only by proving his worth to the Bottomless Abyss would he be granted more resources.
Every [Lord] within the Bottomless Abyss meets the most fundamental power threshold of being a [Planet Destroyer]!
With a mere glance, they can corrode the minds and souls of the weak. Barehanded, they can pluck stars and grasp moons, overturn continents and boil oceans as if playing games. They can face advanced interstellar civilizations fielding stellar fleets head-on, and drag entire planes teeming with billions of lives into the depths of the Bottomless Abyss.
For a Demon to advance from an [Infant Demon] to a [Demon Lord], the required resources and opportunities are nearly unimaginable. The only path lies through endless cross-planar slaughter and destruction to gain the favor of the Abyssal Will. Only by doing so can one elevate the near-impossible odds to mere trillionths or quadrillionths of a chance.
For Olthagia, who possesses an evolution system, while alternative paths exist, this proven shortcut remains undeniable. Thus, he has no reason to abandon the practice of invading other planes.
On the contrary, with his more diverse methods, he holds incomparable advantages over other Abyssal creatures on this path—capable of going much further...