Abyss Demon of All Realms (TL)

If not for the contract signed with this academy and the twenty years spent here that had mellowed his temperament,

his violent tendencies would have plummeted straight down.

In the Bottomless Abyss, he would never have entertained the idea of fair dealings with the weak—soul extraction would have been his opening move.

Transactions could only occur between beings of equal standing; the weak had no right to negotiate terms.

After all, Demons were creatures who took what they wanted by force.

That he could suppress his nature and calmly converse with the weak was, in Olthagia's view, already giving them face.

If they still failed to recognize the situation, he wouldn't bother with formalities—he'd simply teach them the truth of survival of the fittest in the simplest way possible.

Ignoring the swollen-faced figure who respectfully saw him off,

Olthagia wandered the streets, shifting his focus to the Wizardry he had obtained.

Truth be told, the contents of this Wizardry weren't particularly profound in Olthagia's eyes—barely passable, far from a polished work. It was crude and cluttered with unnecessary elements. But what he sought wasn't so-called "profound knowledge"—it was the foundational ideas, the spark of creativity.

To him, this was a stepping stone, a guidepost pointing in a direction.

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

So even though this guidepost offered only a rough outline, it was enough.

Before long, after some effort,

he refined his own problem based on the other's approach and achieved the desired result.

Curious, he casually glanced at a nearby tree.

Immediately, the tree trembled before exploding—along with the birds and insects perched on it—into countless Doom Blossoms that rained down from the air.

Plucking one drifting flower between his fingers, he inhaled its fragrance and murmured approvingly, "How beautiful."

The so-called Animation spell was, at its core, about infusing inanimate objects with power, temporarily granting them a semblance of life.

But that was all. They came alive, yet lacked intelligence, control, or even lasting vitality. Many abilities could achieve similar effects.

For instance, high-ranking Wizards in this world, upon reaching a certain level of power, emitted a peculiar radiation from their bodies.

This radiation constantly affected surrounding matter in unpredictable ways—sometimes even causing wardrobes to sprout legs and run off, creating no small amount of trouble.

But what was their strength?

To be considered "high-ranking" in Olthagia's eyes, a Wizard had to be at least fourth-tier.

What was that young Wizard, then?

A mere ant—garbage that could be incinerated with a spit.

Moreover, one was passive and uncontrollable, while the other was active and relatively manageable. That was why Olthagia found it intriguing.

In the past, he could only invade the will of others under the influence of the plague, using the biological power of the target to transform them into Doom Blossoms. As for inanimate objects like stones and trees, he had no effective method. But now, with the inspiration from that Spell as a reference, his abilities had advanced further.

As long as something had a physical form, Olthagia could transform it into a Doom Blossom. The only difference lay in the strength of the material and how much power he needed to expend.

This was immensely significant to him, symbolizing that his corruption of the world had become even easier—blood sacrifices were no longer a necessity.

Casually examining the flower in his hand for a moment, he extended it to his side with a smile and said, "For you."

There, standing silently, was a coldly beautiful woman clad in a black robe.

Apart from her strikingly lovely face, her entire body was shrouded in the black robe, which faintly emitted a gray mist, giving her an air of unique mystery.

She glanced at the flower Olthagia offered but made no move to take it. Instead, she pointed at the scattered Doom Blossoms littering the ground nearby and said coolly, "No need. I think you should clean up these poisonous things. This area is close to the bustling district, not the uninhabited Forbidden Forest. They'll cause serious trouble for others."

To her, these scattered flowers were like the most potent poison—ordinary Wizards had no means of resisting them. Olthagia's careless scattering of them was utterly irresponsible, only adding to the workload of her security department.

Under such circumstances, it was no surprise she couldn't bring herself to be polite to him.

Faced with her disdainful gaze, Olthagia shrugged helplessly and casually snapped his fingers. Instantly, the flowers burst into crimson flames, erupting in a dazzling display of colors that painted the surroundings in an ethereal, dreamlike beauty. Then, in the blink of an eye, they vanished without a trace, leaving not even a remnant behind—like a fleeting illusion.

Watching her stunned expression at the spectacle, Olthagia tucked the last remaining Doom Blossom into the hood of her robe and remarked casually, "A beautiful sight, isn't it? If destruction is inevitable, I think it's better to make it look magnificent. This flower carries no harmful effects—I hope you like it. After all, gifting beautiful flowers to a beautiful woman is always fitting."

Without waiting for her reaction, he hummed an unfamiliar folk tune and strolled leisurely down the street.

In his voice, the otherwise ordinary melody took on an eerie, sublime grandeur—a height the original composer could never have imagined. A mere shift in a note or two seemed to elevate it entirely.

Over the past few years, with some free time on his hands, he had remotely projected his Avatar to study painting and music outside the academy. Thanks to the enhancements of his innate abilities, within just a few months, he had earned the reputation of a grand artist—his works now so valuable that even a noble might bankrupt themselves and still fail to acquire one.

Apart from his daily routine of eating well, drinking well, and sleeping soundly, he occasionally went out to eliminate the weak, vanquish the strong, punish the virtuous, and reward the wicked—after all, as a Demon, he couldn't forget his roots.

Yet, despite all this, he still found himself frequently plagued by boredom.

Perhaps this was the dull life of the powerful—no worries, no mortal enemies running amok, everything smooth sailing.

Wasn't it supposed to be that once you had cheats, enemies would be everywhere?

So why did it seem like no one even bothered with him?

Because of this, Olthagia often questioned whether he really was the protagonist.