As he spoke, Orsaga casually transferred a portion of his memories directly into Wanwan's mind.
As a demon-god who wielded the Authority of Agony, even though this was just one of his clones, any memory steeped in such intense negative emotion stood out to him like a blazing bonfire in the night.
That particular memory was tightly bound to the War God Codex—so prominent that Orsaga couldn't have ignored it even if he tried.
In that memory—
An armored war deity, awe-inspiring and majestic, led his subordinates into battle against a faction that looked completely different—clearly villainous just by appearance.
Every single member on both sides exuded a suffocating sense of might.
Even the slightest movement of these beings carried earth-shaking momentum, as if they could split rivers or shatter mountains with ease.
They were on a level so far above Wanwan that she couldn't even imagine catching up.
During their fierce and brutal clash, countless living beings were slain.
The earth was torn apart, the skies shattered, and even the oceans evaporated into steam.
Eventually, the dragon-riding deity fell—his forces utterly annihilated—and he was overwhelmed by the enemy. In the end, he was utterly defeated.
Even his corpse was dismembered into countless pieces.
He, his mount, and all of his followers became nothing more than food for their enemies.
And as the victors gnawed on his remains, one among them had a sudden inspiration:
'Something this delicious… we can't just have it once.'
So, after some discussion, they reached a consensus.
They would use what remained of that divine being's corpse to build multiple temples—then scatter those temples across other worlds.
By doing so, they could manipulate the growth path of native beings, guiding them toward that god's image. The closer they became to him, the more flavorful they would become.
All that was left for the victors to do… was wait.
Because they had secretly laid down bindings—every lifeform guided by the Codex would, upon breaking through their native world's limits, "ascend" straight into the predators' domain.
Willing sacrifices, served up on a silver platter.
---
Over ten minutes later.
Wanwan finally finished absorbing the memories Orsaga had transferred.
Her previously rosy face had gone deathly pale, drained of all color.
From the information she'd seen, it wasn't just the War God Codex that was problematic—every martial art born from it acted like a beacon, drawing in those who reached the Voidbreaker realm and delivering them straight to those terrifying predators.
That meant all the Voidbreaker martial artists from this world—every single one of them—only had one destination.
Whether it was Cang Qu, founder of the Holy Orders, the ancient Immortal Master Guang Chengzi, or other legendary figures… they likely never escaped their fate.
For countless martial artists, the ultimate goal of their life's work had unknowingly been to throw themselves into a trap.
This realization was almost too much for Wanwan to bear.
Meanwhile, Orsaga sat casually, legs crossed, enjoying the wind that blew across his face—filtered through his AT Field for comfort.
To him, the group that had used the War God Codex to "raise food" was unimpressive—nothing about them stood out.
At best, it was a clumsy little scheme.
They didn't even measure up to the Chloroya merchant guild, which had once orchestrated a full-scale invasion of the Seven Seas realm using Greater demons.
At least the Chloroya were organized—not this penny-ante nonsense.
The Chloroya guild would target specific planes, invade them outright, and then carry out full-scale indoctrination and population farming.
They even meticulously tracked annual birth and death rates, scheduling them down to the decimal for native populations.
They offered customized "ascension" and "transcendence" packages as part of their dimension-trading services—tailored cultivation paths that would spread through the farmed plane, raising living beings precisely to the employer's taste.
Everything was systematized, professionalized, automated, streamlined—a fully industrialized supply chain.
In comparison, the ones spreading the War God Codex were like backwoods free-range farmers—completely unprofessional, unable to scale, and frankly laughable.
Within the vast Abyss, the Chloroya merchant guild wasn't even a major player—they were considered bottom-tier vendors, the equivalent of a food cart in some fourth-rate city.
They couldn't even claim territory in places like the Lava Wasteland. They had to attach themselves to some minor demon lord for protection. Even if they were fine today, they could be wiped out tomorrow with zero warning.
Against that backdrop, Orsaga looked down on the War God Codex scheme with utter contempt.
In his view, their harvesting methods were so primitive and inefficient, they were practically charitable!
They let too many fish slip through the net.
In Abyssal terms, they were either do-gooders or stone-age amateurs. Only backwater hicks with no vision would use such crude methods.
Anyone with a shred of know-how wouldn't operate this way.
Other firms could make in a single year what these clowns couldn't earn in ten thousand.
Compared to Orsaga's own "multi-world Plague Inc"—which required no effort and yielded profits silently—there was no comparison.
His harvesting was silent, precise, and hidden. Not even the local planar consciousness or world rulers would notice something was amiss.
Silent! Efficient! Undetectable!
Now that was true craftsmanship—worthy of an elite Abyssal demon.
Thinking this, a subtle pride crept onto Orsaga's face.
From the bottom of his heart, he looked down on those clueless hacks.
---
Meanwhile, Wanwan sat in stunned silence.
Then she lowered her head, sadness and regret flooding her heart as she turned to Orsaga—the Abyssal expert in "reaping sentient wheat"—and pleaded:
"My lord… please, for the sake of our loyalty… could you save the Yinkui Sect?"
Her heartbreak wasn't just for her own shattered dreams. What pained her more was the thought of her sect's countless generations of elders—who had sacrificed everything, never knowing the truth.
She was devastated, utterly lost.
(Imagine hitting the jackpot, only to find out you owe six hundred million.)
But Orsaga, veteran of countless harvests, didn't even blink. He replied immediately:
"Don't worry about them. Just have everyone sincerely recite my divine titles a few times each day—Crimson King, or the names those martial artists recently gave me: True White Emperor—any of those work. Once they do that, my divine imprint will override theirs automatically."
The methods of free-range amateurs didn't even register to someone like Orsaga.
This was a professional's game—and the Abyssal demons were the true masters.
"…That simple?" Wanwan looked at him in disbelief.
Orsaga shrugged, completely sincere. "Why overcomplicate such a simple issue?"
"…Alright."
Seeing how genuine he was, Wanwan decided to trust him.
And in her heart, she made a choice—once she returned, she would have a serious talk with her master.
It was time to walk away from the trap that was the Heavenly Demon Codex, which, after all, originated from the War God Codex.
—
As for Xiang Yutian, who was still deep inside the Temple of the War God?
At that very moment, he was feeling completely inspired.
Thoughts surged like a spring within his mind. Countless martial bottlenecks that had stumped him for years were unraveling one after another, thanks to the guidance of the War God Codex.
He was deeply satisfied.
'I've grown stronger!'
Nodding in approval, he was immensely grateful he hadn't left with the others.
That would've been a massive loss!
_____
T/N:
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