Leaving the office, Demiurge curled his lips upward as though nothing in this world could hinder him now. It didn't take long for his sly smile to warp into something strange and grotesque—but it hardly mattered. There was no one left in this mansion who would so much as question such a grin. "Ahh… truly delightful." His footsteps echoed lightly along the grand corridors of the Dragon's Dream estate, each strike of his shoes ringing like the beat of a dance. He was genuinely overjoyed, brimming with satisfaction. For Rot, who only moments ago had been trembling in fear before him, it was both misfortune and a strange mercy. To please this demon meant—for now, at least—no further harm would come to his body. Nor would Demiurge need to touch him again. He cherished those who were clever, especially those who struggled desperately like insects cornered in the dark. For he was a demon—an embodiment of malice who reveled in corrupting the wise, staining the pure, and dragging the innocent into depravity. All his efforts, of course, were for the sake of the Supreme Being he served. Yet it could not be denied that his methods carried a flavor of his own cruel preferences. His rapturous smile curved into something sadistic, the gleam from behind his round glasses radiating menace. A foul aura seemed to scatter with his every step, so thick was his delight. Ever since the grand operation, all his plans and preparations had surged forward, accelerating toward their objectives. Logistics, manpower, funds, intelligence—all the things Nazarick had once struggled to acquire in this new world had now been secured in abundance through the absorption of Dragon's Dream. The gains exceeded even the Supreme One's advance expectations. Despite its reputation as a "great house," even Demiurge had not realized just how vast it was until they devoured it whole. The wealth alone dwarfed everything stolen from the Royal Capital's vaults and the Eight Fingers' hoards during the upheaval. Within their warehouses, not coins, but rectangular gold ingots stacked so high they touched the ceilings—two stories tall. Gems, yes, but also adamantite, orichalcum, mithril—all refined into gleaming ingots, piled to the brim. And that was not all. Rare herbs preserved with stasis magic, ores, precious monster materials, potions, spices, silks, dyes, even seeds of valuable crops—nothing was lacking. This acquisition had transformed Nazarick's finances overnight. The Supreme Being Himself remarked that the total wealth gained from the capital rivaled the colossal sum once spent to resurrect Shalltear. Every Guardian remembered the mountain of gold coins drawn upon in Yggdrasil for that resurrection—and they all rejoiced, showering praise for such a monumental achievement. Nor was it limited to wealth. Magical items filled their storerooms. Enchanted weapons and ornaments piled in rooms until they overflowed—each of them, by the standards of this world, could be hailed as legendary artifacts. To Nazarick's treasury, such trinkets were worthless, but their value was not the point. The source of this content ɪs 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡~𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚~𝙣𝙚𝙩 Most of these were transferred into the treasury. Some items, however, were distributed as samples to select subordinates. During this process, the head artisan of Nazarick—an Overseer of the Great Tomb's workshops—filed a startled report: "These weapons… the craftsmanship is on par with my own." "Then… could it be? A true Production Class exists here?" "Yes, Demiurge. Find the roots of this power at once." "As You command, Supreme One." The Master upon the Throne laughed, ordering him to trace the source hidden behind Dragon's Dream. Yet even now, though they had seized the husk of the house, its true foundations remained veiled. Their enemy's origins were concealed with exceptional care. To drag them into the light would require more time. The shortage of manpower in Nazarick also contributed to the delays. It had taken more than a week just to sort, classify, and catalogue the vast sums of coin, jewels, ores, herbs, spices, and other treasures they had seized. And that was only the beginning. The library of Dragon's Dream had preserved information gathered across nations over a span of 150 years. Through mental magic, Rot had revealed that the shelves had been slated for systematic incineration by order of the late patriarch. Yet aside from several sections where the most critical documents had already been destroyed, the rest remained intact. It seemed Monkyspanner, as the princess's intelligence had suggested, had intended to vanish from history—burning much of the archive and crucial records before his end. Reconstructing and rewriting the remainder consumed vast time, and then Nazarick's scholars had to sift out what was truly useful. To manage this herculean task, three of Nazarick's greatest minds had been mobilized. Demiurge handled personnel selection and document restructuring. Albedo oversaw the servants in cataloging the library's intelligence. And Pandora's Actor took charge of accounting and treasure management. "Thanks to that division of labor, I even had a little leisure to indulge my hobbies…" In that process, Demiurge savored a most entertaining occupation: culling. Those who were useful were swayed, broken, or reshaped to remain. Those who were not were quietly eased out—through "retirement," "return to their homeland," or dispatched on long-term assignments from which they would never return. In the course of a month, he harvested nearly fifty such individuals—each considered formidable by this world's standards. The Supreme One had ordered that Rot not be touched, and indeed Rot proved invaluable: rallying the house when it might have shattered, making it easier to absorb, and smoothing the rise of their master to the status of "Seventh Patriarch." Demiurge even admitted to a personal fondness for the man. The demon's greatest delight was to corrupt and subjugate the competent. The others, however, were of little worth. By Nazarick's measure, even this world's "strong" amounted to little more than pests—barely on par with skeletons that spawned naturally in the Tomb. A handful exceeded that baseline, but none by much. Yet even vermin required careful handling. Here, Demiurge put to use the expertise he had honed while overseeing the Bicorn Sheep. From his harvest came a bounty of new "material." Their compliant cooperation allowed him to secure resources of remarkable quality. Compared to scrolls made from the hides of Holy Kingdom sheep—capable of sealing only 1st–3rd tier spells at best—their contributions promised far greater. He withheld immediate mass-production, instead using the samples for experiments and data collection. The findings were illuminating: even within the same species, the hides of stronger, purer, and more magically-attuned individuals yielded higher-grade parchment. Considering the scarcity of materials such as dragon hide, this discovery was highly encouraging. Demiurge quivered with anticipation. His master's command—to secure resources in this world capable of rivaling Yggdrasil's items—might soon be within reach. The thought of presenting such results to the Supreme One filled the demon with ecstasy. "Ah, He will surely be pleased… Yes, how glorious that will be." Of course, such minor, sordid details were not worth troubling His exalted ears. The Supreme One cherished the innocent and unsullied with unmatched benevolence. It was the duty of His left hand, hidden in shadow, to deal with the filth, that the right hand might remain unstained. Half the organization was already consolidated. He could not afford to spend longer—an entire month had gone into this work alone. Now the foundation was stable, and it was time to advance to the next stage. But that next step could not be taken without His sanction. Plans had been laid, but to enact them without leave would be unthinkable blasphemy. Closing off his musings, Demiurge activated a [Gate]. Preparations for the next phase were already underway. Straining every faculty, he would not allow himself to disappoint his master. "Then… next shall be the matter of these hidden sponsors… and perhaps the Empire…" Ah, at last—an opponent worthy of his labor. The demon's sneering smile vanished into the shimmer of the [Gate]. If you want to read 10 advance chapters ahead.