While his avatar was handling business negotiations with Ra, Orsaga's true body, within the Crimson Heaven, was engaged in a different kind of discussion—with Golariel and the others.
Since officially becoming a registered entity of this universe and acquiring the status of a high-tier system-level authority, Orsaga had indeed reaped many benefits from the universe's blessing. But conversely, he was also subject to a number of restrictions.
For example, his true form could no longer freely leave the Warp. Even entering the material universe within this Multiverse was difficult, let alone traveling to other dimensions.
So, instead of forcing his way through, Orsaga simply summoned Golariel, Alison, Iris, and Kayla to his side.
Together with Petra and her external tag-along, Elsa, these six were the closest women in his life—and the only six he ever extended genuine goodwill to.
This was the first time all six of them met together in the real world.
Naturally, the momentous gathering kicked off with a roundtable interrogation.
Only after confirming that, yes, they were truly the only important ones, did the six women finally let Orsaga off the hook.
They all knew that Orsaga never lied about such things.
As for the others—women he may have had intimate contact with but no emotional connection to—none of the six bothered asking. They were fully aware that Orsaga never took those people seriously. At best, they were slightly above strangers.
Besides… there were too many to count.
They figured that asking would only make them suffer unnecessarily.
Now, watching the others chat freely—having broken the initial awkwardness thanks to past cross-dimensional communication through Orsaga's spiritual imprint—the six women began discussing all kinds of topics with ease.
Meanwhile, Orsaga, tied to a chair, finally couldn't help but speak up.
"Are we done with the questioning? Can I at least get up for a glass of juice?"
Iris, who was in the middle of asking Elsa a question, immediately shot him a glare.
"Shut up."
"…Tch."
Knowing he had no ground to stand on, Orsaga chose to lower his head obediently.
Watching this, Golariel and Alison, who had just adjusted their heights to better match the humans—Iris, Kayla, Petra, and Elsa—exchanged amused smiles but said nothing. With their personalities, they couldn't bring themselves to act this way, so Iris's assertiveness filled the gap nicely.
At that moment, none of them realized that a silent transmission had just entered Orsaga's mind.
It was a message from the Aeldari.
Ever since Orsaga had earned the title of God of Art among them, a large number of Aeldari had begun to worship him as a God.
Though the title "God of Art" might sound unimpressive to humans—like some throwaway divine role—among the Aeldari, a species whose entire existence revolved around art, it was practically a supreme god-tier domain.
In fact, the only reason their old war god Khaine had made some snide remarks about the name back then… was because he'd been annoyed by how revered Orsaga had become.
Unfortunately for him, he got flattened by Orsaga that very same day.
Now, Orsaga's Aeldari followers were attempting to make an offering.
Originally, he hadn't paid much attention. A few sacrifices didn't really mean much to him.
But the moment he scanned the content of their proposed offering, his expression changed.
He glanced quietly at the six women not far away.
This… was not something he could accept right now.
At least, not anytime soon.
Without hesitation, he sent back a reply to his Aeldari followers, telling them to postpone the tribute, and even sent a small reward for their dedication.
After all, they were offering him a thousand-member elite Aeldari handmaiden corps.
Now that was impressive.
According to the information they'd provided, every member of this handmaiden troupe was a devout believer in the God of Art—each one beautiful, graceful, and highly skilled in painting, poetry, dance, and even combat. Virtually masters in all traditional Aeldari arts.
For Orsaga's vast and empty palace, it was… extremely tempting.
Still, to avoid any misunderstandings from the six women currently present, Orsaga wisely decided to delay the tribute.
He was, after all, a pure and decent Abyssal Demon.
He couldn't afford to be misunderstood by his own people.
With that decision made, he sent a second message to the Aeldari high priest.
He instructed that the handmaiden tribute be formalized as a century-based tradition.
After all, his palace was big—and a thousand Aeldari handmaidens wasn't going to be enough.
Then another idea struck him.
After mulling it over, Orsaga quietly willed several isolated subdimensions into existence within the Crimson Heaven.
From that moment on, any of his followers from other Universes who died for whatever reason would be pulled into these subspaces.
He was planning to build a composite god-realm.
Satisfied with this arrangement, Orsaga nodded to himself.
He considered it a very elegant solution.
The outer layers of the Crimson Heaven could serve as camouflage to deceive any Chaos Gods or inquisitive entities.
The inner layers would store the souls of his multi-dimensional followers, serving as his true divine kingdom, where they would generate faith energy to feed him.
In this universe, gods had no such concept as divine realms.
Except for a handful of personally favored believers who received special treatment, most souls simply dissipated after death.
To put it bluntly, their gods were mostly useless—a complete scam.
But now, things were different.
This honest and generous Abyssal Demon had decided to give his followers something no other god would:
A home for eternity.
---
Across the Galaxy…
On a planet governed by the Aeldari, deep within the headquarters of the Cathedral of Art—the primary temple of the God of Art—the High Priest received Orsaga's messages.
The divine knowledge Orsaga bestowed upon him shook him to his core.
The depth of the artistic wisdom he had been given made the High Priest feel utterly insignificant.
Every time he thought he was about to grasp the meaning behind one of Orsaga's artistic teachings, a new ocean of knowledge would rise up and drown him in inspiration.
It was a beautiful kind of suffering.
Furthermore, learning that the God of Art had accepted the tribute proposal made the High Priest ecstatic.
Even more so when Orsaga instructed that the tribute become a recurring event every 100 years.
To him, this wasn't outrageous at all.
It was a divine acknowledgment of his devotion.
After all, he was the one who had proposed the handmaiden tribute in the first place.
He was deeply moved—emotionally overwhelmed.
No one could fathom how many layers of divine embellishment he added in his mind as he reimagined Orsaga's every gesture and word in glorious, reverent detail.
Even Orsaga himself had no idea what kind of divine being he had become in the hearts of his zealots.
Not long after, a solemn declaration echoed through the Cathedral of Art:
From this day forward, every hundred years, the church would hold a Grand Festival of Art.
A magnificent ceremony to select the top 1,000 female artists across the entire church.
These women would be honored as handmaidens to the God of Art.
And the moment the news spread—news that there was now a path to get closer to the deity himself—the response from the more fanatical believers was sheer euphoria.
No one questioned the decree.
No one objected.
Not a single soul thought this was a bad idea.
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