“Reporting, Master. I want to wander the city…”

In Terracafe, the bustling Most Ancient City, the main avenue flowed like a river of faces. Ouyang looked at Xi with a fawning smile.

“Just a casual stroll?”

“Master, look into my pure, spotless eyes. Would I lie? I swear on our contract. I didn’t deceive you.” The oath-bound contract left Xi no room to doubt. If he broke the oath, the contract would lash back. With that, her worry loosened.

Her gut spoke first: crowds make trouble bloom, and Ouyang is an oddball who sprouts chaos like weeds after rain. She’d rather not appear beside him under so many eyes.

If she had to walk with him, she’d wear the mask of “I don’t know that guy.”

“That guy’s got so little power. He can’t overturn a city.” With that thought, Xi let out a breath like steam fading in cool air.

Ouyang saw her agree. He immediately offered a bundle heavy with coin, both hands respectful. “Master, I only need a few coins. Take the rest and buy clothes. Don’t worry. If we run out, I’ll earn more. As long as you’re happy.”

“Then I won’t be polite.” Xi didn’t hesitate. The money was partly hers, even if she’d been dazed when they made it. Her dress had survived storms and was now frayed like a battle-torn banner. For a girl, a new dress mattered.

It was Ouyang’s money. Her heart felt light as a leaf.

Grinning, Ouyang watched her back recede like a sunset path. For some reason, people around him felt a chill, a winter wind knifing through their collars.

He flipped three gold coins into the air. They flashed like little suns, then clinked into his palm. He snorted, contempt sharp as a cracked bell.

The street rolled with traffic, and hawkers cried like gulls along a shore. Ouyang soaked in the scene, stirred by a tide of memory. Familiar streets, familiar faces, but not that era. No elves walked here. No angels etched their flight across the sky.

Back then, dragons watched over every city, and angels laid blessings like dew. Every stone came from a dwarf master’s thousand hammer blows. In that age, dragons set aside pride, elves shelved their aloof grace, dwarves banked their quirks. They stood shoulder to shoulder.

Now, on this glittering street, he saw no other races. Humans returned to human capitals. Elves to the forest’s embrace. Like graduates drifting to their separate roads.

“Terracafe, the Most Ancient City. It wore that title even then. Through all these years, it’s still standing. That’s a miracle.”

His gaze blurred like smoke, and the Demon War era rose in him like a storm-image. This city, this oldest fortress, was the alliance’s heartland. Dragon King, Elf Queen, human commander—each held this last bastion, guarding a thin strand of hope.

Here, archangels descended. Divine envoys appeared. Outsiders from other realms walked the gates. To guard the final hope, the alliance poured out all it had.

As for how it ended, Ouyang didn’t know. Maybe when the Demon King was sealed and the Demon War era closed, the alliance fractured. Maybe other reasons. Looking back, those details were leaves in the stream.

Only one thing still gripped him: the trail of Original Sin. But his strength was less than a ten-thousandth of his prime. Meet Original Sin now, and the path ended at a grave. That thing lay too far.

“Brother, you know Terracafe’s history too? Not many of us scholars left in times like these.” A youth with short golden hair smiled, teeth clean as porcelain.

“Right, I’m Sen Angsester. You can call me Ang.” He spoke with easy warmth. Ouyang had little interest, then a thought flickered. He shot Ang a surprised glance.

He wanted to speak, then chose silence.

“Name’s Ouyang.”

“Brother Ouyang, have you heard Terracafe’s legend?”

“There are many legends of Terracafe. Which one?”

Ang scanned the crowd and gestured. Not a place to talk. Ouyang got it and picked a tavern. They slipped into a quiet corner like shadows under a lantern.

“They say the Most Ancient City seals the King of Demon Kings. Think about it. Even Demon Kings, through long years, should fade with the river of time. And if they still live, death can’t be far.”

Ang took a sip, ready to spill a sea of words. Ouyang cut him short, impatience like a whip crack. “Get to the point. I’m busy.”

“Fine, fine. Since you know the title ‘Most Ancient City,’ you must’ve studied Demon War era script. Let’s find where the King of Demon Kings is sealed. Maybe we’ll find a passage to the Demon King’s Palace. That king’s hoard could fund us for a lifetime. No—several lifetimes.”

“But that’s just a legend.”

“No, it’s real. I’m certain. We’ve found the entrance. We just lack someone who can read the Demon War era script.”

Ouyang closed his eyes and wore careful thought like armor. Ang found that reassuring. Treasure glints, but Demon King stories end in blood. Bards sing of lucky winners and inflame young hearts, but those winners all die without peace.

“Do you have a way to counter curses? Every treasure in a Demon King’s Palace drips with curses.” He spoke like caution, but he was testing Ang. Even the Light Church’s strongest priests can’t purge a Demon King’s curse. They say only deities can.

And how many mortals ever touch a deity?

Sweat dotted Ang’s brow like rain beads. Ouyang knew they had no answer. If they did, the problem would be bigger.

“So you’re asking me to join an adventure doomed to be cursed?”

Ang wiped his forehead, then spoke with steady certainty:

“Lord Ouyang, from start to finish, you never questioned the script. You only worried about curses. That means you’re fluent in the Demon War era script. I’m sure of it.”

Fluency in that script is rare as phoenix feathers. At least officially, none of the human kingdoms have such scholars. In truth, some ancient families and eccentric savants hold those keys.

On the street, Ang had heard Ouyang mention Terracafe’s title. He guessed Ouyang knew the script. Their talk now locked the guess into certainty.

“Lord, we know Demon King curses can’t be undone. We won’t pretend otherwise. Our small team is ready to die. We have no other choice.

As long as you don’t touch the Palace’s treasures, the curse won’t cling to you. We won’t make you work for nothing. We’ll pay your fee after we turn the treasure into gold. We will bear all the curses.”

Ang’s face showed resolve cut from iron. He knew his old age would end badly, yet he still stepped forward. Ouyang saw no greed for coin in him. They needed wealth for reasons that burned in the dark. For that, they offered their lives.

“Deal. I hope events follow your words. I’ll translate every inscription I can. If one lies beyond my knowledge—”

“Rest easy. If it lies beyond you, that’s not your fault. Maybe fate itself bars the door.” Ang gave a neat knight’s salute. “Then, my lord, we meet here tomorrow morning. Please come.”

Ouyang waved, face grave, like a mask of stormclouds. Inside, drums pounded with joy. He’d explore a Demon King’s Palace. Inside, dangers coiled like snakes. Yet his heart lit up.

While that Demon King was sealed, this broken-seal Demon King would clean him out. Just thinking of it thrilled him like wine.

Curses? Don’t joke. He was a Demon King himself. As for “no peaceful end in old age,” his life stretched near-endless, like a horizon that never nears. When is “old age,” exactly?

“Don’t know which Demon King you are, but I’ll gladly accept your treasure.” The expedition hadn’t begun, but Ouyang already counted those hoards as his. Traps? Those are the same old tricks, gears and blades, smoke and mirrors.

Right now, Ouyang’s strength was weak, but his body was a Demon King’s vessel. In plain words, he was undying—by mortal knowledge. Demon King traps are meant for mortals.

So Ouyang thought tomorrow’s delve would be easy, a walk through a storm that never wets him.