It was still that black mini-castle, squatting like a coffin with turrets. A certain vampire hung upside down from the hall’s ceiling, face swollen like a bruised plum, swinging like a bat-shaped piñata. You pay for your own stupidity; even Blood Kin aren’t exempt from the bill the world presents like a cold dawn.

He’d mouthed off to Ouyang in Ouyang’s own stronghold. Even Bartley and Valiant bowed to Devila’s nerve like reeds to a river gust, yet admiration is one thing; copying him was a cliff no one else would jump.

After a full day and night dangling like a windchime in a storm, Devila was finally lowered. Ouyang convened a meeting, voice cutting the air like a drumbeat.

“Kids, we’re off to slay a dragon.” He paused, and a grin bloomed like a dangerous flower. Transparent drool beaded at the corner of his mouth, glinting like dew on steel; he wiped it away with a sleeve and kept going. “Take it from someone who’s been around… dragon meat’s chewy like tendon and fresh as spring rain. We head for Dragon Gorge and—tsk, tsk—grilled dragon wings, fried dragon legs, dragon-bone stew…”

He talked and the saliva kept coming, a little river under moonlight. Whether anyone else followed didn’t matter; Ouyang was already adrift on his own ocean of flavor.

Eunice saw him sink into that one-man world. She covered her forehead like shading her eyes from harsh noon sun and warned, “Lord Ouyang, the business at hand. Please don’t forget the business.” Her ambition ran tall as a mountain while her height was barely one and a half meters—a blade small in sheath, sharp in heart.

“Oh, almost forgot. Time to assign tasks.” He wiped his mouth clean like clearing a panel of frost, then faced the round table with a solemn face like a sealed gate. “Your Holiness, find us a foothold for Ouyang’s Demon God Church. If you can use the Blood Kin’s gift to seize a monarch, and turn a whole nation into believers, even better.”

Ouyang’s Demon God Church? Devila had barely been unhooked from the ceiling when that name hit him like a ladle of porridge to the head.

“Wait, you clown are actually founding a Demon God Church? That joke’s a bit much, isn’t it?” The words slipped out like a fish through a torn net; his mind was still mush.

A heartbeat later, the castle rang again with a certain vampire’s scream, slicing the air like winter wind.

A long time after, Devila stared at everyone with a wounded look, like a dog left out in the rain. Goosebumps rose on the others, skin pebbling like a ruffled pond.

“Ouyang, I can help you build the church. I’ll even give you the coordinates of my homeland.” His gaze was a coal burning low. “But you have to promise me one thing…”

Ouyang had guessed the plea would come like thunder after a hush, but not at this exact beat. He’d known for a while Devila wanted something; the vampire’s face wore his heart like a paper lantern. Because of that, Ouyang had kept several plans in a locked drawer.

“Say it. I’m not promising I’ll agree.” He didn’t puff his chest before hearing the price; his tone was steady as a stone bridge. That steadiness let Devila breathe; if Ouyang agreed too fast, it would’ve felt like a perfumed lie.

“I want you to resurrect someone. The kind that rewinds time.”

Ouyang blinked. “Oh.” The syllable fell like a pebble in a well.

“Can’t you say anything else?” Devila’s heart iced half over at that flat “oh,” like frost crawling on glass. Seeing Ouyang’s confident expression right after, he let out the breath he’d held like a trapped bird.

Maybe he’d overthought it. Ouyang was the last man of the Other Shore; his head brimmed with black magics like a library of night. In Devila’s memory, every spell that bent the world, flipped sky and earth, all traced back to the Other Shore like rivers to a sea.

Ouyang clapped Devila’s shoulder, a palm with the weight of certainty. Their eyes met like crossed blades. “Little Vi, the dead don’t come back. Grieve, then live.”

Devila froze, stunned like lightning-struck timber. He stood there, eyes empty as a drained cup. A minute later, the numbness cracked, and the fire roared back.

“Don’t joke with me. I’m serious!” He shouted like a wolf on a ridge. In that instant he knew asking Ouyang might’ve been a mistake from the start. When had that unreliable clown ever walked a straight line?

Ouyang patted his shoulder again, smile still unshaken, a lantern in fog. “Young vampire, patience…” He caught Devila’s storm-dark face and the twitch hit his eyelid like a gnat. He loved bullying that bat demon, sure, but if they tore net and fish both, he’d pay in blood. Enough jokes.

He coughed twice, eyes spinning like abacus beads. “It’s not hard. I’ve got two methods.” Devila lowered the fist he’d raised like a hammer. “First is the safest. Find the supreme artifact, the Flowing Light Wheel. From the layer of time itself, we drag your person from the moment before death into this stream.”

He saw Devila’s eyes blaze like dawn. Ouyang winced and added, “But… I don’t know where that artifact is.”

“Then that’s useless!” Hope had surged like a tide; Devila hadn’t expected the wave to smack into a rock.

Awkwardness pricked like nettles, but Ouyang kept his leader’s mantle smooth. He waved for calm, palm cutting the air like a fan. “Don’t rush. There’s a second method. It’s still in testing, so I can’t promise results. And I’ll need a few unlucky subjects. Right now it’s theory, not iron.”

“So. You finish the mission. I’ll make a run to Dragon Gorge and field-test it, prove my hunch.” His tone was a map rolled open.

With that, Devila could only nod, clutching that sliver of hope like an ember cupped from wind.

“By the way, who do you want to bring back?” Eunice circled the gossip like a cat around cream. The water goddess barely one and a half meters tall pestered Devila until impatience snapped like a twig.

It turned out he wanted to revive his sister.

“Lord Sis-con, allow me to salute you.” Ouyang went solemn in a heartbeat, and gave Devila a crisp military salute, palm like a blade.

The prank snapped the others awake like cold water.

“So Lord Devila’s a sis-con… But, Lord Ouyang, what’s a sis-con?” Valiant, the orc, blinked like a puzzled tiger. Bartley and Eunice both looked to Ouyang, eyes asking like lanterns in dusk.

So none of them knew the word, yet they’d all looked enlightened a moment ago. Ouyang sighed internally like a bellows.

“Ahem, quiet please. Time for a little popular science. A sis-con is a very noble profession. We should all pay respects to Devila.” Honeyed words rolled out like silk. Devila wasn’t fooled; nothing clean ever crawled out of Ouyang’s mouth without teeth.

But he had no mood to quarrel. If he pushed Ouyang the wrong way, his sister’s return would shatter like frost underfoot.

Seeing their faces stuck on “I don’t get it, but it sounds amazing,” Ouyang got bored and steered back to the river’s main course.

“Eunice, as Archbishop, start recruiting believers. If needed, I’ll let you borrow Ruola. She’s the face of Ouyang’s Demon God Church.” He didn’t ask Ruola’s opinion, tossing her name like a coin. Watching from the side, Ruola smiled and didn’t refuse. She truly wanted to help Ouyang, but without her power, she’d been a bird with clipped wings. Here was her chance; she wouldn’t turn it down.

“Bartley, go unseal the Demon Kings. If you can’t free some, mark the coordinates. I’ll handle them when I’ve got time. Valiant, you’re with me to Dragon Gorge to stir the pot.”

Outside this castle, Ouyang turned into a weakling, a candle in wind. To make up for it, he needed a big frontline shield. Valiant fit like a gauntlet—obedient, strong, and, best of all, a tiger head on a human body, a walking thunderclap of intimidation.

“So, any objections?” He tossed the question like a feather, light and ceremonial.

Eunice lifted a hand, small as a willow leaf yet stubborn as bamboo. She chose the worst moment to be proper. Ouyang’s question had been polite lacquer, nothing more.

“Um… Lord Ouyang, if we want believers, our church’s name… might make it hard.” Her voice was soft as drizzle. Devila nodded hard enough to rattle, like a pecking woodpecker. If they had to vote by hand, he’d raise both feet too.

Ouyang’s Demon God Church? The name screamed final boss like thunder over black water. Anyone with normal values would run, not join.

Ouyang scowled, temper flaring like sparks from a flint. “Damn it, ‘Ouyang’s Demon God Church’ is such a grand name, and mortals dare nitpick? Do they think my church’s a public bathroom?”

He thought a moment, gaze drifting to the ceiling like watching passing clouds, then smiled. “Fine. We’ll change it. Call it the Void Church. And the ultimate creed will be the Void Messenger…”

He pointed at himself, claiming the title like donning a new mask.