The rabbit’s contempt pinned them like a cold needle; the Knights all shifted, skin crawling. Just as the air pressed down like a storm lid, banner-bearing Collin popped out again.
“Dead rabbit—” he started, a pebble flung at a tiger. Queyas, spotting this walking disaster, brought down a knife-hand. The chop fell like a guillotine; Collin folded boneless.
No joke—let that fool keep talking, and the forest would turn into a grave.
“Mister Rabbit, name your terms. I think I can speak for the Karosen Kingdom.” Jelinka’s voice was steady as a straight blade; she waved for the Knights to drag Collin back, like sweeping a thorn from a path.
“Oh? He insults Lord Rabbit and that’s it?” Danger flickered in those moon-bright eyes; a noble Jade Rabbit doesn’t swallow filth before the Demon King. Spit at it before its master, and you spit at the master himself.
The rabbit twitched a paw, then froze like a hare struck by winter wind. After a heartbeat, it came back to itself.
“Hmph. You’re lucky. Since the Master spoke, you can keep your lives. But…” It lifted a cute paw like a tiny gavel. “Four demands.”
“Master?” Queyas caught the word like a fish on a hook. Wasn’t the rabbit lord of Nightfall Forest? “Mister Rabbit, who is your Master?” Jelinka asked, water-calm.
The rabbit’s grin cracked; sweetness split to show fangs.
“Lord Rabbit’s Master is the One God of the continent, the supreme Void Messenger!” It raised both paws to the sky like a fanatic greeting sunrise.
“The One God?”
“Void Messenger?”
The Knights buzzed like a shaken hive; no temple they knew had that name etched in stone.
“Now, the four conditions.” It planted one paw on its waist; with the other, it tried to show four fingers—awkward on a paw like a furry paddle.
Jelinka bowed, respect like frost on steel. “Please speak, Mister Rabbit. Whether we agree is another matter.”
She’d hear the terms first; if they overreached, she’d refuse—and maybe never walk out of these trees.
“First. Hand over the human who insulted Lord Rabbit. Insulting Lord Rabbit insults Lord Rabbit’s Master; insulting the Master is blasphemy.” The words fell like stones; no room to haggle.
A mere “dead rabbit” was enough to drown a man; after running with Demon Kings, mercy wasn’t in its fur.
“This—” Jelinka began, but a scream tore the air like a ripped banner. “No, Lord Rabbit, I’m wrong! Don’t kill me! I can pay! My father is a duke—our house swims in gold!”
Collin burst past the Knights like a spooked deer, terror whitening his face as he stumbled forward.
The rabbit thought for a beat, ears flicking like metronomes. “In that case, we’ll set you aside for now. Let’s finish the other three.”
“Second. Our Void Church must preach in your kingdom without obstruction.”
“No problem. If it’s just preaching, I can agree.” Jelinka’s answer was quick, like a sword drawn clean.
“Third…” Cunning lit its eyes like foxfire. “Your kingdom will pay a proper ransom: one hundred thousand gold per head. Short a hundred thousand, one person stays.”
Coins flashed across its pupils like a golden rain; like master, like rabbit.
“This…” Queyas spoke at last, his brow knotted like tangled roots. With dozens here, the sum climbed into the millions—a weight heavy as an anvil on the crown.
“Remember. No haggling. Say yes, or meet the Reaper.” The warning cut the murmurs like a whip crack.
“I… agree…” Jelinka bit her lower lip like sealing wax and nodded. Millions hurt, but buying the Knights’ lives was worth any treasury.
“Last condition… Nightfall Forest needs a mountain of building materials. By the One God’s guidance, a palace will rise here.” The rabbit trailed off, and Jelinka caught the meaning like a falling leaf.
“Understood. What scale of palace, Mister Rabbit? I need the measure to gather supplies.”
With no bargaining from her, the rabbit blinked, a drummer missing a beat. “We’ll build… a small palace. That’s all.”
“Good. In that case…” The rabbit pointed at Collin like a judge’s mallet. “You, come with us.” It turned and padded away, leaving the rest gaping like statues. Collin hesitated, then clenched his teeth like a man crossing fire, and chased.
Deep in the trees, a toy-sized castle hovered in the air like a lantern held by the night. Inside, Collin’s heart rattled like a caged bird.
“Lord One God, I—” he began. Ouyang waved him down, mystery on his face like mist over a lake—exactly the god Collin imagined. Then Ouyang clapped his shoulder and grinned like a fox. “Kid, wanna get strong?”
What was this?
“I think you’re born for villainy,” Ouyang purred, silk over a dagger. “Top-tier at screwing teammates. How about joining my Void Church?”
Collin’s brain stalled like a wheel in mud; he just stared. Ouyang’s smile soured. “Idiot. Can’t parse my words?”
He snapped his fingers; the dim castle bloomed into a river of stars, a galaxy poured across stone like spilled milk.
“Kid, want this kind of power?”
“I do, Lord God. How can you grant me such power?” Collin finally rebooted, knocking his head on the floor like hailstones, desperate to show loyalty. “You are my One God. Collin will give you everything.”
Ouyang nodded, satisfied; a book rose in his hand like a moon from water. Blue-trimmed, cover deep as the night sky. Bold words surfaced: Void Church Civil Servant Handbook.
“Look,” Ouyang said, flipping pages like leaves in wind. “Convince a whole city to join the Church, and a bishop’s seat opens for you. Sweep the whole world into the Church, and you get immortal life. Imagine it—your days stretched like an endless summer.”
Collin hugged the Handbook like a fire in winter; his chest thumped like drums.
“Do well, and you get free missions to other worlds,” Ouyang added, voice like honey. “Free, hear that? Preach while touring the scenery of a thousand realms.”
The promise echoed in Collin’s mind like bells after rain. “Kid, I’ve got my eye on you.” Ouyang sent him off with a thumbs-up like a rising sun.
Once Collin left, Ouyang smacked his forehead like thunder. “Crap. That handbook was the original.”
“My lord, should we fetch the boy and make a copy?” Valiant asked kindly, battle standard on his shoulder like a pine.
Ouyang thought, then shook his head like a willow. “No need. We’ll compile another later.”
“And the earlier manuals? What if the old and new clash?” Valiant’s question carried like a steady drum—he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.
“Mm…” Ouyang considered, then answered breezily. “It’s fine. That little lab rat has no future. He won’t stir up anything. Besides, there’s only one old edition. With him doing nothing, it won’t spread.”
“Right. That’s got to be it.”
“Alright, move. We’ll march a bit, smack a few monsters, then you split up.” His tone was a campfire crackle. “Don’t worry. I’ll save you some dragon meat.”
In Ouyang’s eyes, Collin was a lab mouse nibbling bait, a test subject on little paws. The four conditions? Ouyang had told the rabbit to deliver them.
As for the building materials, he felt it was time to raise a base. Nightfall Forest had a name like a dark banner. The big blast had flattened the central region, leaving a crater like a bowl—but that was nothing. He planned to build a Demon King’s City here. With a lair, he wouldn’t roam the world like tumbleweed.
And when Demon Kings gathered, how could a low-rent hall suit his place at the very top?
“Sigh. I wonder how many have already joined Cataclysm’s camp.”
Elsewhere, the freed Collin flipped through the Void Church Civil Servant Handbook like drinking rain in a drought—the more he read, the hotter it burned.
“Convert a god from the Divine Realm and you receive…” “So bold—you’re aiming at the Divine Realm itself?”
Collin clenched his fist like a forged knot. “So what if they’re gods? The One God is the only true deity. I, Collin, will be the first man to talk a god into the Church!”
He didn’t know that this vow would ripple across the Divine Realm like stones skipping a lake.
In short, after reading Ouyang’s Handbook, Collin awakened his buried talent for holy grifting. A calamity in priestly robes was germinating, growing like a weed through stone.
