Shouldering the Divine Sword, Ouyang walked alone toward Dragon Gorge, boots whispering through grass as a wandering cloud crossed the sun. “Stuck with a bunch of goofs lately. It’s been ages since I sat quiet with my thoughts…”
He really hadn’t had any quiet time, though calling them goofs made it sound like he wasn’t one himself, like a mirror dodging its own reflection. Then a boom rolled out of Dragon Gorge, like thunder cracking a stone drum.
“Looks like there’s fun brewing…” He slowed, a lazy cat basking on a wall. “Mm, walk slow. I’m the man who reaps a fisherman's windfall.” If Xi saw that slow swagger, she’d have exploded like a kettle left on the flame.
Across the gorge, blades were drinking blood, yet Ouyang strolled as if counting leaves in the shade. Another boom crashed a moment later, and Nightfall Forest shuddered like a ship in a storm as trees toppled in rows.
“Damn, they’re going savage.” His smile thinned like paper in rain. “At this level, I’d get crushed. Maybe sell those guys out. I’ll avenge them after my cultivation hits peak.” Fear pricked his skin like cold needles; hesitation flickered across his face like clouds over water.
After a beat, he slapped his forehead, the sound a small clap of wood. “Decided… first, barbecue. Eat while they hack each other to scraps, then I’ll harvest.”
So the most unreliable Demon King lit a fire, ember-glow dancing like fireflies. Ouyang pulled a mess of bottles from his spatial ring, spice dust falling over the meat like red sand on snow. He stretched like a cat. Another giant blast roared, and the skewers hopped off the rack into the flame like startled fish.
He frowned at the mess, the fire breathing like a small dragon. Then he reached into the blaze and plucked the meat out, fingers moving through heat like stones through a river.
He washed the ash-caked meat, water glinting like silver threads, and set it back to roast. From Dragon Gorge, a chill swept in, like winter shrugging off a summer cloak. Under a blazing sun, snowflakes drifted down, white moths falling out of blue skies.
“Looks rough.” He tossed the half-done meat aside, eyes narrowing toward Dragon Gorge like a hawk sighting a cliff. “That aura is vile. First time meeting it, yet my soul bristles with disgust and old anger, like a wound remembering its blade.”
Inside the gorge, a middle-aged man stood in a world sealed white, his flames licking uselessly at ice like torches under moonlight. An ice lotus bloomed beneath his boot, petals blue-white like frozen fire; he jumped aside, or he’d be sealed like a statue in a glass tomb.
Black lines crawled over his face and hands, inky sigils twitching like worms under bark. His expression went slab-hard. The fire that once burned a world’s crawling life was meeting its nemesis; white-blue lotuses unfurled wherever he moved, a trail of winter blossoms stalking his steps. He could barely dodge the crystalline vines, let alone slip past the ice and spear the caster through shadow.
He considered grabbing the children as hostages, the thought creeping like smoke. Then he froze, mind snagged like cloth on a thorn. In that instant, an ice lotus bloomed under his sole, and blue crystals climbed his body like frost on a window, wrapping him head to waist in biting glass.
It spread from his feet like tidewater, and in a blink it was at his belt, a hungry winter snake. The White Elf—too pure for this muddy world, like a snowflake that refused to fall—stopped as well, gaze turning toward Nightfall Forest with a strange curve, like a white swan listening to a distant bell. The blue crystal halted at his chest, then receded like a wave, color draining until the man could breathe and move again.
“By the ancient pact,” she said, voice clear as spring water. “If you don’t harm the people here, I won’t strike.” Her white silhouette stood confident, a lone birch under cold light.
He weighed her words like coins in his palm, then abandoned the crowd and bolted toward Nightfall Forest, feet drumming like hooves. The White Elf watched the forest with gentleness, thoughts drifting like mist. The frozen world thawed, ice sighing back into streams.
In Nightfall Forest, Ouyang was thoroughly annoyed; the script was ash in the wind. Weren’t they supposed to maul each other to ruin, then he’d harvest at dusk? Instead of him seeking the foe, the foe came knocking like a storm at the door.
“Tch. You think Ouyang’s easy meat?” His voice snapped like a snapped twig.
He charged with the Divine Sword, temper flaring like torchlight. No banter, no courtesy—first glance and they were iron to iron to the end.
Clank—steel struck steel, and the Divine Sword kissed the man’s weapon. In seconds, the weapon streamed into particles, dust dissolving into air like sand through fingers. The shock hit him like cold water; as vanguard, his gear wasn’t street junk.
He took a step back, eyes narrow as knife slits. An axe floated into his grip, metal gleaming like a harvest moon.
Ouyang almost laughed out loud, joy rising like bubbles. If they traded raw mana, he’d be out of breath and out of luck; but if they compared weapon to weapon, that was free candy falling from the sky.
At the last moment, the axe snapped back like a snake recoiling. The Divine Sword thirsted for precious metal, but the man refused to feed it. Ouyang’s jaw tightened; generosity was a cliff, and he wasn’t getting his bite.
He swung the Divine Sword without a set form, strokes rough as storm winds. The man refused every collision, dancing away like a shadow at noon, which grated at Ouyang like grit in a boot.
Dodging, the man frowned, thoughts turning like gears. Then his brow smoothed, as if he’d found a key under a stone. He gripped the axe two-handed and chopped down hard, the swing a falling mountain. Clank—his axe streamed into particles again, a comet dissolving into dust.
Ouyang wanted to say, Brother, why suffer? His sigh floated like smoke.
He’d thought the man had seen through the trick, but after that frown and the “just you wait” stare, they still ended with metal dust on the wind.
The man blinked dumb for a few heartbeats, then sprang back when the Divine Sword slid close, nerves pricking like nettles.
Ouyang paused, breath sawing like a bellows, glare sharp as a hawk’s. Gold armor flared over the man like sunrise on steel, and a diamond sword shone in his hand like a shard of winter. He didn’t dare strike first, circling at a careful distance, wary as a wolf at a trap.
They stared, eye to eye, two stones waiting for rain. For the royal of the Demon World, advance meant kissing that hateful sword; retreat meant shame before a nemesis, a banner wilting in wind. For Ouyang, advance meant the foe sprinted like wind; retreat meant the foe chased like fire on grass.
“Scammy bastard,” Ouyang snarled, voice rough as gravel. “Hiding behind speed… fine then.” He drew out a mini castle, brick toy glinting like a star in his palm. He laughed wild, a storm cackle. “Hahaha… Night Clan remnant! Eat Lord Ouyang’s air-dropped shells!”
He hurled the mini castle skyward. The man’s face puzzled, brow wrinkling like ripples. Seeing Ouyang’s smug grin, his nerves pulled tight like bowstrings, legs ready to run—no, to strategically reposition, like a general sliding on a map.
Above, a small fireball fell, a red seed tearing the sky. Heat rolled down in waves, and trees snapped like reeds under the castle’s falling gust.
The man looked up, face dark as soot, then at Ouyang’s sly smile. He couldn’t help himself. “Are you an idiot?”
“Ah?” Ouyang blinked, a goose hearing thunder. He opened his mouth to ask, but the man chose strategic repositioning; he bolted like a stag. No way he’d die with a fool. Lagu had a bright future, and he wasn’t trading it for a shared grave.
Watching Lagu run, Ouyang stood dull for a few seconds, mind blank as winter fields. He looked up and saw the problem, plain as a mountain. He laughed awkwardly at the sky; sweat beaded big as raindrops and rolled down his temple.
“I was freaking brain-dead!!!”
Boom—another mushroom cloud unfurled over Nightfall Forest, a black flower opening in daylight. The battered forest took yet another heavy blow, like a veteran soldier under a fresh volley. Far away, the knight corps at the edge turned pale, hearts freezing like ponds at dawn. Good thing they ran fast; a slow step and they’d never see tomorrow’s sun.
“Her Highness is wise,” said the captain, voice steady as a shield. “I wondered why she agreed to the rabbit’s terms so quickly. If we were still haggling inside, we’d be fertilizer for Nightfall Forest.”
Jelinka wiped cold sweat, hand trembling like a leaf. She’d agreed fast because the forest’s pressure wrapped her like a wet cloak; she’d felt that same weight in the Demon King’s palace. Thinking Nightfall Forest might be tied to the Demon King, she wanted out before dusk swallowed the road.
In the knight corps, Collin stared at the rising mushroom cloud, eyes shining like a zealot’s candle. He whispered, “The One God. A miracle, proclaiming His presence to the world.”
He’d barely finished when a black object streaked at him like a hawk. Bang—Collin flew, crumpling to the ground like a struck puppet, out cold. The black thing bounced off him and slammed into the earth.
They approached, boots crunching like frost. From the outline, it was human; his clothes were shredded like old flags, his body charred to coal.
“Looks like an innocent caught in that blast,” the captain breathed, hand steadying like a pillar. “Can he still be saved?” He checked the charcoal man’s nose, fingers light as feathers. “Such tenacious life. He’s still breathing!”
Shock rippled through him like a bell’s hum; blown to cinders and still alive—how hard was this man’s spine?
Respect rose in his chest like a sunrise.
“Captain,” Jelinka whispered, tugging his sleeve like a shy sparrow. “Doesn’t that ring look familiar? Looks like the Great Scholar.”
“The Great Scholar? Ouyang the Great Scholar?” The captain called for water, washing the ash from the man’s face, the grime sliding like mud in rain. Finally, he stared and gasped. “Isn’t this Grand Scholar Ouyang? No wonder—he lived through that!”
