“Hey, you two… cut the girl-on-girl fireworks. We oppose heterosexuality, sure, but flaunting same-sex love in broad daylight still needs to stop. It deals tons of damage to the single crowd. So, by feeling and by reason, we condemn this behavior.”

The black-clad man who seemed like the squad leader held a torch in his right hand, hovering before Caro and Bai. His words drew the others in, like crows flocking to a bright carcass, gawking as if at rare beasts.

White Cat crouched on Augustine’s head, tail bristling like grass in a storm. “Damn Inquisition, those miserable singles—Cat Lord can’t stand it. Cat Lord’s giving them a lesson. Back then, Cat Lord almost reeled in a little black cat as a bride. Who knew that lot, who oppose heterosexuality, would even police a cat’s love? Cat Lord’s first love got wrecked by those damned singles!”

Fury rose in the cat like steam from a boiling kettle. It snapped, then sprang forward like an arrow, pouncing at a black-clad figure. “Damn singles—eat Cat Lord’s frantic clawing!”

“Cat Lord…” Augustine shouted, panic surging like cold water before he could act, as if to yank the cat back.

“Don’t try to stop me. My mind’s set—this grudge gets paid.”

“But—”

“Kid, shut up. I said my mind’s set!”

Then—thud—the White Cat passed straight through the man like a stone through fog, and plunged into the earth.

“Cat Lord, I mean… those black-clad people are like ghosts. You can’t touch them…” Augustine got the words out only after the cat crashed. Dusty and scowling, White Cat rolled its eyes. “Kid, don’t you think that’s a bit late?”

The outburst barely ruffled the black-clad crowd. They were dead—wandering souls—and to their hollow gaze the scene was just a joke, a leaf spinning in wind.

“Eh, Caro?” The hovering squad leader flipped back his hood, revealing a face of a man in his thirties.

“Uncle Ritt? Didn’t you… three years ago…” Caro caught up fast. If Uncle Ritt had died three years ago, then he was a wraith now. That explained how they drifted through matter like mist. As wraiths, they couldn’t touch the living. And a whole unit of spirits moving together screamed orders from the City of the Dead.

“Uncle Ritt, you’re on a mission from the City of the Dead, right?”

Ritt drifted down, hand lifting to ruffle Caro’s hair. His fingers passed through, and he remembered he was a ghost. “Right. We heard from the Void Messenger that the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts are getting rowdy. So the City Lord sent us to clean up around the City of the Dead. Didn’t expect to meet you out here. Why aren’t you in Rose Town, girl? What are you doing on this side?”

At the question, Caro’s face dimmed like a lamp in rain. She lowered her head, silent. Augustine, who’d been lingering at the edge like a shadow, stepped in and explained what had happened in Rose Town.

“What? The whole town turned into insects?” Ritt might be a wraith, but he still cared for the soil that raised him. At the thought of his hometown crawling with bugs, rage flared. He clenched his torch till the flame leaped higher, like his heart burning on the stick.

In the end, Ritt could only sigh, hollow as wind in a tomb. He was a wraith. Even if he wanted revenge, he couldn’t touch the culprit.

“Uncle Ritt, do you know someone named Jue in the City of the Dead? Mr. Jue told me he lives there.”

“Lord Jue? Sure. He’s the City Lord of the City of the Dead. Among the Demon Kings, he ranks second, just under the Void Messenger!” Pride crept onto Ritt’s face, like a banner catching sun. Serving under Jue was a rare honor.

Demon King?

Caro felt a prickle of wonder, like frost on glass. In her head, Demon Kings were storybook villains who got defeated by brave heroes. Augustine’s gut dropped. He was a fallen noble, but his house kept ancient books. From those cracked pages, he’d heard of Demon Kings.

Not story-trash villains, but beings who stood beside gods—immortal, world-breaking, sky-crushing terrors.

Their reactions split like a fork in the road. Caro felt curious—Mr. Jue, a “Demon King” out of fairy tales. Augustine’s face went grim as iron. Jue had given Caro that clock. A single clock had blocked the power of the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts for her. No fairy-tale villain carried that weight. No matter how you framed it, Jue was the Demon King written in old histories.

Was this world already past saving? The Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts had only begun their rampage, and ancient Demon Kings were already waking… Maybe the Demon Kings and those Artifacts would rip each other to shreds, and the world would get a sliver of dawn.

“So there’s someone above Mr. Jue? Can the Void Messenger fight the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts?” Caro knew Jue’s clock kept her from turning into a bug under Saya’s Song. If someone outranked Jue, then the Void Messenger had to be even stronger.

“The Void Messenger…” Ritt hesitated, words caught like leaves in a stream. After a long pause, he said, “None of us have seen that lord’s power. We only know he’s… interesting. The Inquisition was formed on his recommendation. Even our creed and rules came from his hand. His rank sits above the City Lord, so he should be stronger, I guess…”

At that, White Cat bounded over, fur puffing like dandelions about to burst. “Damn Inquisition. So the Void Messenger’s a remnant of the Other Shore?” It narrowed its eyes. In its memory, the Inquisition belonged under the First Cult, a branch of their shadow. The Void Messenger, who built the Inquisition, was almost certainly one of theirs. The Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts were birthed by the First Cult. The core was clear now. If the First Cult sowed this karmic mess, then the Void Messenger should clean it up.

With the scapegoat found, weight slid off White Cat like a mountain shedding snow. If the First Cult’s people were around, they’d mop up their own spill.

“Remnant of the Other Shore?” Ritt blinked at the talking cat, startled for a heartbeat. Then he thought about his own state—being a wraith was just as absurd to normal folk.

“That, we don’t know. The Void Messenger’s origins… frankly, none of the Demon Kings’ origins are known to us.”

After the talk, Ritt and the torch-bearing black-clad spirits escorted Caro and the others toward the City of the Dead. Along the way, Augustine felt White Cat change. Put nicely, its burden lifted; the whole cat moved light as a leaf. Put harshly, it got careless, heartless as a stone skipping water.

With a crowd of black-clad escorts, Caro and Augustine loosened up. If they met the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts, they’d still be in danger. But numbers felt like a warm cloak in cold wind.

As for the one carrying “Jieti Xinshu,” that person never showed. It felt like they feared Ritt’s group and stayed hidden.

“Troubled? Wondering why the bearer of a Twelve Divine Demon Artifact never showed?” White Cat plopped onto Augustine’s head, reading him like a cloudy sky.

Augustine nodded. White Cat scratched its side lazily. “If Cat Lord’s guess is right, those so-called Demon Kings might be the key to beating the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts…”

Beating the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts? Augustine’s heart heaved like a storm-tossed sea. Even White Cat hadn’t claimed they could win. But the Demon Kings of legend—could they really break that tide?

He lowered his head, thoughts heavy as rain. He stayed quiet the whole way. The City of the Dead wasn’t far from Rose Town. After about three hours, they arrived at a… ruin?

Yes. Ruins. The shattered bones of a city, a place already broken, stones piled like a grave.

“First-timers always react like that,” Ritt explained. “The City of the Dead sits in a pocket space. The ruins you see aren’t the real city. Only at night does the City of the Dead surface and touch the outer world. At the beginning it was just a city. Over time, it stopped being a mere city. Now it’s a small, independent world, its own space.”

On the ruins, the air rippled with transparent waves. A city wall flickered in and out, like a mirage breathing.