“Do you like it?”

Led by Devila, they headed toward the Void Church’s largest base in Canopy City, like a stream winding toward a dark lake.

Bai cradled the rainbow crystal in both hands, like a sparrow warming an egg under spring light.

Sun spilled over it, white rays split into color, a petal of rainbow hovering around the gem like mist after rain.

She adored it, breath held, eyes rooted to its glow, like a moth tethered to a moonlit lantern.

Ever since Ouyang bought it, her gaze hadn’t strayed, like a reed fixed in still water.

Ouyang asked once, voice dropping like a pebble in a pond, and Bai nodded, eyes never leaving the crystal.

Being ignored pricked him, like cold needles under the skin, though he’d bled a million gold coins for that rare stone.

Why didn’t this girl show one drop of thanks, like dew on a blade at dawn?

So Ouyang simply took the crystal from her hands, like a hawk lifting a shiny shell from the sand.

Bai finally reacted; her gaze followed it, then locked on Ouyang, mouth parted like a petal, yet no words spilled out.

She was naive about the human world, like a fawn in new snow, but this she knew clearly.

Ouyang bought the crystal; if he took it back, she had no temper, like a river yielding to the moon.

After all, the thing was his, like a seal stamped in red wax.

“By my eye, it’s dangerous. It’s leaking an evil aura, like smoke from a damp fire.”

“I’ll take it, purify that foul breath, then give it back to you.”

He said it shamelessly, like a fox with clean paws, and rubbed Bai’s head, mussing her silky silver hair like wind in willow.

“An evil aura?”

“Purify?”

The first was the White Cat’s soft cry, like a bell in fog; the second was the Jade Rabbit’s voice, sharp as a reed flute.

Both doubted him deeply, like two shadows facing the noon sun.

If evil had a crown, Ouyang the Demon King wore it, like night draped over a mountain.

That beautiful crystal didn’t look like a villain’s trinket, more like a drop of rain trapped in glass.

Not everyone questioned him; Augustine and Caro believed, like parishioners before a high altar.

A ‘High Priest’ of a church spoke with authority, like a steeple rising over roofs.

“Teacher, are we taking the crystal to the Light Church to purify it?”

By normal logic, Augustine wasn’t wrong, like counting beads on a string.

But he forgot one truth; they were Void Church, like ravens under a black banner.

Wasn’t he saying the Light Church outclassed them, even for purifying a crystal, like borrowing fire from a rival hearth?

Sure enough, Collin’s glare turned hostile, like frost crawling over glass.

“Kid, don’t call me teacher. I, Ouyang, don’t have a student like you.”

He turned away, letting the slight drift off like fallen leaves.

Sparing him a beating was mercy, like rain held back from parched clay.

Jade Rabbit didn’t let it go; he showed the claws hidden in his furry paw, like thorns under soft petals.

He stared at Augustine, gaze cold as a winter stream. “Stupid human brat, you belittle the Void Church?”

“You think we’re so weak we need the Light Church to purify a trinket?”

Augustine froze, then understood, like dawn peeling night from the eaves.

“Mr. Rabbit, please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean it.”

He bowed and apologized, head low like wheat in wind, but Jade Rabbit stayed aloof, like a cloud that wouldn’t rain.

He turned to the White Cat for help. “Cat Lord, say something for me...”

Speak? White Cat sprawled on Augustine’s head, lazy as sun-warmed stone, unwilling to move or meow.

Say a word and get Ouyang’s fist, like poking a hornet’s nest for fun?

“Meow~”

The White Cat did speak, a single note like silk over water, meant to help yet meaning unclear.

“Human brat, heh heh...”

Jade Rabbit’s wicked grin rose like a crescent blade, and Augustine’s skin prickled, gooseflesh popping like millet.

He felt genuine malice from a rabbit, like cold light from a knife.

Quarreling lightly, they reached a church, its shadow sprawling like a black boat on a pale river.

A small square lay before it, and in the middle stood a statue, dark as midnight ice.

Obsidian carved a cloaked figure, wings wide and folded forward, like a storm sheltering its flock.

Were those wings to embrace, or to hide himself, like a raven wrapping its own shadow?

“Teacher, who is that statue? Why is his face hidden? Is he an angel?”

Augustine asked humbly, voice soft as rain, but Ouyang didn’t answer, eyes fixed on the stone like a hunter studying tracks.

Jade Rabbit took the question, nose up like a little priest at incense. “Hmph, foolish human, bow.”

“That’s the great Void Messenger.”

He raised both paws and gazed up, zeal blazing like a torch in a cave.

“Void Messenger? Is he an angel?” Caro edged closer, curiosity fluttering like a moth.

Ouyang’s headache throbbed, like drums behind the eyes. Wings mean angel?

Why did everyone see feathers and ask the same hollow thing, like a reed repeating the wind?

Who said wings belong to angels, like white horses belong to princes?

This world has no Tang Monk, like a tale missing a chapter, yet just lately a white-horse idiot noble mocked them in a flock of jeers.

Ouyang didn’t answer; he covered his head, expression saying “you win,” and walked into the church, like a man seeking shade.

Jade Rabbit stalled too, unsure how to reply, words snagged like threads.

“This... this... Lord Void Messenger is definitely not an angel...”

He stammered and still gave nothing convincing, like smoke that wouldn’t form a shape.

The Void Church’s grounds were vast, more manor than chapel, sprawling like fields under dusk.

With the Karosen Kingdom’s official support, and the scent of a new, unheard church, crowds came curious, a tide of feet and voices.

The first floor served believers, for worship and passage, like a market of prayers.

The second housed church members, doors lined like teeth along a jaw.

The third offered meeting rooms, facilities complete like a well-stocked armory of words.

The fourth was reserved for high ranks; aside from cleaners, others couldn’t linger, like swallows barred from the rafters.

Ouyang’s group stayed on the fourth, like lanterns planted on an empty tower.

Silence up there finally warmed, a breath of life moving through rows of doors like wind through bamboo.

That night, the third floor’s conference hall gained several guests, gathering like constellations over a dark sea.

“Ouyang, Grand Scholar... long time no see... or should I call you High Priest Ouyang...”

Across the table sat Jelinka Laye-di, Princess Royal of the Karosen Kingdom, her voice thin as porcelain.

Long unseen, Jelinka’s face was bloodless, not like illness but like a corpse’s calm, frost-white and still.

Her eyes had turned wine-red, gleaming in candlelight like pomegranate seeds in shadow.

Beside her stood familiar figures: Kuias, Onsester, and Shorasos, commanders of the three knight orders, calm as pines in snow.

Two more faces felt familiar: the old king who lived because Ouyang stole his food, dodging poison like a deer dodging an arrow.

And the woman he met while trying to climb out of the palace, like a cat caught on a wall by moonlight.

These were the kingdom’s great ones, top ranks gathered like cranes at a river bend.

It made sense. Under the Land of Light and Light Church’s pressure, and disasters born of the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts, hope thinned like smoke.

The Void Church looked like their last straw, a reed on a flood, so coming in full was a stance and a pledge, like banners lowered in respect.

“Ouyang... I still prefer calling you Grand Scholar. I hope you don’t mind?”

Jelinka’s pale face showed a rare smile, like winter ice cracking to let a brook sing.

Ouyang didn’t mind; he nodded, simple as a lantern blink.

“These three knight commanders you remember, so I won’t dwell on it.”

“This is my father, Yorad Laye-di.”

Jelinka gestured to the blonde woman beside her, regal air flowing like silk, identity obvious without words.

“This is my elder sister, the kingdom’s current Empress, Sheila Laye-di.”

Empress Sheila... Ouyang remembered, like ink resurfacing from old paper.

That woman in the palace had been the Empress; back then she wore a white pleated dress, simple as snow.

He hadn’t linked her to a crown, like mist hiding a mountain’s peak.

Ouyang had heard of her; she was a legend, a name like thunder rolling beyond hills.

By continental rule, “Empress” belongs to an empire’s ruler; as a kingdom’s sovereign, Sheila should be Queen, a title like silver.

Yet people called her Empress, because among humans she was legend, a blade honed beyond rank.

The tale said at ten she was already a mage, like a spark catching on dry pine.

At sixteen she reached the third tier, Archmage, talent bright as noon over jade roofs.

For a time she was every girl’s idol, every boy’s dream, a star over tea and supper.

Ten years later—one year ago—she succeeded the old king as ruler, stepping onto the dais like a phoenix to a perch.

Though silent for a decade, many remembered; at her coronation, an imperial crown prince boasted he’d take Sheila as consort, arrogance loud as brass.

Kingdom and empire stand far apart; a kingdom’s queen becoming an imperial heir’s consort isn’t shameful, pride would bloom like red banners.

But on that day, Sheila cast a single forbidden spell, a storm of light breaking ranks like trees in a cyclone.

It shattered his hundred thousand troops, leaving barely a thousand alive, numbers falling like leaves in autumn.

Archmage—after ten quiet years, at twenty-six, she held Grand Archmage power, a mantle heavy as iron rain.

The prodigy reached the mortal peak, the fourth tier, a Demigod, a summit where air thins like glass.

That coronation, carved in the blood of tens of thousands, earned her the title of Empress, a crown hammered from thunder.

Strength and scarlet won the continent’s respect; Karosen may be a kingdom, yet tongues gladly called her Empress, like bells ringing past borders.

This is Sheila Laye-di, the Legendary Empress, her name carrying like a banner across the wind.