Before the legendary Empress Sheila, even Collin’s back went stiff, like grass rimed with dawn frost. He’d seen the world, yes, but he kept the gulf in strength in mind like a chasm between peaks. Respect for the strong was a boundary stone he wouldn’t kick.

“Your Majesty.” Collin bowed with a noble’s measured grace, like a blade sliding back into its sheath. He did it as a lord of the Karosen Kingdom. If he wore his Void Church bishop’s mantle, he didn’t need to bow at all, which only showed the weight of the respect in his heart.

Sheila gave a slight nod, as light as a falling petal, and that was answer enough.

After Jelinka finished the introductions, the old king couldn’t sit still, like hot coals under a thin cushion. He remembered that day with knife‑edge clarity; if Ouyang and Lagu hadn’t snatched his food, he might’ve died from poison like a snake in the bowl. The thought tied him in knots like reeds in current, because those two had also pushed him into the pool. But the more he mulled it over, the more the pool felt like a splash of cold moonlight, while the saving of his life was a mountain.

“Kid, so you’re the Void Church’s high priest, huh? Last time you saved my life, and I never thanked you,” the old king said, his voice warm like a hearth in winter. They hadn’t spoken much back then, but a lifesaver is always familiar, like a lantern seen twice on a dark road.

“Think nothing of it, think nothing of it…” Ouyang smiled with shy dimples, like spring sun through thin clouds, and waved it off with a breeze‑light gesture. To strangers, he looked genuinely modest, like bamboo bowing in the wind. But he hadn’t meant to save anyone; he’d shoved the king into the pool first, then robbed his food when hunger gnawed like a stray dog. Accepting thanks with that sheepish face, his skin was thick as city walls under rain.

“Since Her Highness Jelinka did her round, I’ll do ours,” Ouyang said, wearing a kindly smile that poured trust like warm tea.

“This is our Void Church’s bishop. The kid’s recent moves deserve praise, and he might be promoted,” he said, pointing to Collin like pointing out a bright star at dusk. In Canopy City, a good share of the bricks for the church were laid by Collin’s hands, and most believers heard of the Void Church from his voice, like ripples spreading from a single stone.

“This is the Church’s divine beast… well, it’s just a mascot. Don’t mind it too much.” His finger drifted to the Jade Rabbit, whose ears drooped like wilted leaves. Ouyang’s words left the rabbit near tears, its protest stuck like a pebble in the throat. It shuffled to a corner and squatted, head tucked between knees like a round pebble in moss, and sulked in silent rain.

Ouyang then pointed at the newly arrived water goddess, Eunice. “This eternal loli sits on the Void Church’s elder council. Don’t be fooled by her five feet of height; she’s an ancient granny through and through, like an old pine in a child’s grove.”

Splash.

Barely had the venom left his tongue when a huge water orb dropped from above and drenched him, cold as a mountain stream.

“Ahem… that was an accident,” he coughed, water dripping like beads from eaves. “Lastly, this one’s the Pope of the Void Church…”

“Hold it. Since when did I become Pope?” Devila cut in, voice as smooth and sharp as a night wind. A progenitor among vampires wasn’t eager to wear that cap; that chair came with a tangle of chores like vines around ankles.

Karosen’s side stared, stunned like birds in sudden thunder. What was this Void Church doing? Could they be trusted when titles flew like autumn leaves?

Irina taking Kanofia to the Demon King’s City had shown the kingdom’s wish to work with the Demon Kings, like a banner raised at dawn. But Irina hadn’t revealed Ouyang’s identity, so Jelinka and the others still didn’t know who he really was. They only knew the Void Church and those legendary Demon Kings were bound by deep roots.

“If you won’t be Pope, who will?” Ouyang asked, voice easy as a breeze. The Jade Rabbit hopped in, paw raised like a child seeking the sun. “Me—me! I can be Pope, Lord Ouyang. If no one wants it, I can!”

Neither Ouyang nor the very unwilling Devila looked his way, and the rabbit’s raised paw hung there like a branch with no bird.

“The papacy matters,” Devila said, eyes cool as moonlight on steel. “If you can’t manage a church, you break it like thin ice. This youth Collin performs well. Let him be Pope.”

Collin was struck dumb, as if thunder rolled in a clear sky. The Karosen party was just as stunned; to pick a pope like haggling at a street stall felt reckless, like building a house on sand. Could this Void Church really hold?

Under their doubtful gaze, Ouyang clapped his hands, a crisp sound like bamboo knocking. “Good. Vice‑captain, you’re finally useful. Collin, from now on you’re the Pope.”

Silence fell hard, like snow muffling a courtyard. Everyone was rattled by Ouyang and Devila’s casual tone, as if the papal crown weighed no more than a paper fan. And who were these two, to decide so lightly, like flicking dust off a sleeve?

“Human kid, congrats on becoming Pope…” the Jade Rabbit muttered, ears drooping like wet willow, mourning his missed crown.

Collin stood there a heartbeat, then his spirit surged like fire catching straw. “Ah—thank you, Lord Ouyang, for your trust. Thank you, Lord Devila, for your support. Thank you, Mr. Rabbit, for your encouragement. I, Collin, won’t let the Void Church be stained. I’ll grow our church well,” he said, vows falling like pebbles into a clear pond.

Collin was over the moon, but doubt pooled deeper in Jelinka’s eyes, like ink in water. “Grand Scholar, is… this really proper?” she asked at last, choosing each word like stepping stones.

Ouyang sipped his tea, steam curling like a dragon in rain. He said nothing. Devila answered for him, her tone cool and clean as winter air.

“Proper? It’s the best plan. How many of those Demon Kings can sit a pope’s chair without turning the continent upside down? Under their management, not plunging the land into chaos would be a miracle,” she said, every word a snowflake that didn’t melt.

Jelinka and the others were left speechless, like reeds stilled by wind. Whatever else, a human steward beat a Demon King with a scepter in hand.

“What about the Grand Scholar?” Kuyas asked, voice steady like a knight’s spear. “You won’t be Pope? You seem qualified.”

“Me?” Ouyang shook his head with a secretive smile, like a cat that knows where the fish is hidden.

“All right. Let’s talk business,” he said, setting his cup down with a soft click, like a pebble on lacquer. His face turned serious, the room shifting with the weather. Kuyas and Jelinka let the papal question go, reading the wind. From what they’d seen, the papacy didn’t steer this ship. The real rudder lay with Ouyang, Devila, and Eunice.

“Ouyang, is it?” Sheila’s voice came cool, like starlight on ice. “Can you speak for those Demon Kings? This means war with the Light Church.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Ouyang said, a smile tugging like a crescent moon. “I swear on my name, our Void Church won’t stab you in the back at the key moment.” The words landed like stones, and Jelinka’s side believed them, the way parched earth drinks rain.

Of course, if those Demon Kings heard Ouyang swearing on his character, they’d run like deer at a hunter’s cough, because in their memory, such oaths had a way of ending in storms.

“Since the Grand Scholar says so, sister, you can rest easy,” Jelinka added, like a soft fan easing heat. Sheila only nodded, a single leaf falling, and that meant trust.

“Grand Scholar, I want to know your price,” Jelinka said after careful thought, her voice steady as a string. “There’s no free lunch under heaven. What do you want from us? Making the kingdom believe in the Void Church alone can’t be enough to buy your help.” Offending the Land of Light and the Light Church was a small itch to the Demon Kings. The gains and the risk didn’t balance, like a scale with a stone on one side and a feather on the other.

At that, Devila and Eunice scraped their chairs back a touch, a subtle tide going out to bare the shore. They didn’t know Ouyang’s true aim either, so they left the answer to the one who held the map.

Their shift startled Jelinka’s group, like ripples revealing the moon’s face. It seemed Ouyang was the one at the helm.

“What do we want?” Ouyang echoed, voice light as drifting ash. In truth, it was what Ouyang wanted, and the Demon Kings followed his drumbeat like wolves to a horn. Some guessed a sliver, like seeing one scale of a dragon, but none knew his full design.

Even Wutong, who knew many secrets of the Other Shore, had only the Oil Paper Umbrella whispering answers when she was lost, like rain speaking to bamboo. As the Seventh among the Seven Watchers, Ouyang’s task was veiled; save for the other Watchers, no one knew what they wove beneath night’s cloak.

Not even Wutong’s “mother,” not even that Majesty, knew the Seven Watchers’ plan. Or rather, the former Watchers—because their era had sunk like the sun beyond the ridge. Only the Watcher of Fate and Hope still bore the name, while the other six cast the title off and buried it deep like seeds in winter. Even the Watcher of Fate and Hope was called the Goddess of Fate by most, and the name of “Watcher” faded like ink in rain.

Just as the Watcher of Void had vanished, leaving only the Void Messenger to walk the mist. All of it had drifted away, like lanterns floating down a dark river.