In Ouyang’s castle, the Demon Kings gathered again, neat as chess pieces under lantern glow, another storm of a council brewing.

This time the circle was wider—Yiyue Qianliu, power bright as a cold star, had the right to sit.

Two big shots with guilt heavy as damp earth slid in too, plus a White Cat like moon-silk and a rabbit twitching like prairie grass.

At the hall’s heart sat a round table like a full moon; a map sprawled over it like a river’s skin.

Ouyang’s mood tightened like a drawn bow before his hand moved.

“We’ve got loose ends on the Other Shore,” he said, tapping the map like knocking on ice. “So we move here, fast.”

He pointed west, where the land darkened like dusk.

“Our main opponent’s that pack out on the continent’s western edge.”

He meant the Land of Light, a nation bright as noon yet hard as iron, called the strongest under the sky.

With the Divine Realm behind them like a mountain at their back, the Land of Light demanded respect like a blade at the throat.

Ouyang pressed a finger to the mark of the Land of Light, eyes cold as rain.

“That one’s jumping around like a thorn in the paw.

If we don’t pull it clean, the other strays—dogs and alley cats—won’t feel fear.”

His finger slid to the continent’s center, a calm lake hiding deep currents.

“And Kavasha, playing docile on the surface, is anything but.

Months ago I ran into the Twelve Families of Sky City—some idiot even tried to assassinate me.

They smile in daylight and strike in shadow; put them on the purge list.”

He remembered the hotel in Rong City, banyan shade thick as a canopy, where he met Agas and Dongze again.

The Twelve Families still gnawed at him like a splinter under nail.

His mood cooled like ash before his voice rose.

“We can’t ignore the Demon World’s remnants either.” He tapped the southeast corner, where the map looked like a cut of storm.

“The beast tribes’ lands. I’ve heard Demon World stragglers prowl there, and they might force open a gate on orc soil.”

Nightfall Forest didn’t sleep within just the Karosen Kingdom.

It leaned against three borders like dark surf against three cliffs.

Beyond Karosen, the other two were countries thin as paper, barely felt on the continent.

Karosen sat in the south like a rooted tree; west lay the Land of Light like a blinding desert sun.

To the north, Kavasha, ancient as weathered stone; to the east, the Rift Wasteland, a sprawl where orcs, barbarians, and dwarves camped like storm-battered tents.

Far from humans and elves—high-wisdom folk bright as starlight—Demon World remnants could act there as easily as wolves in fog.

South of Karosen stretched Nightfall Forest like ink.

Beyond its far edge crouched a small country, the Moon Kingdom, while the forest’s eastern flank touched the Leit Kingdom like shadow brushing a wall.

Karosen, the Moon Kingdom, and the Leit Kingdom ringed Nightfall Forest like three mountains around a lake.

Of the three, only Karosen had weight; the other two were whispers on a windy night.

Most who braved Nightfall Forest came from Karosen.

The smaller countries lacked the iron to carve paths through that black wood.

The Moon Kingdom and the Leit Kingdom were split by Qingyu Forest, a green rain of leaves.

Dragon Gorge in Nightfall Forest opened into Qingyu, making a line—Nightfall Forest, Dragon Gorge, Qingyu Forest—like a spine of stone, a border the two small nations clung to.

Further south, the Moon Kingdom’s lower lands opened to the Sunlit Coast, bright as burnished gold.

At its end lay the endless sea, a sheet of blue stretching like forever.

Feges couldn’t hide the heat in her chest; it flared like wildfire before her voice steadied.

“I think the elves in Qingyu Forest should choose a side.”

She was itching to take Qingyu, eagerness sharp as a drawn blade.

By some measures, Feges deserved the title of an elven goddess.

If she moved, she’d keep her hand measured like a surgeon’s knife; with someone else, it might be a butcher’s cleaver.

Elf against elf—why let outsiders stain the grove?

Better she cut the knot herself.

Ouyang lifted a hand, calm like a winter lake, before he spoke.

“Easy, Feges. Breathe.”

He saw her ready to sprint, feet hot as coals, and stopped her with a word.

“Honestly, the Rift Wasteland suits you better.

You and Tangela are a stormfront; among the Supreme Divine, few could stand you.”

It wasn’t empty praise.

Tangela, that Titan, stood at High Divine overall, but his raw physical force hit like thunder—solidly Supreme Divine.

Feges was Supreme Divine, a main deity tier even in the Divine Realm, bright as a crown in a pantheon.

In the Rift Wasteland, Demon World remnants bristled like thorns, but an elf-and-titan pairing could roll over many problems like a boulder down slope.

Most of all, Tangela’s hulking frame was a mountain that walked.

For the fist-speak tribes of the Wasteland, nothing frightened more than a living cliff swinging a fist.

Ouyang cut the matter clean, voice firm as a seal stamped in wax.

“Enough. Feges, you and Tangela head for the Rift Wasteland.”

He didn’t leave her room to haggle; the order landed like a falling stone.

“As for the Land of Light—Devila, Yulan, Glenza, Amelie, Jue. You five take that front.”

He weighed the Land of Light with a steady hand, heavy as iron on a scale.

He sent five—four at Supreme Divine, one at High Divine.

Even Devila, the lone High Divine among them, had one foot through the Supreme Divine’s gate like a shadow over a threshold.

It showed how much the Divine Realm’s weight mattered.

Devila, Blood Kin to the bone, had battled the Light Church and those angels for ages long as winter nights.

Yulan, the wish-demon, was a sword hidden in silk, her combat strength ranked near the top like a star in a cold sky.

Glenza, a Lich clad in bone, excelled at attrition—summoning tides of undead like rolling fog to grind a foe down.

Amelie was a single-target executioner; one sword like lightning, and even a Supreme Divine could fall in a heartbeat.

And Jue—ancient and inscrutable—could escape even a Creator God-level Realm God, slipping out like a fish through a net.

“Kavasha…” Ouyang felt the headache rise like storm-pressure.

“That place is a problem.”

Kavasha was ancient, a country like a fossil in bedrock.

It was the Sealed Land for the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts.

Now that the seals cracked like old ice, Kavasha had the densest cluster of those artifacts.

They weren’t the kind of trouble a mere divine-tier team could fix.

Worse, the Twelve Families’ ancestors were Ancient Gods, old blood running like molten gold in their veins.

One slip, and even Jue might face a fall there, a cliff hidden under cloud.

“Brother, leave it to me.”

Loyin’s voice carried warmth like spring wind, and Ouyang felt a jolt of realization like a bell struck.

He’d been unconsciously downplaying her.

She was Original Sin.

No matter how wicked those artifacts were, what was that next to Original Sin’s bite?

Dongze set his cup down, tea rippling like rain.

“We’ll handle it too. Been living here for ages; time to pay some rent.”

Ouyang looked at the three—Dongze, Agas, Loyin—three terrors like three thunderheads.

Sending them felt right, solid as bedrock.

He’d waited, holding back like a hunter in tall grass, thinking he lacked hands.

Turns out his deck of cards was thicker than he’d thought.

He laced his fingers like branches, resting his chin on the back of his hands.

“Alright then. Senior Dongze, Teacher Agas, that side’s yours.”

He turned to Loyin, worry pricking like thorns under skin.

“Loyin, don’t chase the big fights. If you get hurt, what then?”

He remembered clearly—the Boundless Sea’s little sprite had scarred her once, a cut like salt in his chest.

He treated this small, fierce girl, power bright as a comet, like a lucky charm to keep safe in his sleeve.

Loyin tugged at his clothes, a pout like a cloud about to rain.

“Be good,” he coaxed, voice soft as silk. “Come with me to Qingyu Forest.”

Her mood flipped like a swallow in air.

“With you?” Her eyes lit like lanterns. “Mm, if it’s with you, anywhere’s fine!”

She burrowed into his arms, rubbing like a kitten under sun, joy warm as morning.

Dongze and Agas nearly sprayed tea, the steam bursting like a startled bird.

Other folks might not know, but they did—Loyin was Original Sin.

The very force that once gnawed the stars and cracked everything like old pottery… and now she acted like this?

The other Demon Kings didn’t recognize her.

Back in the era of chaos, it was Original Sin as a whole, not Loyin.

Original was later split from Sin—two halves of a scythe—and only Ouyang knew the face beneath the mask.

Dongze leaned over, envy sour as unripe fruit.

“Man, he’s the definition of an overprotective brother.”

Agas shot him a look, dry as desert wind.

“You’re just jealous.”

Pfft.

Ouyang could almost hear a heart spitting blood like a popped grape.

Agas’s perfect jab left Dongze’s spirit coughing red.

For a member of the First Cult, he was an eternal bachelor, loneliness long as winter.

Ouyang let the mutterings drift away like smoke.

“Yiyue Qianliu, White Cat, Wutong—you three hold the city.”

“Eunice, Bartley, Valiant—go roam.

You know the drill,” he said, a sly glint like moonlight on a blade.

Moqi, the burrow-loving serpent, and Dufei, big as a rolling boulder, had their own job—fishing treasures from the Divine Realm.

No extra tasks for them; the sky already weighed on their backs like a mountain.

“Brother, you forgot someone…”

Her hint fell soft as willow fluff.

Someone?

Ouyang’s gaze swept the hall like a broom over leaves, then stopped.

Kooson.

“Ouyang, boss—me?” Kooson’s voice shook, nerves fluttering like moth wings.

No task meant no use, and that thought gnawed like a rat.

The great King of Demon Kings, Lord Kooson, refused to be dead weight.

Ouyang paused, thinking like snow gathering before an avalanche.

“Kooson, you’ll guard Canopy City.

Don’t let angels raze our ally’s nest like foxes in a henhouse.

And you can keep protecting your contractor. See? I think of you two.”

It sounded reasonable, a fence built from honest wood.

But truth be told, Kooson’s personality had been unstable, his chatterbox side popping out like a jack-in-the-box.

Other Demon Kings had complained like bees stung.

So Ouyang decided to send him off until that storm settled in his head.

Poor Kooson didn’t even realize he’d been pawned like a spare piece.

Ouyang rose, his words ringing like a temple bell at dawn.

“Everyone, it’s time to end this farce of a world.”