Sealed Land. Ouyang sat by a black lake, staring blankly at the lone boulder in its heart, the water ink-dark, the stone stubborn as a tooth.

He didn’t know what he was waiting for, what hope he still nursed, his chest tight like a drum under rain.

“Ouyang, come back with me…” The clear voice chimed like glass. He curled up, head lowered, shoulders drawn in against the cold.

Three years. He’d waited here three whole years. He’d crossed the bridge once, reached the place of the Golden Constant Gate. In that hollow space, a golden door wrapped in chains floated in the void like a sun caught in nets. But from beyond the door, not a whisper came. Had the fear in his gut already come true?

A soft body pressed to his back; a faint fragrance threaded into the chill. “Enough. Three years have passed,” she murmured. “No word has come. What was meant to happen likely has. Staying here won’t help. Better think of ways to grow stronger. Even if you crossed now, you’d only weigh them down.”

He knew every word she said, but he couldn’t let go of the ones over there. That broken starfield, that blood-stained white robe—images that hit him like a storm and wouldn’t leave.

“Trust them,” she whispered. “Back in the First Epoch, they survived despair itself.”

A soft, damp touch flitted across his cheek like a dragonfly. He blinked at the girl beside him, not quite used to it. After a moment, he looked away, cheeks flushing. “Aurora, I hear you. Knowing is one thing; worrying is another.”

Wind and rain, they’d weathered it all. The despair of the First Epoch, the haze of the Second, the revolt of the Third… From the Fourth to the Eighth Epoch, the peace of the Other Shore had sunk deep into Ouyang’s bones. Facing a cliff again, worry gnawed. Yet even in the First Epoch, with such a gulf between foe and self, they found a way out.

“I get it… No matter how huge the trouble, they’ll carve a path.” His tone steadied like a blade set firm. “On our side, I’ll push hard. Someday, we’ll lead an army to aid that starry sky!”

Something eased. His melancholy cracked into a small smile, and Xi let out a long breath. Seeing him come around, she smiled from the heart, a light warmth like lamplight in winter. Unaware, they leaned into each other, two shadows folding together.

In these three years, the Divine Blooms that drifted down after gods and demons fell had stopped two years ago. Just as Ouyang guessed, crimson petals fell for a full year like a slow red snow. Yet the scar in the sky never healed. The vault he’d slit with the Heaven Departing Divine Sword kept reminding the forgetful masses, a wound written across the day.

Because of that wound above, the outsiders called this land the Sky-Scar Continent. With the World Will gone, the world’s rules blurred like ink in water. The tribes’ careers lost their hard lines. Once, a mage and a warrior were worlds apart. To fight like a warrior and chant spells? Only once-in-a-millennium prodigies could manage it.

Now, almost everyone could chant low-tier magic like Fireball, flicking sparks like kids with tinder.

With no World Will to bind living things, power came easier than before. Wutong, the Sixth Demon King of Miracle City, re-cut the continent’s power tiers. Old names were messy, each class had its own title. Now, ranks were unified into five: Star Ring Level, Moon Ring Level, Sun Ring Level, Sky Level, Demigod Level.

The old first to third tiers shifted to Sun, Moon, and Star. Sky Level and Demigod both belonged to the former fourth tier. In theory, both were Demigods. Wutong added Sky Level because both Sky Level and Demigod hit fourth-tier battle power, yet Sky Level had no right to challenge the Divine Throne. In the new system, only Demigods may assault the Divine Throne.

Demigod once meant too much. After debate among the Demon Kings: if you can’t challenge the Divine Throne, can you still call yourself Demigod? Thus, Sky Level was added like a line drawn where fog had been.

In three years, nations vanished. Only Sky-Scar’s Fifteen Domains remained. And now the continent had three forbidden lands. First: the Rift Wasteland. In that old war, blood and bone of gods and demons paved the Rift like a crimson road. Ordinary folk can’t approach; even from afar, lingering power tears you apart like invisible claws. Even so, the Rift kept luring the worlds.

Why? Godheads.

Countless gods and demons fell, meaning countless Godheads lay there like stars fallen into dust. Even if nine deaths and one life, get one Godhead and you soar in a single step. Every year, countless masters died in the Rift. At first, bored folks tried to count. Later, no one kept tally. They came from every world, selling everything to pay the world channel fees. Just to reach Sky-Scar. Just to claim a Godhead and leap skyward.

Second forbidden land: the Sealed Land, the most mysterious of the three. No matter how strong, even a god, once inside, you get lost, like a ship swallowed by fog. A place of eerie omens. The Rift is danger born of godwar residue. The Sealed Land is pure strangeness. No one knows their end once they enter.

Third forbidden land: Miracle City. More precisely, its Inner Domain. A place where gods walk… No—where Demon Kings stroll like storms wearing shoes.

Miracle City, Inner Domain. A portal opened. Ouyang and Xi stepped out, hand in hand. This was an open plaza. Marble underfoot carved with layered sigils like petals in stone. Overhead, countless portals hovered like moons. Looks like the Demon Kings visited Astral Plaza and came back wanting a copy.

“What even are these…” Ouyang looked around. From some gates, lava streamed like fiery rivers. From others, beasts roared, a menagerie of throats. From others, thunder boomed nonstop, a sky trapped in circles.

What had this odd bunch done now?

Xi flicked her jade hand. With one motion, she dispersed all those portals, leaving only the path Little Seven had opened to Astral Plaza. “We’ll have to warn those guys,” she sighed. “They’re joyriding, zero order, acting like veteran drivers. What even are they racing?” Ouyang was speechless. In some ways, Demon Kings were as willful as kids.

He eyed the streets. After three years away, he saw many unfamiliar faces. “What’s going on?” Perplexed, he shot Xi a look asking for answers.

“Those people…”

It all tied back to the Rift Wasteland. Dangerous, yes, but a few lucky ones succeeded. With the World Will gone, many rules went slack. Once, to digest a Lower Godhead took ten years. Now, that limit was gone. Yet those who swallowed Godheads still weren’t recognized by the Demon Kings of Miracle City. They could crush Demigods with ease, but got hammered by Bartley, the Fifteenth Demon King, a dwarf at Lower God rank, crying for mercy like kids caught cheating.

So, that kind was called “False Gods.” They wielded parts of a god’s might, but couldn’t compare to the real.

To most mortals, though, there was no concept of “false.” They called them gods all the same, raising eyes like prayer.

Their destructive power was huge. After counsel, the Demon Kings decided: even if false, they were worthy to settle the Inner Domain. So the Inner Domain of Miracle City no longer looked like an empty street; it breathed like a city waking.

Hearing it, Ouyang slapped his forehead. “Damn, those were my spoils. I forgot to clean the battlefield!”

A heap of Godheads—Ouyang didn’t need them, but residents of Miracle City did. False God or not? Hundreds, thousands of False Gods can still mob a real god to death, ants under thunder.

“Idiot…”

Xi flicked his forehead. “Tell me, who’ll go farther? Someone who scraped a Godhead out of the Rift after nine deaths? Or someone who got a Godhead living comfy?”

Ouyang thought it over and nodded. False Gods had almost lost the chance to climb higher. But those who wrested a Godhead out of the Rift? They could still rise. Their hearts hadn’t gone quiet. Their blood still ran hot. They carried grand ambition. So they’d walk farther, boots set to horizon.

“Let it be. A bit of bustle isn’t bad. Someday we’ll lead armies to aid that starfield. Start training now.”

He watched the newly blessed. To them, it was one-step-to-heaven. They hadn’t recovered from the joy. Their eyes drank in everything with childlike wonder, bright as dawn after storm.

“Huh—that’s… the First Demon King!”

A False God spotted Ouyang. At first, he’d been stunned by Xi’s peerless beauty, like moonlight on water. Then he saw the man holding her hand and froze, thoughts scattering like birds.

“Lord Void Messenger! My lord, please sign!” An elven False God girl rummaged through her bag, flustered. No paper, no pen. Others noticed too. For a crowd who’d been mortals not long ago, someone of Ouyang’s tier was legend—a living myth in flesh.

The crowd stirred like a tide. Spooked, Ouyang popped a portal and ducked straight into his own castle.

“Am I really that famous? Why do they all look so scary?”

Back at the castle, a rabbit in a tailcoat—who called himself the butler of Void Castle—hopped over. “Lord Ouyang, welcome home!” His voice rang, drawing others.

“Brother…” Loyin dove into Ouyang’s arms like a sparrow. Behind her stood Xian, now a lot taller than three years ago, edging out of the loli range. “Big brother, you’re finally back!” She giggled. “I knew sis would bring you home.”

Nabelia ran in wearing a maid outfit, spoon still in hand—she’d been cooking, steam clinging like fog. Bai was barefoot as always, in a loose white camisole, snow-bright skin mostly bare. She rubbed her eyes, still half-asleep, soft as morning.

Seeing their joy, a warm ache rose in Ouyang’s chest. He almost wanted to cry. He wanted this happiness to last forever, like a hearth that never goes cold.

“This warmth—I’ll guard it.”