“Everyone, I’m so sorry, truly sorry…” The embassy’s chief waddled over, a pot-bellied man with sweat pouring like summer rain. Rumor said that fat man was the current Pope of the Void Church’s elder cousin, a thunderclap of background behind a calm sky.
Yet such a heavy figure came running, brow beaded like dew, apologizing for being late. Fear pricked first, then thought followed; Morris didn’t think he had that kind of pull, and Belle and Jiangxue shared that chill. The answer surfaced like a fish breaking water.
Ouyang.
Morris had met only two giants in this world: Ouyang and Xian. Anxiety hit first, then reason; he wiped cold sweat like winter melt from his brow. How strong was Ouyang’s clan, if the embassy’s chief bowed like a reed in wind? That shadow said more than words.
Think it through—Morris didn’t even know the clan’s name. He only knew the man was called Ouyang.
“Everyone, I’m Ahiberlay. I oversee the embassy of another world stationed here. Please, come with me.”
Ahiberlay’s tone was respectful, steady as a dawn lake. No hint of neglect, no flicker of contempt. He personally set Morris’s trio up in the central building, steps gentle like falling leaves. All the way, the chief was warm, treating them like honored elders under a shrine lamp.
That made other staff stare, eyes buzzing like bees around clover. Ahiberlay offered no explanation, only wore a secret like fog over a river.
“Lord Ahiberlay, may I ask something?” Nerves hit first; then Morris spoke as Ahiberlay finished arranging the rooms. “What kind of family is Ouyang’s?”
Belle and Jiangxue lifted their attention like birds to a branch; curiosity bloomed before words. Belle, like Morris, wanted the background behind Ouyang’s name. Jiangxue felt a tug toward the man who had never met her, yet had indirectly saved her homeland; wonder beat before logic.
“Lord Ouyang? You mean… you don’t know his identity?” Ahiberlay’s eyes widened like lamps at dusk. “Favored with such grace, yet unaware of the lord’s station—what a…”
As his gaze rounded like the full moon and he readied more words, a rainbow bridge whooshed from the horizon like a painted arc. It touched the door like a bright river. Illusory butterflies flickered like scraps of dream; starlight drifted like frost. A group in uniforms approached, their sky-blue robes fresh as rain-washed sky.
“That’s… divine envoys! Come, let’s go welcome them; I expect they’re here to summon you.” Ahiberlay’s voice carried like a bell, and he led the way.
At the front doors, Ahiberlay bowed to two women in sky-blue robes, bending like bamboo in wind. He exchanged a few murmured words, voices soft as water. Behind him, Morris’s trio arrived, hearts drumming like hooves.
The two divine envoys didn’t speak to them. They only nodded like falling snow, then stepped onto the rainbow bridge like swans onto a lake.
“Young ones, time to set out.”
Ahiberlay kept tight behind the envoys, then glanced back at the three tense faces. Concern rose first, then his pace slowed to match them. “Don’t tense up. When it’s time, just do what you should.” His eyes touched Morris and Belle, thoughtful as old ink.
“You two are from the Aup World? I heard this meeting includes your world’s god. Word is, the one attending is your world’s Creator God…”
He spoke low, voice like a lantern under a cloak. Morris and Belle went stone-still, shock freezing them like statues in winter.
“Cre…a…tor… God…”
No wonder they stiffened. The name rang like thunder over plains. In ancient lore, the Creator God forged the Aup World and birthed the gods. Morris’s clan claimed descent from the War God, and that War God was one of the first forged by the Creator.
If the Creator God appeared, how vast was this storm?
Ahiberlay patted Morris’s shoulder, a firm touch like a drumbeat. “Don’t freeze. If you keep gods waiting, you know the price better than anyone.”
Fear and duty tangled first; then Morris and Belle stumbled after him, steps ragged like sailors in fog. They hadn’t digested the news; shock churned like a river after rain. To see their world’s Creator God—mortals like them would cross a line no creature in Aup World, save the first gods, had crossed.
Excitement, fear, anticipation, nerves—feelings rose like mixed tides under a storm moon.
The rainbow bridge stretched long, a ribbon like dusk that wouldn’t end. Morris and Belle walked, time dripping like honey; secretly, they wished the bridge would lengthen. They hadn’t steeled themselves for the gaze of the Creator God.
The end waited at a castle gate.
A six- or seven-story keep loomed like a cliff of iron. At the top, a deep-blue banner snapped like night surf. A broken moon lay painted there, and a star scored with cracks like dry clay.
“This is the Void Castle, and its master is His Majesty the First Demon King, the Void Messenger!”
The speaker was a silver-haired youth, his hair like frost-cut steel. “Name’s Augustine. I’ll guide you inside.”
Augustine.
Not only Morris and Belle knew the name; even Jiangxue had heard tales like campfire sparks. A continent’s legend, his story spread like wind through wheat. Heaven’s favored, talent sharp as a blade, and the First Demon King as his teacher—no early fall for him. A divine throne hung before him like a sunrise within reach.
At Augustine’s appearance, even Ahiberlay and the two divine envoys dipped low, reverent as pilgrims. Though the envoys were Demigods, Augustine stood under the First Demon King’s mantle; for that tie alone, their bow was natural as rain.
Morris’s trio followed Augustine into the castle, crossing the threshold like a line in sand. As he stepped in, Morris felt space twist, a corkscrew in the air. The place hummed strange, as if time here were dammed like a river, leaving only void and eternity.
It was only a mirage; that taste fled like a startled bird. Morris couldn’t grasp the mood before it dissolved.
“The castle’s in meeting mode, larger than usual. Inside, the layout shifts by my teacher’s will. So even if it gets odd, don’t be shocked.”
Augustine glanced back with a sunlit smile, bright as morning.
Soon, Morris learned why he’d warned them.
Ahead lay a stretch of void, black as ink. Big stones floated like islands, running deeper into the emptiness. Each stone bore a lamp, a lone moon against the dark.
“Don’t fall into the void,” Augustine said with a wicked grin, stepping onto the next stone like a dancer.
The gaps were small, a stride for any adult. If you didn’t look down, it felt like stepping stones in a stream. Look down, and the black swallowed courage like a hungry abyss.
Belle touched the first stone, then glanced below; fear struck first, then her legs locked like roots. Her whole body trembled like a leaf, feet refusing to move.
“Pick it up, or the big shots will be waiting…”
Augustine’s lazy drawl pushed at them like a warm wind. It rattled Belle; she lurched, nearly slipping into the void more than once. In her chest, suspicion sparked like flint—he was doing it on purpose. Without his prodding, she might have steadied.
She wrestled down the tangles in her heart, crossing stone by stone like a tightrope walker. At last, she scraped through to the end.
Then everything vanished. The black space dissolved like smoke, and the floating stones winked out like embers. Before them stood a vast conference hall, bright as a sunrise.
“Forgot to mention—none of that was necessary. My teacher got playful and built that space on a whim. Normally, you’d see this hall the moment you step in.”
Augustine’s final jab landed like a feathered arrow, and Belle, pale as chalk, felt anger rise like hot iron. Even gods get bored?
Her hands shook like strings in wind. She lifted her head, ready to spit words, then saw the beings in the hall. The aura spilled from them like mountain mist; even without titles, you could taste divinity.
Though he knew they were all gods, Morris still swept the room, glance quick as a hawk. He caught a familiar face in the front row—Ouyang.
If everyone seated here was a god, and Ouyang sat among them, then… Realization flared first; puzzles clicked after like beads on a string. Many oddities aligned at once.
In the solemn hall, the first voice was Ouyang’s, steady as a bell. “You must be Collin’s elder cousin. Everyone accounted for?”
Ahiberlay bowed deep to Ouyang, posture like a drawn bow. “Ahiberlay Vens Folletonas greets His Majesty the First Demon King. By Your Majesty’s word, all are present. Please look.”
Ouyang nodded, then turned his gaze on the three, eyes calm as still water.
“Little Mo, is that girl the one you mentioned?” Ouyang remembered Morris; relief warmed Morris first, then gratitude followed like sunlight.
“Uh… y-yes…” Morris’s mind tumbled like dice, snagging on how to address Ouyang. Old habit pulled toward “Brother Ouyang.” Awe tugged toward “His Majesty the First Demon King.”
Wait—First Demon King?!
Morris’s face shifted like cloud over hills. Understanding flooded like rain. No wonder Xian tossed money like leaves. No wonder Ahiberlay dropped the message crystal at Ouyang’s name. No wonder Ouyang had promised with iron calm.
Because he was the legend itself—the First Demon King, the Void Messenger.
