It was a sealed jar of a world, no cracks to other realms, its edges fogged like a lake at dawn. People had no clear map in their heads. From Jiu Wenxin, Ouyang learned this world was as quiet as still water.

Humans held most of the land like a quilt of banners. They were the only thinking race here. Titans and dragons were only old smoke, never seen. With humans on every throne, kingdoms and leagues and duchies dotted the map like scattered chessmen. Wars should’ve sparked like dry tinder. Yet for near a century, the borders slept.

All because, above the patchwork of states, one empire pressed like a mountain.

The Sole Empire. The name alone walked with a drumbeat of confidence. And it earned it. It was the only empire under this sky; no other dared take that crown.

With ten thousand miles of rivers and fields under its cloak, its legions stood like iron forests. Other nations trailed far behind. So the Sole Empire spoke, and the others listened.

A century ago, the empire didn’t care to herd its neighbors. Fight if you want, just don’t rattle my gates. Then a princess of the empire died on the road. Two countries went to war. A city was leveled like a candle pinched out. The little princess was in that city.

The old emperor’s grief went to steel. Those two countries became names on wind-blown ash. Pain set hooks in him. Every time two flags crossed blades, it pulled at the hooks. So he erased them—one pair after another—like snuffing sparks with a boot heel. Ten-odd years later, the old emperor died. He left behind a world as calm as a long winter.

The new emperor liked the quiet like a hunter likes a clean trail. He kept the policy. He founded a Peace Council, a gavel raised over any nation that rattled its saber.

That was the story behind this peace.

This world still had people who touched the strange. They were called wizards. They were few as comets. Even in the Sole Empire, you could count the public ones on two hands. Laisenya, the kingdom that sheltered Jiu Wenxin, enshrined one such wizard at court. That alone showed Laisenya had some spine. Laisenya—that was her homeland’s name. Jiu Wenxin Ente Laisenya—that was the girl’s full name, like a bell with three clear notes.

As for a wizard’s power, even Wenxin only knew shadows and whispers. In tales, wizards were cloaked and boundless. Strong enough that taking a small country was like plucking a ripe peach.

In history, a nation’s strings were often tied to a wizard’s fingers, while the crowned head on the stage was just a puppet. As for why Jiu Wenxin had become Ouyang’s believer… there was a story there, light and sharp as a hidden hook.

“First, the map. Then a plan that breathes,” Ouyang said. He spoke in Wenxin’s private study, biting into fruit as juice ran like little rivers down his fingers, eyes on the parchment. “This little patch is Laisenya. Your dad’s king, so this is our base camp. We lace the borders with traps and make those rivals step right in and—no, scratch that—knock them clean out.”

He kept talking to himself like a mill wheel turning. Wenxin listened and waited. She noticed he never once said “crystal shard.” By his story, that shard mattered most in this war. The crystal that could grant any wish. As a wraith, he wanted a body back, a return to breath. He needed the shards gathered, then a wish spoken.

But no matter how she watched him, Ouyang didn’t act like he cared about the so-called shard. Was it just her nerves?

In her mind, Ouyang was an ancient wraith, pacing the deep dark like a lone lantern. Then a miracle crystal appeared, said to grant any wish. Countless wraiths lunged for it, because the one who seized it could walk back into daylight.

The crystal shattered. Its shards slipped through the underworld and fell to the mortal land like a purple meteor rain—just like last night’s streaks across the sky. That part fit his tale.

Fifteen factions in the deep chose fifteen champions. Those champions would come up to fight for the shards. The crystal could grant three wishes in all. Since the muscle came from the underworld’s fifteen, their side held two wishes. The living world held one.

That was the “underworld champions” version Wenxin got from Ouyang. To keep their stories straight, the Demon Kings had agreed to it beforehand.

Because of that version, Ouyang called himself the First Champion. He wouldn’t even give a name. In Wenxin’s eyes, this “champion” was smoke you couldn’t catch.

A strange buzz cut in. Ouyang took a red rhombus crystal from his pocket. It caught light like a drop of blood.

“Yeah? Who’s this?”

“Boss Ouyang? It’s me, Kooson!”

“What now?”

“It’s bad, boss. I messed up our cover story.”

“Messed up? What did you say?”

“I said we’re ancient heroic spirits from Valhalla…”

“Pfft—” Ouyang almost spat blood right onto the map. Kooson always had two left hands. “Hold it. Did the mark refuse to join you? If he refused, then put him down and erase the body.”

“Boss, he agreed.”

“What? Then—use the physical memory wipe. Make him forget what you said. Then choose your words and tell him the right version.”

“Can’t do the physical wipe, boss. He’s hanging by a thread. If I ‘wipe’ him with my fist, he’ll snap the thread.”

Ouyang’s eyes flicked like a thief candle.

“Got it. Punch him dead first. Then cast Resurrection. Easy. Healing is a slog.”

“Knew you were the best, boss!”

Moments later, everyone felt it—the way a lake feels a stone drop. Kooson got kicked out of the game. He’d used a god-tier power like Resurrection. Out, without doubt. While other Demon Kings blinked in confusion, Ouyang grinned in Wenxin’s study. The grin was crooked and greasy, a cat’s smile with feathers still in its mouth.

Wenxin didn’t catch a word of that exchange. He hadn’t used any tongue she knew.

“Sorry,” Ouyang said, slipping the crystal away like a magician. “One of my underworld boys called with an emergency. His wife ran off with another man. He came to cry on me. Took a while to talk him off the ledge. Rough world, huh?”

Rough? Wenxin looked at Ouyang, doubt sharp as a pin. If it hurt so much, why was there sunshine on his face? Unless—was the “other man”… Ouyang?

Good thing Ouyang didn’t hear that thought. He would’ve choked on it.

“Right, where was I?”

“You were setting traps on the kingdom’s edge…”

Ouyang bent over the map again, fingers tracing rivers like veins.

“Kid, use your kingdom’s ears. Find where the shards fell. Don’t grab them yet. Seed traps around them. Use the shards as bait.”

“And listen,” he said, voice low as a drum. “Shards carry a taint. Where one lands, the world goes odd in wide circles. Pigs might climb trees. Fish might stroll on dry dirt. Ask after anything like that. And if a mortal picks up a shard, they’ll swell with power. What kind? Can’t say.”

He wasn’t lying to Wenxin. He wanted to win this game, too. His hints would cut months off her search like a sharp blade.

He was certain a shard lay inside Laisenya. By rule, each Demon King fell near a shard. But he couldn’t use god-tier sense. So he hadn’t felt it yet.

“Right. Kooson, that idiot… Am I an idiot too? Why didn’t I ask where he was?” Ouyang froze. He’d tricked Kooson into a loss, sure. But he hadn’t gotten Kooson’s location. A Demon King lands near a shard. If he knew where Kooson had dropped, he could’ve pinned one shard’s range like a knife through a map.

So much for being smarter than Kooson.

After Ouyang worked the map for half a day, Wenxin returned from giving orders to scout for shards. She brought news. Laisenya’s enshrined wizard wanted to see Ouyang.

“Kid, did you rat me out?”

Ouyang somehow palmed a bloody kitchen knife, red still wet like fresh paint. He eyed Wenxin with a wolf’s patience.

“First Champion, I… I only told my father,” she said, voice falling like rain. “I didn’t think he’d tell the wizard. Then… the wizard asked to summon you…”

Ouyang stared at her a long beat, windless and heavy. He saw she hadn’t meant to throw him into a pit. Then—thunk—he sank the knife into a bookshelf, paper trembling like leaves.

“Son of— A mere filth-mancer thinks he can summon me? I—this Champion—am right here. If he wants a meeting, the filth-mancer can come kneel at my door. Push me, and I’ll snuff not just a filth-mancer, not just a grand filth-mancer, but their filthy king if I have to.”

Wenxin went slack with shock. The wizard they enshrined was proud as a hawk. Yet this so-called First Champion from the underworld wore pride like a crown even higher.