Inside the Void Castle, Ouyang tapped the table—a crisp knock like a pebble on ice—calling the room to stillness.

Nabelia, mid-squabble with the rabbit, snapped her mouth shut like a gate at dusk. The Jade Rabbit shelved its retort too, ears stiffening, and went quiet at the knock.

Rabbit, take a look at the file—Ouyang’s voice settled like a low drum across snow.

He handed over the pages he’d just read. The Jade Rabbit’s long ears swayed like reeds in wind; thought had seized it like a net. Ouyang had picked the rabbit for a reason, a reason carved from old days.

When the Jade Rabbit was first made, it shadowed Ouyang, playing the holy huckster, talking storms into smiles. Collin, the first Pope, was a sun that outshone the Rabbit’s lantern; few noticed its silver tongue in that blaze.

Master Ouyang, these… these youngsters are brilliant! By your leave, I can’t wait to swap hustling tricks with that crew of holy hucksters—the Rabbit’s eyes, twin rubies, flared wide like festival lanterns. The pages were a door swinging open to a new world.

The three watching on traded looks, curiosity like cats circling a fishbowl, wondering what those pages held.

Reading their minds like ripples on a pond, Ouyang said, You three don’t need those files; I’ve got other orders for you. His words fell like a lid on a pot, snuffing their urge to peek; their path wasn’t the rabbit’s.

Rabbit, I’ll hand this to you. But your Supreme God level still feels thin—his brow folded like storm clouds.

Truth was, Supreme God isn’t weak. In the old Panworld Alliance, worlds with a Creator God were a handful, like stars you could count on one palm. Across the vast night, meeting a Creator God is rare as lightning in winter.

To Ouyang, a mere Supreme God was still walking a cliff edge; it wasn’t safe enough for a tightrope in a gale.

Here’s the plan—take my sealed writ, find that White Cat and the Hell Lord Christo. With those two, you can let your silver tongue run free like silk ropes.

The Jade Rabbit, the White Cat, and Christo—an animal alliance born to talk storms into rain.

The rabbit needs no preface. The White Cat once ran with the Skyday Tyrant Dragon brat; years under Crow’s shadow honed its patter till it purred like a satisfied stove. It just hasn’t had much stage time lately.

Hell Lord Christo was a boss of Hell. When Hell got shattered, she parked herself in the “Source” World and never left, like a winter guest who stayed through spring. For someone seated high for ages, talking people around is survival; rule only by the iron rod, and other hell lords find a crack to topple you like weeds through stone.

Bottom line, this animal trio has teeth and tongue both—muscle to stand, patter to sway, like a blade with a silk sheath.

Understood—the answer snapped like a banner in wind.

The Jade Rabbit hopped out with Ouyang’s writ and the files, each bounce a drumbeat on stone. It had been idle for days; now there was work, and a chance to hustle alongside the White Cat boss—joy bubbled like spring water.

Three animals make a fine stage; we’ll see whose act steals the show like a fireworks finale. With the White Cat and Christo there, Ouyang had little to worry—unless a Tiered Being showed up like a mountain rising. And if a Tiered Being stepped onto the board, would Ouyang ever miss that ripple in the pond?

Besides, Tiered Beings aren’t cabbages in a market. Outside a few high civilizations, birthing one who can strike the world’s anthem takes ages piled like mountains. Even eight epochs of the Other Shore era might pass without one blooming.

Eika, Nabelia— you siblings take the Hericot Clan and pacify those worlds like setting sails across a stormy sea.

The dossier he handed the Hericot siblings sat on the lower shelf of importance, and of difficulty, like papers filed to the back. He didn’t send them to worlds with a Creator God; these files marked the less critical realms, leaves on outer branches.

Not vital, but each reclaimed world is a bead added to the string, and strings make a necklace in the end.

Try not to harm civilians. You’re cleared to deploy Abyss Walkers and Dragon Riders—orders fell like soft snow.

The Hericot siblings aren’t like that trio of hucksters; for the trio, extra hands are dead weight. With two titans onstage, even a flood of Creator Gods is just foam on a wave.

The siblings are different. They sit at Supreme God, and the worlds in their files have Supreme Gods too. They’re veterans—old pines in this forest—and Ouyang didn’t want them snapped by a stray gale. If you can’t win head-on, then dogpile like wolves on a stag.

The Hericot clan has birthed plenty of gods now. Only the siblings sit at Supreme God, yet over a dozen stand at High God. Mid and Low Gods number in the dozens. With Abyss Walkers and Dragon Riders all at divine tier, they can steamroll mid-level civilizations like a river flattening sand.

Your Majesty, Demon King… um—the voice fluttered like a hesitant sparrow.

Nabelia’s thin voice cut across Ouyang’s thoughts like a paper knife.

What is it—his tone cool as moonlight on water.

Your Majesty, the thing is… there are too many worlds in these files. If only my brother and I lead, reclaiming them will take a long stretch. Can we add more commanders? Each one takes a world; the pace would leap ahead like adding oars to a boat.

Ouyang pondered; Nabelia was right. The stack was thick as a brick, speaking of many worlds like rings in a tree. If only Nabelia and Eika took them one by one, the pace would crawl like a tortoise. He’d also ordered minimal civilian harm, a brake that slows the wheel further.

Many gods on a march waste time. Some worlds have no gods at all. Some have a few, clinging on like embers. Bringing a flood of divinities to douse a few sparks, or to a godless world, is pouring a lake on a candle.

More commanders means fewer bodies per spearhead, yet the army moves like water—more flexible and quicker to pool.

One commander takes a small crew and handles one world; another does the same elsewhere. The speed climbs like wind in sails. If you hit a wall, friendly banners dot the nearby spacetime; send one signal, and all roads rush to aid like geese to a call.

After a beat of thought, several figures appeared before Ouyang like chess pieces set on a board.

Augustine looked and knew them all. Caro, Fei, Durak, Pries, Lain—five members of Augustine’s old Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts Strike Team. Back then there were seven; Irina is no longer with us, a fallen star.

Caro’s fate changed after meeting Jue, when legs once stilled like stone found a path. Fei bore Amelie’s favor, though Amelie has departed like a waning moon. Durak the dwarf was Bartley’s personal disciple; after the Dwarf God Bartley fell, Durak sank into quiet like a well for a long time. Pries, once a prince of the Land of Light, learned under the dark elf Feges; Tangela also treated him well, offering guidance for Feges’s sake like a steady hand on a helm. When the Titan Giant Tangela fell, Pries too wandered in shadow. Lain fared better; his mentor Glenza still leaps like a lively flame.

Those five, with Captain Augustine, made six; everyone was present except Irina, whose absence hung like a missing note.

Across the long war-years, they grew like trees in wind; Augustine, the strongest, has even brushed the realm of Ancient God, like fingertips grazing a star.

Four more familiar faces stood there as well. One was Augustine’s junior, Solubayat; the other three were the seniors who loved to pit traps for him, like pranksters with strings.

Solubayat, Chloe, Shazo, Jast—their names fell like beads on a table.

Ouyang counted—Solubayat’s four, plus Caro’s five, made nine. Add the Hericot siblings, that’s eleven. Eleven… not a number that sits well, like a lute missing one string; add one more and make twelve.

They rolled their eyes like a turning tide. These people were used to Ouyang’s summons, and steady as stone. If you dared roll eyes at him, you were close enough to be family.

Teacher, we already have twelve—Augustine’s face was a confused pup in rain. Our strike team has six; my junior’s team has four; add the Hericot two—doesn’t that make twelve?

Ouyang gave Augustine a side glance, cool as a crane’s eye. You? What crowd are you trying to join? You stay with me for other work. Augustine’s eyes lit like twin stars; sorry, team, sorry, junior—following the teacher beats any squad like a road straight to the horizon.

For the last slot, count in Clafia. That girl needs a task, or she’ll keep pestering me like a bee at the window.

No sooner said than felt—the Goddess of Light, Clafia, popped in front of him, pouty, eyes damp like a small storm cloud. Father, do you not want me? Are you driving me away?

At this child, Ouyang could only roll his eyes like a weary moon.

Quit it; we’ve got real work—her popping in didn’t surprise him, not at all. The girl had tailed the rabbit’s summons, then ghosted along invisible like mist. She knew invisibility only fools glass-hearts like Liuli and the Jade Rabbit, yet she kept drifting through the castle, light as fog.

Now, I’ll announce one thing—his voice rang like a bell.

Demon King Expeditionary Army: First Corps Commander, Clafia. Second, Caro. Third, Lain. Fourth, Durak. Fifth, Fei. Sixth, Lain—the names beat like drums.

He paused there, a breath like quiet snow, for these six stood at Realm God and above; Clafia of the First was even an Ancient God.

Seventh Corps Commander, Nabelia. Eighth, Eika. Ninth, Solubayat. Tenth, Jast. Eleventh, Shazo. Twelfth, Chloe—these later commanders stood at divine tier, steady lanterns in the line.

The briefs and targets sit with Corps Seven’s Nabelia; ask her and drink from the source like clear spring.

Alright, go plan your moves. I’ve got assignments for Augustine. You all set out early, wings at dawn.