Across the round table, another elder slowly shook his head and spoke in a low voice.
"I agree with Yun Mo's assessment. Gods and spirits are not to be trusted, and the concept of deities is even more absurd."
"It's not that we won't believe—it's that we can't afford to. Our people, the children of Yan and Huang, have prayed to gods and Buddhas for generations… and what have we received in return? Nothing. So we've learned never to place hope in external forces."
"These so-called Nether Soldiers… to me, they're just another breed of malevolent spirits. Perhaps a more organized variant."
"Though we don't understand the rules they follow, since they haven't harmed Spirit Tamers or humans, there's no reason for us to provoke them."
"But we must remain vigilant. Just because they appear disciplined doesn't mean they're gods… or allies."
The others nodded silently in agreement.
Ever since the resurgence of malevolent spirits, it had always been Spirit Tamers who bled, who died, who fought to preserve the last scraps of peace. Never had a god shown up to lend a hand.
If order still existed in this world, it was because of their sacrifice, not divine intervention.
The discussion in the conference room continued, though consensus had already been reached.
Based on intelligence sent by the Chen brothers, and the footage they'd provided, they reached a grim conclusion.
Behind the Gate of the Netherworld, at least dozens of B-rank spirits had emerged. Countless others of C-rank and below surged out like a flood.
And yet… the Nether Soldiers had butchered them all with terrifying ease.
This meant that every single one of those ghost soldiers possessed at least B-rank strength.
As for the leading general… he decapitated a B-rank ghost in a single strike. By all assessments, his strength ranked A-tier—at minimum.
A final resolution was made.
Huadu City would be placed under full lockdown and observation.
The Nether Soldiers would not be engaged unless provoked.
An elite task force—the First Sequence Team of Yanhuang—would be dispatched to Huadu.
At the same time, exploration into ancient mythology would be escalated. Special attention would be paid to Huadu and its possible mythological connections.
Few in the room believed in legends anymore, but humanity was running out of options.
Even the slimmest hope was better than despair.
The eldest among them tapped the table lightly with a finger.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The once noisy room fell into complete silence.
"Very well. Then it's decided."
"We'll send an A-rank Spirit Tamer to Huadu. Besides monitoring the Nether Soldiers, they'll also supervise the surrounding cities—several other A-rank entities have been acting… restless."
He rubbed his temples, voice weary.
Compared to the number of ghosts, Spirit Tamers were woefully few. A-rank ones were rarer still—true national treasures.
Sending one to Huadu was a costly move, but a necessary one.
"As for these Nether Soldiers... let's leave it at that—for now."
"This year has been chaotic. More than usual."
"Just recently, reports came from Jinyuan City: a Spirit Tamer encountered a weak ghost during daylight hours…"
The elder's voice grew heavy, almost suffocating.
The others reacted instantly, pupils shrinking.
Ghosts, no matter how powerful, had never been able to operate under the sun. That rule—the natural suppression of sunlight—was humanity's final shield.
But now…
Even a minor ghost appearing in daylight?
Could it be… the rules were changing?
No one dared say it out loud. The room grew colder still.
Like their thoughts had summoned winter.
"All we can do now," the old man said firmly, sweeping his gaze around the room, "is to do our best."
"From today onward, increase daytime patrols. If anything unusual is found—report it immediately."
"Classify the Huadu incident as a top-tier case."
"Codename: Ghost Army Passage."
That night, in Huadu City…
A chilling stillness hung in the air.
In this age, the night no longer belonged to humankind—it belonged to the damned.
Beneath the dark sky, a figure moved slowly.
A man dressed in black. A tall, dark hat upon his head.
White calligraphy marked the hat: Peace Under Heaven.
His steps were slow—but ghostly. His feet never touched the ground.
And yet, with every move, he crossed dozens of meters—like shadows flowing between dimensions.
Clink—clang…
Chains dragged across the ground, producing a cold, metallic rasp that echoed through the empty streets like whispers from the grave.
Had any Spirit Tamer been present, they would have collapsed in terror at the sight.
For this man—this Warden of the Dead—was none other than Black Warden Fan.
Trailing behind him, dangling from his soul chains, were rows of immobilized malevolent spirits.
Their forms twisted and grotesque. Blood-drenched. Lifeless eyes wide in despair.
Each had once slaughtered countless innocents… but now? Pierced clean through by the Black Warden's chains.
There was no escape.
Their mouths stretched open, trying to scream. But no sound came. A mysterious force had sealed their voices.
All they could do was suffer.
This was the Chain of Soul Reaping.
Legend said Black Warden Fan never simply destroyed his targets.
He made them feel.
Pain that echoed through the marrow. Despair that shattered the soul.
Every pull of his chain was a new torment, a reminder that even death was no escape.
Finally, Black Warden halted at the mouth of an alley.
He turned, gaze falling upon the miserable ghosts trailing behind him.
There was no mercy in his eyes.
Only judgment.
His mourning staff rose lazily—
Judgment was about to begin.