On the third day of the Ghost-Human Festival, I lay on the ground, barely alive. My whole body was numb, devoid of feeling.
"Ethan Zhang, are you alright?"
Faced with Samantha Simons' concern, I had no strength to answer. I could only lick my cracked lips, signaling that I was still alive.
"Hurry up and search! Find them! Bring me the living!"
That young man had been ordering the ghosts of Exile Town these past few days, searching for any trace of the living, but they still hadn't found anyone.
Watching the boy's frantic expression, I managed a weak smile.
Yuna Ji hadn't come back for reasons unknown. My breathing grew weaker, my mouth parched. I drifted between sleep and wakefulness, dizzy and unfocused. It felt like I was about to die.
It was just past noon now, the sky heavy and gray. The ghosts were still searching everywhere for the remaining survivors.
"Hey, Samantha Simons, what did that little girl do exactly? Her aura is strange—like someone from the Hades Circle, but mixed with something else."
The old ghost spoke, but Samantha Simons glared at him, signaling him to keep quiet.
Suddenly, The Wraithborn returned, glaring viciously at the four Ghost Sovereigns.
"You four, tell me—where are those people? If you don't, I'll devour you right now."
"Eat us if you wish. But if you consume one of us, you'll lose a quarter of your power. How will you escape then?"
The Wraithborn fumed, glaring at the old ghost.
Meanwhile, I noticed Samantha Simons and the middle-aged ghost exchanging furtive glances, as if plotting something.
"Hmph. This is my domain. I will find them."
The Wraithborn flew off again.
"Strange. I can sense human presence here, but can't find anyone. It's as if these ghosts are trapped in a maze—visible, but unable to find the way. Heh, it must be you two."
The old ghost glanced sideways at the middle-aged ghost, then at Samantha Simons.
"Old man, enough talk."
"Ethan Zhang, what's wrong? Still refusing to call my name?"
That voice echoed in my mind again. Lost in a haze, I closed my eyes. My body felt weightless, sinking into endless darkness, falling deeper and deeper.
No light at all surrounded me. It felt like I was underwater, yet there was no resistance. Suddenly, I could open my eyes—no exhaustion, no pain.
Am I dead? Floating in boundless darkness, I straightened up and began to wander through the void.
I'd died once before—after death, I went straight to the Styx Gate. Now, what am I? Dead or alive?
Just as I lost track of whether I was dead or alive, a patch of white light appeared beneath me—blinding, dazzling. I shielded my eyes and sank downward.
Suddenly, I was shocked—it was a wasteland. The sun over the western city shone, clouds staining the sky a deep crimson.
The wasteland seemed to have just witnessed a battle. Corpses littered the ground, battle scars everywhere, and a greenish mist seeped across the land.
I walked step by step, gazing at the mangled bodies—Taoists, monks, even members of the Ghost Burial Squad. After the wind and sand, shattered urns lay open, ashes scattering in the breeze.
Charred marks scarred the ground, skeletons bleached white, their hair drifting in the wind.