If an ordinary person were present, they would likely be frozen in terror.
Crimson, ghostly shadows flickered intermittently, sometimes passing through the ground, sometimes halting and colliding with the solid rooftop.
Its panicked, desperate screeching could not free it from Andrew Han's Presented Liquid–infused right hand. At first, it could phase through the ground to avoid the impacts, but as the Internal Power ravaged its form, the ghostly body was forced to slam against the concrete, growing more sluggish with each blow.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Four, five, six times.
Even the entire rooftop began to tremble.
This unreasonable, savage scene slowed even the wind itself.
Pop!
A soft sound echoed, freezing the entire world in that instant.
This fully intelligent Specter was killed by Andrew Han—smashed to death on the rooftop. For a ghost to die from being physically slammed into the ground is almost unheard of.
"Mm."
"And you two, as well."
Andrew Han shook out his blood‑surging right hand, his gaze settling on the other two crimson shadows.
They had been fighting the two Martial Artists at close range, but upon sensing Andrew's terrifying presence, they retreated in panic, trying to sink into the ground below.
Specters are formless and intangible, which is why they can pass through walls.
But martial artists cannot imitate this at all.
Hiss! Hiss!
Their ghostly bodies sank downward, formless and intangible, as if submerging into a rippling lake—about to vanish beneath its surface.
Suddenly—
Andrew Han's expression remained calm. With a step, his figure flashed like lightning, crossing more than twenty meters in an instant.
Daylight Ascent!
This technique allows for leaping into the air or unleashing explosive speed in an instant.
The corners of the two Martial Artists' eyes twitched violently as they watched Andrew Han shoot forward like a howling gale, appearing before them in a flash. Their hearts pounded in fear.
Their bodies froze, like creatures trapped in amber.
Their minds trembled, as if battered by surging waves.
The next moment—
Andrew Han stamped down, steam‑like currents swirling around his fists, blood surging and vibrating as he struck the ground.
Boom!
Two deep, thunderous blasts rang out simultaneously, echoing across the rooftop.
Concrete shattered, debris flying in all directions.
Exposed rebar twisted and bent.
The solid rooftop of this retirement club was forcibly punched open by Andrew Han's fists, leaving two shattered craters and shaking the entire building three or four times.
An unparalleled shock!
The scene was as fierce as a silver vase bursting with water, or armored cavalry clashing in a storm of blades—so intense that the two Martial Artists and Culver Chu turned pale, unable to sweat or speak.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Though there were only two muffled explosions, they echoed endlessly like bells and cauldrons, reverberating deep in the heart and mind—like deafening thunder splitting apart their very understanding of reality.
Hiss!
Culver Chu drew a sharp breath.
A sensation—part chill, part panic, part terror—surged through his chest and flooded his entire body.
Even—
He didn't notice that his father, Changfu Chu, had already collapsed in his wheelchair, eyes wide and round, as if struck by the aftershock of the Specter battle.
Crash, crash.
Andrew Han's face was expressionless as he shook out both hands.
Chunks of concrete scattered with a rattling sound, twisted rebar exposed, and his reddened palms gripped the two crimson shadows tightly.
They had already sunk into the ground, about to phase through the wall and escape.
But—
Andrew Han, who dominated the entire scene, simply smashed through the solid rooftop. Though he couldn't pass through walls, he could shatter any barrier, forcibly grabbing the two Specters within the ground.
Hiss, hiss!
Their ghostly forms writhed violently, eyes glowing with eerie light, as if about to erupt and break free from his iron‑clamped grip.
Andrew Han stared at them. "Die."
Rip!
His palms slowly tightened, irresistible.
In an instant, blood surged and boiled, flowing ceaselessly like a pot of water at full boil, unleashing unimaginable force.
At that moment, his Presented Liquid Internal Power surged and receded, combining with his rotational technique to unleash a chilling and absolute might.
Bang! Bang!
The two fully intelligent crimson Specters were utterly powerless against such brutality—their ghostly forms faded to the extreme, unable to even screech before dispersing like smoke and dying instantly.
Silence!
A silence as profound as the hush between heaven and earth.
A white cloud drifted slowly across the sky.
Dim shadows gradually receded, and gentle sunlight returned, shining on the speechless Martial Artists, the stunned Culver Chu, and the devastated rooftop—casting an atmosphere of wordless silence across it all.
No sound remained—perhaps only the wind.
Not even breathing, only held breath.
Andrew Han squinted, tilting his head as he examined the two shattered craters, carefully recalling the strange events that had just unfolded.
These days, he'd carried out many missions.
He had slain many Specters and demons, and had come to understand much about their habits… Demons do not fear sunlight, but Specters dread it to the extreme!
Once exposed to direct, gentle sunlight—
Unless it is winter sunlight, even General‑class Specters will suffer serious injuries, and Sect‑class Specters will be slowed.
It's like a mortal facing a volcano.
This is a fear from the deepest part of life itself—a crushing dread, an instinctive terror no external condition can conceal.
Therefore—
Specters would never willingly expose their ghostly bodies to sunlight.
Yet just now, within their awareness, these three crimson Specters were below, about ten meters from the rooftop. Normally, they would wait for the clouds to fully cover the sun and for the light to fade before surging forth and phasing through the walls.
After all, their intelligence is complete—they understand fear.
But the problem is—
The moment the shadow spread, the Specters immediately erupted?
Such a change was completely beyond Andrew Han's expectations—and it was this momentary lapse that led to Aunt Lin's injury.
So how did they dare?
Or rather, how could they instantly confirm the spread of the shadow? Someone must have tipped them off.
No.
It was a Specter.
A Specter was relaying information to them.
...
"Hm?"
"Mr. Chu, are you alright?"
One of the Martial Artists, a burly man with a scarred cheek and thick brows, quickly strode to Changfu Chu's side, his face changing as he felt Changfu Chu's forehead.
Huff.
Changfu Chu looked like a drowning man, his face flushed as he struggled to breathe.
Fortunately, he was seated in a wheelchair; otherwise, he would have collapsed to the ground, curled up in agony. Even with a luxurious wheelchair, Changfu Chu suffered greatly.
He was already old, with many ailments.
More importantly—
Just now, a faint ghostly light struck his head, throwing his thoughts and awareness into chaos and leaving him gasping for breath.
"Quick!"
"Quick, pat Old Chu's back!"
The thick-browed Martial Artist with a scar on his face tugged at the frozen Culver Chu, clearly knowledgeable in medical techniques.
"Wh-what?" Culver Chu stammered, dazed.
His temperament was truly lacking.
Besides, he was only ever good at spending money; Culver Chu had never seen a Specter before, nor witnessed the incredible power of martial practitioners with his own eyes.
Until now.
Culver Chu was still somewhat dazed, his mind stuck as if frozen.
The thick-browed Martial Artist in a practical vest sighed and explained gently, "Specters can confuse the mind and exert intense mental pressure on ordinary people. Try patting Old Chu's back in rhythm with his breathing—it might help him recover."
"Okay," Culver replied hastily.
"Good. Keep patting, and call a doctor here as soon as possible. Don't let the situation get any worse," the thick-browed Martial Artist urged.
With that,
he stepped toward May Lin, who was sitting on the ground, clearly intending to check her injuries.
Just then—"Wait."
Andrew Han flexed his dust- and debris-covered wrists, his gaze calm as a mirror lake, and spoke quietly.
"What's wrong?" The Martial Artist paused, confused.
Hmm?
The scar-faced, thick-browed Martial Artist also turned to look at Andrew Han in confusion, but continued walking toward May Lin.
In an instant—BOOM!!!
Andrew Han stepped forward with his left foot, cracking the ground beneath him with a surge of power, his presence like a beast breaking free of its cage. In a blur, he appeared beside the thick-browed Martial Artist, his hand clamping down on the man's shoulder.
"Hey."
"Did I say you could move?"