Now, Evan Chu—currently going by the alias Lin Feng—strode through Grimchart City, his entire body shrouded in thick ghost-qi. Not a single soul suspected he was human. His aura radiated such overwhelming power that every Ghost Clan cultivator he passed instinctively kept their distance, shrinking away in awe and fear. In this city, he was the very picture of a mysterious, high-level expert.
The streets were packed with Ghost Clan cultivators, all surging toward the same destination. Lin Feng didn’t need to ask where the City Lord’s Mansion was—he simply followed the crowd. Today was the last day for registration, and even ghosts from the farthest reaches of the Netherworld had rushed here, desperate for a shot at glory.
It didn’t take long before Lin Feng, swept along by the crowd, arrived before a sprawling mansion that rivaled the Frostbane Sect’s compound in sheer scale. Dozens of Ghost Clan guards stood sentinel outside. Among them were two elderly ghosts whose faces were little more than sheets of skin stretched over bone—grotesque masks that made them look downright sinister, a living testament to the city’s eerie power.
Lin Feng spotted several tables set up outside the mansion, each manned by a clerk busy recording names. Without hesitation, he squeezed into the throng and lined up, waiting his turn to register for the trial.
Suddenly, two familiar voices called out—Logan Liu and Barry Shao, the Ghost Clan loose cultivators Lin Feng had spared in the tavern a few days ago. The pair squeezed over and said, “Bro, you’re really signing up? This trial is seriously dangerous! Why not just watch the fun with us instead?”
Lin Feng grinned, “I just want to give it a shot. If I fail, I won’t regret it. You two don’t need to worry—go ahead and enjoy the show!”
Over the past few days, Lin Feng had absorbed a massive amount of ghost-qi and looted nearly ten thousand Netherstones—a jaw-dropping sum in the Netherworld. Just the thought made him feel even more confident.
Seeing Lin Feng’s determination, Logan and Barry didn’t push further. “Well, if you’re set on this, just be careful. Word is, there are Saint Martial seventh-layer experts competing this time. If you get in over your head, don’t hesitate to bail early!”
“Thanks for the advice, brothers—I appreciate it! Here, take these Netherstones and have a drink on me!” Lin Feng said, pulling several hundred Netherstones from his storage ring and handing them over with a friendly smile.
Netherstones in hand—what a windfall! Logan and Barry’s faces lit up. “Thanks, bro! We believe you’ll make it as an elite disciple. Just don’t forget us when you’re famous!”
Lin Feng nodded and fell silent, waiting patiently. Time trickled by, and soon it was his turn. The registrar before him was an elderly Ghost Clan member—thin, almost human-looking, but radiating a hidden, intimidating power. Lin Feng’s instincts screamed: this old ghost was no ordinary figure.
"What's your name?" the old registrar asked, his tone both bored and sharp, sizing Lin Feng up with a single glance.
"Lin Feng!" Lin Feng replied immediately, handing over the hundred-Netherstone registration fee without hesitation.
The old man quickly wrote Lin Feng’s name onto a heavy, black wooden token. "This is your token—it bears your number and name. Guard it well! Lose it and there’s no replacement. Once registration ends, you’ll go straight to the elimination round. For now, wait at the designated area. I’ve got high hopes for you, young man!"
Lin Feng took the token and examined it. He sensed faint energy pulsing through the wood. Probing with his divine sense, he found his name and the number 3781 inscribed inside. The token was shockingly heavy—like a slab of iron despite its small size. What kind of material was this?
"Understood. Thank you, sir!" Lin Feng replied politely. He knew better than anyone how vital it was to build good relationships in a place like this—whether with terrifying powerhouses or with seemingly minor Ghost Clan cultivators. That was why he’d treated Logan and Barry like brothers, even though their strength was far beneath his own.
In the Netherworld, there was no such thing as day or night. Time was measured by weather: thick morning fog, clear midday skies, and the nighttime chorus of Nether-insects. When the insects fell silent, morning would come again. Lin Feng had pieced together this strange routine after several days in this world.
Lin Feng left the registration area and headed to the designated gathering spot, where thousands of candidates had already assembled. Faces ranged from bizarre to downright monstrous—hideous Ghost Clan features everywhere. Fewer than a hundred looked even remotely human.
The wait dragged on. Ghost Clan cultivators gossiped nonstop about the City Lord’s Mansion recruiting elite disciples, while Lin Feng listened quietly. One rumor in particular caught his attention.
Elite disciples had the chance to enter Blackspirit City and become Blackspirit Guards—a privilege reserved for the Ghost Clan’s highest tier. Ordinary ghosts weren’t even allowed in, and the entry fee was sky-high, enough to crush any common cultivator’s dreams.
Just then, a booming voice thundered from above: “My excellent Ghost Clan citizens, welcome to Grimchart City’s elite disciple selection! I am your contest commander, and I hope each of you will show your very best in the rounds ahead!”
“To be a true elite, you must stand out in both strength and wits. The rewards are generous, and those who truly excel may receive special prizes from the City Lord. I’m sure you all know what I mean, so I won’t say more. Now, please enter the Teleportation Gate and head to the contest site!”
The crowd erupted. Some ghosts were here for the pay, some dreamed of entering Blackspirit City, and others had their eyes on the City Lord’s legendary Netherghost Violet Orchid.
Lin Feng’s heart skipped a beat. So many people entering the Teleportation Gate—how long would that take? He couldn’t help but wonder: were Netherworld gates anything like the ones in the Azure Tide Ruins?
Suddenly, a purple light flashed across the sky, followed by a massive surge of energy. A gigantic black vortex formed overhead—like a spatial black hole, but pulsing with wild, stable power.
“Is that the Teleportation Gate?” Lin Feng wondered, stunned. The black vortex spanned dozens of meters—big enough to send hundreds at a time. The Netherworld’s constructs were truly extraordinary!
The first group in line rose into the air and flew straight into the vortex, quickly thinning out the crowd. After just a few minutes, it was Lin Feng’s turn, and the entire transfer of thousands was finished in less than half an hour.
Lin Feng emerged in a vast, endless desert—the Land of the Undead. All the contestants who’d just been teleported were scattered here. The contest commander’s voice rang out once more from the sky.
“This is the Land of the Undead—extremely perilous. Since we seek true elites, there must be ruthless elimination. Each of you has a wooden token with your name and info, but that data can be wiped at any time.
Survive here and plunder others’ tokens. Whoever collects the most qualifies for the next round—only one hundred slots. There are over ten thousand of you, so you’ll need at least a hundred tokens to advance. Whether you rob, deceive, or kill is up to you!
There’s also a Teleportation Gate in the Land of the Undead; once you enter it, you’ll be scattered to different locations again. The trial lasts half a month. Good luck to all—you’ll need it!