Scrape, scrape—the ominous sound of knives being sharpened echoed from outside.
"What are they planning to do?"
Rachel Lan let out a soft chuckle.
"Obviously, they're going to kill you, cook you, and eat you."
I gasped.
"Hey, look at this, look at this, old man. I've told you before, when you catch ghost slaves, pick the ones that can't move well—just eat those right away. Even sharpening a knife, you're so clumsy."
The more I listened, the more a chilling terror crept over me.
"Are those two ghosts really that powerful?"
"They must be wraiths. And there are two of them."
"Is there anything else we can do?"
I managed to ask, my voice trembling.
"No."
Rachel Lan replied decisively. I let out another gasp, finally understanding why she claimed to lack talent—on that day, even Maowang from the Mount Mason Order’s spirit-commanding ritual was stronger than her.
"Don’t you have any spells to control ghosts?"
"None."
Why was her answer so blunt? Even so, I couldn’t help but cling to a shred of hope.
"No means no."
Rachel Lan spoke, and suddenly, someone lifted the coffin lid. I squeezed my eyes shut, panic surging through me.
"Passed out from suffocation," croaked the old ghost’s voice. Instantly, I was hoisted up by the ghosts, my body bound tightly to a wooden stake.
"Old man, how do you plan to eat him later?"