"Of course I can, I can hand everything over to you, but only if you are able to comprehend it, Earthly Soul. Given your current state, it's unlikely you'll achieve that in a short time."
I stood up and shook my head.
"Time will make everything clear to you, Wraithlord."
I stared coldly. The Wraithlord smiled and said,
"Then I'll wait and see."
The scene began to move again. Basil Bertram quickly returned to the entrance of Abyssal Hell, crouching next to the marker left by John Chou. There was a spot about three meters wide—this was the exit of Abyssal Hell.
I watched Basil Bertram release numerous black tendrils, seemingly studying something. I now have a certain understanding of his power—it truly fits the phrase 'mirage,' able to bewilder all of an enemy's senses.
But it seems Basil Bertram is more interested in this ghost array, showing no desire to hone his own power. At this three-meter stretch, black tendrils had already covered much of the ground, and Basil Bertram continued to watch silently.
This went on for several days: Basil Bertram drinking with the ghost wardens, then, once they were drunk, coming over here to continue his research.
I don't know what Basil Bertram is thinking, but these past few days, his expression often shifts unpredictably. Occasionally, he mutters to himself, making him even harder to read.
I watched Lord Shenyan, surprised by his actions. He wandered the pit, picking up sharp stones, but most didn't satisfy him and he tossed them aside. Finally, beneath some skeletons, Lord Shenyan found a reddish stone shaped like a dagger, its edge sharp and fitting perfectly in his hand.
Lord Shenyan moved to the center and sat cross-legged, cradling the Prism Staff he'd borrowed from a ghost warden. With deliberate care, he began to pull out the black, bent spikes embedded in the staff, which seemed impossibly hard.
Next, I saw Lord Shenyan use the dagger-like stone to scrape across the surface of the Prism Staff. My eyes widened in astonishment; Lord Shenyan's expression was grave and focused.
A shrill, grating sound echoed as the stone rasped against the Prism Staff. Lord Shenyan worked with relentless effort, moving the stone bit by bit.
What is he planning to do?
Heh, with your level of understanding, I doubt you'll grasp my techniques anytime soon.
I shot a disgruntled look at the Wraithlord. He simply laughed.
Think about it—how does his power truly come about?
As soon as the Wraithlord spoke, realization struck me—sin, the fuel for Hellfire. I know little of Lord Shenyan's past, only that he and John Chou were friends from the same era, and that Lord Shenyan personally killed John Chou.
Perhaps this is the root of Lord Shenyan's power. Lost in thought, I suddenly widened my eyes and looked at him. His face contorted, sweat beading on his brow, murderous intent burning in his eyes as he glared at the Prism Staff, gripping the sharp stone with increasing force.
He struck again and again, as if locked in battle with some unseen foe, or perhaps venting a deep inner turmoil. The sight was haunting. I stepped closer and saw Lord Shenyan's face twisted further, his grip tightening on the stone, sparks scattering.
The ghost wardens' weapons were solid, and the stone shard was equally resilient. Neither yielded under the friction—it was as if this struggle mirrored Lord Shenyan's own internal state, leaving me awed.
Lord Shenyan seemed lost in memories from ages past—memories too agonizing to revisit. Gradually, he appeared to sink into his recollections, his eyes reddening, his features vacant and contorted.
For days on end, Lord Shenyan persisted, scraping the Prism Staff with the stone, nearly sleepless. To my amazement, the holes that once held spikes on the staff had been worn smooth.
Yet Lord Shenyan refused to stop, continuing his relentless work. Throughout these days, his face showed only anguish or torment, as if some invisible burden crushed him, leaving him gasping for breath.
Is it guilt?
Stunned, I finally understood the weight Lord Shenyan bore. Only guilt could torment someone so righteous. Perhaps it was because he killed John Chou, a blameless soul. After learning the truth, that guilt became his burden—the very fuel for Hellfire. Now I grasp the origin of Lord Shenyan's power.
You've finally understood, Earth Soul. Indeed, his power is guilt. To erase guilt, you must confront its source.
I nodded quickly and said:
Only through atonement—by letting John Chou kill him—could Lord Shenyan find eternal peace. But John Chou never did, so Lord Shenyan had only one path: Hellfire. Only his own guilt could endlessly feed Hellfire.
For a week, Lord Shenyan scraped at the Prism Staff with the stone. On the last day, I finally understood—he was carving something. The head of the staff was taking on a human form.
The scene shifted again. Soon, the Wraithlord and I found ourselves in a vast, pitch-black swamp. Yvonne May and Mona Ouyang, together, discovered a cave and entered it.
As soon as they entered, Mona Ouyang lay down on Yvonne May's lap and drifted into deep sleep. I saw nothing more, and Yvonne May seemed content to remain still.
Time is truly like a shackle—a primal force. The ability to glimpse one's own future, and others', means that even if things change, what you see will change with them. Perhaps she gave up hope for this world long ago.
As I spoke, the Wraithlord laughed.
She's just a fragile girl. Most people never realize—they're always mourning what they've lost, never considering what remains or what they've gained. Heh.
I glanced at the Wraithlord. In our short time together, he struck me as more of a sage—wise, perceptive, knowledgeable. Still, I smiled and shook my head.
What's wrong, Earth Soul? When you truly grasp the nature of this world, you may find it unbearably tedious. Everything you see now is merely a fragment of what you have yet to comprehend.
I shook my head.
Dull or not, it doesn't matter. Let's go meet the last Ghost Sovereign.
Now only Redmond remains. As for Yvonne May and Mona Ouyang, there's little left to observe—their powers are familiar to me. Mona Ouyang's abilities are unique, but in the real world, without a physical vessel, they're fragile.
Yvonne May's spirit may have died long ago. She can see her future, knows what awaits her, so she chooses compromise—perhaps it's easier that way. Even when she sees, she says nothing, embracing silence.
Redmond's power is called Calamity—a fascinating force. He may become your greatest adversary, for even nature cannot resist Calamity.
I swallowed, glancing at the Wraithlord, who smiled and raised a finger. At that moment, I saw Yvonne May's eyes seem to look our way, but the scene shifted and we arrived at Redmond's domain. My heart skipped a beat.
I swallowed, glancing at the Wraithlord, who smiled and raised a finger. At that moment, I saw Yvonne May's eyes seem to look our way, but the scene shifted and we arrived at Redmond's domain. My heart skipped a beat.
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Now only Redmond is left. As for Yvonne May and Mona Ouyang, there's not much to see—their powers are clear to me. Mona Ouyang's ability is unique, but without a physical vessel in the real world, it's fragile.
Yvonne May's heart may have died long ago. She can see her own future, knows what will happen, so she chooses to compromise—maybe it's easier that way. Even when she sees it, she says nothing, choosing only silence.
Redmond's power is called Calamity—an interesting power. He might be your greatest adversary, because even nature can't oppose Calamity.
I swallowed nervously and looked at the Wraithlord, who smiled and raised a finger. At that moment, I saw Yvonne May's eyes seem to look our way, but the scene shifted and we arrived at Redmond's location. I was startled.