"Stanley."
Leonard Tang looked devastated, staring at Stanley Tang's wide-open eyes—he was already dead. Some members of the Tang Clan nearby began to cry.
"No crying."
Leonard Tang shouted, and the dozen or so clan members all stared at him. He pulled out the arrow lodged in Stanley's forehead—blood spurted instantly. Leonard stuffed the wound with a piece of fur, then took a small obsidian core emitting dark essence and forced it into Stanley's mouth.
"Stanley's only wounded, it's nothing serious. You, make a stretcher and take him back to recover immediately."
"But Elder Tang, he's clearly..."
Someone behind tried to speak, but was so shocked they couldn't finish.
"See? Stanley is just injured."
Stanley's lifeless eyes suddenly moved, and his mouth began to chew on something, the sight horrifying.
The clan members immediately started preparing, while Leonard Tang's face turned ashen as he sighed.
It's not time yet. Sigh, you haven't given me an heir for the Tang family—how can you die like this, right, Stanley?
Stanley's eyes had turned white, staring at Leonard Tang. Blood began to flow from his mouth as he chewed his own lips, biting off flesh and swallowing it.
Don't eat yourself!
Leonard Tang said, stuffing a stick into Stanley's mouth to keep him from biting himself, then tied it securely with a rope.
Open the gate.
With a shout, the gate at the central left pass opened, soldiers holding torches crowded the ramparts. Joseph Qiao led the way with a smile. They needed a day's rest before continuing. As he entered, Joseph Qiao saw a man directing others—a bit older, striking and spirited. He was King Grant's second son, Simon Grant.
In terms of talent, Simon Grant far surpassed Edward Grant. King Grant entrusted him with defending three key passes near the north. The northern tribes suffered heavy losses from traps and a stampede attack—all orchestrated by Simon.
Lucille, Joseph, you’re back.
Simon Grant wore a gentle smile. Joseph Qiao didn’t know him well, having only met a few times in childhood. Lucille Xing was more familiar; Sophie Grant often took her along on various errands.
Sophie should be back as well.
Lucille asked, and Simon Grant nodded.
Big sister arrived at the central pass early this morning. We gained a lot this time. Big brother can't wait—sigh, I couldn't hold him back.
Lucille burst out laughing.
That idiot who only thinks about charging into battle is bound to suffer someday.
Joseph Qiao was startled—he’d just mentioned Edward Grant in front of the Grant family. But Simon didn’t mind and laughed along with Lucille.
Since ancient times, succession has followed age. As the eldest son, Edward Grant must inherit the family, while Simon can only assist him.
Joseph Qiao had once discussed this with King Grant. Although the king wished otherwise, he couldn’t defy tradition.
The enemy doesn’t seem as weak as the northern tribes.
Based on what Joseph Qiao had seen these days, Simon Grant knew that these minor attacks wouldn't achieve much.
See, Joseph, here’s the movement of the Yingdi army. If you’re right, their actions these past days make sense.
Simon Grant pointed to a leather map marked with black lines—the routes of the Yingdi army. Joseph Qiao instantly grew alert; all the routes circled a particular area.
It was a mountain range directly opposite the pass, steep and rugged, flanked by a forest, with a lake in front and a broad road to the left, leading to a level woodland.
Are they planning to set up a base here?
Joseph Qiao was startled; Simon Grant nodded.
These past days, the Yingdi army's routes all circled that mountainside—clearing roads, removing obstacles. If they set up a base there, they could attack our pass anytime. I told my father long ago to establish a base there, but it would take thousands of people and massive effort. Now, if the enemy builds a base and links it to Yingdi, we’ll be on the defensive.
Simon pointed north, then drew a straight line to the river; Joseph Qiao understood immediately.
That fishing spot isn’t far from the mountainside. If they clear a route, Yingdi can advance directly and have ample supplies.
Simon Grant immediately stood up.
Joseph, go yourself—ask Sophie to come discuss. We need to strike first. This winter battle must be won; only then can we build a base on the mountainside and use our stored food to supply the troops for over a year.
Joseph nodded and left. He hadn’t expected King Grant to be so farsighted, having stockpiled food for war since five years ago.
Two days later, at the Tang Clan’s camp, crowds gathered at the village entrance. Leonard Tang led a group carrying a stretcher; Stanley Tang’s face was black-green. Many had heard he was injured, but those responsible for his transport knew he was beyond saving.
Since yesterday, they could smell the stench coming from Stanley Tang, but Leonard Tang ordered them not to mention his condition.
Stanley was settled in a large house. Leonard immediately instructed those who brought him to follow into the forest to search for medicine.
Although tired, they could only follow Leonard Tang into the forest.
Soon after entering, Leonard told them to rest, then casually described some medicinal herbs for them to remember before leaving. The forest grew colder, with wailing sounds and streams of dark mist entering their bodies. The group walked stiffly deeper into the woods, eyes vacant.
What do we do? Stanley is already dead.
Leonard Tang watched as ghosts appeared out of nowhere, accompanied by black mist.
Won’t this arouse suspicion?
The ghosts watched as the group vanished; they’d been possessed and would keep walking until they died, at which point the ghosts would leave their bodies.
Don’t worry, I’ve told the clan they’re gathering herbs in the mountains. It’s winter—soon I’ll bring out some medicine. For now, get Stanley over here, or he’ll look awful after a few days.
Night had fallen. Leonard Tang waited anxiously as a figure approached, carrying something.
Will this house be a problem?
Leonard asked. The ghost replied, eyes filled with mirth.
Relax, ordinary people can’t enter here. Anyone who tries will be bewitched and lose their way.
After placing Stanley on the bed, Leonard pinched his nose—the corpse was swollen, stinking, and oozing fluids.
What should we do?
Leonard asked, and the ghost nodded.
There is a way. The soul is still possessed by the ghost and hasn't left the body. You must use your own life to revive him.
Leonard gasped, his face grim as he looked at the ghost.
What, you can’t bear it? You still have ten years left—half is enough. Let him live five more years, have a child, and it’ll benefit you.
Leonard nodded and sighed. The ghost pulled out a palm-sized skull, like a child’s, which glowed green and floated over Leonard.
Come, put your hand into this soul-devouring mouth.
The skull’s mouth opened wide. Leonard reluctantly put his hand in, eyes widening as his body trembled violently. Cold air poured out, and ice shards formed around him.
After a while, the ghost pressed the skull, signaling Leonard to withdraw his hand. He collapsed, shivering, tears, snot, and saliva streaming, his body convulsing uncontrollably.
Can’t you use someone else’s life instead?
The ghost shook its head.
We’ve failed many times before—only a blood relative’s life will work. If we miss the window, the soul will leave the body. I’m not sure, but some force will guide the soul to the afterlife. Once it leaves, revival is impossible. There’s one drawback: after resurrection, he’ll fear sunlight for a while.
Hurry up—stop talking. Sigh.
The ghost crouched, hands clasped, muttering a string of harsh, eerie words. The room filled with a chilling, terrifying sound.
From the green skull, milky white liquid dripped onto Stanley’s body. Soon, Stanley’s eyes opened; a dark mist shot out from him and entered the ghost’s body.