It was scorching hot—the massive sphere beneath my feet. I cried out in surprise, but my legs immediately sprang into action, running hard atop the sphere. Even though I couldn't channel ghost energy here, my Ghost Soul was already beyond words.
I raced atop the burning red sphere with Wrathface's visage, running so fast my legs were a blur—just fleeting shadows. I managed to keep my footing as the sphere rolled forward and I ran along with it, mud splashing wildly all around.
Whenever the passageways were blocked, this red-faced sphere would crush right through, opening the way instantly.
But the Wrath Orb seemed to have no destination. It crashed and barreled through these tunnels, sometimes even forging new ones. My heart sank—if these Wrath Orbs kept carving out new routes like this, our chances of finding the passage to the Underworld Court were almost nil.
Smoke began to rise from beneath my feet. Running atop Wrathface's burning red sphere, the heat seared through my legs, growing more intense by the second. I grit my teeth and endured it—my feet were nearly scorched, but they healed quickly.
I was about to collapse, but then, through the haze, I saw something red ahead, drawing closer and closer. Gradually, I made it out—a furious red face, just like Wrathface, embedded in a thick, solid wall.
With a bang, I heard two people shouting. The sphere began to roll in the opposite direction. I yelled in surprise and tumbled into the mud as the sphere rolled right over me, leaving me half-buried.
After a moment, I managed to wriggle my head free from the mud, my arms and legs following. Gasping for breath, I stared at the furious, twisted face of Wrathface, set into the obsidian wall—its eyes blazing red and locked onto me.
"Could it be those two faces just collided and yelled out from the pain?"
"Of course it hurts."
The face before me spoke.
"What exactly are you?"
"I am Wrathface."
I let out an "Oh," immediately catching on.
"Wrathface, Wraithshade, Rotface, and Mr. Wraithshade—there are four spirits like you guarding this place, right?"
"That's right."
Still a short answer. I couldn't help but laugh.
"Then do you know where the passage to the Underworld Court is?"
"I know."
Joy surged through me and I moved closer, but Wrathface suddenly roared—a powerful gust knocked me back into the mud. It took me quite a while to climb back out.
The mud that had almost dried off my body started dripping again.
"If you know, then just tell me—how do I..."
"I can't tell you."
I smiled and walked over, staring at the furious, twisted face—almost three meters tall and two meters wide.
"Why not?"
"Because I can't."
I was left speechless. Asking was pointless, but then an idea struck me.
"Then who can you tell? Who's allowed to know where the passage is?"
As I spoke, a rumbling sound echoed from above. I looked up in shock—another red sphere with a human face was rolling down, with Isabelle Frost standing atop it, her feet smoking as she barreled toward us. I scrambled out of the way.
With a shout, Isabelle Frost didn’t react in time and fell into the black mud, face down and away from me. The red sphere rolled off into the distance.
"Miss Frost, are you alright?"
I hurried over. For a long moment, Isabelle didn’t move, but then a hand emerged from the mud, waving. I couldn’t tell what she wanted.
"Help me up, Ethan Zhang! Are you brain-dead?"
Isabelle’s head popped out of the mud. I rushed over in a panic. Mud covered her face, her fury nearly palpable—her eyes looked ready to ignite.
"Ethan Zhang, if you dare..."
"I swear, Miss Frost, I won't tell anyone."
As soon as I said that, Isabelle nodded. At that moment, the face on the obsidian wall—the one called Wrathface—finally spoke.
"I can tell the Judge."
A jolt ran through me. It felt surreal. Isabelle smirked with a strange expression.
"So, who exactly is the Judge?"
Watching Isabelle Frost’s mocking grin, I couldn’t help but think Wrathface seemed pretty clueless.
“They’re the ten Judges who oversee the Underworld Court, from the First Hall to the Tenth.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is. Do I look like a Judge to you?”
“No.”
Wrathface still replied with just a curt answer. Isabelle giggled, mud dripping from her face, her mischievous expression making her look every bit like a fifteen-year-old girl.
“Why do you think I don’t look like one?”
“You just don’t.”
“Are you just going to repeat yourself? Why do you keep giving the same answer?”
“No reason.”
“So if I ask you why, and you say ‘no reason,’ is that your answer?”
“How would I know why you’re asking about ‘no reason’?”
“Then answer me: why? Why won’t you tell me, or tell someone who looks like a Judge?”
I was lost. With Isabelle and Wrathface volleying questions back and forth, I had no idea what Isabelle was trying to do. But then Wrathface’s furious face puffed up, looking even angrier—his eyes bulged like copper bells, his cheeks swelling as if inflated, and it felt like his eyes might pop out.
“Alright, just tell me—why can’t you tell anyone but the Judge? I really want to know.”
Isabelle batted her eyes, clearly trying to provoke Wrathface.
“Because I can’t.”
“Ah, and why is it that you can’t?”
They were just playing word games—really childish ones at that. I rubbed my forehead, wishing I could get far enough away not to hear this conversation.
“Because I can’t tell, so I can’t tell.”
“So why is it that because you can’t tell, you can’t tell? Why?”