I watched the scene unfold in silence. Lord Shenyan raced through the streets of Swordspire City, wielding the Sinblade to cut down the doppelgeists. Low-level ghosts kept closing in on him.
"Open your ghost domains. Let them go in first."
Lord Shenyan shouted, but Pei Min, having dealt with his own doppelgeist, rushed up to him.
"It won't work. We have to destroy the source of the spell, or anyone who’s been exposed to that purple light will keep getting duplicated, no matter where they are."
More and more low-level ghosts gathered around Lord Shenyan, seeking protection. I looked at their terrified faces, then at their grim expressions, and finally at Xu Fu, who sat atop the sword character, grinning with satisfaction.
Xu Fu’s scheme had succeeded. This place, once a paradise, turned into a living hell in an instant. Everyone was forced to fend for themselves, unable to spare any attention for others. The doppelgeists regenerated faster and faster after being destroyed—almost in the blink of an eye.
Pei Min left Lord Shenyan’s side. The sky echoed with creaks as the Sheqing Ghosts retreated into their own ghost domains. It was the best option—the fierce fighting had spread to every corner of Swordspire City.
With a sweeping motion, Lord Shenyan cut down a swath of doppelgeists with the Sinblade, but it was futile. The purple mist released by the destroyed doppelgeists instantly reformed into new shapes.
No matter how many were killed, they couldn’t be truly destroyed—it was like battling shadows that would never fade.
Lord Shenyan’s face was grim. He didn’t stop; he struck as quickly as possible, destroying the low-level doppelgeists the moment they appeared. Crimson light kept bursting from his sword.
"I won!"
Xu Fu stood up, and with a crisp clang, thrust Zhanlu into the carved sculpture beneath the sword. A cracking sound echoed as the Sin Mark on the sword fractured. He burst out laughing.
"Where there is light, there must be shadow. No matter how intense your own radiance, it can never reach every corner of the world. And under your illumination, the shadow only grows larger and larger. How will you bear it?"
Time no longer allowed me to hesitate. I immediately unleashed a torrent of ghost threads, stretching toward that hideous, foul place opposite. The stench was overwhelming—I couldn't calm myself at all. My mind was gripped by fear, desperate to escape. This was the power of Quentin Kue.
Gradually, the stench faded, but a wave of chilling malice swept in. I felt a surge of murderous intent, so heavy it terrified me. Coexistence was out of the question. The moment my ghost threads touched it, they collapsed.
I kept trying to enter Quentin Kue's power, failing again and again. Suddenly, I felt something tug at me—dazed, I stared wide-eyed.
Across that sickly yellow expanse, a transformation took place. It was like a battlefield, littered with vanishing corpses—all ghosts. Ash drifted in the air, and sobbing echoed all around.
Resting long atop Zhongnan, shunning battle's call; demons and monsters run rampant, sprawled across the land. The treasured sword gleams with icy brilliance; its light startles ghosts and gods alike.
A string of red words appeared in the sky—poetry. I swallowed hard. In the center of the battlefield before me stood a man: Quentin Kue.
With a rush, I drifted toward him.