Logan Sullivan had one hand in his pocket, his shoulder naturally slanted to one side. Without even trying to act slick, he already had the air of a seasoned rascal. He let out a perfunctory grunt: “Oh wow, I’m so scared.”

Soulwarden strode over and yanked Logan Sullivan behind him, holding the Soulcleaver horizontally in front. The protective intent in this gesture was so obvious that Logan Sullivan couldn’t help but glance at him in surprise.

Ever since this bizarre Masked Wraith appeared, Soulwarden had been acting out of character in many ways.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. Blocked by Soulwarden, Logan Sullivan fumbled in his pocket as he spoke: “Judging by your reaction, it seems the legendary Terra-Spike really is afraid of fire… No, the meaning of Terra-Spike is ‘suppression’, to seal all the souls it can collect inside. I suspect it’s actually afraid of anything that flows—water, fire, maybe even strong wind. It’s just that the wind, water, and fire in the human world are too weak, right?”

The enormous, frightening eyes on Masked Wraith’s mask swiveled, staring straight at Logan Sullivan’s face. He spoke slowly: “Master, excessive cleverness leads to harm. After all these years, it seems you’ve never learned your lesson.”

Soulwarden said coldly, “If you so much as touch a hair on his head, I’ll make you regret crawling out of ‘that place’.”

Masked Wraith burst out laughing: “You?”

Soulwarden waited for him to finish laughing, then said evenly, “You’re welcome to try.”

The features on Masked Wraith’s mask twitched, and his figure suddenly shot up like a giant bat, spreading wide wings as he swooped down, clashing once again with the blade of the Soulcleaver.

At the same time, Logan Sullivan suddenly ran off in another direction. The Netherbeast lurking beneath the ground surged up, but he took them down one by one with his gun as he passed.

Masked Wraith’s eyes flashed. He took a solid blow from Soulwarden’s blade to his back, the wound a foot long and spraying black blood high into the air, but he didn’t care, recklessly chasing after Logan Sullivan.

The density of Netherbeast on the ground soared, reaching the level of a train station waiting room during the Spring Festival rush. Logan Sullivan swept his leg out, landing squarely on a Netherbeast’s face with a dull thud—who knows if his leg hurt.

The Netherbeast toppled backward from his kick. Logan Sullivan stepped onto its shoulder, and at some point, a long whip had appeared in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he lashed it toward Masked Wraith’s face.

For some reason, Soulwarden never dared to remove Masked Wraith’s mask. Seeing Logan Sullivan suddenly pull this move, he was almost startled into instinctively using his scabbard to block the whip.

…Luckily, his reason held. The scabbard had only lifted about ten centimeters before he restrained himself.

But Masked Wraith, though unafraid of guns, seemed quite wary of the long whip. In an instant, he darted back seven or eight meters, retreating beyond the whip’s range.

Logan Sullivan suddenly smiled silently.

Seeing this expression, Masked Wraith immediately sensed something was wrong. He whipped his head around, but it was already too late—a thunderous crash sounded as a bolt of lightning split the gloomy sky, slashing down from the heavens and engulfing all the Netherbeast clustered beneath the Terra-Spike in a blaze of electricity, instantly roasting them into a batch of charred sparrows, each one turning into a natural fireball.

With a boom, the heavenly fire ignited the entire Terra-Spike.

No one had time to stop it.

Logan Sullivan opened his hand, and a Stormcaller Sigil crumbled to dust in his palm.

Great traitors, great evildoers, the defiled, the gravest sinners—all are fated for divine retribution. Netherbeast were born of filth; summoning lightning here was twice as effective.

As if he still hadn’t vented enough, Logan Sullivan brushed the paper dust from his hands and said, with infuriating smugness, “The moral of this story: don’t act cool, or you’ll get struck by lightning.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, the Terra-Spike began to shrink and narrow like a melting glacier. The fire from the lightning soared a hundred meters high, shooting into the sky and echoing with distant thunder. At the base of the Terra-Spike, a ring of fire formed a swirling vortex, blazing fiercely.

Countless blurred human faces flashed in the firelight, vanishing in an instant—who knows where the heavenly fire sent them. From deep within the earth came a tremor like a heartbeat, as if the very spirits of the mountains and rivers had been disturbed.

Masked Wraith lunged at Logan Sullivan, but fortunately, Soulwarden seemed not at all concerned about the “sacred artifact” being destroyed. The Soulcleaver swept across, its heavy back slamming down with a clang against the axe Masked Wraith had raised.

But it turned out Masked Wraith wasn’t really after Logan Sullivan. Blocked by Soulwarden, he simply shifted his weight, a strange smile appearing on his mask. He quickly whispered in Soulwarden’s ear, “He ruined my plans—are you happy? Let me tell you, what he’s guessed is far more than what he’s said in front of you.”

Soulwarden flicked his wrist, the blade vibrating violently as he sliced off one of Masked Wraith’s wrists. Yet Masked Wraith acted as if he’d only lost a sleeve, completely unfazed. Dragging his one arm, he retreated dozens of meters in the blink of an eye, the surviving Netherbeast scrambling after him.

The blood-soaked hem of Masked Wraith’s robe fluttered in the air. With a sharp whistle, he left behind a final remark: “You’d better take care of yourself!”

That group vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.

Firelight flickered across Logan Sullivan’s face. Soulwarden looked at his profile, a sudden panic rising in his chest. What did Masked Wraith mean—“he’s guessed more than he’s said”?

What exactly had he figured out?

Just then, Logan Sullivan turned to Soulwarden and said, “Lend me your sleeve to block the light for a moment, sir.”

The familiar gray mist rose up. Logan Sullivan lowered his head and released Zach Warren, pulling out a crumpled Spirit Tracker Charm: “Call out to him. I’ll see if I can summon Zane Shaw’s soul.”

Zach Warren’s eyes widened.

Logan Sullivan urged, “Hurry, before the fire burns out!”

Zach Warren floated upward, calling out something in the direction of the Terra-Spike that Logan Sullivan couldn’t understand. The paper talisman in his hand immediately disintegrated, turning into a fine breeze that gently carried Zach Warren’s words into the blazing Terra-Spike. Zach Warren couldn’t leave the gray mist, but she stood as close to the edge as possible.

On the girl’s face, usually so lacking in joy or sorrow, there appeared for a moment an expression that truly defined “longing with all one’s heart.”

The Terra-Spike grew smaller and the fire dimmer, and the light in Zach Warren’s eyes faded with it. But just as the heavenly fire was about to burn out, a man’s shadowy figure suddenly appeared in the flames, gazing from afar in their direction.

From Zach Warren’s expression, it was clear who he was.

Logan Sullivan pulled out a Soulbound Order, flicking it upright in midair with two fingers. He turned to Zach Warren and said, “Go talk to him. If he’s willing, he can walk to the Soulbound Order himself.”

But the process was almost skipped—Zane Shaw froze the moment he saw Zach Warren, and before he knew it, he’d walked out of the fire and into the Soulbound Order. Both their figures flickered and vanished on the spot. Then, the Soulbound Order automatically merged into Logan Sullivan’s Mirrorface Dial.

No one knew how long it took for the fire to finally die down, leaving only a ruined altar of broken bricks and tiles. The original Terra-Spike was nowhere to be seen.

Only then did Logan Sullivan slowly walk over, scuffing at the ground where the Terra-Spike had vanished. He found a small octagonal stone, thick at the top and tapered at the bottom like a wedge. Squatting down, he pried it from the earth and tossed it to Soulwarden from a distance: “Your sacred artifact. Here.”

Soulwarden caught it and examined the unremarkable little stone closely. Then he held it to his ear and listened for a moment, hearing faint wailing from within. The sound was extremely weak, not shrill, but it lingered in the heart, making one feel inexplicably sad.

Zach Warren’s hopeful voice came from the dial face: “Are they… are they all freed now?”

“No,” said Soulwarden. “They’re still there. The essence of the mountains and rivers probably can’t be burned away. When the master said it was ‘afraid of things that flow’, he probably meant the souls and powers from the human world that the Terra-Spike absorbed and fixed around itself. Only those were burned away. This is the true form of the Terra-Spike.”

Logan Sullivan laughed: “Yeah, I was just making a casual guess. Who knew that guy would fall for it so easily? I’ve noticed that people who like to wear masks usually aren’t that smart.”

Soulwarden: “…”

“Ah,” Logan Sullivan added, trying to cover it up, “of course, sir, I wasn’t talking about you.”

Soulwarden knew that his earlier evasions had annoyed him. This fearless scoundrel was deliberately making veiled jabs to tease him.