Logan Sullivan cursed under his breath and shot the leading little ghost in the head. The dead spirit vanished with a hysterical scream, but it had no deterrent effect at all. The surrounding ghosts surged forward, not even glancing at their obliterated companion. For them, fear, caution, and reason had all vanished together. The once-desolate Ghost Street was instantly jammed, and the sheer number of ghosts crawling out from all sorts of bizarre places was enough to trigger anyone’s trypophobia.

Logan Sullivan had come to investigate a mysterious case, never intending to start an all-out brawl, and the bullets in his gun quickly ran out.

Holly Harlow transformed into her true form—a giant python appeared among the ghosts, swallowing four or five spirits in one gulp. But it wasn’t enough. More ghosts quickly wrapped themselves around her, and some even climbed onto her body. One little ghost bit down on her snake form, its fangs sinking into the tough, scaly skin. The giant python shook it off, and her tail, as thick as an adult’s waist, swung heavily, smashing the bold little ghost into pulp midair.

But there were just too many of them. As the old saying goes—“The King of Hell is easy to avoid, but little ghosts are hard to deal with.”

They were like leeches in the jungle, craving flesh and vitality, determined to suck every drop dry.

Four or five little ghosts clung to Holly Harlow, thrown off only to pounce again. One even managed to step right on the python’s vital spot, using its long nails to tear off a bloody scale.

Then a sharp blade wind swept in, and the little ghost clutching the python’s scale had half its head sliced off by a dagger the length of a palm.

...Even more appalling, as it quickly dissipated into the wind, it actually stretched out its neck, trying to lick a taste of fresh blood and flesh.

The knife-wielding Logan Sullivan nearly lost it. “What kind of foodie spirit is this?!”

He grabbed the tip of Holly Harlow’s tail and gave it a gentle tug. “Shrink down, quick!”

As he spoke, he swept his blade in a wide arc, decapitating a row of charging ghosts with a combo worthy of Fruit Ninja. Logan Sullivan quickly pulled his hand back, and in this moment of crisis, he somehow managed to find a two-second gap to take off his coat and clutch it to his chest, displaying a “my head can break, my blood can flow, but my clothes must not get a drop of oil” level of reckless vanity.

Unfortunately, when Holly Harlow remembered why he treasured that coat so much, she couldn’t even force a smile.

She instantly shrank into a tiny snake, no thicker than a finger, and slipped into Logan Sullivan’s sleeve, coiling around his wrist. Logan Sullivan bent down, scooped up the now bedraggled, furball-like Darrin Grant, and with a flick of his hand, tossed out a wind talisman, lighting it with the last bit of Samadhi True Fire he’d been saving in his lighter.

The fierce wind and blazing fire combined, sweeping out a fire dragon. The entire ghost city instantly became the very definition of “wailing ghosts and howling wolves.” Logan Sullivan rubbed the three bloody claw marks on the back of his hand, left by a fierce ghost, and grumbled, “Did I really have to get a bloody disaster this fast? That girl is screwing me over!”

But even as he complained, he didn’t dare waste a second, retreating quickly under the cover of the true fire.

They ran all the way to the city gate, only to suddenly discover that, at some point, the gate had been closed. Logan Sullivan spun around—only to see the starving evil spirits even swallowing the true fire. The little ghosts that did so turned into wingless birdmen, their swollen bellies sending them flying into the sky before they exploded, but this didn’t dampen the appetite of the other evil spirits at all.

They were like moths to a flame, wave after wave charging into the true fire. Their relentless spirit finally defied all logic—the fire dragon was actually gnawed apart by them.

Darrin Grant shrieked, “Meow aow meow aow!” and unconsciously scratched at Logan Sullivan’s hair with his sharp claws. “Crap, what do we do, what do we do?!”

Logan Sullivan said expressionlessly, “What else? We break through.”

As he spoke, he somehow pulled out his phone, snapped a few photos of the bizarre horde of evil spirits, then calmly took out the Soulbind Whip, stuffed the phone back in his pocket, and said, “I’ll use these as my profile picture when we get back.”

Darrin Grant screamed, “Are you crazy, taking pictures at a time like this?! Why not take a group photo with them and add a caption: ‘I was here,’ you lunatic!”

“What’s with the noise?” Logan Sullivan impatiently pushed down the cat’s head, which was yowling in his ear. “This is nothing. My wife’s run off and I’m still fine.”

Darrin Grant: “……”

He didn’t know what had happened, but he suspected Logan Sullivan had been driven mad by William Sherman.

For a moment, Darrin Grant saw on the man’s seemingly calm face the same reckless release as a heartbroken idiot going bungee jumping. He suspected Logan Sullivan was treating this as some kind of extreme stress relief—knowing him for years, this kind of crazy stunt was exactly what he’d do!

The Samadhi True Fire was fading, the fire dragon completely broken into several segments. In the horde of ghosts that looked like a zombie apocalypse set, the first lash of the Soulbind Whip split the air of the ghost city, which had been dead for a thousand years.

Logan Sullivan seemed to feel some unknown power filling the hand holding the whip. At first it was awkward, but then he became rapidly familiar with it… as if it had always been a part of him, as if something was awakening at lightning speed.

Just then, the city gate behind them was smashed open, leaving a human-shaped hole. A figure wrapped entirely in black strode through, head held high, and caught Logan Sullivan’s whip hand. The tip of the Soulbind Whip curled back around Logan Sullivan’s arm, and Holly Harlow, coiled around his wrist, bit down on it.

The newcomer conjured a long blade, and with a single sweep, cleared out half the ghost city like a janitor. The stone bricks beneath their feet trembled and hummed, and countless lost and vengeful spirits were reduced to fragments under his blade.

Then the man wrapped an arm around Logan Sullivan’s waist and, almost dragging him, pulled Logan Sullivan out through the hole in the city gate, away from the chaos of the ghost city.

Once they reached a relatively safe place, Holly Harlow transformed back into human form in delight and surprise, exclaiming, “Soulwarden Lord!”

Her savior, Soulwarden Lord, spoke stiffly, “Why are you here?”

The eerily calm expression on Logan Sullivan’s face finally broke. He let go, exhausted, letting the fat cat Darrin Grant fall to the ground. Then, regardless of the situation, he walked over and hugged the black-clad figure, revered and feared by all, his voice hoarse: “…Come back with me.”

Poor Holly Harlow, just transformed from snake to human and still unsteady on her feet, was so shocked by the scene that she fell right on her butt.

…Turns out, being chased by a million vengeful spirits really wasn’t a big deal.

Chapter 85 Soulbound Lamp …

Holly Harlow pointed at Soulwarden, trembling. “He… he, he, he’s…”

“William Sherman,” said Darrin Grant. For some reason, the fat cat felt a strange sense of superiority. He glanced at the stunned Holly Harlow, deliberately pretended to be calm, and licked his paw, thoughtfully giving the girl time to process her shattered worldview.

William Sherman’s hood fell to his shoulders, revealing the gentle, refined face of Professor Sherman, which seemed oddly out of place in this situation. After a moment, he gently pushed Logan Sullivan away, frowned, and took the hand that had been scratched by the little ghost. His fingers tightened around Logan Sullivan’s wrist, then he opened his palm and made a grasping motion. A thin black thread emerged from Logan Sullivan’s wound, dissipating into the air as soon as it appeared, and the bloody hand quickly healed.

“Let’s leave here first,” William Sherman said as briefly as possible.

Just then, a line of ghost officers hurried over, followed by a panting judge. The ten kings of the underworld were all too dignified to run errands, so all the hard, thankless work fell to the old judge.

He gasped as he directed the ghost officers to repair the city gate and subdue the little ghosts. A scribe beside him wiped sweat as he counted—just how many ghosts of all kinds were left in the city after Soulwarden’s blade had cut through them.

William Sherman and Logan Sullivan ignored them in unison, turning to leave. Holly Harlow and Darrin Grant hurried to catch up, still reeling. The judge wiped his sweat and called after them, “Lord! Immortal! Please wait!”

William Sherman didn’t answer, just turned his head and raised an eyebrow expressionlessly.

“Th-this ghost city, whether guilty or waiting for reincarnation, all have their numbers in and out, L-Lord, you…”

“What?” William Sherman replied in a gentle, calm tone, “Am I not allowed to kill?”

The judge: “……”

William Sherman turned slightly, smiling politely, his hands tucked into his black sleeves, and said with almost humble courtesy, “Lord Judge, though I come from humble origins and am not particularly talented, I’ve never heard of anything that the Soulcleaver cannot cut or slay. If I’ve caused any trouble or inconvenience, I truly apologize.”