It cast human shadows on the ground, leaving behind astonishingly long black silhouettes. At that moment, Logan Sullivan suddenly stretched out his foot to flick away the black cat trailing at his heels, then took a big step forward. Before he could turn around, the dagger in his hand was already pressed against his own back. A tooth-grinding clash rang out as the beast’s teeth collided with Logan Sullivan’s steel blade. The beast lost several large teeth, and a crack appeared in the steel blade from the impact.

Immediately, Logan Sullivan pivoted on one foot, intending to spin around and give the creature another blow. But the beast’s face suddenly twisted in extreme terror, and its entire ugly body, like a nondescript balloon, was sucked into William Sherman’s palm as if the air had been let out.

Countless bells rang out in the distance at the same time. A two-foot-high layer of black mist rose on the clean streets of the small town. The black cat let out a sharp screech and leapt onto Logan Sullivan’s shoulder. On the ground, hands covered in festering sores stretched outward!

At some point, the beast had climbed onto the roof, and now, like a zombie suddenly appearing behind someone in a movie, it leapt down with a whoosh. Its massive claws clamped down on Carter Shaw’s head, and it opened its mouth to bite. Carter Shaw’s withered hand instantly became as hard as stone, then, with a savage force, jabbed into the beast’s throat. The beast staggered back two or three steps and collapsed to the ground. Before it could even die, countless even more grotesque ghost creatures swarmed over and devoured it, flesh and bone, in an instant.

Countless ghost creatures crawled out from the ground, each more hideous than the last.

William Sherman’s eye twitched. He himself was born from the ghost clan, and harbored a deep-seated hatred for these kin—especially… that they would dare appear before Logan Sullivan.

With a metallic clang, he drew the Soulcleaver. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan Sullivan caught sight of this: “William Sherman, wait, this isn’t—”

But it was already too late. The Soulcleaver extended several meters, sweeping out in a devastating arc. Countless ghost creatures were instantly reduced to ashes under his blade. William Sherman’s expression was icy as he flipped his wrist, bringing the blade down with unstoppable force. The several-feet-thick black mist beneath the town was split apart by a single stroke, scattering completely. The blade then struck the ground, leaving a narrow fissure dozens of meters deep in the earth. Inhuman screams echoed to the sky. The man stared sharply at the crack in the ground: “Come out.”

His movements were lightning-fast and devastatingly destructive. Only now did Logan Sullivan, who had been less than five steps away, finally manage to grab his arm and finish what he’d been trying to say: “This isn’t the Great Seal breaking—I suspect it’s just a mutated Ghostblade Slash. Don’t act rashly!”

Suddenly, sharp laughter rang out, surrounding them from all directions: “That’s right. Too bad your mind and mouth can’t keep up with Lord Soulwarden’s blade.”

The ground split open where William Sherman had struck, cracking apart to both sides. William Sherman yanked Logan Sullivan into his arms, while Carter Shaw and the black cat Darrin Grant landed on the other side. The fissure widened rapidly, as if the earth itself had flipped over. In the blink of an eye, the people on either side could no longer see each other.

William Sherman suddenly let out a muffled groan. The hand tightly holding Logan Sullivan seemed to be forcibly pried open by something, and a mass of black energy, sticky as a spider web, wrapped around his arm.

Chapter 98 Soulbound Lamp …

On Charles Gray’s phone was the last text message sent to him by Carter Shaw, instructing him under no circumstances to come to the villa town, and to make sure to stop anyone else from going there as well.

When Charles Gray wanted to turn back and ask him how exactly he was supposed to achieve this absurdly vague “stop others from going” objective, and to report that Holly Harlow had run off, he found that the other party was already out of service.

Charles Gray was suddenly struck by a sense of utter loneliness, as if everyone else in the world had disappeared and only he remained. He parked his car by the roadside for who knows how long before finally mustering the courage to follow the GPS to the nearest county town, heading straight for the local police station.

From a distance, he saw a large crowd lingering at the entrance of the police station, blocking the intersection completely. Charles Gray honked his horn, but no one paid him any attention. Just as he was about to open the car door, he saw an elderly woman with a head of white hair being helped out of the entrance. She seemed unsteady on her feet, supported on either side by two people, with a young woman in a police uniform occasionally lending a hand from behind. Still, she somehow tripped and stumbled right onto the hood of Charles Gray’s car.

Charles Gray hurriedly got out. The old lady’s relatives, bystanders, and the police all rushed over, helping her up in a flurry of hands.

Suddenly, the old lady began to wail loudly, oblivious to everyone around her.

The crowd grew restless. Charles Gray heard someone mutter angrily, “I really don’t know what the police do all day. They don’t take care of anything, can’t solve any problems. What’s the point of the country paying them?”

Another person whispered, “Exactly. Look how pitiful the old lady is—just one son, the two of them relying on each other. If anything happens, she might as well not go on living.”

The old lady, reminded of her grief, cried even more hysterically.

The young policewoman, who looked about the same age as Charles Gray—probably just recently graduated—was clearly embarrassed as everyone stared at her. Her face flushed red as she stammered, “We have regulations too. It has to be over forty-eight hours before we can…”

Her voice was quickly drowned out by the rising clamor.

“Forty-eight hours? Rules are dead, but people are alive! The person’s alive now, but what if in a couple of days they’re not? If something really happens, it’ll be too late! The body will be frozen stiff and you still won’t care? Hey, girl, tell me—how are you any different from those who rob and murder?”

The young policewoman, hearing this, felt they had a point. But with limited manpower and strict regulations, she knew she couldn’t just ignore the rules. Anxious, her eyes reddened and tears welled up, threatening to spill over.

Another family member reporting a case, a middle-aged man, waved his hand: “Enough, it’s not up to her. Don’t make things hard for her. Miss, let me tell you, my sister was supposed to get off work yesterday, but she never came home. She’s about your age. Put yourself in our shoes—if a young girl like her, usually so well-behaved, suddenly doesn’t come home and can’t be reached, wouldn’t her family worry? If this happened to you, how would your parents feel? I know you have your difficulties. How about this: could you help us talk to your superiors? Please, just help us communicate…”

Seeing this scene, Charles Gray immediately felt overwhelmed. While trying to summon the courage to speak in public, he listened carefully to the people around him. They were all talking at once, their accounts a confusing jumble. Some, without any sense of right or wrong, just shouted, “My so-and-so didn’t come home last night”—anyone who didn’t know better would think this crowd had gathered just to cause trouble.

At that moment, the old lady who had been crying on his car hood suddenly rolled her eyes and fainted on the spot. In that instant, Charles Gray found his courage, pushing aside the people in front of him: “Excuse me, please let me through.”

He pulled out his work ID and keys from his pocket, and in his nervousness, handed his work ID to the old lady’s relatives: “Take my car, get her to the hospital first!”

The relative stared at the little booklet: “Huh?”

Charles Gray realized, “Oh, sorry, wrong one—this is the right one.”

He quickly swapped the car keys and work ID, then handed the work ID to the policewoman beside him: “Comrade, could you take me to see your supervisor? I have something urgent.”

The policewoman glanced at it in confusion, then her eyes widened: “Are you… a leader from Blackstone?”

“No, no, I’m not a leader—A few days ago, we sent someone over to investigate a homicide case. All the paperwork has already been filed with you, but that colleague went missing yesterday. Our supervisor is already at the crime scene and asked me to come by and check in with you.” As Charles Gray finished, he wiped the sweat from his brow—despite the winter cold—and added, “Is everyone here to report a case? Are these all missing persons?”

Many people nodded.

Charles Gray: “Oh… oh, so how did they go missing?”

This question was like poking a hornet’s nest. The crowd erupted in a cacophony, like five thousand ducks quacking at once. Charles Gray nearly felt faint from the noise. He steadied himself, patted his pocket, half-afraid his social anxiety would cause the little stun baton inside to discharge a hundred thousand volts and accidentally zap an innocent bystander.

Yet, to Charles Gray’s surprise, he didn’t seem as afraid as he’d imagined.