From deeper underground, in an instant, a large group of underworld messengers—who were always late at critical moments—rushed out. Tragically, they hadn’t figured out the situation yet; as soon as they appeared, half of them were swallowed by that invincible black shadow.

Judge let out a startled cry, his whole body turning into a big ball, and without a word, he tried to burrow back into the ground. But Oxhead and Horseface, one on each side, pulled him out like pulling up a radish: “Sir, you mustn’t. Underground is not a place to hide.”

Then a group of bizarre-looking underworld messengers also joined the mad dash, as if their only purpose in appearing was to play a rather undignified bit part.

At this moment, William Sherman and Logan Sullivan finally put some distance between themselves and the black shadow. William Sherman suddenly shot out from a crack in the ground, forcefully pushing Logan Sullivan forward. Logan Sullivan instantly understood, using the momentum to leap forward more than ten meters, his hands pressing nimbly on the ground to land steadily.

Meanwhile, William Sherman was already in midair, forming a hand seal with both hands, silently chanting an incantation from a distant time and space, as the black shadow crept closer and closer to him.

Just as the black shadow was about to touch the hem of his robe floating in front of him, suddenly, a blinding white light burst forth from William Sherman’s hand seal.

The timing was almost to the split second.

The black shadow abruptly stopped right next to William Sherman, then suddenly shuddered, and was actually sucked bit by bit into that white light.

Everyone held their breath.

After about four or five minutes, the overwhelming black shadow was finally completely absorbed into the increasingly intense white light. Only then did cold sweat roll down William Sherman’s cheeks, Judge plopped down on the ground, and Logan Sullivan let out a breath, slowly unclenching his fist that had left a mark in his palm.

The dazzling white light began to contract in William Sherman’s hands, and everything seemed to have settled.

Yet at that moment, a sudden change occurred.

A figure suddenly seemed to tear through the air, appearing behind William Sherman without warning. Then, Spirit Mask, who had been lying in wait for who knows how long, in a flash, drove a three-foot-long ice spike from behind straight into William Sherman’s heart.

Chapter 99 Soulbound Lamp …

Judge and the others hadn’t even recovered from the shock of this sudden event when they saw a long whip lash out like a viper toward Spirit Mask, the Soulbind Whip wrapping precisely around Spirit Mask’s neck.

With a “whoosh,” the whip raised a fierce gust of wind, stinging faces painfully. The nearby underworld messengers felt as if they’d all been slapped hard, the exposed parts of their faces burning, and they all turned away in unison to avoid it.

Judge felt so bitter he could almost vomit—Great Seal’s unrest was becoming impossible to ignore, but at this moment, all the various factions had coincidentally chosen to retreat.

Anyone who knew about the ancient secret of Earthmother’s Seal was either a millennia-old monster, already the head of their clan, or had endured countless tribulations to achieve enlightenment and immortality.

Five hundred years ago, when the first signs of instability appeared in the Great Seal, Underrealm took the lead and gathered all the factions to discuss the matter. At the time, everyone responded enthusiastically, the immortals were full of righteous fervor, talking about the world and the common people, all vowing to serve selflessly, even at the cost of their lives.

But after the battle at Summit of Highspire, it was as if they’d all agreed to disappear together.

They were all cultivators and knew this was not a glorious or promising matter. Cultivation is an unimaginably long process, full of dangers others can’t imagine, and loneliness others can’t understand. To have good innate talent is already one in ten thousand; to have a steadfast heart, to walk alone without seeking quick success or giving up halfway, is one in a million. Even then, no matter how talented or hardworking, lacking a bit of luck means failure at the last step—having finally achieved enlightenment after all these hardships, who wouldn’t cherish their hard-won success?

If not for the damage to the Great Seal, with Underrealm bearing the brunt and forced to step forward, Judge asked himself—he would have hidden as far away as possible. Not to mention a minor Judge like him, even the Ten Kings of the Underrealm would only dare to make small moves behind the scenes, relying on the Soulwarden’s tolerance, but if things really went wrong, who would dare face the Wraith King head-on?

Let alone the eccentric and unpredictable Spirit Mask.

Judge’s expression was complicated as his gaze fell on Logan Sullivan—perhaps only those true primordial gods and demons before the world shattered had such grand gestures and such fearless courage.

…Even though he’s just a mortal now, he still dares to boldly wrap the whip around the Wraith King’s neck.

Judge felt a bit unsettled. He couldn’t understand such reckless heroism, couldn’t imagine the moth-to-flame courage of facing countless foes alone, and could not hope to match their fearless spirit from the Echoes of the Wildlands.

As for the Warden of Highspire who had already vanished into reincarnation, that was another matter. But the man before him was clearly just a glib mortal, so what gave him the courage to be unafraid, undaunted? Had he really lost the power and authority of the Hermit of the Wildlands, and was relying only on a soul tempered through countless cycles of reincarnation?

At the last moment, William Sherman’s ten fingers clenched, the white light in his hands suddenly extinguished, the previous chaos completely swallowed up. Then, his body convulsed violently, and the ice spike in his chest suddenly sprouted thread-like black lines, which, in the blink of an eye, wrapped him up like a giant cocoon.

Spirit Mask gripped one end of the ice spike with one hand, and just before the Soulbind Whip wrapped around his neck, he managed to wedge his other hand in.

Then, suspended in the air, he looked down at the mortals below, feeling as if there was a fire in that man’s eyes even more scorching than the soul fire that once ignited the entire Blighted Grounds.

“If the Soulbound Order hadn’t been damaged,” Spirit Mask’s voice was hoarse and fragmented under the whip with which Logan Sullivan was trying to strangle him, “my neck might already have been skinned by you. Tsk tsk, what a pity…”

Logan Sullivan squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth: “Let. Him. Go.”

Spirit Mask looked at him expressionlessly: “He and I are both Wraith King. Though our circumstances and temperaments differ, I still don’t wish to harm him. It was he who forced me into a corner, step by step. If you want him, fine—bring me the Soulbound Lamp in exchange.”

Logan Sullivan turned a deaf ear to this “hostage exchange” offer, a deep, somber gloom suddenly appearing between his handsome brows: “Then let me advise you—if you’re smart, you’d better give me a spike too, or I’ll make sure you never find peace for all eternity.”

Spirit Mask was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing: “If you were Warden of Highspire, I’d rather die than let you live. As for…”

His body suddenly shuddered, and the Soulbind Whip, having lost the protection of the Sacredwood, shattered into countless pieces in an instant. Logan Sullivan’s palm was cut so deeply it nearly reached the bone, and the whip flew from his hand: “My lord, I… I’m grateful for your help with the fire, and under his influence, I can’t help but… like you a little. Keeping you alive is no harm.”

With that, Spirit Mask let out a sharp laugh, black mist rising, and in an instant, both he and the cocooned William Sherman vanished without a trace.

Logan Sullivan stood there for who knows how long, his palm almost entirely covered in blood, until Judge finally couldn’t help but clear his throat: “My lord, you…”

Logan Sullivan was startled by his voice, and very slowly raised his head to glance at him. The corners of his eyes slanted upward, tinged with an ominous crimson, his pupils so dark they were frightening. He raised his hand and gently licked the wound on his palm, his upper eyelid looking especially deep, thick lashes casting an unfathomable shadow in his eyes.

Judge shivered instinctively.

“I must trouble you with something, Judge.” Logan Sullivan said in an eerily calm voice, “Please take me to see the true Reincarnation in the underworld.”

For a moment, Judge found him a little unfamiliar. After a long pause, he blurted out, “I—I thought you’d want to ask about the Soulbound Lamp…”

“Soulbound Lamp?” Logan Sullivan’s left eyebrow twitched slightly, almost like a tremor, his left hand unconsciously rubbing the wound on his right. In just a moment, his fingertips were stained bright red. For a split second, Judge was terrified he was about to say something truly frightening, but Logan Sullivan only maintained that strange calm, his eyelids drooping, and in the end, he didn’t reveal anything at all. He simply said, “Please, lead the way.”

“Director Sullivan!” Suddenly, a woman’s voice called from behind. Logan Sullivan didn’t need to turn around to know it was Holly Harlow.