It’s not that these kids are slow to react, but that the intruder is truly vicious. The Xuanmen has strict standards for the term “fierce ghost”: killing one person per month and haunting for three consecutive months is already enough to be classified as a fierce ghost. This standard was set by Ethan Sullivan, and it’s probably still in use. He’s best at dealing with this type; in his experience, killing one person every seven days already counts as a frequently haunting fierce ghost. But this thing killed three people in a row, and in such a short interval— even a renowned cultivator would have trouble coming up with a countermeasure right away, let alone this group of novices who have just started out.

Just as he was thinking this, the firelight flickered, and a gust of cold wind swept through. All the lanterns and candles in the entire courtyard and the East Hall were extinguished at once.

The instant the lights went out, screams erupted one after another, men and women shoving and stumbling, falling and fleeing. Brian Clark shouted, “Stand where you are, don’t run around! Anyone who runs will be caught!”

This wasn’t just alarmist talk—taking advantage of the darkness to cause chaos and fish in troubled waters is the nature of evil spirits. The more you cry and run, the more likely you are to attract disaster without realizing it. At times like this, being alone or panicking is extremely dangerous. But with everyone scared out of their wits, how could they listen or understand? In no time, the East Hall quieted down; aside from faint breathing, only the sound of soft sobbing remained. There probably weren’t many people left.

In the darkness, a sudden flash of fire appeared—Ryan Clark had ignited a Bright Flame Talisman.

The flame of the Bright Flame Talisman wouldn’t be blown out by an evil wind carrying demonic energy. Holding the talisman, he relit the candles, while the remaining few youths went to comfort the others. By the firelight, Ethan Sullivan glanced at his wrist unintentionally—another scar had healed.

At this glance, he suddenly realized that the number of scars was wrong.

Originally, he had two scars on each of his wrists. When Edward Moore died, one healed; when Edward Moore’s father died, another; when the servant Tommy died, yet another. By this count, three scars should have healed, leaving only the last, deepest, most hateful wound.

But now, his wrists were empty—not a single scar remained.

Ethan Sullivan was certain that among Henry Moore’s targets for revenge, Mrs. Moore was definitely included. The longest and deepest scar was left for her. And yet, it had disappeared.

Did Henry Moore suddenly let go and give up his resentment? That was impossible. His soul had long since been sacrificed as the price to summon Ethan Sullivan. For the wound to heal, Mrs. Moore would have to be dead.

His gaze slowly shifted to Mrs. Moore, who had just woken up, surrounded by the crowd, her face as pale as paper.

Unless she was already dead.

Ethan Sullivan could be sure that something had already attached itself to Mrs. Moore. If this thing wasn’t a soul, then what could it be?

Suddenly, Andy cried out, “The hand… the hand, Tommy’s left hand!”

Ryan Clark moved the Bright Flame Talisman over Tommy’s corpse. Sure enough, his left hand had also disappeared.

The left hand!

In a flash of insight, Ethan Sullivan’s mind lit up— the haunting entity and the missing left arm lined up in a straight line. He suddenly burst out laughing. Brian Clark snapped, “This idiot, how can he still laugh at a time like this!” But then he thought, since he’s always been an idiot, what’s the point of arguing with him?

Ethan Sullivan grabbed his sleeve, shaking his head, “No, no!”

Brian Clark irritably tried to pull his sleeve back: “No what? Not an idiot? Stop messing around! No one has time for you.”

Ethan Sullivan pointed at the corpses of Mr. Moore and Tommy on the ground, saying, “These aren’t them.”

Ryan Clark stopped Brian Clark from getting angry and asked, “When you say ‘these aren’t them,’ what do you mean?”

Ethan Sullivan said solemnly, “This one isn’t Edward Moore’s father, and that one isn’t Tommy.”

With his face painted and powdered as it was, the more serious he looked, the more he seemed truly deranged. But in the dim candlelight, his words sent chills down everyone’s spine. Ryan Clark was stunned for a moment and couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”

Ethan Sullivan said proudly, “The hand! They’re not left-handed. Whenever they hit me, they always used their right hand— that much I know.”

Brian Clark couldn’t take it anymore and spat, “What are you so proud of! Look how smug you are!”

But Ryan Clark broke out in a cold sweat. Thinking back: Tommy strangled him with his left hand. Mrs. Moore’s husband pushed his wife down with his left hand as well.

But during the day, when Henry Moore made a scene in the East Hall, these two were busy grabbing and shoving people, always using their right hands. It’s impossible that both of them suddenly became left-handed right before they died.

Though he didn’t know the reason, if they wanted to find out what was causing the haunting, they’d have to start with the “left hand.” Ryan Clark figured this out, feeling both surprised and suspicious. He glanced at Ethan Sullivan, unable to help thinking, “For him to suddenly say this… it really doesn’t seem like a coincidence.”

Ethan Sullivan just kept grinning shamelessly, knowing that his hint was still too obvious, but he had no choice. Fortunately, Ryan Clark didn’t press further, thinking, “No matter what, since this Young Master Moore is willing to give me a hint, he probably doesn’t mean any harm.” So he shifted his gaze away from him, swept past the recently fainted Andy, and landed on Mrs. Moore.