The more vicious and ferocious the evil spirits, the more adeptly Ethan Sullivan could control them. These walking corpses had never been trained by him and couldn’t withstand his direct manipulation. He also had no materials on hand to immediately craft any calming talismans, not even enough to cobble something together. Watching as the green flames soaring from the East Courtyard gradually dimmed, Ethan Sullivan suddenly had a flash of inspiration.

Why go searching for vengeful, malicious, and venomous dead?

There were some right in the East Hall—and more than one!

He darted back to the East Courtyard. Ryan Clark was running out of tricks, trying one after another, and the group had all drawn their swords, stabbing them into the ground to form a sword barrier. The ghost hand was thrashing wildly within the barrier. They were pressing down on their sword hilts with all their might to keep it from breaking out, leaving them no time to notice who was coming or going. Ethan Sullivan entered the East Hall, grabbed the corpses of Mrs. Moore and Edward Moore—one in each hand—and said in a low voice, “Wake up!”

At his call, their souls returned instantly!

In the next moment, Mrs. Moore and Edward Moore rolled their eyes back, letting out the piercing, shrill wails unique to vengeful spirits returning to their bodies.

Amid the high and low shrieks, another corpse trembled and crawled up, letting out a weak, low cry—it was Mrs. Moore’s husband.

The cries were loud enough, the resentment strong enough. Ethan Sullivan was quite satisfied and smiled, “Recognize that hand outside?”

He ordered, “Tear it apart.”

The The Moore Family shot out like three gusts of black wind.

That left arm had just snapped a longsword and was breaking through the barrier. As soon as it emerged, the three armless corpses pounced on it together.

Besides being unable to disobey Ethan Sullivan’s command, this family of three also harbored intense hatred toward the thing that killed them, venting all their rage on the ghost hand. The main attacker was undoubtedly Mrs. Moore; female corpses often became especially ferocious after turning. Her hair was disheveled, bloodshot veins filled her upturned eyes, her five fingernails had grown several times longer, foam frothed at her mouth, and her shrieks nearly blew the roof off—utterly frenzied. Edward Moore followed closely behind his mother, working with her to bite and claw, while his father trailed after, filling in the gaps between the other two’s attacks. The few young men who had been desperately holding on were all stunned.

They had only ever read about such battles between fierce corpses in books and rumors. Witnessing such a bloody, flesh-flying scene for the first time, they were dumbfounded, unable to look away, only thinking… how spectacular!

The three corpses and the hand were locked in a brutal fight when suddenly, Edward Moore shrieked and dodged aside. His abdomen had been clawed open by the hand, exposing several loops of intestine. Seeing this, Mrs. Moore roared furiously, shielding her son behind her and attacking even more fiercely—her nails slashing through the air with the force of steel blades. Yet Ethan Sullivan could see that she was already struggling to hold on.

Even with the combined strength of three freshly dead fierce corpses, they still couldn’t suppress this single arm!

Ethan Sullivan focused intently on the fight, the tip of his tongue curled, holding back a sharp whistle in his mouth, ready but not yet released. If he blew this whistle, it would incite even greater ferocity in the corpses he controlled, perhaps turning the tide—but then it would be hard to keep anyone from noticing he was behind it all. In the blink of an eye, the hand moved like lightning, ruthlessly and precisely snapping Mrs. Moore’s neck.

Seeing the The Moore Family being forced back step by step, Ethan Sullivan was just about to let out the long whistle he’d been holding, when suddenly, two clear, resonant notes sounded from beyond the sky.

These two notes seemed to be plucked casually by someone, ethereal and pure, carrying a chill like pine wind. All the monsters and ghosts locked in deadly combat in the courtyard froze at the sound.

The young disciples of the Gusu Lan Clan instantly looked revitalized, as if reborn. Ryan Clark wiped the blood from his face, looked up sharply, and exclaimed with joy, “Hanguang-jun!”

The moment he heard those two notes from the heavens, Ethan Sullivan turned and left.

Another note rang out, this time higher, piercing the clouds and sky, carrying a sense of solemn killing intent. The three fierce corpses shrank back, covering their ears with their right hands. However, how could the Gusu Lan Clan’s barrier-breaking music be so easily blocked? After only a few steps, faint popping sounds came from within their skulls.

The left arm, having just endured a fierce battle, dropped limply to the ground at the sound of the music. Though its fingers still twitched, the arm itself lay motionless.

After a brief silence, the group of young men couldn’t help but cheer loudly. Their shouts were filled with the wild joy of surviving a deadly ordeal. Having made it through such a harrowing night and finally received support from their clan, they didn’t care if they’d later be harshly punished for “disorderly conduct and disgracing the clan’s reputation.”

Waving at the moon, Ryan Clark suddenly noticed someone was missing. He tugged at Brian Clark and asked, “Where is he?”

Brian Clark was too busy celebrating. “Who? Who do you mean?”

Ryan Clark said, “That Young Master Moore.”

Brian Clark replied, “Huh? Why are you looking for that lunatic? Who knows where he ran off to, probably afraid I’d beat him up.”

“……” Ryan Clark knew Brian Clark was careless and straightforward, never one to overthink things, so he didn’t press further, thinking he’d just wait for Hanguang-jun to arrive and report everything together.

The Mo family village was still sleeping soundly—though whether it was true sleep or feigned, who could say. Even with corpses battling and blood flying in the East and West courtyards, no one would get up in the middle of the night or at dawn to watch. Even for a spectacle, you had to pick the right one. A ruckus filled with endless screams—best not to watch at all.