At the very least, the man's brazen arrogance made Mo Lin deeply uncomfortable.
Had they met in a different setting, Mo Lin would have ensured the man with glasses paid a steep price for his insolent remarks.
Hong Yanxun stepped closer to Mo Lin, quietly reminding him, "That man is a fourth-level ghost handler."
"A fourth-level handler acting with the arrogance of someone at level eight?" Mo Lin scoffed coldly. "What a joke."
"That's not what I meant," she corrected gently. "I'm saying—you should be cautious around him."
"You're mistaken. It's not I who should tread carefully. It's him," Mo Lin replied with an icy edge.
"Fine, I won't argue with you," she said, exasperated.
The skirmish between Mo Lin and the man with glasses was nothing more than a passing episode.
Li San sat cross-legged on his chair, his right index finger tapping the table in a steady rhythm, lost in thought.
"To be frank, the Li family intends to expand into Yunchuan. You're all well aware of our strength," he declared.
"And let me make one thing clear—anyone who opposes us will suffer a fate they can't begin to imagine."
He paused, then added, "I'll make a concession. Five percent of your profits—that's all I ask."
"No," Fu Wansan answered without hesitation, his tone firm and unyielding.
He knew all too well: agree to five percent today, and Li San would demand ten tomorrow. It would be a slow devouring of everything they built.
Li San's expression turned glacial. "Then we have nothing more to discuss?"
He looked at the others. "What about you? Where do you stand?"
Zhuang Ruo was the first to respond. "I share Fu Wansan's stance."
"I disagree as well."
"Count me out," the others echoed.
Li San's face darkened further, a killing intent flickering behind his eyes.
"These fools don't know what's good for them," he muttered.
"You really don't know your place, do you?" the man in sunglasses behind Li San stepped forward again, spewing insults at Fu Wansan.
"Have a death wish?"
Mo Lin, ever the fitting bodyguard, rose once more to face him.
When it came to presence and aura, Mo Lin had never been second to anyone.
Suddenly, Li San pulled out a grayish-blue jar—old and chipped, practically falling apart.
Fu Wansan and the others stared, baffled. What was he trying to do with that?
Without a word, Li San stood and turned to leave.
The man with glasses followed, and soon, all of Li San's guards exited, leaving Fu Wansan's group behind.
"What's the meaning of this?" Zhuang Ruo asked, clearly puzzled.
"They just left? What's going on?" Fu Wansan frowned in confusion.
Then, it happened.
Black smoke poured from the jar, quickly filling the entire room.
"Watch out!" Hong Yanxun cried, drawing her ghost weapon and summoning her contracted spirit.
The others reacted just as swiftly, each calling forth their own contracted ghosts.
None of them were pushovers—each one a third-level ghost handler.
Mo Lin moved to charge forward, but Hong Yanxun blocked him. "Protect Fu Wansan. I'll deal with this ghost."
Mo Lin sighed and stayed at Fu Wansan's side.
As the smoke cleared, a towering ghost emerged, gripping a massive black sword.
Its face was stripped of skin, revealing bone glistening with blood. The sword in its hand was clearly summoned by ghost magic.
The aura it emitted was suffocating.
"A terror-class ghost," one of the handlers muttered grimly.
A level-four ghost.
Even for experienced level-three handlers, it posed a crushing threat.
In the blink of an eye, the ghost appeared before one of the handlers, swinging its greatsword.
The handler raised a ghost weapon to defend—and successfully blocked the strike.
But his relief was short-lived.
A second later, his body was cleaved in half.
Shock filled his eyes.
The ghost had three arms—three swords.
His carelessness had cost him his life.
Blood splattered across the room.
"Li San plans to kill us all!" Fu Wansan shouted in fury.
Mo Lin, on the other hand, showed no fear. In fact, his eyes sparkled with desire the moment he laid eyes on the ghost.
Name: Song ZhaiClass: Terror-LevelGhost Skill: Mimicry (Manifests a weapon of the user's will and imagination.)
A simple concept—yet devastatingly powerful.
Mo Lin was enthralled.
As if someone had handed him a pillow when he needed rest, water when he was parched.
What a delicious prize.
The ghost shivered involuntarily beneath Mo Lin's hungry gaze. That look—it was not something any sane person would direct at a ghost.
"Take Fu Wansan and go. I'll hold it off," Hong Yanxun said with a furrowed brow, sensing the overwhelming danger radiating from the ghost.
This creature had reached the peak of terror-class. It was on the cusp of becoming a nightmare-class ghost.
She wasn't certain she could defeat it.
"Leave? Why would I leave?" Mo Lin asked flatly. "The prize is right in front of me—why walk away now?"
Before they could argue further, the ghost lunged forward.
Hong Yanxun commanded her contracted ghost to engage, joining the fray herself.
The room descended into chaos.
Tables and chairs were shattered into debris.
"Everyone—together!" one of the handlers called out.
"Agreed!"
There was no other way. Only through unity could they survive.
Three level-three ghost handlers unleashed their ghost weapons and joined the battle.
It was an intense clash.
Three dangerous-class ghosts, one terror-class—all attacking a single, immensely powerful ghost.
And yet, even combined, Hong Yanxun's side couldn't gain the upper hand.
Despite unleashing their full strength, they merely managed to restrain it—barely.
Splurt—
One of the dangerous-class ghosts was sliced in two.
Another handler's arm was severed, leaving him incapacitated.
The three-armed ghost surged ahead, forcing Hong Yanxun and her allies into a desperate retreat.
If not for Hong Yanxun's terror-class contracted ghost, they would've all been annihilated in seconds.
It was their only saving grace.