These specters were no mere lowly wraiths; each bore the dreaded Nightmare-tier mark.
Li Hui froze, exclaiming, "Brother Mo, this—this is beyond belief!" His delicate choice of words belied the absurdity before them: Nightmare-tier phantoms, summoned like playthings, with not a single limitation. To Mo Lin, they were as commonplace as turning a cabbage; yet theirs was unquestioning obedience.
"He's grown so formidable?" gasped Qing Yun from afar, astonished by Mo Lin's amassed cadre of Nightmare spirits. Only months ago, his charge barely numbered one. How could any mortal forge pacts with so many when two was once the threshold of endurance? Mo Lin's feat defied all reason—sheer lunacy.
A pall of tension descended upon the ancestral hall as Chen Xi and her spectral allies sprang into action. Their ghostly techniques unleashed a maelstrom of terror, the air crackling with unleashed power. Mo Lin, locked again in combat with Gong Xiu, held the advantage: every strike a different soul art, driving his foe ever backward.
From the sidelines, it was nothing less than a divine war—ethereal silhouettes flitting like nightmares. A phantom's severed arm would sprout anew mid-battle, only to rejoin the fray.
"You shall perish!" Gong Xiu seized a moment's lapse, teleporting behind Mo Lin to plunge his bone-forged staff into his chest. Yet at that instant, Bing Yu materialized, intercepting the blow. The staff pierced her heart; her radiant form dimmed, leaving a gaping wound.
Such was the chasm between them: Gong Xiu, Mo Lin's equal in might, and Bing Yu, whose sacrifice underscored the difference.
Mo Lin produced nearly ten thousand Nether Coins, casting them into the air. They transmuted into a surge of Nether Qi that flowed into Bing Yu's wound, knitting flesh and spirit as one. A simple gesture—yet one only possible through the power of coin.
Gong Xiu staggered, forced to grant Mo Lin's tenacity: he was no mere quarry.
"Today," Gong Xiu spat, "you shall taste true despair." With a wave, three dark wraiths answered his call. Then, from his sleeve, two Terror-tier ghosts tumbled forth. Dark qi, laced with infantile screams and tortured wails, erupted from his palm.
Gong Xiu infused this horror into the first vessel. Bubbles rose across its flesh as though boiling, then burst in gruesome blooms. Its form swelled, its aura of dread ascending to Nightmare-tier. He repeated the rite on the second, and soon six Nightmare phantoms rallied to his banner.
"Is that all?" Mo Lin's lips curved in amusement. "Two more nightmares to break me?"
He summoned Snow—once of Routine rank—and ten thousand coins once more. The coins dissolved into Nether Qi, flooding her essence. Snow's scream rose in crescendo as she ascended through Danger, Hazard, Terror, and finally reached Nightmare-tier.
"Song Zhai!" he called next, summoning a Terror-tier ghost. Three thousand coins transmuted its form into Nightmare-tier. Such was Mo Lin's method: coin forged power.
Gong Xiu's countenance drained of color. So this was the secret: Nightmare-tier spirits, born of sufficient sacrifice of coins. The underworld masters had hidden nothing from Mo Lin.
"This—what madness is this?" Qing Yun cried, stunned. He had witnessed the factory forging of Nightmare phantoms before his very eyes.
Mo Lin's dominance was total—yet he still moved. He tapped his Ghost-Subduing Tome, drawing another ten thousand coins with mere thought. They coalesced midair, infusing Bing Yu's form once more. Her colors deepened, her gaze kindled—still not enough.
Mo Lin pressed on: ten thousand… twenty thousand… thirty thousand. His coffers bled as Nether Coins vanished in torrents. Where a mortal's life ebbed in battle, Mo Lin's drained treasure instead.
Bing Yu's form crackled, as though shackles broke, and she expanded upward—transcending into Lethal rank. A Lethal-tier phantom now stood beside him, her aura reshaping the battlefield. Even the once-impregnable Gong Xiu fell silent in awe.
Mo Lin ceased. No coins remained. Lethal-tier spirits were not woven at whim; only Bing Yu's near-limit threshold made her elevation economical.
Astounding! A revelation of divine alchemy: Nether Coins as the very crucible of ghostcraft. Qing Yun could scarcely believe what he had seen.
But whence had Mo Lin acquired such wealth? Could he mint Nether Coins at will?