Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Armored Phantom, Seeking One’s Own Doom

Lin Yi gazed into the distance, his eyes sweeping past the lake, taking in the villas and roads beyond. Only then did he realize there was no sign of trembling or strong winds in the distance. Everything was calm and still. This meant the wind and shaking were confined to this spot alone.

He lifted his eyes to the sky; night had already fallen. Waves of dark clouds churned across the heavens, swirling the sky into a murky chaos reminiscent of yin and yang—indistinct and foreboding. Anyone with a shred of sense could tell something was wrong here.

Yet, of all those present, only two people remained upright and motionless like Lin Yi: Zhang Qiang and Song Yuyan. But their gazes were fixed ahead, unaware of what was happening behind them.

Lin Yi caught the shock written plainly across the faces of the three middle-aged men, as well as the astonishment of those homeowners who had just reprimanded him. He shook his head, then feigned a sudden weakness, his body swaying as if he might collapse to the ground.

His act only left the three middle-aged men and the others even more bewildered. Was this kid slow to react—only now feeling the tremors?

But soon, no one paid Lin Yi any attention. The wind was too fierce. Bang! Rattling noises erupted as plastic, wastepaper, and all manner of rubbish were swept into the air. Though the debris didn’t hurt when it struck, it was still deeply unsettling.

The ground shook more violently with each passing second—a deafening, relentless rumble. In the distance, even some coffin lids toppled to the ground.

Peering through the tent flap directly before him, Lin Yi saw that some tents had been blown away, exposing the coffins within. The crash of the coffin lids against the ground was chilling to the bone.

The wind hadn’t picked up any people, but it had lifted those heavy coffins—a clear sign that something unnatural was afoot.

The coffins weren’t red, but black! That could only be Zhang Qiang’s doing. Lin Yi hadn’t expected Zhang Qiang to possess some knowledge of geomantic secrets.

Coffins came in red, white, black, yellow, and gold—each with its own significance. Black coffins, for instance, were typically surrounded by symbols drawn in black dog’s blood, cinnabar, and ink thread, forming talismanic chains to seal away misfortune and prevent corpses from changing.

Black coffins usually meant the body within had died a violent death, died young, or taken their own life. The symbols were meant to lock away unwholesome energy.

Yellow coffins were for those who had died naturally—affordable, commonly used by ordinary folk.

White coffins were more ominous, sometimes associated with spirits or immortals, but most often reserved for unmarried men and women.

Golden coffins were the privilege of nobles and high officials, adorned in gold dust and made from the finest wood.

Lin Yi observed carefully: the black coffins were indeed inscribed with intricate patterns, clearly drawn in black dog’s blood and cinnabar. But now, with the lids blown off, those talismanic lines were destroyed. If there were evil things sealed within—like drought demons or flying corpses—the barriers would be useless.

"I..." Zhang Qiang heard the sound of coffins breaking.

He and his junior, Song Yuyan, quickly turned toward the commotion. As the wind howled, they rushed to replace the coffin lids, grabbing ritual tools and frantically re-drawing symbols on the black coffins.

They did, indeed, possess some skill.

Meanwhile, in Lin Yi's hand, the energy detector registered a spike: the surrounding sinister energy jumped from over fifty to more than a hundred, fluctuating around one hundred and fifty.

This meant the local energy level had surpassed F-class, reaching E-class. Do not underestimate this—E-class meant a dangerous accumulation, threatening to erupt.

Even in the deepest parts of the demon prison, only the densest areas reached over one hundred, attaining E-class. If the readings rose to two hundred, that would indicate a D-class hazard!

Yet, the "Demon-Slaying Canon" remained silent, suggesting that while the area brimmed with ominous energy, there were no true monsters or ghosts present.

Clattering and crashing sounds grew clearer in the distance. Lin Yi's acute senses picked it up first: the clang of armor. During today’s test, many participants, like Xu Lianyou, had worn full suits of armor. The noise of their movement was unmistakable.

Undoubtedly, something was coming—and not just one thing. Most likely, it was a group of armored beings...or armored monsters.

The sounds grew louder and louder. Soon, everyone could hear them. The crowd shivered with fear.

The gale carried more and more debris, and as the noises drew near, the ritual desks of Zhang Qiang and the others splintered with a sharp crack.

Just moments earlier, Zhang Qiang and Song Yuyan had been busy covering the coffins and redrawing talismans. Now, terror drained the color from their faces.

"This is bad!" Song Yuyan cried, darting forward to salvage what important items she could from the ritual desk.

Zhang Qiang, gripping his coin sword, gritted his teeth and glared into the distance, eyes wide with fury.

A chorus of guttural roars rose in the distance.

The sight was enough to frighten the bravest. The sound of marching armored feet, growing ever louder, echoed across the ground. A young widow, dressed in mourning, pointed and shrieked, losing all composure as her pants grew wet.

She had dressed to look her best in mourning garb, but no one cared now. No one else fared much better; even the three previously unflappable middle-aged men were now ashen with fear.

The more sinister energy you carried, the more acutely you felt the resonance. The widow had sensed the danger first because she was frail and had lost her husband.

She stood right beside the three men.

"What is that...what is that...ah, ah—an ancient general!"

"Soldiers? Oh God...ghosts! Ancient generals...ancient soldiers..."

As she screamed, many others saw it too: in the midst of the howling wind, a mass of black mist surged forward.

Where moments before it had been as bright as day, now the world was shrouded in fog. From the black mist emanated a curling black smoke, and within it, pairs upon pairs of crimson eyes blossomed like ghastly flowers.

Those countless eyes, crimson and brutal, shone out of the darkness. At last, someone made out what hid within the cloud: a line of battered, rust-red suits of armor—though these were but spectral shadows, not solid metal.

As they marched, the clamor of their armor was thunderous, enough to chill the soul.

Inside each suit of armor, a gaunt, skeletal ghost with blazing red eyes stared out. Their skin was sickly, sprouting tufts of green hair. Each shadowy figure was of similar stature, all clad in armor, all painfully emaciated. Yet the armor lent them an air of grim discipline.

The red-eyed ghosts’ faces, lined with green fuzz, quivered in the storm. Beneath the green hair, their visages were nightmarish: some missing half a face, some with sunken cheekbones, others with gaping holes in their foreheads.

A glance downward revealed missing arms and legs, empty armor dangling from spectral forms. Strangely, even those without legs continued to march, half-limbs treading the air. Many had both legs gone but still walked unimpeded.

The earth-shaking noise, the trembling ground—all of it was the work of this ghostly host.

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of armored specters advanced in tight formation, dozens leading the vanguard.

At the very front, Zhang Qiang’s face had turned green.

"Ghosts...real ghosts...but—how can there be so many?" he muttered, waving his coin sword in a desperate display.

His aura surged—a powerful presence befitting a C-class martial artist—but it seemed of little use. The soldiers and the swirling mist were about to envelop him completely.

Desperately, Zhang Qiang pulled out his energy detector. His device, though slightly different from Lin Yi’s, gave a similar reading. As he saw the numbers, confidence returned to his eyes.

“Good, good! Just this much sinister energy? What can it do to me? E-class—can it compare to my C-class? A hundred points or so—watch me scatter you all!”

His detector registered roughly the same sinister energy as Lin Yi’s.

The "Demon-Slaying Canon" had not reacted, which meant the swirling black mist and the ghostly forms were only a manifestation of sinister energy, not actual spirits. This mass of energy represented only a single aspect: one of the armored ghosts.

Yet the magnitude—enough to stir up such a storm—meant the total sinister energy here easily exceeded ten thousand!

To Lin Yi, Zhang Qiang’s bravado seemed nothing short of courting disaster. If Zhang Qiang hadn’t targeted him earlier, Lin Yi might have warned him. But as the saying goes, if you repay enmity with kindness, how will you repay kindness? Lin Yi had no intention of warning him.

Life and death are decreed by fate; riches and honor are granted by heaven. Each must walk the path they have chosen.