Beneath the Netherworld, at Banner Burial Mountain, the scene was as volatile as oil set aflame.
Clusters of golden fire, like clouds formed from sunfire, hovered over Western Ghost City, scorching the specters below into wretched howls of agony.
This sunfire was none other than the divine flames of the Three-Legged Golden Crow, a force naturally oppressive to ghosts. Let alone ordinary spirits—even the ghost officials found it unbearable.
Amidst the blazing inferno, a man sat with an air of unrestrained arrogance. His flowing golden hair shimmered like molten sunlight, his bare upper body revealing a frame of taut, powerful muscles, exuding sheer brute strength. Flame-like totems coiled upward from his sculpted abdomen, extending all the way to his jawline.
That face—masculine, striking—was so devastatingly handsome it could almost be called beautiful.
