It wasn't supposed to end like this.
Not like this—not in the dark, not in nothingness, not before it saw them fall.
The ghost's consciousness flickered, a tattered thing unraveling at the edges, fraying into the void. It should have watched them die. It deserved to watch them die. To witness Zhang's last breath, to see Yun crumble, to know—know—that the so-called geniuses were nothing but failures in the end.
But now, it would never see it.
That was the regret that twisted through its fading thoughts—not just loss, not just humiliation, but the unbearable, seething frustration of being denied certainty.
Had Zhang truly perished? Had the others followed him into death? Or had they survived—had they endured—had they won?
The thought was a sickness, burrowing deep into what little remained of its mind.
It would never know.
And that, more than anything, was what made this defeat unforgivable.
…
The battle had ended. The air was thick with the remnants of power, the lingering echoes of the clash still vibrating through the ground. Silence settled over the aftermath like a heavy blanket, a silence that felt more suffocating than peaceful.
The ghost, once a looming presence, was now little more than fading essence. Its defeat had come too swiftly, its overconfidence the very thing that had led to its downfall. The cannon fodders, who had been caught in the crossfire of that battle, now stood in the wake of its destruction, breathing hard, their eyes darting nervously around.
They were free, for the moment—but they knew better than to relax. A victory over the ghost was one thing, but the true danger had never been the battle itself. It had always been the aftermath. And now, as the essence of the creature dissipated into nothingness, they could feel the pressure mounting, an invisible force making them all too aware of the uncertain future that lay ahead.
Their focus, despite the brief moment of relief, turned swiftly to the three survivors: Yun, Linglong, and Zhang. They were still standing, though barely, each of them injured in some way—Linglong, exhausted and barely holding onto her strength; Yun, visibly drained; Zhang, the most affected, his body riddled with wounds.
Yet, none of the cannon fodders dared to look away from them. They knew too well how quickly things could change, how the tides of power could shift in the blink of an eye. And right now, the three survivors—each of them bearing a cold, unreadable expression—were the source of all their fears.
The cannon fodders exhaled slowly, their breaths still shaky from the battle. They knew they had survived this fight, but what of the next? The unease in the air had not lifted, it had merely shifted. They weren't focused on the battle any longer. Their eyes flickered between each other, exchanging nervous glances, anticipating what would happen next.
Some shifted uneasily, almost subconsciously, their gaze lingering on the three of them. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, but nobody spoke. Not yet.
The burly man, however, couldn't hold back. His laugh shattered the tense silence, loud and brash as he threw his head back.
"That's all?" he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Is this what 'geniuses' are having a hard time fighting against? How weak!"
He stood tall, his chest puffed out, eyes flashing with pride and a cocky, almost mocking smile directed toward the other survivors. His tone carried a sense of superiority, the kind that only someone who had just barely escaped death could muster. But his bravado couldn't mask the growing discomfort in the air.
The skinny man and the woman, however, weren't laughing. They shared a glance, wary eyes flicking between each other and the three survivors. The unease was palpable. They had felt the shift in the air, the subtle weight of Zhang's presence. Something about this victory didn't sit right with them.
The woman opened her mouth, but thought better of it, closing it again without saying a word. She knew that whatever came next, it wouldn't be as simple as the burly man thought. The skinny man's frown deepened, his eyes flicking between Zhang, Yun, and Linglong, sensing the quiet danger that lingered in their stillness.
They waited. Still. Silent. Watching.
….
Zhang's voice broke the stillness, calm yet laden with intent. "You think it's over? One battle and you believe everything is settled?"
The burly man sneered, folding his arms as he took a step forward, his tone mocking. "Oh? What are you trying to pull now, Zhang? You think you've got something up your sleeve?"
Zhang's gaze never wavered, his eyes cold as he spoke, voice steady. "It's not about what I have up my sleeve, it's about what you don't know. If something were to happen to me… my maid has been given a letter. If I die, she's supposed to deliver it to my sect elder outside of this realm."
The burly man blinked, momentarily thrown off, but quickly recovered with a scoff. "A letter? To your sect elder? That's your big move? You think that's gonna scare me?"
Zhang didn't flinch. Instead, his eyes moved to the woman and the skinny man. The woman was blinking quickly, her face tense, clearly fighting to keep her composure. Zhang could see it in her stiff posture—she wasn't as unaffected as she wanted to appear. The skinny man, though trying to stay impassive, had a tightness around his mouth, as if he were weighing Zhang's words with increasing doubt.
Zhang's voice dropped, quieter now, laced with an almost casual certainty. "You've made a mistake if you think you can walk away from this without consequences. Don't let your pride cloud your judgment. You may not think much of me now, but you'll regret underestimating me."
The burly man's mockery faltered, his brow furrowing at Zhang's cold, unwavering gaze. The weight of his words began to sink in, the silence growing heavier with each passing second. His grin started to fade, replaced by the first stirrings of doubt.
"You think you can threaten me with some letter?" The burly man scoffed again, but this time there was less conviction in his voice. He stepped forward, almost daring Zhang to make his move.
But Zhang remained unmoved, his expression a mask of calculated indifference. "I'm not threatening you. I'm giving you a warning. You've already tested the limits of your luck. Don't push it further."