Chapter 143: Ghost Army Crossing, the Netherworld Returns

In this modern age of scientific advancement, most people had long stopped believing in things like spirits of the dead or reincarnation.

At most, such tales were seen as comforting folklore—nothing more than hopeful superstitions.

But today, the citizens of Luocheng witnessed, with their own eyes, the wraiths of Mount Beimang’s ancient battlefield moving through a strange mist.

The drifting souls of modern people in the fog only served to further confirm the truth behind the legends.

Among the crowd, someone pointed at the ghost of the girl scrolling on her phone, trembling as he spoke:

“I—I’ve seen that girl before!”

“She was a student at Luocheng No.1 High. Seven days ago, she was walking past a construction site after school when a steel pipe fell and pierced her chest. It even made the news!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the others chimed in one after another.

“I remember that too!”

“Yes, that really happened.”

“And that salaryman—isn’t he from Tengyi Corporation? The guy who died from overwork just a few days ago?”

“And that shattered ghost on the main road… he looks just like the one who died in the car accident on Central Avenue, also seven days ago.”

An old woman with tear-filled eyes whispered with trembling lips:

“My husband… also died in the hospital seven days ago.”

With all these confirmations, one phrase surfaced in everyone’s mind:

The Seventh Day.

In folklore, it’s believed that on the seventh day after death, the spirit returns to the mortal realm. This tradition was widely spread in ancient times and even gave rise to many customs.

But for those present, this was the first time they had witnessed such a thing with their own eyes.

“Why is this happening?”

“Could it be related to the recent rumors about Mount Beimang’s mutation?”

“But I searched online. There’s nothing recorded about this…”

Just then, the silence of the street was broken by the roar of engines.

At the end of the road, a group of youths on motorcycles sped through the main boulevard of the city.

Because of the dense fog that had lingered for days, traffic had become sparse, turning the main roads into a playground for reckless riders.

Their engines howled through the mist. Even if traffic police were around, the fog made license plates impossible to read—making these riders even bolder and more lawless.

The leader of the pack was basking in the thrill of tearing through the streets, until a vague silhouette appeared in the fog ahead, causing him to instinctively frown.

He was about to slow down when one of his companions cut in:

“With the engines this loud, any sane person would’ve moved already. If they didn’t, that’s their problem!”

“Yeah! Standing in the middle of the road at night? If they get hit, that’s their fault!”

“Step on it! Go full throttle!”

Persuaded by their words, the leader tossed aside his caution and accelerated toward the shadow ahead.

The motorcycles tore through the fog, headlights blazing.

And then they saw them clearly—standing in the middle of the road was not a group of people, but a regiment of ghostly soldiers, armed and armored.

The riders froze, their moment of thrill turning instantly into dread.

They could see with terrifying clarity the general at the front raising his hand—followed by dozens of spear-wielding soldiers lowering their weapons toward them.

In that moment, it was as if ancient spears met modern cavalry across the ages.

The ghostly weapons solidified instantly, impaling the riders through the chest. Their speeding motorcycles collided with what felt like mountains—exploding on impact.

Blood dripped down the spears, staining the ground red.

The smell of blood seemed to agitate the ghost army.

Their once-silent march turned into a rage-filled frenzy. Thunderous howls erupted from their mouths.

“War! War! War!”

A pillar of black qi shot skyward from their ranks, swirling violently in the white-gray fog.

Then, to the horror of the onlookers, the once-aimless ghost soldiers began to turn their gaze toward the living—scanning the buildings along the roadside.

People scattered in panic.

In their hearts, they cursed those motorcycle punks to high heaven.

If not for those idiots charging headfirst into the ghosts, would the ghost army have even turned violent?

Cars were smashed, doors were blasted open, and the streets turned into a battlefield of screaming civilians.

Just as the area was about to descend into a true hellscape, a piercing horn blast echoed through the mist.

The sound was unlike anything of this world—high-pitched, haunting, and resonating deep in the soul.

The ghost army stiffened instantly.

But it was already too late.

From the depths of the mist, cracks in space split open, revealing legions of armored ghost-catchers marching forth.

They wore black armor inscribed with glowing green runes. In their hands were Soul-Hooking Chains etched with ancient curse marks.

“By order of the Netherworld, all souls who have left Mount Beimang’s battlefield without authorization are to be captured! Those who resist—shall be annihilated!”

The commanding voice of the ghost general boomed like thunder, reverberating through the mist.

The battlefield wraiths of Mount Beimang descended into chaos.

Some tried to resist, raising their broken weapons.

Others fled in every direction, getting lost in the modern streets.

One regiment attempted to regroup into formation, their killing aura soaring into the sky.

But in the face of these natural nemeses—the Yin Soldiers of the Netherworld—their resistance was utterly futile.

Soul-Hooking Chains lashed out and shattered their battle lines in an instant.

A blood-soaked general from ancient times roared, swinging his bronze longsword. Its blade cut through the air with radiant arcs, powerful enough to tear open the earth for hundreds of meters.

But even such mighty strikes meant nothing against the Yin Soldiers’ defensive array.

Twelve ghost soldiers stepped forward in unison. Their gathering yin energy coalesced into a ten-meter-tall black shield, effortlessly blocking the ancient general’s attack.

Another twelve ghost soldiers raised their voices in unison. Yin winds howled from the depths of the Nine Hells.

Countless battlefield ghosts were instantly torn apart, their souls scattered into nothingness.

Chains from the mist wrapped around the ancient general like a giant cage.

Even his legendary valor and might couldn’t withstand the soul-hunting shackles of the Netherworld.

He was dragged—howling—into the abyss.

The ghost army of Mount Beimang had been completely wiped out, leaving behind only the dull-eyed souls of modern times.

The Yin Soldiers fastened their chains to these modern souls as well, leading them back into the depths of the fog.

The land above was now void of spirits.

All that remained were ruins, chaos, and a few lucky survivors—witnesses to what had just occurred.

And within minutes after the parade of ghosts ended and the Yin Soldiers departed…

Thousands of videos were uploaded simultaneously to every platform.

Through the influence of a hidden omniscient force, these clips bypassed all censorship, spreading like wildfire.

The revival of spiritual energy, and the return of the Netherworld to the mortal realm—shocked the entire world.

(End of Chapter)