Chapter 277: The Path of Madness, The Judgment

Having ascended to Sequence Nine: Wandering Soul, Anna opened her eyes to find the world before her transformed.

The colors had faded, replaced by a spectrum of emotions and the pulsing of souls. Walls now resembled sheer veils, and sound manifested as visible ripples drifting through the air.

Emotions that ordinary people couldn’t perceive now materialized before Anna’s gaze, and she could even sense that she might be able to influence them to some extent.

Her vision pierced through the walls as she tried to look into the distance—but in that moment, her very soul froze.

She saw gray mist drifting all across the streets outside. When people gathered, the mist remained thin, but the further one strayed from the crowd, the thicker it grew.

In corners and shadows, the fog blanketed the world. Within the writhing, twisting haze were lurking unknown presences, emanating a dread that chilled the heart.

Anna instantly withdrew her gaze from the outside world and looked back into the room. Joia had just finished dressing the wound she inflicted.

That rusty kitchen knife, stained with blood, would’ve easily caused an infection if not promptly treated. Though Joia was incompetent and uneducated, even he knew that much.

Once he finished, he bent over and began to drag Anna’s corpse.

As he moved, his hand brushed against the injury, drawing sweat to his forehead and curses from his lips.

To Anna’s eyes, Joia’s fear and panic appeared as scarlet mists coiling around him. Yet he remained completely unaware of her wandering presence.

“Damn mud-legged tramp,” Joia muttered through clenched teeth, his grip tightening. “Coming here sick and making trouble? Who the hell do you think you are?”

He dragged Anna’s body toward the back door of the clinic, relief flashing across his face.

If not for her illness, if he hadn’t let his guard down, she might have landed a fatal blow. The thought made Joia sneer.

“Once I’m done dealing with you, I’ll track down your wretched family, bleed them for every last shilling, and throw them into the factory’s incinerator. Trash like you—no one gives a damn if you die.”

His words were like sparks, igniting the flames of fury deep within Anna’s soul.

She felt a surge of power like never before, instinctively propelling her forward.

Anna reached out with her translucent hands and plunged them into Joia’s chest.

In that moment, she was stunned to discover she could touch something far deeper than flesh—Joia’s soul.

Compared to her already-formed Wandering Soul, his soul was pitifully weak, like a dim, trembling flame.

Anna clutched it tightly, squeezing his soul with all her might.

Joia suddenly froze, an inexplicable chill creeping up from the depths of his heart.

His breath grew ragged, his legs trembling involuntarily. This wasn’t illness or ordinary fear—it was as if someone had seized the very source of his life.

“W-What’s happening?” His eyes bulged in terror, dread flooding him like a tidal wave.

The cold grew sharper, slicing into his consciousness until it started to freeze.

Through his blurry vision, he thought he saw a face—familiar yet strange—looking down at him. Anna’s face, once gaunt but delicate, now twisted in a demonic grin.

“N-No… impossible…” Joia stammered, trying to shake off the hallucination, but in vain.

Anna could feel his terror, his despair, and it filled her with a grotesque satisfaction.

A crimson mist radiated from her form, her expression warping into the visage of a nightmare wraith.

She could feel his life slipping away in her grip. Just a little more force, and she could crush his soul completely.

But just then, a calm, authoritative voice echoed through the space.

“Sequence Nine: Wandering Soul is only the beginning. One must experience death to step onto the path of the Underworld Sequence.”

Lu Yan had appeared behind Anna at some point. He watched silently, making no move—simply stating truths like a lecturer describing natural laws.

“Upon ascending to Sequence Nine, you gain supernatural abilities such as Nightwalking and Dreamwalking. You can even directly harm the souls of others.”

“But every extraordinary path comes with taboos and the risk of losing control. The Underworld Sequence, which touches the soul as early as Sequence Nine, is especially prone to this.”

He continued, voice steady and clear.

“Ordinary pathways fall into corruption when control is lost. But the Underworld Sequence originates from the Divine Court of the Netherworld—a great godly throne echoed across the heavens, anchored beyond the mysteries of this world.”

“Even if one loses control, they do not fall into the mystic madness of this realm. Instead, a Wandering Soul saturated with resentment will step onto an alternate path at Sequence Eight… one known as Fierce Ghost.”

Anna, deep in the throes of vengeance, was jolted awake by his explanation.

The crimson glow in her eyes began to fade. Her grip on Joia’s soul slowly loosened.

He collapsed to the ground, coughing violently, unaware of what he had just endured.

Lu Yan observed her quietly, a flicker of approval in his eyes.

The Underworld Sequence was a path balanced on the edge of life and death. When he chose Anna, he had made it clear: she would be the one to forge a path never walked before.

The Guardian of Order or the Avenger of Dread—both were paths within the same sequence.

But without a powerful will, those who wandered between life and death would inevitably succumb to madness and corruption.

And that was something Lu Yan never wished to see.

Although Fierce Ghost was a viable branch, and capable of great power, it was too unpredictable to serve as the foundation of the Netherworld’s Divine Court.

That Anna had now briefly escaped the pull of vengeance was undoubtedly a good sign.

But Lu Yan still held one small doubt.

“You could’ve killed him. Why did you choose not to?”

In her ethereal form, Anna knelt before Lu Yan and spoke with reverence.

“I promised Your Grace to walk a path none have ever taken. Naturally, I should not break that vow for selfish revenge.”

A textbook answer.

Lu Yan offered no response. But the next moment, Anna added:

“It wasn’t just Joia who killed my brother. His father, George the factory owner, was part of it too.”

“And in this era, there are countless others suffering just like me and my brother.”

“Killing him out of hatred may satisfy my rage—but it won’t bring my brother back.”

“But if I can avoid losing control, if I can keep ascending and grow stronger, then I can save many others who’ve shared our fate!”

Lu Yan’s eyes flickered with emotion.

“I saw the suffering in this city. I felt the agony of a million laborers. Their despair hangs over Orank like the blackest night.”

“Killing one Joia solves nothing. Another will rise tomorrow in the industrial district. But if I wield the power of a Wandering Soul…”

Her voice trembled—not from fear, but from a newfound passion.

“I can walk into their dreams and show them the truth. I can expose the cruelty of the factory owners to those still hesitating.”

“I can be the voice in the dark, telling them why unity matters.”

“Killing isn’t the goal. Redemption is the reason I exist!”

Lu Yan finally showed a trace of genuine emotion.

When constructing the Underworld Sequence, Lu Yan had sought someone capable of bearing its weight.

He had used the Divine Court’s divine rank, the machinery of fate, and probability clouds to deduce the time and place.

That deduction had led him to Anna.

Until now, her performance had been impressive—but still not enough to match the expectations set by the divine deduction.

Only now, after hearing these words, did he finally understand why the Divine Court chose Anna.

She was no longer bound by personal vengeance. She could see the tides of the era itself.

Only someone like this could shoulder the burden of forging a supernatural path.

“The power of a Sequence Nine: Wandering Soul comes from the strange balance between life and death. You can wander between reality and void, perceive the emotions of the living, and enter their dreams.”

Lu Yan traced a symbol in the air with his cane, leaving a faint trail of light.

“But every ability comes with risk—especially those that interfere with the soul.”

“Remember your thoughts at this very moment. Only by holding fast to this will can you withstand the horrors between life and death… and resist the loss of control on the Underworld path.”

Anna bowed her head low.

“I shall follow Your Grace’s command.”

Lu Yan nodded slightly, then turned his gaze to the dazed Joia slumped on the ground.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Anna, there’s something you must understand.”

“The fact that Sequence Nine: Wandering Souls cannot kill doesn’t mean you must discard your emotions—it’s guiding you to awaken the will of self-restraint.”

“There are many ways to kill a man.”

“For instance, by invading his dreams and creating endless nightmares until his mind breaks and he’s shunned by society.”

“Or by placing the evidence of his crimes into the dreams of enforcers, who will then deliver judgment through the proper channels.”

Lu Yan’s voice was calm, and Anna listened intently, etching every word into her heart.

“But even those methods… must be used wisely.”

“Take this Joia, for example. He’s already connected with the White family. Not even the enforcers will dare touch him, dream or no dream.”

“At such a time, procedural justice no longer matters.”

Lu Yan tapped the floor lightly with his cane.

The next moment, the wooden door creaked open with a heavy groan.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into the room. The flickering oil lamp cast rugged shadows over his face.

“Mr. Lu,” the man greeted respectfully, then turned to glance at Anna. His eyes pierced through her ghostly form, as if seeing something beyond comprehension.

“And she is…?”

“She’ll be your colleague from now on,” Lu Yan said with unquestionable authority.

Anna immediately recognized the man—it was Sain, the former leader of the Black-Clothed Gang.

Having been too sick to follow the changes in the industrial district, she didn’t know he was now the union’s chairman.

Sain stepped forward, grabbed Joia by the collar with one hand, and dragged him out the door like dead weight.

Joia groaned faintly, his pale face twisted in pain.

As he was hauled across the threshold, his head struck the stone steps with a dull thud, and he passed out again.

Blood trickled from his brow, drawing jagged crimson trails down the gray stone.

Time seemed to stretch and compress all at once.

When Joia awoke again, the world had changed.

Dark clouds blanketed the sky, even the starlight blotted out. He found himself bound hand and foot, rough hemp rope cutting into his flesh.

Around him, hundreds of workers held torches aloft, forming a sea of flames.

The firelight banished the street’s darkness, illuminating their angry and determined faces. The industrial zone blazed as if it were noon.

“I am Doctor Joia! The White family has acknowledged me as the future deputy director of the industrial hospital—what are you doing?!”

No one answered. Only the crackle of fire and the low sounds of breath echoed in the night.

The crowd parted to make way for several more bound figures, shoved into the torchlight.

Joia squinted—among them were his father George and several foremen, all filthy, bloodied, and terrified.

George spotted his son and screamed, “Joia! They’re mad, they—!”

A fist silenced him mid-sentence.

At the front stood Sain, his towering silhouette stretched long by firelight, like a god of judgment.

Raising his torch high, he shouted, voice thunderous:

“Factory head George and his son Joia sold fake medicine made of flour and sugar to workers. In three months, twenty-eight have died, and four more were beaten to death for asking questions!”

The fire reflected in his eyes, burning like an inferno.

“On behalf of the workers—I sentence George, Joia, and the five foremen who aided them to hanging!”

The crowd erupted in deafening cheers that roared like thunder above the industrial district.

The sea of torches lit up the night, illuminating the fury they had suppressed for too long.

George and Joia nearly wet themselves in fear. Their trousers darkened with urine as they cried out, trembling with terror.

“You have no right! The White family will never forgive this!” George shrieked, his eyes bulging.

But no one listened. Only jeers and curses answered him.

There were no gallows. No formal trials.

Only the righteous fury of thousands of exploited souls, finally set ablaze.

They were dragged to the lamppost, where ropes looped around their necks, the other ends tossed over the crossbeam.

In his final moments, Joia looked up and saw a faint, floating figure in the air.

His pupils contracted. His lips moved to speak—but it was too late.

The rope snapped taut, lifting him into the air.

As he struggled in terror and suffocation, his legs flailed uselessly—until at last, he fell still.

Above the crowd, Anna watched in silence like a detached observer.

Her soul drifted gently in the night wind, the moonlight passing through her translucent form.

And with the judgment complete, the final trace of crimson mist coiled around her body slowly faded—

Only the pure Wandering Soul remained.

(End of Chapter)