Out in the suburbs of Huadu City…
Two men in black trench coats moved silently through the night.
In this era of ghostly resurgence, nighttime belonged not to the living—but to the dead. While most people would tremble behind locked doors, these two weren't just anyone.
Tall and broad-shouldered, the man in front was Jonathan Kane. His companion, thinner and paler than a corpse, was his brother—Eli Kane. Both were elite ghost tamers, members of the Ghost Suppression Bureau.
"You really think we need to patrol this godforsaken patch of dirt?" Eli muttered, casting a sideways glance at the empty landscape. "If I were a ghost, I'd be haunting malls or train stations. Not… whatever this place is."
Jonathan clapped a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder. "Stop whining. It's the fifteenth of July—Ghost Gate Day. Gods are gone, heaven's closed shop, and we've got ghosts dancing in the streets. Or did you already forget what happened in Jinyuan City?"
At the mention of that name, Eli fell silent. His lips tightened.
How could he forget?
Several years ago, on this same cursed date, Jinyuan City experienced the first documented opening of the Ghost Gate. The local Bureau had failed to act in time.
The result? A massacre.
The entire city became a ghostly abyss. Corpses littered the streets. Infants became toys for evil spirits. If not for a nationwide emergency response, Jinyuan would have been erased from every map.
That blood-soaked night became the warning bell for the entire nation.
There was no way to predict when or where the Ghost Gate might appear—but on July 15th, everyone was on high alert. Citizens stayed indoors. Ghost tamers were deployed to every corner, no matter how remote.
Jonathan exhaled a puff of smoke, watching the ember glow in the dark. "We're not letting Jinyuan happen again."
Eli nodded. The two figures slowly vanished into the night.
Back in the crumbling Temple of the City God...
At Lucian's signal, the towering ghost general rose—his heavy armor creaking with every movement. But even standing, he bent his massive form slightly, never daring to meet Lucian's eyes at level height.
In the realm of the living, respect had rules.
In the underworld… reverence bordered on worship.
"My Lord!" the general said, voice echoing like a war drum through the temple.
Lucian gave a small nod. His eyes swept over the swirling shadows, where countless ghostly soldiers knelt in the dark, awaiting his command. Even the terrifying, faceless ghost from before—had it seen this scene—it would've disintegrated in sheer terror.
These weren't divine beings.
Not yet.
But bearing the name of the Netherworld, they commanded a majesty that lesser spirits could never hope to withstand.
Lucian turned toward the weathered statue of the City God. Time had eroded its face beyond recognition, but through the divine sight of his Six-Eyed Truth, he could still see remnants of virtue clinging to it.
[Six-Eyed Truth: Sees karma, fate, virtue, and the threads of destiny.]
Thanks to the Merit Form he'd awakened earlier, Lucian had absorbed residual virtue from this very temple, granting him strength to obliterate the faceless ghost in an instant.
But now, the light of merit around the statue had begun to fade.
In this new age, there were ghosts, but no gods. The faith of humanity had withered. With no prayers, no incense, and no offerings, the divine had lost its foothold.
That made Lucian's earlier gain all the more miraculous.
And now he hungered for more.
If just a wisp of merit could transform him this much…
What would happen if he gathered enough to rival the ancient gods?
A sudden chill swept through the air. Lucian's gaze sharpened—his pupils flashing with a hint of the Wheel of Reincarnation.
Somewhere far away…
An eruption of pure, pitch-black yin energy.
It dwarfed everything he'd seen so far. The ghost from earlier? A candle next to a hurricane.
"General," Lucian said quietly.
The ghost general dropped to one knee. "At your command, my Lord!"
"There's something stirring in the distance. Something foul, something strong. Take your soldiers and slay it. Let the world remember the name of the Netherworld Army."
The general slammed a fist to his chest. "As you wish!"
He turned and vanished into the ghost mist. The clang of armor, the rattle of chains, and the rustling winds followed his retreat.
Behind Lucian, dark shadows emerged—silent watchers in the gloom—kneeling guardians who dared not move unless commanded.
Meanwhile…
Back in the suburbs, Jonathan and Eli Kane were frozen in place.
Both were drenched in cold sweat.
Jonathan's back hunched unnaturally as a gnarled, ghostly face slowly surfaced behind him—his cursed spirit: The Old One. It was his weapon and burden.
Eli looked unchanged on the outside.
But in his eyes?
A tiny, spectral baby hand twitched in the iris—his bonded ghost, The Wailing Infant.
These brothers were top-tier agents. Even Class-C ghosts would struggle against them.
But now?
Now their ghosts were wailing in fear—so terrified they were almost lashing out at their hosts.
Something was coming.
And it wasn't just another restless spirit.