Clock In Today for Free Origin; Pasture Staff All Defect

Bones Ranch Seventh Outer Main Hall.

Empty.

Deathly still.

It hadn't always been like this.

Wanderers had once lined up here, clutching True God Bone Ore caked with contamination, humbly begging Bones Ranch to fire up its furnaces.

Drug lords from the Dark River Black Market had once knelt outside the hall, willing to surrender seventy percent of their Origin for a single Bones Purification Token.

Remnant Souls had once been dragged into the Refining Pool every day.

Bone Crystals had piled up like mountains.

Steam had risen from the Blood Pool.

Countless subordinate factions had come bearing Ledgers, begging Bones Ranch for scraps.

But now—

Cold wind poured through the broken bone windows of the vast main hall.

The resource bins that had once overflowed were empty.

The Refining Pool had dried up.

Even the Bone Servants who hauled bone slag from the corners had gone so long without work that they were crouched by the walls, secretly browsing job listings at the Abyss Exchange.

Daoist Withered Bone, the chief financial steward, stared hard at the Bone Account Board in his hands.

His finger bones scraped against its edge with a grating click.

Numbers flickered across the board, row by row.

With each change, the Gray Fire in his eye sockets trembled.

At last, he swallowed. His voice sounded as dry as if he had just been dug out of a grave.

"Ninety percent."

"Ninety percent of them are gone."

The Three Great Commanders seated at the head of the hall looked up together.

Commander Black Nether frowned, the Bone Patterns on his face twisting slightly.

"Ninety percent of what?"

The question seemed to set Daoist Withered Bone off. He slammed the Bone Account Board onto the table.

Bang!

Cracks shot across the board.

"Our customers!"

"The Wanderers!"

"The