Beyond the prefectural city, the moonlight was cold and bright. The air was cool and fresh, with a faint, translucent mist drifting through it.
A few melodious birdcalls, weary from the night, trailed off with crisp notes as they wafted out of the mist—then abruptly stopped when a fierce wind swept through, its suction immense.
"Chirp—"
A shriveled hand, hard and rough, crushed a nest of birds it had sucked in and stuffed them into a mouth with purplish-black lips. It chewed, the crunching bones and squelching juices making one's flesh creep.
"What fresh food!"
A moment later, those purplish-black lips spat out a clump of feathers, then suddenly drew in another breath.
In an instant, the faint mist rushed toward him.
Unseen by ordinary people, countless flecks of strange energy in the air gradually flowed into his mouth, making his eyes blaze.
Suddenly, his brows knitted. He slowly closed his open mouth, then took a piece of blackened, gloomy wood from his robes.
At its center was a dark-brown bloodstain, and it gave off a faint stench of corpses.
But the faint corpse stench had grown somewhat scattered and chaotic; it no longer pointed in a single direction. The strange energy contained in the bloodstain was also in considerable disarray.
"Hmm? What's going on?"
A strange glint appeared in the horse-faced old man's eyes, and his expression shifted. "The guidance from the Corpse King Blood is in disarray? It can no longer pinpoint the exact location of the spirit monster. How could this be?"
He sprang up from the golden carriage and gazed gloomily toward the distant prefectural city, uncertainty and even wariness in his eyes.
He knew the four living corpses he had sent out were likely doomed.
But the more pressing question was: who had made the