Ghoul

"Sigh."

Watching the crowd's reaction, Hals was slightly displeased—he was far from having his fill of fun.

Nursing his irritation, Hals turned his gaze to the two corpses lying on the ground. The corners of his mouth curled up, his eyes dark and sinister.

Once again, he extended his left arm from beneath his robe, slowly raising it. An invisible, eerie ripple spread outward.

Everyone felt their hearts tighten with fear; some had already begun silently shuffling toward the door, ready to flee at any moment.

Ignoring the crowd's reactions, Hals extended his blood-red tongue to lick his pale, cracked lips.

"No choice. I'll have to use you for my final entertainment..."

As his voice fell, the two corpses seemed to receive a command, rising from the ground in an unnatural manner.

The Attendant's body was nearly cleaved in two, barely retaining a human shape. Without lifting his feet from the ground, he used his waist to force himself upright in a stiff, arched posture. The Boss did the same.

"Damn it!"

At the sight of this grotesque scene, someone in the crowd finally couldn't hold back a curse.

Paying no attention to the crowd's reaction, Hals stared fixedly at the two corpses, his eyes dark yet burning with fervor. His voice, hoarse and icy as if echoing from the Netherworld, layered upon itself, chilling all who heard it.

"I'm a good man, so I'll let you die with full bellies..."

Hals's raspy voice still lingered in the air as both corpses took stiff, stumbling steps toward each other, then embraced.

Two men embracing—something only brothers or those with a taste for men would do. Regardless, it might have stirred a hint of emotion, but to everyone present, the scene only inspired dread.

For one thing, one corpse was nearly cut in half, its organs spilling from the massive wound in its chest and abdomen, the pale muscles at the wound curling outward without a single drop of blood falling. The other was pitch-black, with barely any flesh left on its bones, barely recognizable as human.

This sight sent chills down the spines of even these self-proclaimed thugs and brutes of Nork Town.

Some of those standing farther back had already begun silently inching toward the door, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

"Eat plenty. Don't go hungry, whatever you do..."

Hals's voice was like a signal. The two corpses slowly leaned their heads toward each other, and then...

"Crunch, crunch..."

A sound rang out, and the vast tavern hall was filled with nothing but this unending noise.

The two corpses stiffly opened their mouths, then bit and swallowed the flesh from each other's bodies again and again.

Visible to the naked eye, the skin and meat on their bodies disappeared piece by piece. The crowd clearly saw chunks of flesh swallowed by the Attendant, only to fall out again from the wound in his chest and abdomen.

Dead silence. Everyone felt their stomachs churn, a wave of nausea surging up.

"Crack."

A piercing, teeth-grinding sound rang out—the Attendant's teeth scraping against the Boss's bones as he gnawed at the scant remaining flesh.

"Ugh."

Like the final straw, someone finally couldn't take it. His legs gave way, and he dropped to his knees with a thud, clutching his stomach and vomiting with his head down.

As if contagious, once the first retch sounded, vomiting broke out one after another throughout the crowd.

The Boss was still tearing away with abandon, but the Attendant seemed somewhat dissatisfied. The meager flesh on the Boss's body apparently wasn't enough to fill his stomach. He paused briefly, then raised his own arm, staring at it with vacant eyes. After a moment, he lowered his head and bit into his arm, swallowing a large chunk of flesh.

But the hunger didn't seem to fade. The Attendant's biting and swallowing grew faster and faster. Soon, what had been a relatively intact arm was reduced to bare bone.

Watching the pile of shredded meat fall at the Attendant's feet, the onlookers understood that no matter what, he could never be full. He simply couldn't get the food into his stomach—or rather, his stomach had already rotted away.

Finally, the unbearable hunger drove the Attendant mad. He shoved the Boss, who was still gnawing on him, away and turned to face the crowd. His face, reduced to bone and scraps of flesh by the Boss's feeding, forced itself into an angry expression. His once-empty eyes now blazed with desire—the desire to eat!

Without muscles to hold it in place, the Attendant's mouth split open at an obtuse angle. No drool dripped; there was only a silent roar.

"ROAR!"

Eerily, though no sound came out, everyone present heard a roar filled with resentment and hunger.

The crowd finally erupted into chaos. Someone let out a sharp yell, and the people shoved and scrambled to flee through the door. To get out faster, some even unleashed their Martial Souls and Soul Skills.

Among the onlookers were high-level Soul Masters of five or even six rings, yet none showed any will to fight. They only wanted to escape. In their minds, this scene of the dead rising and eating flesh was merely a performance—a play orchestrated by that powerful man, pulling the two corpses like puppets on strings. If they rashly disrupted it, they might spoil his mood and give him an excuse to attack.

In a sense, they were right. It was Hals manipulating the souls of the two men, and it was Hals staging this show for his own amusement. Likewise, Hals had always hoped for a chance to add new members to his temporary "puppet troupe."

Watching the Attendant stiffly lurch toward the crowd, the Boss seemed to realize there was an endless supply of food there. He rose rigidly, shaking his stiff joints, and followed.

The two corpses, reduced mostly to bones, didn't move fast, but they could still track the "food" from the empty tavern doorway, pursuing tirelessly...

Hals turned, lowering his head slightly. In his hollow eye sockets, the two blazing Soul Flames were fixed on his "puppets" and their "prey."

A slight smile curved at the corner of his mouth. Hals made no effort to hide his good mood. Scanning his surroundings, he walked to a booth in a deep corner and slowly sat down, seeming somewhat relaxed.

Lowering his head, a lantern emitting a faint green glow appeared at his waist. Hals extended his left hand, gently stroking the lantern, his fingertips feeling the Runes on its surface. His expression softened slightly.

In the darkness, the Soul Flames in his eyes cast flickering light and shadow across Hals's face. As if remembering something, Hals's hand, caressing the lantern, suddenly froze. Then he resumed stroking it, but with noticeable impatience.

A low voice drifted out, as if barely suppressing a hint of anger:

"Soon, soon... I'll be going back soon..."