"Move it! Get your spirits up, all of you. If you delay the arrangements from above, I think you know exactly what awaits you."
"Boss, what's going on up there? Why are they suddenly demanding we speed up, without rest day or night? At this rate, all the soul servants we worked so hard to gather will die."
"Shut up. If we fail to complete the task, it won't just be your soul servants who die. We'll all die."
Within a mountain valley, dozens of dead souls directed several thousand broken, battered remnants of the dead, their faces twisted in agony, as they continually gathered the surrounding yin energy into themselves. As their bodies trembled faintly, murky liquid slowly flowed from their shattered forms.
Beneath the bodies of those remnant souls, line after line of markings had been carved. They were strange, carrying a certain order amid their chaos, yet anyone trying to find that order could sense nothing but boundless disorder.
It was a formation—a very peculiar formation.
It brimmed with ill omen, chill, and deathly stillness. If it had to be described in words, it was like painting with wastelands, recording an apocalypse, inscribing destruction.
It was a pattern that ran counter to nature, counter to life, counter to order.
Merely seeing it with their eyes would make living creatures uncomfortable. If they drew near, their instincts would recoil violently; once they approached to a certain extent, even their minds would collapse, driving them into madness.
Standing some distance away, Li Su frowned deeply.
He had originally only been curious whether this was Dead Soul Clan territory, since Many Treasures's final direction had been here.
But after drawing closer, he discovered that was not the case.
Rather, several dozen dead souls were leading a group of remnant souls