"The Mortician should be inside that coffin. I heard he spends all year with corpses, so living in a coffin isn't all that strange."
"What a freak. Everyone says he has a corpse fetish. Looks like it's true."
"Look! What did Painter put on the table?"
"Holy shit, that looks like the Mortician's memorial portrait! The Mortician... is dead!?"
"Wait, he came to the conference even though he's dead? Now that's dedication."
Painter snickered inwardly, deliberately placing Gu Huangquan's memorial portrait somewhere conspicuous. It successfully diverted the crowd's attention, so no one would dwell on his earlier blunder.
In the black-and-white framed portrait, Gu Huangquan wore a black suit, his face expressionless, like an ice-cold corpse.
Perhaps it was just an illusion, but once Painter appeared at the Ten Kings Conference, the formerly solemn atmosphere grew a little strange. It was almost like... a husky had slipped into a pack of wolves.
"Four of the Ten Kings are here already. I wonder if all the others will come?"
The crowd waited anxiously. Though many were unwilling to admit it, deep down, they already regarded the long-publicized Ten Kings Conference as North Mang's last hope.
It was laughable, really. When disaster struck, not one of the major powers entrenched in North Mang proved dependable. In the end, the people could only pin their hopes on North Mang's ten most wanted criminals.
More precisely, they were counting on Black King, the Head of the Ten Kings!
In North Mang, only Black King could command all these powerful figures and lead them in bringing together humanity's remaining strength.
Otherwise, none of the Ten Kings would bow to another. Without Black King's command, they probably would never gather together, even on their deathbeds.
"They'll definitely all come. Who in North Mang would dare disobey