Two large islands concealed the Steel Gate between them.
On the southern island, soldiers lay in the grass, watching the distant sea.
These scouts were dedicated to their work, wearing rings of grass on their heads and covering themselves with branches and leaves.
Once they lay down in the grass like this, they were difficult to spot even up close.
Night had already fallen.
Crimson moonlight shone on the sea.
There was no fog on the water. Any passing ship would surely be spotted.
But just then, a translucent figure descended from a tree above the scouts.
The figure had distinctly Southern Continent features. Its entire body was pale, its eyes ringed with darkness, and its expression filled with resentment, as though it hated every living creature.
It was a Wraith.
It swiftly descended onto one of the scouts.
The scout suddenly felt a chill down his back. He tried to speak, only to discover that he could not open his mouth.
Unable to use Spirit Vision, he naturally could not see the Wraith covering his mouth with its hand.
Then, to his horror, he saw himself draw the dagger at his waist against his will and stab the companion beside him.
He watched himself expertly plunge the dagger into his companion's body, then wrench it sideways, opening a long wound.
His companion, hiding in the grass, had never expected such a sudden calamity. He died before he could even scream.
Soon afterward.
Cries of alarm rang out in the grass.
The two remaining scouts turned on each other. In the end, one had a dagger buried in his heart, while the one controlled by the Wraith had his throat slit.
Only after everyone was dead did the Wraith leave the soldier. Under some invisible control, it flew toward the