On a deserted highway in the distant outskirts of Dajing City.
Space rippled scarlet, and Yang Jian, Ye Zhen, Zhang Wei, Feng Quan, and the others tumbled out of thin air.
Their feet landed on the hard pavement, and they breathed air free of the stench of corpses and burning flesh.
Huang Ziya, Hu Liena, Yan, and Chrysanthemum Douluo all but collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
Even Yang Jian, whose nerves had been taut the entire time, closed his bleeding Ghost Eye and completely withdrew his five-layer ghost domain.
They were exhausted.
Under the suppression of the S-Class Ghost Messenger, Yang Jian had felt the vengeful ghosts inside him growing restless.
Everyone looked utterly drained, as though they had just brushed shoulders with death.
Only two people were exceptions.
"Hahaha! Mere darkness thought it could trap me, Ye Zhen?"
Ye Zhen stood with his hands on his hips, facing the night wind as his tattered trench coat flapped behind him.
Black dead water flowed through his body, and sickly green ghost fire pulsed at his heart. He was in peak condition, stronger than ever before.
"If Little Yang hadn't insisted on dragging me away, I'd have drawn my sword and fought him for three hundred rounds!"
Zhang Wei was equally excited, holding his card box as he swaggered along like he owned the world.
Looking at those two clowns, Yang Jian did not even have the energy to acknowledge them.
He was just about to lean against a streetlamp and rest for a moment.
Suddenly, Yang Jian froze.
He whipped his head around and stared fixedly at the horizon. The Ghost Eye he had just closed forced itself open again.
Ye Zhen's laughter also cut off abruptly. He dropped his theatrical pose, his gaze turning cold and sharp