In the dimly lit room, the only light came from the weak fire at the furnace, with the cold seeping through the cracks along with the wind outside, rolling in like smoke-chilled air.
At this time, the room was silent and tranquil.
The burly blacksmith merely watched the scholar who had burst through the door without moving.
His face, hidden in the darkness, was unreadable, but his eyes were losing control, malicious intent materializing into a faint, ghastly green glow.
This was the malice of the dead towards the living.
"Get lost," the strong man finally spoke, his voice hoarse yet robust.
"Officer Tan jests, I'm already here, how could I leave just like that?" Tan Shuchang was in high spirits because, with the "Divine Skill of Water Mirror Lotus Cover," he had already sensed the number and position of the fierce ghosts.
If he didn't count his dog-headed military strategist, there were exactly nine ghosts, not one more, not one less.
