Where Malice Gathers

"Let us begin by formally introducing the nine remaining members of this assembly," the girl in the elegant white Hanfu said respectfully, her white fox mask concealing her expression.

Immemorvis and Afilada stepped forward, making their way to the rounded table before taking their seats among their peers.

Winter then raised her arm, gesturing toward a man seated nearby. As if responding to her movement, a beam of light from the ceiling shifted, illuminating him.

"This gentleman before you is one of the oldest members of the Ten Corrupted Spirits... His domain lies within the forest, two kilometers outside the city. His name is Servus Ipse," Winter announced.

The man whose name had just been spoken was a dark-skinned figure with a two-strand cornrow hairstyle. He wore a long bear-fur coat draped over his broad shoulders, with a voodoo necklace hanging around his neck.

Heavy chains, separated yet bound to both his wrists, trailed to the ground, their broken ends dragging across the floor. Beneath his coat, he was shirtless, revealing a black chest adorned with a tattoo of multiple doves, each crowned with a glowing halo. His eyes gleamed with an unnatural, pure gold hue.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he simply sat in silence before offering a quiet nod.

"Hah... You haven't changed, have you? You could at least acknowledge the rest of us!"

The voice came from a man whose face was a grotesque sight—maggots wriggled from his eye sockets and the upper part of his face, shifting beneath his skin as if swimming.

He was a massive figure, both fat and towering in stature. Shirtless, he wore only white pants and sandals. In one hand, he held a pristine white glove. His mustache curled and twisted like a pair of dragon tails.

A beam of light from the ceiling suddenly intensified, casting its glow upon the man who had just spoken. With an amused tone, he declared,

"It looks like it's my turn!"

Winter's voice remained steady, as usual, as she continued,

"This gentleman here is a Corrupted Spirit, and his territory lies within the largest abandoned mansion in the city, located in its most desolate part... Parasitus Mortuorum."

Parasitus gave a satisfied nod in acknowledgment before Winter turned and pointed to someone else.

Before Winter could continue, a hand slammed violently onto the table, followed by a voice filled with anger.

"What the hell are we doing with these introductions? Let's stop this useless crap and get straight to it. I don't have all day!"

The man who interrupted Winter was none other than Hephaestus.

He wore a black kimono adorned with a blood-red pattern. His hair was pure white, save for a single streak of crimson running through it. His eyes were pools of pure darkness, void of light.

Winter didn't say a word. She simply stared at Hephaestus. If one could see through her mask, they might glimpse hollow, empty eyes beneath.

Then, a man with pale skin, crimson eyes, and a well-fitted tan suit spoke in a serious tone.

"Please, it would be appreciated if you did not interrupt this meeting with your outbursts, Hephaestus."

Hephaestus let out a wicked, bitter laugh, his dark eyes narrowing as he turned toward the man.

"Hah! Really funny. Since when does a weakling think he can order people around?"

The room fell silent for a moment—except for the lazy breathing of Immemorvis, who had been resting his head on the table. Then, with an almost playful tone, one laced with something far more sinister, he finally spoke.

"Ironic, coming from a man who almost died twice to an elderly shaman who was already on her deathbed. If he's a weakling, then what does that make you?"

Hephaestus's pitch-black eyes twisted into an expression of pure hatred. In a blur of motion, he shot up from his seat, launching himself at Immemorvis with terrifying speed. His arm morphed into a gleaming crimson blade, its edge pulsing with lethal intent.

Some of the spirits in the room let out weary sighs, as if accustomed to such outbursts.

With a wicked laugh, Hephaestus sneered, "If you really believe that, then try to survive and stand by your foolish thinking."

As his blade came down, one might notice Afilada's hand twitch inside his pocket, poised to leave it the moment Hephaestus came closer—ready to unleash his Perforante Twofold.

Yet, despite the imminent attack, Immemorvis showed no signs of concern. He didn't even flinch. His mind was at work, but none of his thoughts reflected on his face. He remained as nonchalant as ever.

He's about to move…

Words echoed through the room, an order so absolute that even reality itself could not disobey:

"Fall."

In an instant, Hephaestus crashed to the ground with an earth-shattering force, the floor beneath him fracturing as if crushed beneath the weight of his own existence—magnified a hundredfold.

"What the—?!"

Parasitus let out a chuckle, watching with amusement as Hephaestus struggled in vain, his body pinned by the sheer force of gravity. As the pressure intensified, Parasitus turned his gaze toward the source of the overwhelming force and smirked.

"I didn't expect you to step in... Ipse."

Servus Ipse stood still, raising a single finger into the air while keeping his hollow golden eyes locked downward. His voice was firm, serious—devoid of emotion.

"Do not interrupt this meeting, Hephaestus. Children should not speak out of turn. They should simply keep their mouths shut."

Hephaestus's expression twisted with hatred, his face contorting as he spat out his words, still struggling against the crushing gravity.

"How dare you?! YOU WRETCH!!"

Servus didn't even glance at him. Instead, he raised a second finger. His voice was cold, low—free of anger, yet laced with something far worse.

"Shut the hell up."

The moment the words left his lips, reality shifted. As if some divine will had decreed it, Hephaestus's body lost all ability to produce sound. No matter how much he screamed, no matter what actions he took—his existence had been severed from the very concept of sound itself.

Servus sighed, his next words carrying a quiet, venomous malice.

"You thought you were strong, didn't you? Running around, boasting that you're the strongest among the nine of us..."

Servus placed a hand on his voodoo necklace, his golden eyes darkening with a somber gaze.

"You're probably asking yourself how I know about it...?" he murmured. "It's simple. A master knows everything about his slave."

His fingers tightened around the charms as he cast a cold glance downward.

"So just shut the hell up and watch. Pay close attention, and maybe—just maybe—you'll begin to understand the unfair difference in power between us... this little group that the Wicked formed."

The pale man in the tan suit gave a small nod before speaking in a formal tone.

"I appreciate your assistance in... handling the situation, Ipse."

As Immemorvis observed the exchange, a rare flicker of unease crossed his mind.

What a problematic man... I think I have a decent idea of what his abilities are about… but still, he might just be the most troublesome one out of all of us.

The man let out a tired sigh before shifting his gaze toward Winter.

"Winter… you may continue."

Winter gave a silent nod, and almost immediately, a beam of light from above illuminated the same man, as if acknowledging his presence with divine precision.

This time, when Winter spoke, her voice carried an unmistakable weight of absolute respect—far greater than the tone she had used when introducing the others.

"This gentleman before you is Master William Jame—the most powerful and influential figure on the northern continent of the spiritual world."

She paused, as if allowing the gravity of his name to settle in the room.

"He is the sole owner of the

The Culling Stakes Tournament—a ruthless competition where the most dangerous spirits and individuals from both the physical and spiritual worlds wager everything they have. He holds an iron grip over the underworld—scamming, drugs, assassins, gambling, and every facet of the illegal trade bends to his will.

"And yet, beyond all of that… he is, in secret, the wealthiest man to have ever existed. Every rich and powerful individual seeks some form of connection with Master William, for to be in his favor is to wield true power."

William picked up a cigar, placing it between his lips before letting out a wicked laugh.

"Stop praising me, Winter… You know I'll get a big head if you keep that up."

Winter remained silent, offering neither a response nor a reaction. Instead, another beam of light descended, illuminating yet another member of the assembly.

And so, the meeting of the most powerful wicked spirits of the spiritual world continued…

chapter seventy-three end