Surprise

Nine Breaths.

The air trembled.

Dark energy coiled around the ghost like writhing serpents, twisting and pulsing with a malice so dense it felt suffocating. The resentment didn't simply gather—it festered, rotted, and boiled, an all-consuming force born from hatred and despair.

Even as a ghost, it could feel the weight of it.

The sheer pressure bore down on its form, sinking into its very being. The black flag in its grasp shuddered violently, as though trying to escape its master's grip. It was never meant to contain this much power.

But there was no turning back.

This attack had already begun.

Eight.

The energy lashed out.

The ghost grit its teeth, struggling to contain the force that thrashed like a starving beast inside its core. The resentment twisted, recoiling from control—it was not a power meant to be tamed. It was a force that devoured everything, a technique only the desperate or insane would dare to wield.

And at this moment, it was both.

The more it burned, the more unstable it became.

The black tendrils of resentment clawed at the very fabric of its existence, threatening to unravel its form from the inside out. A tremor passed through its spiritual body, faint but undeniable. The cracks were beginning to show.

Seven.

The flickering became worse.

Thin fractures formed across its translucent frame, webbing like shattered glass. A sickening sensation spread through its being—the feeling of something breaking apart.

A human cultivator would have long since collapsed under the strain. Even the strongest body refiners would struggle to withstand this toll. Their flesh would wither, their foundations shatter, their souls fracture beyond repair.

But it was a ghost.

It had no body to destroy.

And yet…

It still hurt.

Six.

Its grip tightened around the flag.

The resentment was like a raging inferno, and it was grasping it with bare hands.

Every second was a battle. Every moment, it was a breath away from losing control.

And if it slipped—if the technique shattered before completion—

The backlash wouldn't just wound it.

It would erase it completely.

Not just its body.

Not just its resentment.

Everything.

There would be nothing left.

Not even a wisp of its soul.

…

Zhang's breath remained steady, but his grip on his sword tightened. The battlefield had long since turned silent, the only sound being the ghost's unstable breathing—if one could even call it that. Its form flickered, barely holding together, yet the pressure around it only grew heavier.

"It's at its limit… but that's what makes it even more dangerous."

Resentment wasn't like qi or spiritual energy. It wasn't something one cultivated but something born from pain, hatred, and death. It clung to the soul, festering, growing stronger with time. The more suffering it carried, the harder it was to control.

This ghost wasn't just burning its cultivation.

It was gambling its entire existence.

And it wasn't even doing so willingly. Zhang could tell—the ghost's trembling form, the flickering of its spiritual body, the sheer instability of the resentment gathering at its core. If it lost control for even a moment, the attack wouldn't just go wild.

It would explode right in front of it.

"It's cornered." Zhang realized. "It has no other choice but to unleash everything in one final attack."

That should have made him feel relieved. A cornered beast was dangerous, but ultimately, it meant it was at its end.

But instead, unease clawed at his chest.

Because this wasn't just any attack.

This was an attack meant to kill everyone inside the array—including the cannon fodder, the ghost itself, and possibly even Zhang if he underestimated it.

A Battle of Survival

His gaze flickered to the barrier he had set up. A Rank 2 array. It should have been impossible to destroy so quickly.

But the cracks were spreading.

It wasn't technique. It wasn't skill.

It was pure force.

The sheer density of resentment was eating away at the array, just as it was tearing the ghost apart. The difference was that Zhang's array had no will, no sense of self to resist it.

"Tch. Even if it's an imperfect technique, the amount of resentment being burned is too much."

Zhang's thoughts moved fast. He needed a solution. The attack was unstable, but that didn't mean it wouldn't fire. And if it did—

A voice echoed in his head.

"We'll hold the line."

His gaze snapped toward Yun and Linglong.

Both of them had activated their own Rank 2 arrays.

For a moment, Zhang was stunned.

He had assumed they were only thinking about themselves. That they had their own contingencies, their own means of defense. He never expected them to include him in their protection.

Linglong's array shimmered, forming a layered defense alongside Yun's. Three Rank 2 arrays—each different in nature, but together forming an unbreakable fortress.

"With this, even if the ghost unleashes everything, we won't die."

Zhang exhaled, his fingers easing slightly from his sword hilt.

Even so… this wasn't over.

He still had a trump card.

….

The nameless disciples trapped inside the array stared at the flickering form of the ghost, their faces pale.

The resentment twisted violently in the air, suffocating, pressing against their chests like a giant hand squeezing the breath from their lungs. The weight of impending death settled over them like an iron shroud.

"This… This isn't what I signed up for," someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the low, eerie hum in the air.

Another swallowed hard, their hands trembling so badly they nearly dropped their weapon. "No one said the ghost would pull this kind of shit!"

"I should've stayed in the outer sect…" one muttered, eyes darting around as if searching for a nonexistent escape. Their voice was barely above a breath, filled with regret so raw it made the others flinch.

Someone else, clearly losing their mind, suddenly clasped their hands together. Their lips moved in a silent prayer before they shouted, "If I survive this, I swear I'll become a monk! I'll pray to whatever god exists!"

The others shot him a look.

"You don't even believe in god."

"I do now!"

No one could even laugh at the absurdity of it.

A suffocating silence settled over them, thick with fear. Their gazes locked onto the ghost, watching its translucent form crack and flicker under the strain of the technique.

It was losing control.

And once it lost control—

They were all dead.

Some clenched their teeth so hard they felt their jaws ache. Others dug their nails into their palms, as if the pain could keep them sane.

Regret gnawed at them like a starving beast.

They should have never mocked Zhang.

They should have never set foot in this place.

They should have never been so arrogant.

But now, none of it mattered.

All they could do was wait and hope the heavens were merciful.

Even though they knew—

No one was coming to save them.