Chapter Six: The Ghostly Soldiers

Beneath a solitary cliff, Chen Ming watched as Barger led his ghostly soldiers, herding several spirits forward. With a wave of his hand, several points of purifying light drifted out. The light was pure, carrying a hint of vitality and a touch of dominance, flying straight toward the foreheads of the soul bodies.

Then, with a series of muffled roars, these souls, like the ghostly soldiers before them, became dazed, lost in their own memories.

But this time, Chen Ming did not rouse them himself; instead, he let them awaken on their own, his eyes bright as he observed the space above their heads.

Below, the evil spirits Barger had brought were all detected through the divine imprints within them, so their fates were complete.

Chen Ming did not hold out much hope for them. He had been through this process many times already, yet the results were meager. The best among them was Barger, whom he had met the first time—his innate fate was white and complete, not tinged with red but not far from it.

Such odds had completely surprised Chen Ming. Thinking back, he realized that having a Kuruba in his tribe with a fate touched by gold was truly a stroke of luck.

A soft exclamation of surprise rose in Chen Ming’s heart. Among the spirits, an old man with a solid yet frail soul stood with eyes closed.

This elder appeared utterly ordinary; his spiritual strength in battle had seemed mediocre at best. Yet his fate was anything but. His innate fate burned crimson, second only to Kuruba of Chen Ming’s tribe among all those he had seen these past days. Moreover, despite his death, faint threads of fortune still coiled around his destiny—rare in this place, even if weak—indicating that, in life, he had held a high position, and even in death, lingering fortune protected him.

Chen Ming remained impassive, betraying no sign of emotion. By now, such things barely stirred him—at most, a flicker of surprise.

He waited quietly until the souls across from him fully awakened.

Gradually, clarity returned to their faces. Seeing Barger and the others standing nearby, they slowly knelt, bowing and worshipping, the elder blending in, utterly unremarkable.

Chen Ming watched this scene, feeling speechless. The natives here were simple, still uncivilized; their only response to a god was to kneel and worship.

“If only an ancient person from Earth were here, at least they’d recite a few words as well,” he thought with a hint of wicked amusement.

“Would you be willing to serve beneath me?” he asked calmly.

At his words, they quickly replied, “We are willing, we are willing!”

Chen Ming nodded, then frowned slightly. Among these souls were not only strong men but also women and elders.

Until now, he had only encountered warriors in their prime, so he had never considered this problem—he simply converted all into ghostly soldiers.

But now he had to face it: what should be done with the old and weak?

Abandonment was out of the question. Any living being—even in death, so long as the soul remained and the true spirit endured—possessed the ability to influence the flow of power in the unseen world. This was useless to ordinary people, but to a god like him, possessing a divine spark, such souls were resources. Besides, even if he could discard these, what would happen in the future when his own followers grew old and died?

A well-established deity would, of course, have their own divine realm to house them. But now, Chen Ming was nearly destitute—let alone a divine realm, even his divine domain was pitifully small.

He turned silently to look northward.

There lay the direction of his tribe. In the depths of his being, Chen Ming saw an ancient tree towering to the heavens, its leaves swaying, casting pure light.

“For now, I’ll settle them in the divine domain,” he sighed inwardly.

With a wave of his hand, his divine spark stirred, and he absorbed the souls within.

The divine spark contained its own space, able to house spirits, though it was a place of utter silence; left too long, it could drive any soul mad.

With a thought, Chen Ming activated the sealing power within his divine spark, imprisoning the souls inside. In this way, he solved the issue of accommodation, and the souls, slumbering within the divine spark, would consume the barest minimum of energy.

He then sent out a divine imprint toward several of them, conjuring suits of armor. Barger stepped forward to lead them away.

At last, only the crimson-fated elder remained.

Chen Ming looked at him calmly and said, “Are you willing to worship me and become my priest?”

The elder, anxious, waited—when he heard this, he immediately cried, “I am willing!”

Seeing this, Chen Ming nodded. A single drop of divine power, condensed to substance, flew toward the old man.

This drop was different from ordinary divine power. However dazzling and powerful normal divine energy might appear, it could not change its essence. This drop, though small, contained enough energy to transform dozens of ghostly soldiers if released, all concentrated into a single point.

As the divine essence touched the old man’s soul, a miraculous transformation occurred.

His weak, aged soul suddenly surged with astounding vitality, washing over it a hundredfold in a single instant.

Before the astonished eyes of Barger and the others, the elder’s form shifted from old and frail to young, finally becoming a robust, powerful man in his prime.

He stood, gazing at the priestly robe now covering him, feeling as if his very being had been sublimated. In the depths of his soul, information poured in, awakening new understanding within him. He knelt before Chen Ming, exclaiming with emotion, “Ragus thanks my god for this blessing!”

To restore a soul to youth in an instant, even elevating it beyond the mundane—Chen Ming sighed inwardly, a pang of pain in his heart.

That one drop of divine power exceeded his gains from ten days combined. In fact, his entire reserve of divine energy at the moment amounted to only a few dozen such drops, and now one was gone.

“These souls, too, must be taken back to the divine domain as soon as possible,” he thought, glancing at Barger and the others.

Maintaining ghostly soldiers did not require extra energy. Once souls were bathed in divine radiance, they were transformed into a state distinct from normal spirits, able to sustain themselves by instinct, drawing energy from the world.

But the black mist shrouding this world forced him to reinforce his soldiers with divine power, lest they be corrupted by the outside. This, naturally, increased his expenditure.

Within his divine domain, however, where his own power prevailed, such costs were greatly reduced.

He looked at Ragus, kneeling before him. After the transformation, not only was the soul’s frailty gone, but a faint crystalline light shone from his spiritual body.

Chen Ming nodded, feeling it was worth it, and said, “Rise.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ragus replied, clad now in white priestly robes.

“How did you die?” Chen Ming asked after a pause.

At this, sorrow flickered in Ragus’s eyes, and he answered heavily, “Several days ago, a pack of demon wolves came from the south, attacking several nearby tribes.”

“They do not eat corpses, but delight in slaughter. Each time they discover a tribe, they attack by night, merciless and cruel. When they break a tribe’s defenses, they always carry out a massacre.”

As he spoke, grief flashed in his eyes, but he continued, “Before the slaughter, my tribe planned to gather everyone and migrate north. We had contacted neighboring tribes and agreed to travel together. But before we could set out, the demon wolves struck, and our entire tribe was wiped out.”

Chen Ming nodded; this was much as he had expected.

After a moment, he asked curiously, “North? Why north, and not another direction?”

“To the north lies a tribe called Ashur,” Ragus replied, recalling, “All the tribes in this region are connected in some way. Not long ago, we heard news: months before, Ashur’s ancient tree totem had awakened. So we decided to move north, seeking their protection.”

“Ancient tree?” Chen Ming was taken aback, a vague sense of familiarity stirring within him. Then he remembered—Ashur was the name of his own tribe.

He couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. When had he become so influential that people would seek him out of their own accord?

He shook his head, setting aside the thought, and asked, “Do you know where the other tribes slaughtered by the wolves are located?”

“I do,” Ragus replied, now composed.

“Lead the way,” Chen Ming ordered.

With Ragus guiding him, the gathering of ghostly soldiers sped up considerably. By the time Chen Ming reached a tribe beside a small stream, he had over a hundred ghostly soldiers behind him, all veterans of fierce battles, exuding a formidable, blood-soaked aura.

Among them, the strongest—like Gree—had nearly solidified their soul bodies through relentless combat.

As usual, Chen Ming commanded his forces, advancing by devouring and piercing through the opposition, driving a horde of evil spirits back in defeat.

The ghostly soldiers, strengthened by constant battle and absorption, were now several leagues above their former selves. And with Ragus as priest—

After his transformation, just like Grandma in the Ashur tribe, Ragus had established a mysterious connection with Chen Ming, through which he had, by his own talent, grasped several divine arts. When he used them in battle, the effects were formidable.

Chen Ming watched as the battle below neared its inevitable conclusion. But just as victory was within reach—

Faintly, an unusual sensation touched his mind. Instinctively, he looked toward a corner of the battlefield that had been overlooked.

There, a patch of blackness lingered.