"Wait... beef noodles with no noodles?"

  Zhao Yuanlong blinked, confused for a split second before a localized explosion of agony erupted in his gut.

  His face contorted in a silent scream. He coughed up a spray of crimson, flecked with bits of what looked like shredded organs.

  John’s expression was ice-cold. His entire presence shifted, radiating a bone-deep chill as he fully unleashed the power of the Lesser Spirit.

  Wraith Shroud: Activated.

  In an instant, his combat prowess hit a new peak.

  "Zhao Yuanlong, you have no idea how long I’ve been looking for you!"

  John moved like a blur of static. He grabbed Zhao by the collar and unleashed his signature move: The Psychopath Flurry.

  His raw strength was enough to pulverize ghosts; Zhao Yuanlong might have been a Ghost-User, but he was low-tier—nowhere near the level of someone like Han Yu. He simply didn't have the durability to survive this kind of animalistic violence.

  After vomiting several more mouthfuls of blood, a mangled Zhao finally managed to kick off and put some distance between them.

  His face was a mask of pure malice. "You little brat... you're dead!" he hissed.

  With a surge of spiritual energy, a massive black saber materialized in his hand—his companion object: The Wraith-Face Blade.

  But as soon as the threat left his lips, his pupils shrank. In his vision, John had simply... vanished.

  "Is trash-talking your only skill?"

  The voice whispered directly into his ear. Zhao spun, swinging the blade in a desperate arc, but he was met only with another heavy fist to the jaw that sent him airborne.

  What followed was a relentless, inhumane beatdown. Zhao swung the Wraith-Face Blade wildly, but he couldn't even graze John’s shadow.

  "Is this it?" John muttered, his voice eerily calm. "I’ll give you this much—you’re surprisingly durable."

  Suddenly, Zhao’s eyes turned frantic. He poured every drop of his remaining power into the saber. The blade began to hum with a sickly, dangerous vibration.

  "Huh?" John sensed the spike in lethality and immediately leaped back, putting twenty feet of distance between them.

  "I told you, kid... you're dying tonight!" Zhao snarled. "This blade has devoured the souls of ninety-eight people. How are you going to block this?!"

  "So, your companion spirit eats souls, does it?" John’s gaze turned razor-sharp. "You pathetic coward. You actually hunted civilians just to level up your gear?"

  Zhao spat a glob of blood. "Once I’m strong enough, I’ll protect the city from real threats! Their deaths were a necessary sacrifice. They had value!"

  With a jagged roar, the Wraith-Face Blade let out a piercing, spectral shriek. A visible wave of black energy—a crescent of pure lethality—tore through the air.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "A Cursed Technique?"

  John felt the cold finger of death brush his spine. He didn't hesitate. With a wave of his hand, he expelled every ounce of his stored Chilling Aura.

  The black blade-wave slammed into the icy mist. The aura evaporated instantly, but it slowed the attack just enough to buy John a fraction of a second. He threw himself backward, crashing through the storefront and onto the rain-slicked street just as the wave hit.

  BOOM.

  The black energy shattered the front of the noodle shop, leaving a massive, jagged gouge in the building across the street.

  "Damn, that’s got some kick," John mused, dusting himself off. Good thing I’m fast.

  Across the rubble, Zhao Yuanlong didn't wait to see the results. He bolted into the night, abandoning the fight. He had used his trump card; he was running on empty.

  "Thinking of leaving? We haven't even had dessert yet!"

  John gave chase, his silhouette flickering under the streetlights.

  Amidst the torrential downpour, the two played a high-stakes game of tag through the deserted streets. It didn't last long. John launched himself into the air, bringing a heavy fist down like a hammer, pinning Zhao to the pavement.

  "Just die already. Why do you have to make this difficult?"

  John’s fists fell like rain. One by one, he shattered Zhao’s spiritual defenses until the man was nothing but a broken heap.

  Terror finally overrode Zhao’s malice. "You can't kill me! You can't! I'm a recruit for the Sovereign Society!"

  He had slaughtered those civilians specifically to pass the Society's entrance exam. Once he was a full member, they would have given him a new identity and wiped his slate clean.

  "The Sovereign Society? What the hell is that?" John tilted his head. "Is that like a high-end pig slaughterhouse?"

  His hands didn't slow down for a second.

  CRACK.

  With one final, brutal strike, Zhao Yuanlong’s head met the pavement. Without his spiritual protection, his skull folded like an eggshell.

  "Finally. What a mess." John shook the rainwater out of his hair and sat down next to the corpse, dialing Ron’s number.

  But as the phone rang, he froze.

  Down the rain-swept street, a figure appeared. In the blink of an eye—almost like a glitch in reality—the figure was standing directly in front of him.

  "?" John narrowed his eyes.

  The newcomer wore a heavy black overcoat. His skin was so pale it looked translucent, and his eyes lacked even a flicker of human warmth.

  Another ghost? John tensed, ready to go again.

  The man ignored him, looking down at Zhao’s body. "Dead already? That was fast."

  "Wait..." John paused, his hand hovering mid-air. "You’re a person?"

  "My name is Jia Yuan." The man looked up, offering a smile that was so stiff it looked like it had been carved out of wood. "First, a correction: The Sovereign Society is not a slaughterhouse. It is an elite organization of the world’s most powerful supernatural beings."

  "Then why did you pick such a butcher-shop name?"

  "..." Jia Yuan’s face twitched. He looked even more wooden than before. Ignoring the insult, he continued: "You killed Zhao Yuanlong. How am I supposed to explain this to the Society’s HR department?"

  "Not my problem," John shrugged, already bored with the conversation.

  "You will give me an explanation today," Jia Yuan’s voice turned hard, a weird, unsettling aura beginning to leak from his body. "Even a government dog has to answer to us."

  "Ugh." John rubbed his temples and gave a weary, sarcastic smile. "Fine. You want an explanation? I’ll give you one."

  Before the man could react, John lunged. His hand, coated in Spirit Power, shot out and clamped firmly around Jia Yuan’s throat.

  "If I kill you, too, then there’s nobody left to explain things to. How’s that for an explanation?"

  John squeezed with bone-crushing force. But instead of the snap of a neck, he felt the man’s throat... flatten. It didn't break; it compressed like wet cardboard.

  "Huh?"

  John let go. Jia Yuan’s body lost all structural integrity, collapsing into a heap on the wet pavement. As the rain soaked into his skin, the "man" began to dissolve, turning into a soggy, limp piece of... paper.

  "A paper doll?"

  John raised an eyebrow. No wonder he hadn't sensed a heartbeat. It was a puppet.

  "You... owe me... an explanation..." The paper doll’s face was distorted by the water, but it still spoke in a chilling, rasping voice. "I, Jia Yuan, will remember you. The Sovereign Society... will remember you!"

  John looked down at the melting puppet and gave a bright, helpful grin.

  "Oh, please do! I’m a man of my word. I never hide my identity."

  John puffed out his chest and declared with absolute conviction:

  "My name is Wei Feng. Don't you forget it!"