On the vast fringe of the Central Star Realm, a desolate planet hides, never marked on the Royal Star Map of the Empire.
Here, fierce winds howl, the land stretches barren for thousands of miles, and outside the planet, violent turbulence is rife. Ordinary starships dare not approach, which is exactly why it became the Blood Demon Cult’s hidden stronghold for years.
Atop a towering solitary peak deep within the planet, stands a secretive base fortified to an unbearable extent.
Built against the mountain, the base is guarded by countless covert surveillance cameras like ghostly eyes, incessantly scanning the shadows; teams of robed cultists wielding Spiritual Energy weapons patrol along fixed routes with steady, meticulous steps.
Above the base, dozens of stealth flying devices navigate and patrol continuously, layers of Spiritual Energy barriers envelop the surroundings, making it impossible for even a mosquito to slip in unnoticed.
Within the central hall at the core of the base, stand silently over a hundred statue-like figures.
Among them are humans, beastmen, and fierce-looking spirit beasts. Their eyes tightly shut, unmoving, their chests unstirred, they might seem indistinguishable from cold sculptures at a glance.
Yet approaching closer, one would faintly hear a heavy and powerful heartbeat from within, like a fierce beast in hiding, concealing terrifying explosive power.
And deeper in the underground of the base, within a vast giant cave, the scene turns even more terrifying.
Countless figures are neatly arranged, stretching endlessly in view, numbering in the hundreds of thousands.
Their skin is pale as paper, cheeks tinged with an unnatural blue-black, a faint cold and spectral aura surrounds them, their eyes empty and devoid of spirit, created as the corpse puppet army by the Blood Demon Cult through years of invoking the power of the ghost coffin.
On ordinary days, these corpse puppets, though devoid of self-consciousness, have solid bodies and stable auras, ready to transform into a sweeping tide of slaughter upon mand.
But at this moment, an eerie change is occurring in this army, considered the foundation of the Blood Demon Cult.
Many corpse puppets begin to seep a gray-black corrosive liquid from their surfaces, their skin quickly shriveling, blocks of ghastly blue-black corpse speckles spreading like a plague.
The air begins to carry a faint, unmistakable stench of decay, as they lose the continuous nourishing of the ghost coffin and the suppression of dark forces; their corpse energy rapidly dissipates within, their bodies visibly collapsing and rotting.
The once unstoppable corpse puppet army is gradually turning back into cold dead bodies.
Arrayed like a tide, the corpse puppet army emits a chilling aura across the land, each rigid body exuding a stench and coldness, while before this desolate flood, a black and red figure stands quietly.
The man wears a black robe with dark patterns, embroidered with eerie blood-red designs at the hem, his face concealed by a Black Crow mask, revealing only a pair of unfathomable eyes.
Behind him, three black-robed figures stand with bowed heads, each covered by masks of different styles. Though their expressions are unseen, their tense shoulders and slightly trembling bodies silently reveal the extreme tension roiling within.
"Deputy Cult Leader, it’s confirmed—Ghostface’s mission failed, now imprisoned in the Judgement Court’s dungeon, the whereabouts of the ghost coffin remain unknown, while the targets Qin Tian and Xue Wuyang have safely returned to Ice Extreme Pass."
The Bloodthorn Masked Man speaks with a low voice, full of anxiety, each word slightly trembling as if saying any more would bring catastrophic disaster.
"Failed~"
A haunting voice echoes in the cavernous space, without anger, without rebuke, yet carrying a soul-piercing chill, wrapping around the three individuals like icy threads, even freezing the deathly aura in the air.
The Deputy Cult Leader slowly turns, his eyes under the Black Crow mask remain unaffected, his tone calm, yet the pressure in his words makes the three black-robed figures shiver, as if plunged into an ice cellar.
"How did you assure me initially? Ghostface carrying the ghost coffin, acpanied by a Tier Eight Holy Blood Puppet Golem, and several Tier Seven Golems, capturing the target without fail... and yet the oute?"
With the words falling, the three feel as if their hearts are gripped by an invisible giant hand, making breathing extremely difficult.
Even though they all are Tier Eight spiritualists, at this moment, under this silent pressure, their bodies stiffen, unable to even control their trembling.
"Deputy Cult Leader, I... I apologize! I will find every possible way to retrieve the ghost coffin, and bring it back to headquarters!" The Bloodthorn Masked Man’s head hangs lower, his voice carrying a trace of desperate pleading.
More than anyone, he understands what the ghost coffin signifies to the Blood Demon Cult.
On this planet, millions of corpse puppets are spread across various corners; they are the "eyes" of the Blood Demon Cult covering the planet, as much as they are the cult’s most steadfast defense force.
If the ghost coffin cannot be retrieved to headquarters, it will no longer continue to nourish these corpse puppets with its dark energy; within a month, all corpse puppets will lose their support, turning into piles of decaying remnants.
It’s important to realize that the Blood Demon Cult has been deliberate in selecting the corpse puppets.
In life, those bodies were at least Tier Four spiritualists, among them not lacking Tier Six and Tier Seven strongmen.
Should all these corpse puppets decay, the Blood Demon Cult’s accumulation over hundreds of years will be for naught, turning into nothingness.
The Bloodthorn Masked Man is deeply anxious, unable to prehend how Ghostface could have failed.
Ghostface himself is a Tier Eight spiritualist, holding the ghost coffin; even a Holy Blood expert of the same tier would be mercilessly oppressed by the coffin.
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