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“Whoosh...”
The Inferno was engulfed in roaring flames, their brightness piercingly intense, far exceeding what it had been before.
The flames coursed through the mountain, creating a howling wind that echoed eerily.
In an instant, the Daoist's figure was swallowed by the blaze.
Yet, despite being surrounded by fire, he remained completely unharmed.
Not only was he untouched, but his Daoist robe, with its flowing hem, and the emerald-green bamboo staff in his hand, remained unchanged in the flames.
The Daoist walked slowly to the edge of the Inferno, lifted his head to glance upward, then surveyed his surroundings before lowering his gaze to the pit below.
Not only had the intensity of the flames increased, but their nature had also changed.
The fire now possessed a unique spiritual quality and function. In terms of burning ghostly souls, it was perhaps less intense than ordinary flames. Regular flames, at the very least, were feared by most ghosts; even elder spirits could not endure them for long. Yet in this fire, even newly departed souls did not immediately disintegrate.
Instead, the flames burned slowly, steadily roasting the souls, reducing them to ash—while leaving behind something else.
Below, countless ghostly figures writhed and twisted in agony, their numbers likely in the tens of thousands.
All of them were trapped within the flames, crying, struggling, and pleading for mercy.
“Ah!”
“It hurts so much...”
“I’m sorry for my mistakes! Please spare me!”
“I only accidentally hurt someone....
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