As long as you have the courage, fierce ghosts go on maternity leave.

Desert was thoroughly dumbfounded. The force of the slap sent him flying through the air, his body crashing to the ground and his mind plunging into chaos.

What had just happened? Weren’t these natives summoned by him?

Yet, the ordeal was far from over.

Whether intentional or not, the Ghost Emperor’s slap managed to send Desert tumbling onto another native.

This one was only of Imperial rank, but he was imbued with a forbidding power. Without uttering a word, he yanked Desert off the ground and delivered another ear-splitting slap.

Smack, smack, smack!

Ten slaps in a row, each one a clarion toll of humiliation.

By this point, Desert’s face had swollen to a caricature of its former self, a grotesque mask of buffoonery. Even the ghost energy coursing through him was tainted by the taboo forces these natives wielded.

"I... I spent one hundred billion ghost points to recruit you! How could you betray me like this?" Desert wailed, his voice tinged with a delirious sense of injustice.

The mention of that astronomical number only seemed to inflame the natives further.

A hundred billion was no small sum; divided among the ten of them, each would have ten billion.

For these ghosts forever caught in an infernal loop, even a mere hundred thousand would be enough for them to pledge their absolute loyalty, provided, of course, that you had the right tools or talismans for their summoning or awakening.

But that was the past, a time when they were different beings. Now, they were all employees under Alexander!

A mere ten billion ghost points each? It was an insult!

The first to slap Desert was none other than Alexander’s chief sycophant and right-hand man, Owen. Not only was he a skilled flatterer with keen perception, but he was also an adept corpse scavenger.

Of the sixteen Ghost Emperor corpses, he had seized half. Even now, he still held the corpse of a Ghost Emperor!

With bonuses and commissions, Owen’s stockpile of ghost points had reached an absurdly exaggerated level. These points would not only secure his freedom but also ensure a life of opulence within the mist instance.

The other Ghost Emperors weren’t as ostentatious as Owen, but they each had at least twenty or thirty billion. Even those at the Imperial level could potentially amass one to two hundred billion with some effort.

And all this in just half a day.

The reason they hadn’t redeemed their freedom to become NPCs was simple: doing so would cost them their golden opportunity for financial gain. In this context, Desert’s paltry offer of a hundred billion to hire ten people was not just laughable—it was insulting!

What was worse, he dared to consider harming Alexander, their current benefactor. Even if Desert had offered a trillion spirit points per person, none would have the audacity to lay a hand on Alexander.

Tens of thousands of natives were standing behind them, waiting to help Alexander get rich. If any of them dared to betray Alexander, those natives would tear them to shreds in a heartbeat.

"This bastard dares to cut off our money flow? Kill him!"

"Wait! Don’t kill him just yet. I didn’t get my chance to slap him. Let me get a hit in first, and then we can finish him off!"

.....

After the initial ten had their turn, there were still tens of thousands more waiting. The sound of slaps reverberated through the sky, a stinging symphony that bore down on Desert.

Despite being a Ghost Emperor with formidable vitality, he was no match for the unending line of natives waiting to deliver their blows, the sound resembling the infectious beat of a DJ set.

Owen couldn’t care less about this aural spectacle. Striding up to Alexander, he proffered the corpse he held with a sycophantic grin, "Boss, this is what I just got for you. What do you think of the quality?"

"Excellent, excellent!" Alexander took the corpse, pleased. As a token of his gratitude, he granted Owen a hundred billion ghost points and began converting the corpse into Ghost Food.

Glowing with delight, Owen glanced back at Desert, who was being tossed around like a ragdoll amidst the relentless smacks. He sneered, "Hit him hard! Let him know what it means to cross our boss!"

Upon hearing Owen’s command, the tens of thousands of natives intensified their slaps.

The fate of Desert was sealed. Even though he was a Ghost Emperor, and even if the natives weren’t using their full strength, the sheer numbers were overwhelming. Desert, contaminated by the forbidden force, stood no chance of survival.

Alexander resumed the conversion of ghost corpses into Ghost Food. Time wore on, signaling the approaching end of this instance.

Suddenly, a haunting, ethereal sound echoed in the misty skies. Every participant looked up.

Above Cangshan City, the white mist began to part, revealing an enormous ship emerging from the cloudy shroud. Columns of white light descended from the sky. One such beam, several meters in diameter, landed just a few dozen steps away from Alexander.

"Participants, please enter the teleportation column within one minute to await the end of the instance. Those who fail to do so within the countdown will remain in the mist instance until the next session begins," a cold voice announced.

"The instance is finally ending!" Alexander wore a grin as he glanced at his inventory, crammed full of Ghost Food. He shared a knowing look with Kassadin and Edward, and all three stepped into the column of white light.

This session had yielded rewards beyond Alexander’s wildest expectations. The advent of the role-playing card had catapulted him into affluence.

While he hadn’t acquired many Abyssal Ghost Crystals, he had amassed a plethora of Ghost Food: 5 million soldier-level, 300,000 general-level, 12,000 prince-level, 1,000 king-level, 103 imperial-level, and 19 emperor-level entities.

Given enough time to digest these resources, each Ghost Food could transform into a ghost of corresponding rank. Particularly enticing were the 5 million soldier-level Ghost Food.

Alexander could sell them, maximizing their utility with treasures from the Fierce Ghost Association. Time permitting, even creating tens of millions of soldier-level entities wasn’t out of the question.

Moreover, the mist instance wasn’t a one-time affair. The Restraining Card’s effect lasted a full month. It had only been a few days since Alexander used it on the chef.

The Perfect Identity Card could be utilized three times in total, meaning Alexander could return to the ninth dining hall to resume his role-play.

"Participant Alexander, booth 69 has been reserved for you. Teleportation initiating!"

With those final words ringing in his ear, Alexander vanished into the column of white light. He wasn’t alone; every participant in Cangshan City found themselves aboard the airship.

The steamship’s horn sounded a lingering note, breaking the mist and slowly vanishing from the vicinity of the Cangshan City instance. As it disappeared, the mist closed in again.

Unbeknownst to Alexander and the other participants, a profound transformation began to sweep through the entire city, an evolution veiled in the enigmatic folds of the receding mist.

Battle-steeds echoed through the shifting mist,which roiled as if at a boi. Accompanied by the rhythmic drumming of hooves, white warhorses carried black-armored hell warriors into the fog.

Leading them was the Inspector. He unsheathed his sword and swept his icy gaze across the city. With a fierce snap of his whip, he bellowed, "Slay!"

In an instant, equine cries filled the air. Hell warriors, armed with longswords, burst forth to the cacophony of thunderous hooves.

Gates adjacent to each dining hall creaked open, releasing a tidal wave of these hell warriors.

The white mist enveloping Cangshan City began to stir—rolling like a tempestuous sea on one side, while closing in swiftly to merge with the hell warriors on the other.

It was as if the city itself had awakened. The dread buried deep in memory resurfaced, igniting mass hysteria and chaos among the populace.

With a flash, a sword cut through the mist, followed by a shower of crimson. Four indigenous people, who had been in flight, were decapitated, their heads tumbling to the ground.

The mist swiftly enveloped the fallen bodies, and dim green paper lanterns arose. A dense fog gushed out from the corpses.

Normally, if one selected in the instance breaks the cycle, ghostly energy would coalesce within the lanterns to form Abyssal Ghost Crystals. But now, the corpses rapidly transmuted into concentrated ghost energy, which instead of drifting toward the lanterns, wafted into the depths of the distant mist.

This was slaughter—a bloodbath executed solely for the act of killing. Sword light flickered within the fog, and a misty rain of blood gave the cloud a tinge of soft red, painting a macabre scene in haunting shades.

Without exception, all hell warriors joined the ranks of the slaughter, Behind not just the local indigenous people, but also the chefs in the dining halls and even the police—any NPC one could think of. Every being was drawn into the massacre.

Corpses disintegrated into ghostly mist; rivers of residual blood flowed, converging at the city’s core. It formed a lake—or rather, an ocean, an ocean of blood.

Above this abyss, sixteen enormous green paper lanterns oscillated wildly, stirring the sanguine sea into a boiling frenzy. Countless plumes of white mist evaporated upwards, while concentrated streams of black ghostly energy flowed into the depths of the white fog.

From a bird’s-eye view, obstructed only by the shrouding mists, one would see these dark rivers of ghostly energy merging at the fog’s epicenter—as if an invisible maw, akin to some ancient behemoth, was swallowing all the ghostly mist.

Cangshan City, much smaller in area than Dark Hell, lacked the latter’s rich topography. It was a purely urban setting, but ironically, its population far exceeded that of Dark Hell.

Over a million hell warriors emerged from the fog, and hundreds of millions of indigenous people were rapidly culled in the wake of their frenzied slaughter.

Ting-a-ling!

As the last corpse fell, a crisp tinkling of silver bells resonated through the air. The leading Inspector raised his hand slightly, and all the hell warriors ceased their carnage in unison. Turning around, they melted back into the white fog with practiced ease.

The white mist began to disperse, but the ringing of the silver bells continued.

Squads of lifeless ghosts were herded by the hell warriors out of the fog. Each ghost resembled an inflated balloon—dull-eyed, gender-indistinguishable, yet radiating terrifying ghost energy.

Boom!

Upon exiting the fog’s boundary, these ghosts burst open like overfilled balloons. Gouts of ghostly mist surged out and were absorbed by the hovering paper lanterns scattered across Cangshan City.

A group of unidentifiable dwarves, covering kilometers with each step, rapidly materialized at various points throughout the city. With a flick of their wrists, they tossed their paper lanterns into the air.

Anyone involved would have noticed that these lanterns were strategically placed at the exact locations where cycles had been broken—like in front of Mingzhu Apartments, where Alexander had disrupted the cycle of the old lady, or along the route of the No. 38 bus, among others.

Once the lanterns were properly set, the dwarves likewise retreated from Cangshan City, as did the hell warriors emerging from their encampments.

Throughout Cangshan City, countless green paper lanterns began to flicker and sway. The ghost mists—byproducts of exploded ghosts—were rapidly sucked in by these lanterns, and humanoid shapes began to coalesce around them.