Chapter 237

228. Chapter 228: Death Begins

Zhang Xun, a Soul Realm cultivator, could sense that many people had died on this floor at some point in the past; their fear lingered like a residue. Yet something strange was this: despite searching so long, not a single corpse had been found. If this place truly was haunted and ghosts had killed people, there must be corpses left behind.

Judging by the sealing outside, no one could have come here specifically to dispose of bodies.

Following his intuition, Zhang Xun traced the sensation to a room door on this floor.

The door was unlocked, half-open.

Along the wall beside the door, numerous scratches marred the surface, stained with blood—clearly made by someone dragging themselves, fingers clawing at the wall. This proved something undeniably existed inside the room.

"Something's wrong."

Zhang Xun frowned at the scratches, an instinctive unease rising within him.

This feeling was abnormal.

He was a Soul Realm cultivator; dangers ordinary people couldn't handle meant nothing to him. So why this unease?

With cautious doubt, Zhang Xun pushed open the half-open door and stepped inside.

Instantly, a chilling aura enveloped him. Even as a cultivator, he shivered involuntarily—then realized this cold wasn't physical; the room's temperature was normal. This cold was a spiritual intrusion.

Like an energy field emitted by something—normal people couldn't see it, but it could indirectly affect them, like the intact oddity, the Luan Feng Feather, during interdimensional travel.

Yet no energy field existed in this room.

It was as if saturated by an utterly malevolent force—accurately described as supernatural power.

Zhang Xun's pupils glowed; darkness held no barrier. He'd taken only a few steps inside when he froze. Before him stood a clothing rack, upon which hung an old garment—dark red, like a theater costume, its wide sleeves swaying slightly, appearing at first glance as if someone were waving at him.

"An old theater costume?"

He scanned the room but found nothing else unusual—only this costume felt wrong.

In Zhang Xun's perception, the source of all unease seemed to originate from this costume.

Yet his eyes saw no trace of a ghost.

After a moment's thought, Zhang Xun walked toward the costume. At first cautious, he detected no danger as he neared—yet the colder the air grew, the stronger the faint stench of decay became.

His unease intensified.

Yet after circling the costume several times, Zhang Xun still saw nothing: "No ghost possessing it, no cosmic energy radiating—just..."

Then he looked at the wide sleeve.

Inside the sleeve was utter darkness.

Even a cultivator of his level couldn't penetrate that darkness.

This was the only illogical detail.

Finally, driven by curiosity, Zhang Xun reached out and touched it—he wanted to confirm the fabric's nature. In his view, this garment's material was extraordinary, unlike ordinary cloth.

He brushed his fingers along the sleeve.

The touch was icy; the material was indeed strange. He rubbed slightly harder—normally, even metal would deform under his grip, flaking off like iron—but the garment merely deformed, showing no damage at all.

An oddity?

A thought instantly flashed through Zhang Xun's mind.

Only oddities were this indestructible.

Yet he dismissed it immediately—the garment emitted no energy field, ruling out oddity status at its root.

But in that instant—

Suddenly—

From deep within the wide sleeve, a pale, blackened, freezing hand shot out and seized Zhang Xun's wrist. The grip was strong, but to a cultivator, such force was trivial. Yet the suddenness sent a jolt of horror through him.

Huh?

Zhang Xun's face darkened. Instantly, he realized: the ghosts in this building were likely hiding inside this old costume.

Yet what was unthinkable was that not one, but a second, third, fourth hand emerged from the sleeve—cold, bluish hands climbing, piling atop one another, spreading over Zhang Xun's arm, pulling with terrifying force, trying to drag him into the sleeve's depths.

"Pathetic spirits, ignorant of heaven and earth."

Zhang Xun roared, unleashing his energy. His body blazed with brilliant light—like an oddity's energy explosion, capable of instantly repelling all nearby life, including ghosts.

Yet as his energy erupted, the grasping hands remained unaffected, instead corroding his arm. In moments, one of his arms was pulled entirely into the costume's sleeve. Worse—the costume, once hanging on the rack, now rose like a towering living figure, its collar spreading wide, looming over Zhang Xun.

Inside the costume was bottomless darkness, like an abyss—now descending, as if to swallow him whole.

Zhang Xun's face twisted in shock. His Soul Realm power erupted violently.

The solid floor groaned; deep cracks split beneath his feet. His entire body radiated light, attempting to shatter the costume and crush the evil with raw force.

Yet no matter how immense his power, how violently his energy surged, he could not destroy the old costume or break free.

And even now, his spiritual sense gave no warning.

"How is this possible?" Zhang Xun cried, stunned and furious—he couldn't comprehend this.

Why couldn't a Soul Realm cultivator defeat a piece of clothing?

Who would believe this if he told them?

Yet the towering costume loomed closer—he could not resist. He could only watch as darkness engulfed him, feeling countless hands pulling him deeper into the void.

Even if he were a fool, he now understood: if he entered that darkness, he would never return alive.

Now Zhang Xun understood why this place was sealed, why no corpses were found—everyone who died here had been devoured by this old costume.

"Am I going to die here? No—" Zhang Xun roared in defiance. His body blazed brilliantly; his cosmic energy erupted again. From the light, a phantom figure of Zhang Xun burst forth.

His soul.

Soul Realm cultivators had formed their souls—capable of detaching from the body, moving independently, even crossing tiny wormholes to other worlds.

But soul travel was perilous; one misstep turned one into a Silent One, and the soul risked corruption and death.

But Zhang Xun no longer cared.

He now understood: the ghosts here were unlike any he knew—they couldn't be killed. He'd unleashed his full Soul Realm power and hadn't harmed them at all. If he didn't flee now, death was certain.

Yet as his soul surged outward, the old costume's sleeve wrapped around it—the force tugged, threatening to tear his soul apart.

"What the hell? Even the soul can be caught? What kind of world is this...?" Zhang Xun's soul screamed in terror.

But the old costume gave him no chance to struggle. As the dark red sleeve pulled, his soul was dragged into the darkness.

A Soul Realm cultivator vanished without a trace.

The room fell silent once more.

Yet no one outside noticed any of this.

This was abnormal.

Soul Realm cultivators had extraordinary hearing and perception—they sensed every disturbance. Yet Zhang Xun had made such a commotion inside, and not a single person came to investigate.

Only after the team finished searching the floor did they realize something was wrong.

Zhang Xun was missing?

It sounded absurd—but it seemed true.

Their leader, Zhang Xun, was gone.

"No way. This floor is tiny—we can hear each other shout. How can a person just vanish?" Qin Bing said, incredulous.

"We found no trace of the captain," Zhang Jing said. She called out several times; her voice echoed, unanswered.

Tao Yuan frowned. "Something must have happened. I saw Captain Zhang Xun head that way."

He pointed.

A corridor stretched ahead, ending in a room with a half-open door—pitch black inside.

"Go check?" Zhang Jing asked tentatively.

"Alright." The others had no objections.

But Li Yi felt an inexplicable voice whispering: Don't go. Don't be curious.

Suddenly—

A sharp pain stabbed his head. His body swayed slightly; his pupils darkened involuntarily.

But soon—

The pain vanished. Li Yi returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.