Eight thousand miles away, deep within a vast mountain range, ridges rolled endlessly into the distance. Peak rose after peak, while ancient trees towered so high they nearly blotted out the sky. Sunlight forced its way through the thick canopy in scattered beams, spilling across the deep carpet of fallen leaves and stirring a soft, constant rustle.

Mist drifted through the mountains, and the air hung heavy with dampness. A faint scent of grass and wood lingered everywhere.

But beneath that clean fragrance, something else lurked—so subtle it almost went unnoticed. A cold, sinister taint threaded through the air, sharp enough to seep into the bones, carrying with it the thick stench of blood and decay that made the skin tighten.

Jared and the other two concealed themselves within the dense forest on one of the peaks. They suppressed every trace of their auras and moved forward like three shadows.

Jared’s gaze swept across the mountains ahead, sharp as a hawk’s. His spiritual sense expanded outward, covering several hundred miles, tracking every movement in the area and missing nothing.

Luther drew in his ghostly energy as well. Lowering his voice, he leaned close to Jared.

“Mr. Chance, that Ghost Clan aura is coming from the mountain ahead. It’s getting stronger by the minute, and it’s still building. Looks like their ritual to revive the Ghost Clan expert has reached its critical stage.”