At the bottom of a nameless ravine, a pale youth in a black cloak sat on a boulder surrounded by 9 ghostly specters. With transparent, ruined bodies that oozed with a bright green sheen, the phantoms looked like they were born to haunt the souls of man. Yet now these ferocious ghosts peacefully floated in place, their eerie eyes completely void of any intent. Their will had been erased, and they were refined by the pale youth. Now, these ghosts were his yin soldiers.

The pale man was none other than Han Bei, or Corpse as he was known in the Scavenger plains. 3 days had passed since his so-called great victory against the Skeleton manor. 3 days had passed and he still grew distracted whenever he cultivated. Even though there was much to review from his last battle, like his inability to utilize [death strike] during actual combat, but almost immediately upon any recollection, his mind was overtaken by the echoes of dreadful voices screaming in hatred.

" Heavens, damn it! " he cursed as his technique failed and the yin soldiers faded to nothingness. This was not the first time this had happened. Han Bei let out a forlorn sigh and stopped cultivating for the moment. Instead, with a troubled gaze, he took out a bag of holding that was tied to his waist. It wasn't his old worn-out bag of holding neither was it the one he plundered from the unfortunate necromancer or the thin bastard, Bo Fei. It belonged to the Lord of Bones and it was vastly superior to what Han Bei had previously.

Actually, Han Bei wasn't the one that took the storage treasure, as he was in no mood for plundering after the battle. It was the old monk that just recently delivered it to Han Bei. " Don't be so gloomy little corpse, " the old monk had said with a wide smile. " Once your pockets get heavier, your mood will improve as well. " Han Bei snorted as he thought of the crafty old thing.

The bag of holding had enough space for 30 different items and up to 3000 spirit tones, yet the only things inside were 600 spirit stones, 2 books and a token made of bone, and nothing else. No spirit treasures, no pills, no talismans. Would the lord of Scavenger planes truly be so poor? " Of course he fucking wouldn't, " Han Bei cursed as he guessed where the majority of treasures had gone to. Yet Han Bei never confronted the old monk about it. " Do I truly deserve to be the one that profits from any of those deaths? " Such guilty, or perhaps half-assed, thoughts prevented Han Bei from doing anything about the situation.

Still, despite what Han Bei felt toward the death of the Lord bones he would never sabotage his own cultivation. While he was too ashamed to ask the old monk to return whatever he took from the mad bastard, he needed the resources he already had on hand. Han Bei shook his pale head, " I wonder since when have I become so halfassed? "

With a heavy mood, he gave the items inside his new bag of holding a closer look. The token was pale-white in color and the shape of a pentagon. It comfortably fit insides Han Bei's palm and on both sides, there was the insignia of the Skeleton manor. It was also a low-level spirit treasure. Han Bei injected his qi into the treasure yet nothing happened. " A control token of their headquarters? " he guessed. " Only useful if I get there and the place isn't ransacked. "

The spirit stones spoke for themselves and their worth was obvious. A cultivator could never have too many. The remaining items, on the other hand, were a bit more interesting.

There were 2 books. The first one was a cultivation manual, the flying bone art. It was the art the mad Wei Long mainly cultivated. With guidance all the way up to the 3rd realm, it was definitely a decent art, but unfortunately, it was incompatible with the techniques practiced by Han Bei. Theoretically, if Han Bei had more mastery over his own art he could use the flying bone art as a reference and create new techniques. But that's the level of skill possed by elders and patriarchs of major sects.

The 2nd book proved to be a difficult read for Han Bei. It was Wei Long's personal journal. As it turned out Wei Long used to be a man of lofty ambition that was unresigned with the squalor of Scavenger plains. He wanted to elevate his home to a level where people wouldn't be forced to feed on grass like cows and they wouldn't be dependent on trash falling down from the skies. Despite how gloomy the people of Myris appeared there were others that shared his vision. Noble souls that hoped for a better tomorrow.

Wei Long gathered these people, helped them, nurtured them so that they would become the backbone of Myris. That was the origin and goal of the Skeleton manor. But not all shared his vision. There were several shadowy individuals, backed by forces beyond comprehension, that wished for Scavenger plains to remain the trashbin of the universe. So when Wei Long's goals became apparent he was overcome with misfortune. Capable subordinates died, cultivation resources were increasingly hard to get, and very few wished to trade with him, in Last light or any of the other strongholds. He became scared, he became desperate. Forced into a corner the Lord of bones sought other avenues of power. He joined a small group of skilled cultivators known as Demonic fingers, and together they breached the inheritance ground of some ancient cultivator and got their hands on several dark spirit treasures. That's where Wei Long found the cursed chalice, Griefholder, and from that point on his records became increasingly muddleheaded until there was nothing but insane gibberish.

" To think that mad specter once was a decent man, " Han Bei thought. The late Lord of bones now became a reminder of the danger that the cursed chalice, Griefholder represented. " If I were to weer of my path, my end probably wouldn't be any better. "

Han Bei sank into silence, deep in thought. He mulled over the life of the man he had taken when suddenly an elderly, but mischievous voice called out to him. " Read anything fun, little corpse? " With His concentration broken Han Bei slowly sighed, " Not particularly, but now at least I know the name of the chalice that's trying to eat me every time I use it. " The old monk waved his finger like a disappointed teacher, " You should be more grateful to the little Griefholder, as far as we know it's the only item so far that can help you during a breakthrough. "

Han Bei internally sighed, " Of course the old monk knows the name of treasure, he probably knows how to better use it as well. " He still had no idea how strong the old monk was or why the old thing was helping him, but outwardly he showed nothing of his doubts and quickly rebuked the old monk, " It also drove a man insane. "

The old monk shrugged his shoulders, " No risk no gain, little corpse. " Han Bei snorted as the old thing stated the obvious, but he actually agreed. " If I ever wish to advance my art and avenge my sect I need to take risks. "

Han Bei had grown deeply concerned about the growth of his art as his previous Briliant yang art had no guide past the 3rd realm. A luxurious worry for many cultivators, but not for one that planned to fight against the undead royalty, the Fang clan. Thankfully the Briliant Yang art isn't all that sophisticated or complex so he could substitute yang qi with yin qi, but after he reaches the 3rd realm he will have to either switch to another suitable art or if Heavens bless him create a new one. An almost holy task to cultivators whose difficulty is only surpassed by its glory upon successes.

But ambition and dreams aside It might just be the case that he will be forced to rely on treasures like Griefholder to increase his cultivation. So Han Bei was tempted to see what spirit treasures were carried by the other Demonic fingers, and where to find the inheritance ground where they were originally found. Either by design or madness, Wei Long's journal had nothing but the names of the other Demonic fingers. No mention of the other spirit treasures, or the inheritance ground.

" What are your plans for now? " the old monk asked. Han Bei gazed skyward and answered, " I think I'll go for a walk. "