My attributes are increasing infinitely - Chapter 455: Ghost town
Chapter 455: Ghost town
The phantom domain collapsed like a curtain drawn shut.
The constellations dimmed. The silent plain dissolved. The wooden walls of the wine shop reassembled themselves around Ethan and the old man as though nothing had happened. The overturned jars were whole again. The lanterns burned steadily. Outside, the mountain wind resumed its ordinary murmur.
The old man stood upright now, his frailty gone. His back was straight, and his presence carried a restrained but unmistakable weight.
Ethan regarded him calmly.
“Old man, do not take this to heart,” he said in an even tone. “I am merely a traveler who enjoys testing himself against others. Take care.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You came to provoke me deliberately.”
“I did.”
Ethan extended his hand. A blade appeared in his palm, forged from pale silver spiritual ore and engraved with layered runes that shimmered faintly. Its aura was restrained, yet any expert would recognize it as a top tier spirit weapon capable of supporting a sovereign level will.
“Consider this an apology,” Ethan said. “Your wine was worth far more.”
The old man did not immediately reach for it. His gaze lingered on Ethan’s face, searching for mockery or hidden malice. He found neither.
“You are an unusual young man,” the old cultivator said quietly.
“So I have been told.”
Ethan placed the weapon on the counter and stepped back. His figure blurred, then vanished without stirring a single ripple of spatial fluctuation.
The old man remained still for a long time. Finally, he lifted the blade and examined it closely. His expression shifted into something contemplative.
“He wanted me to strike first,” he murmured. “But he never intended to kill.”
He looked toward the doorway where Ethan had stood moments before. The mountain night felt subtly different, as though a storm had passed without releasing its rain.
—
Ethan walked along a quiet road beyond Black Reed Town. The moonlight cast long shadows across the fields. He kept his aura suppressed, his posture relaxed.
Within his consciousness, the system interface pulsed faintly.
[Target structure recorded.]
[Integration process initiated.]
He exhaled slowly.
“According to Yumiko,” he said under his breath, “there are many loose immortals wandering the mortal realms. Some rival immortal emperors in strength. I will challenge them one by one.”
He paused, feeling the early tremors of merging power thread through his meridians.
“First, I must wait for the structure to settle.”
He continued walking.
A moment later, Yumiko’s voice sounded within his mind.
[Master, I am detecting a trace of divinity approximately two thousand miles southeast.]
Ethan’s gaze sharpened.
“Divinity?”
[Yes. The resonance is faint but pure.]
He smiled slightly. “Then let us see.”
He took a single step forward.
The world blurred, but there was no distortion of space. No tearing. His body simply moved, propelled by raw speed that bent the horizon around him.
In the next instant, he stood before the stone gate of a town he had never visited.
Lanterns hung in rows overhead. Music drifted through the night air. Laughter echoed between houses adorned with red banners and silk streamers. The scent of roasted meat and sweet wine filled the streets.
The entire town was alive with celebration.
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
“Hm.”
His spiritual perception expanded.
Beneath the warmth of sound and color lay something cold. The structures were intact, yet their foundations were hollow. The figures moving through the streets possessed form but lacked vitality.
“This is a ghost town,” he concluded quietly.
Everything visible to ordinary sight was illusion layered over resentment and memory.
“How interesting.”
He stepped through the gate.
The moment his foot touched the stone pavement, a ripple passed invisibly through the town. Every wandering spirit sensed his presence through a shared imprint that bound them together.
A woman approached him.
She was strikingly beautiful, dressed in ceremonial silk. Her smile was radiant, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Sir,” she said gently, “will you spend the night in our town?”
“What is happening here?” Ethan asked.
“Today is the marriage ceremony of our mayor’s daughter. The entire town is celebrating.”
Her tone carried genuine joy. No deception stirred within her aura.
Ethan’s expression grew thoughtful.
[Yumiko.]
[Master, this is the day they died. You are witnessing a preserved fragment of the past.]
He nodded.
The singing intensified near the central square. A group of young women danced in coordinated steps, their sleeves flowing like waves.
Ethan sat at an empty table near the performance. He watched in silence.
The music was sincere. The laughter was unguarded. For a brief moment, the town felt alive in truth rather than illusion.
Then the rhythm faltered.
From the northern road came the thunder of hooves.
Dozens of riders burst into view, masked and armed. Their presence shattered the harmony like a blade through silk.
Bandits.
The townspeople froze. Confusion flickered across their faces.
One of the riders dismounted abruptly. His body bore subtle beastly traits, stripes along his arms and elongated canines visible beneath his mask.
“Boss,” he shouted crudely, “so many pretty flowers. I cannot wait.”
He lunged toward a young woman and threw her to the ground.
Chaos erupted.
Screams replaced music. Men rushed forward with farming tools and ceremonial swords. They were cut down effortlessly. Heads rolled across stone streets. Blood soaked the banners that had been raised in celebration.
Ethan did not move.
He watched.
The violence escalated with methodical cruelty. The bandits did not kill swiftly. They desecrated the town’s dignity before extinguishing its life. The illusion did not obscure the horror. It preserved it in merciless clarity.
In less than two hours, the celebration became a massacre.
The bride herself was dragged from her chamber. Her cries echoed long after her strength failed.
When resistance ended, the attackers slaughtered the remaining men and women without hesitation.
Then they left.
Silence fell.
Yet not all life had ended.
A handful of survivors still clung to breath.
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
From the southern road came another group. Travelers. Humans by dress and speech.
They surveyed the carnage with cold eyes.
One of them laughed nervously.
Instead of offering aid, they descended into depravity. The last survivors met an even darker fate before death claimed them.
The illusion held nothing back.
When it finally dissolved, the lanterns vanished. The houses rotted into shadow. The air thickened with cold resentment.
Wails rose from every direction.
“Why?”
“Why were we abandoned?”
The entire town shifted into its true form. Spirits crowded the streets, their features twisted by pain and fury.
Ethan remained standing where he had been seated.
“Such hatred,” he said softly. “It is no wonder you linger.”
His gaze moved toward the edge of the square.
Five figures stood apart from the others. Three young men. Two women. One of the women held a child.
Ethan had sensed the source of divinity earlier. It radiated faintly from that child.
The bandits and travelers were long gone. The massacre had passed. Yet the preserved memory served as fuel for the spirits’ endless rage.
The five figures began to move.
They unleashed spiritual techniques without hesitation, cutting through the surrounding ghosts. Their expressions were intense, almost manic, as if they sought to erase the memory by destroying its remnants.
The child remained silent in the woman’s arms, eyes open and watchful.
Ethan observed carefully.
“If I intervene now,” he considered, “the balance will shift.”
Instead, he vanished.
He reappeared beside the woman holding the child.
She stiffened immediately. She had not sensed his approach.
“Is he your son?” Ethan asked calmly.
The woman’s grip tightened.
The child turned his gaze toward Ethan.
For an instant, the air between them thickened.
Ethan leaned slightly closer.
“Hello, child of the God Clan,” he said in a low voice. “Shall we speak?”
The boy’s eyes were far too steady for his apparent age.
“You are not from this realm,” the child replied, his tone measured despite his small frame.
“Neither are you,” Ethan answered.
The woman’s confusion deepened. “What are you saying?”
The child did not look at her.
“You grew stronger in a matter of days,” the boy said quietly to Ethan. “The Tower has favored you.”
Ethan’s expression did not change.
“So you are aware of it.”
The child’s divinity flickered faintly, an instinctive defense.
“I am aware enough.”
The surrounding spirits howled, yet none approached them. An invisible tension separated this small space from the chaos beyond.
Ethan studied the boy with clinical interest.
“You are accumulating power through their resentment,” he observed. “But you do not intend to free them.”
The child’s gaze hardened.
“Freedom does not restore what was lost.”
“No,” Ethan agreed. “But endless slaughter does not restore it either.”
The five companions continued carving through ghosts with relentless efficiency. Their techniques were precise and practiced.
“You plan to harvest them” Ethan said.
The child did not deny it.
Ethan straightened.
“I will not interfere with your path,” he said calmly. “But I am curious.”
“About what?”
“About your ceiling.”
The child’s divinity flared brighter for a heartbeat.
“You wish to challenge me?”
“Eventually.”
Ethan’s lips curved faintly.
“For now, I will observe.”
He stepped back.
