"Is this a wraith?" Hank, possessing extraordinary power himself, quickly deduced what he had encountered. After the initial shock, his face was filled with confusion. How could such a thing appear here?
Though he had never seen one, he had heard that above Synapse was the legendary City in the Clouds, inhabited by holy angels from the heavens. With such beings present, how could there be wraiths here? It made no sense; there was no room for undead here.
So Hank carefully inspected his small living space again, but he found no traces of his deceased friend. It was as if what he had just seen was merely an illusion.
"Was it really an illusion?" Hank wondered. "Maybe I've been working too much overtime recently, causing hallucinations from missing my old friend."
Unable to reach a conclusion, Hank ate a piece of compressed food distributed by the factory, enough to sustain him for a day, and then succumbed to a deep sleep.
His even breathing grew louder until he began to snore. Suddenly, the snoring ceased. A terrified scream broke the silence as Hank sat up, gasping for breath, sweat covering his body. This once fierce pirate now found his clothes soaked through.
"This suffocating feeling..." Hank rubbed his neck, stood up, and walked to the mirror in the hallway. He saw his current state.
His face was drenched in sweat, his hair wet, and he looked as if he had been pulled from the water. His complexion was a bluish-purple, resembling a corpse that had died from asphyxiation.
"I must be haunted by a wraith." Seeing his appearance, Hank concluded.
He had encountered many strange things while sailing, including such formless, intangible undead. At the time, stronger pirates on the ship had dealt with them. But now, he was alone, his only friend dead.
Hank hesitated only briefly before deciding to seek help from others. As a mere Bronze-level fighter with a stronger body, he had no means to deal with such wraiths.
After drinking two liters of water, Hank removed his clothes, took a shower to wash off the sweat, and changed into clean clothes. After bathing, he looked in the mirror again and saw the bluish-purple color fading, with normal human redness gradually returning to his face.
Hank then went to his rune factory and immediately reported his situation to the obese factory manager.
Predictably, the fat pig mocked Hank, not believing in the existence of the wraith. He, too, thought it impossible for wraiths to exist in Synapse, unlike the prisoners who had only heard rumors. He had seen real angels with pure white wings and flawless faces, which had completely captivated him.
"Manager, please believe me. I'm not lying. I really encountered a wraith. I saw Hubble's ghost after returning home yesterday."
"Listen, scum. You should know why you're here. No matter what fuss you make, you can't escape this labor. Don't try to cause trouble. Now, get back to work."
"Manager, look at my face. With proper food and rest, how could I be in this state?" Hank pointed to his face, still showing some abnormal bluish-purple color despite the slight return of normal color.
"You're just a coward terrified of suicide. So what?" The obese manager looked at Hank disdainfully.
He had seen this situation many times. Because of the hopeless oppression, many prisoners had attempted suicide to escape the endless labor. But after he had a demon walk through his factory, no one dared to commit suicide anymore.
Disappointed by the manager's response, Hank turned and left. Under the factory guards' supervision, he completed another day of overwork and returned to his room, only to see his dead friend sitting at the table, smiling at him while drinking tea.
After experiencing near-suffocation in his sleep the previous night, Hank was now extremely wary of his friend's ghost. This was a vengeful spirit, not his former friend.
"What do you want from me? Do you want to kill me? Isn't my life miserable enough?" Hank shouted, his expression collapsing. But his friend's ghost only smiled eerily, stirring a surge of rage in Hank's heart.
"I can't fight those giants, but do I have to endure your torment too? You weren't stronger than me in life; can you be stronger in death?"
Hank's face twisted as he pulled out a dagger from his door and threw it at his friend's ghost with all his might, disregarding any remnants of friendship.
The sharp dagger stuck in the wooden table, trembling at the end, while the ghost vanished, just like the previous night. Seeing this, Hank's face darkened completely. As a mere Bronze-level fighter, he had no means to deal with such undead.
After the momentary courage dissipated, fear surged back into Hank's heart. He ate dinner, lay on his bed, and tried to stay awake, but his body, exhausted from a day's work, demanded rest. He was soon dragged into sleep.
The muscular man sat up suddenly, letting out a terrified scream. "Damn it, it's happening again."
Feeling his neck, he found it covered in sticky sweat. He walked to the mirror and saw two bluish handprints on his neck, his complexion darker than the previous day, almost black with a purple tinge.
"I can't go on like this. I'll be killed by these ghosts sooner or later. Since that damned pig won't help me, I'll have to take a risk myself."
After taking a shower, Hank hurriedly walked out onto the street, avoiding the rune factory. He looked around and soon found his target: a giant patrolling the sky with five griffons.
"I might as well die trying!" Seeing the towering giant, Hank's face showed a trace of ferocity. "Being killed by a giant is better than being tormented by ghosts."
"Great giant, I have something important to report to the mighty commander Barton," Hank climbed to the rooftop and shouted with all his strength at the patrolling cloud giant, his last hope. Barton was a name he had accidentally learned, a cloud giant commander.
"Lowly mortal," the patrolling cloud giant noticed Hank standing on the rooftop shouting. He descended with his griffon, looking indifferent. "What do you have to report to Commander Barton?"
...
"The fact that wraiths have appeared on my territory is laughable," Muria said, opening his eyes while seated on the crystal throne of the central cloud island. He wore a twelve-beaded crown, designed according to his specifications, resembling the crowns of ancient Chinese emperors. Muria felt it looked more majestic than traditional ring-shaped crowns.
"It's probably due to the proximity of that subcontinent, influenced by its death power, that the undead have emerged on your cloud island."
"Obistos continent?" Muria's golden eyes gleamed with inner light, suddenly becoming deep as he gazed into the endless distance. The castle walls and outer cloud island could not obstruct his vision.
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