Meanwhile.
In the Ghost Race council hall, dim firelight cast flickering shadows on the stone walls.
Several Ghost Race elders sat around the obsidian table, the atmosphere heavy.
"Great Elder, do you truly intend to let those two omens participate in the competition? If word gets out, won't it make other races mock that our Ghost Race has no one?"
One elder with a face full of wrinkles slammed the table, his voice hoarse.
"Indeed."
Another elder echoed, tapping the table nervously with his fingers, "Though the forbidden land is perilous, what if that human survives a day..."
The Great Elder sat in the main seat, gently stroking the armrest of his chair, a cold smile playing at his lips:
"Participate in the competition? Wishful thinking!"
His sinister gaze swept over those present, his voice like ice:
"That human is clearly here for the Divine Pattern, how could we let him succeed?"
"Rest assured, I have already dispatched three Monarch-level beings to intercept and kill."
