In the dark, misty void, ripples suddenly surged forth. Immediately, a vortex of time and space formed, and a tall man clad in black armor stepped out from the vortex, arriving right in front of them.

“Henry Johnson!” The black-armored man looked at the young man in white prison clothes, his face pale and eyes ringed with darkness.

“Greetings, General!” The ghost soldiers and horse-faced guards at the side all saluted respectfully.

“Ghost Army War General?” Henry Johnson was slightly stunned as he recognized the newcomer.

The Ghost Army War General was considered a high-ranking figure in the Underworld. Henry Johnson had ‘mixed’ in the Underworld for countless years—how could he not know? Moreover, the person before him was so familiar.

“May I ask what brings the General to the Seventeenth Level of Hell?” the ghost soldier spoke softly. Though his status was ordinary, he belonged to a different royal hall than this war general and was not under his jurisdiction, so he was not afraid.

“Take Henry Johnson away!” The Ghost Army War General fixed his gaze on him.

“He is a major criminal of Hell. General, please present the royal hall’s decree.” The ghost soldier was neither servile nor overbearing.

The Ghost Army War General nodded slightly. A golden scroll appeared in his hand, radiating a strange energy. He opened the scroll directly.

On the golden scroll was a single, simple line:

“Ninety thousand years in the Hell of Perdition; at the emperor’s command, descend to the mortal world. — Emperor Song.”

Just a dozen simple words, yet they seemed to carry infinite demonic power, making one’s heart tremble and soul quiver, faintly shaking this space-time and compelling involuntary submission.

“Well?” The Ghost Army War General put away the scroll.

“The decree has arrived. General, please proceed as you wish.” The ghost soldier did not hesitate. With a wave of his hand, the prison clothes binding Henry Johnson instantly vanished, revealing his original flowing white robes.

“Henry Johnson, come with me!” The Ghost Army War General said to Henry Johnson. With a wave of his large hand, Henry Johnson disappeared from the spot, and the Ghost Army Commander left again through the time-space vortex.

……

In a pavilion of a manor in the capital of the Underworld.

“Greetings, General. I am endlessly grateful for your life-saving grace.” Henry Johnson bowed deeply.

“Rise.” The black-armored war general spoke softly.

“I dare not.” Henry Johnson’s voice was suppressed.

“Henry Johnson, I told you to rise.” The black-armored war general suddenly roared.

Henry Johnson’s body trembled slightly. He slowly straightened up, gazing at the black-armored war general—a burly man in black battle armor, exuding a terrifying aura, looking at him with a face full of pain.

“For ninety thousand years, I did not come to save you. Do you resent me?” The black-armored war general calmed himself and spoke slowly.

Henry Johnson shook his head gently. Resentment?

After such a long torment in hell, his heart had long since lost all resentment. All that remained was hatred.

“You were originally innocent, but the royal hall of the Underworld forced endless sins upon you. Yet after ninety thousand years in hell, most of your sins have been worn away, barely meeting the standard for reincarnation.” The black-armored war general said softly, “I did all I could to secure for you the qualification to reincarnate via the Wooden Bridge, with an eighth-grade talent.”

“Wooden Bridge? Eighth-grade talent?” Henry Johnson felt a slight heaviness in his heart.

In the cycle of reincarnation, one’s own merit and sin determined which of the six bridges one would cross: Gold Bridge, Silver Bridge, Jade Bridge, Stone Bridge, Wooden Bridge, or Black Bridge.

Those who crossed the Gold Bridge entered the Heavenly Realm; the Silver Bridge led to noble families in the mortal world; the Jade Bridge to wealthy families; the Stone Bridge to ordinary families; the Wooden Bridge to poor and humble families; and the Black Bridge meant returning to hell to cleanse one’s sins.

The grade of talent determined one’s aptitude after birth, with first grade being the best and ninth grade the lowest.

Having cultivated on Earth for decades and served as a ghost soldier in the Underworld for a hundred years, Henry Johnson naturally understood all this perfectly.

The Wooden Bridge meant a lowly birth; eighth-grade bloodline meant poor talent. Henry Johnson knew that with such innate conditions, reincarnation would almost cut off any chance of cultivating and regaining his memories in the next life.

But Henry Johnson also understood that to reach this point, the black-armored war general must have done his utmost. After all, he himself was a notorious criminal in the Underworld.

“Henry Johnson, your sins are too great. Even the Eighteenth Level of Hell can hardly cleanse them. Only by reincarnating several times will you have a chance to start over. If, in the future, you can step onto the Sacred Path, you will naturally regain your past memories.” The black-armored war general said softly, “When that time comes, you will have another chance.”

“Thank you.” Henry Johnson replied in a low voice.

Henry Johnson knew all too well that the black-armored war general might be encouraging him, but after reincarnation, with all memories and cultivation lost, sins still upon him, and only eighth-grade talent, how difficult would it be to step onto the Sacred Path?

Yet Henry Johnson understood that if he did not reincarnate, he would likely remain forever in the Eighteenth Level of Hell, until his soul was utterly destroyed.

“I have used the Sutra of Dissolving Resentment to dispel the latent hatred in your heart from these ninety thousand years.” The black-armored war general looked at Henry Johnson, sighing inwardly. “Go now, I will send you to reincarnation!”

With a gentle wave of his hand.

Henry Johnson felt his vision blur, space and time shifting. When he regained clarity, he was already beside a river, its waters rolling and flowing toward an unknowable distance.

In the distance stood a gray stone bridge, upon which countless ghosts slowly advanced in layers of space and time, flanked by numerous Underworld blood-armored soldiers standing guard.

“The River of Forgetfulness, the Bridge of Helplessness!” Henry Johnson swept his gaze and instantly knew where he was.