Chapter Fifty-Five: Ending the Conflict

“Helena was right—you really are insane!” Steven fixed his gaze on Barrow, the blood-soaked man, his voice cold and unyielding.

Barrow’s eyes slowly regained their focus, as if awakening from a dream.
“What did you do to me?” he suddenly shouted, eyes wide with terror, his voice trembling, almost breaking into sobs.

Steven ignored Barrow’s frantic confusion, merely keeping him bound in place.
“Helena…” He glanced at Helena, lips parted as though to speak, but no words came.

Helena, unaware of what he had just witnessed, hurried over, floating swiftly to Steven’s side, carefully inspecting him from head to toe.
“Are you really alright?” she asked, worry etched on her face. She wrapped her arms around his left one, craning her neck to check the spot on his shoulder where he had been struck.

Steven couldn’t help but smile at her concern, tilting his head to gaze at Helena’s long, slender lashes as she looked down, and spoke gently, “I’m truly fine. Don’t forget, I am a ghost after all.”

He recalled the memory Barrow had sealed away after becoming a ghost—the blood-soaked scene at the end. His mood darkened at the thought.

Steven’s eyes involuntarily drifted to Helena’s delicate, pale collarbone. He knew that just beneath this beautiful feature, on her left breast, lay a hideous scar, forever hidden beneath her clothes.

“What are you looking at?” Helena had now lifted her head, glancing at Steven with a hint of shyness and feigned reproach.

It was only then that Steven realized where his gaze had lingered; embarrassed, he quickly looked away, staring up at the dusty ceiling of the great hall.

“Nothing, I was just distracted for a moment…” He decided not to reveal to Helena what he had just learned, his tone a little evasive.

Helena rolled her eyes at him, exclaiming, “Only a fool would believe that!”

Steven nodded with a sigh, replying, “True enough. Since we’re both ghosts, it’s enough for ghosts to believe it!”

Helena could only stare silently at him.

“Um, you two—could you perhaps let Barrow go now?” Nicholas interjected, a little awkwardly.

Moments ago, Steven and Barrow had been at each other’s throats, and now asking Steven to release him was clearly a stretch. However, as Barrow was an important member of the Ghost Council, it wouldn’t be appropriate to ignore his situation. So Nicholas had no choice but to ask.

Only now did Steven remember that Barrow was still chained to the side by the crimson chains of Setorrak. He turned to Helena and asked, “How would you like to deal with Barrow?”

Helena frowned, thinking for a moment before replying, “Let the Ghost Council handle him.”

Steven was surprised by her response. Given how much she loathed Barrow, he had thought she would at least insist on a severe punishment.

Only when Helena gave him a meaningful look did Steven realize she was considering his position.
Steven defeating Barrow, a key member of the council, during the Halloween banquet—even if Barrow had started the conflict—was a blow to their reputation. If Steven were to handle Barrow’s punishment personally, it would likely arouse resentment among the council members.

He had no real connections among the ghosts yet; if he wished to integrate into their society, he’d need to maintain good relations with the council. As for his dispute with Barrow, the man’s foul temper meant he had few friends—no one would truly care about his fate.

Understanding this, and knowing Helena was willing to give up her chance to punish her enemy for his sake, Steven felt a wave of gratitude.

He turned to Nicholas and said, “I can release Barrow and hand him over to the council. But I’ll hold onto his blade for now.”

Steven walked over to the vacant-eyed Barrow, stooping to pick up the curved blade at his feet, examining it closely.

It was a simple, old-fashioned saber of moderate length, its edge gleaming coldly, suggesting razor sharpness. The hilt, wrapped in leather, was inlaid with two bright green jewels. The blade was stained with silvery blood, giving it an eerie beauty.

‘That must be Helena’s blood,’ Steven thought with a pang of sorrow.

Perhaps because it was a ghost’s weapon, the blade itself was slightly translucent. When swung at tangible objects, it would pass right through, unable to affect the physical world.

With a thought, Steven conjured a slender scabbard at his waist, fitting Barrow’s saber perfectly inside.

A ghost’s clothing and accessories were all manifestations of their own will—most ghosts’ attire reflected their deepest obsession, or were simply the clothes they had died in.

If a ghost’s mind was more whole, less dominated by obsession, they could alter their appearance to some extent. Nicholas, for example, frequently changed his outfits to help keep his head attached.

Steven’s own soul form allowed him complete control over his appearance, so conjuring a scabbard was effortless.

…

After securing Barrow’s saber, Steven wove a spell to withdraw Setorrak’s chains, releasing Barrow.

Yet Barrow showed no reaction, only muttering to himself in a feverish state, “I was wrong… forgive me… I was wrong… forgive me…”

Steven frowned and looked to Nicholas.

Nicholas merely smiled, unconcerned. “Don’t worry, Mr. Strange. Barrow is often like this—muttering to himself. It’s understandable he’s a bit out of sorts after such a defeat.”

“The Ghost Council will take care of him. We guarantee he won’t trouble you for some time,” he added seriously.

Steven nodded. “That would be best.”

“That was just a minor incident,” Nicholas announced, floating to the center of the hall. “Now, let us begin our banquet!”

At his words, countless impatient, translucent figures began gliding around the long table, sampling the “delicacies” laid out before them.

Steven watched in shock as a plump ghost beside him opened his mouth wide and let a plate of moldy, green-furred beef pass straight through, then hovered by the table, shaking his head in apparent rapture.

Steven’s mouth twitched—he found it hard to accept.

“Excuse me, sir,” Steven stopped the rotund ghost, who was about to sample another dish. “Can you actually taste these ‘dishes’?”

“Oh, Mr. Strange, my name is Edmund Grubb—delighted to meet you.” The plump ghost bent forward with difficulty, striving to appear more gentlemanly. “To be honest, yes, we can taste them—but the flavor is absolutely dreadful!”

“Then why do you all enjoy it so much?” Steven asked, curious.

“Because only food with such strong flavors gives us any lingering sense of taste,” Grubb sighed deeply.

Steven stroked his chin thoughtfully, an idea suddenly coming to him.

…

…