Glancing at the remains of the corpse on the ground, then looking at Little Bowl who had made the declaration, I realized what she intended to do before she could take action.
She was probably planning to communicate with the dead.
According to the records from Luo Mountain, a Divine Son who possesses Right Positioning Heavenly Phenomena has been the ultimate medium since the times of ancient tribes. They communicate with the spirits of all things in nature, including the spirits of ancient ancestors. In other words, they can speak with the dead.
This also explains why Little Bowl could gather so much intelligence. In the Doomsday Era, the number of dead people far exceeds the living, so the information one can gather from the dead is significantly more. As long as Little Bowl has the patience, not only could she collect birth rate data and growth case data from the Doomsday Era, the intelligence she can’t glean would be in the minority.
But upon reflection, I sensed something was amiss.
The first major prerequisite for a Divine Son to communicate with the dead is that there must still be contact between the Living World and the Post-mortem World. After they severed communication at the end of the Qing Dynasty, communicating with the dead became something even someone as powerful as Ming Zhuo—an Impermanence—couldn’t achieve despite exhaustive efforts.
The second major prerequisite is the existence of a "soul to communicate with." This should be easy to understand: if the entity killed has its soul destroyed along with its body, then there’s no spirit of the dead to communicate with.
In the Doomsday Era, most humans died at the hands of the grotesque, and such deaths often trigger soul destruction. So even if this Doomsday Era were indeed a Post-mortem World, communicating with those who died here would be impossible.
And judging by my perception, these corpse remnants on the ground weren’t just killed by human hands, but rather by Blessed Monks—after all, at least half belong to the Evangelical Institute’s survivor group. Ordinary survivors simply couldn’t take them down here.
Dying under mana and dying under ordinary blades and bullets are two distinct truths. Unless wielded by a "rookie" like myself in the past, mana inherently carries soul-damaging power. When two demon hunters fight, the loser usually ends with both body and spirit obliterated.
The remains on the ground are of that type, my intuition told me so.
How does Little Bowl intend to communicate with these dead here? Or could it be that my speculation is incorrect, and she doesn’t plan to communicate with the dead?
Then, something unbelievable happened before my eyes.
I watched as Little Bowl took a deep breath, then extended her palm toward the remains. A white light spontaneously appeared before her, gathering into a human shape.
This white light shimmered with a peculiar aura, unlike mana, it seemed more like a soul.
I couldn’t help but feel bewildered and perplexed—did Little Bowl really summon the soul of the deceased? How could it be? How can something non-existent be summoned into existence?
She summoned something that doesn’t exist?
Though it feels like I’m narrating a bad joke, seeing this white light form a humanoid, I genuinely feel as if I’ve seen a ghost.
"Communicating with the dead—this is how I gather intelligence," Little Bowl explained with an odd expression.
"Well..." For a moment, I didn’t know whether to say it was expected or unexpected.
The humanoid further morphed; some areas darkened, while others brightened, detailing a robust man in tactical gear through contrast.
Initially with eyes closed, once his appearance became vivid, he slowly opened them, revealing a bewildered expression.
"I... should be dead..." he muttered in confusion.
"Yes, gentle sir, you’re already dead," Little Bowl politely replied. "Who killed you?"
He frowned as if interrupted from thinking, gave Little Bowl a glance.
Just when I thought he’d question Little Bowl’s identity, he directly answered, "... It was the Evangelical Institute. They discovered our meeting with the Tai Sui Army here to secretly hand over supplies and intelligence. Then dispatched troops to eliminate both our parties."
"The Tai Sui Army..." Little Bowl glanced at the other corpse remains, "Are these the remains?"
"Yes." The strong man’s soul nodded.
His mental state seemed a bit odd.
Though he appeared lucid and spoke clearly, he obediently answered all of Little Bowl’s questions, reminiscent of somnambulism. Is it because Little Bowl is the summoner that he listens so submissively?
Given Little Bowl’s previous hints, this kind of makes sense. Even if Little Bowl can summon dead souls, there’s no need for a stranger’s soul to provide her with intelligence. Survivors in the Doomsday Era might even think Little Bowl is a "necromancer" capturing their souls for dark purposes—no, in that case, they’d likely be even more compliant?
Then, Little Bowl delved deeper into the core question.
"Could you tell me the Tai Sui Army’s whereabouts?" she asked.
"I don’t know..." the robust man’s soul replied, "but the Tai Sui Army should."
Little Bowl turned to the Tai Sui Army corpses again and made a gesture. Another white light rose there, condensing into another soul.
I gradually noticed, whether towards the strong man’s soul or this newly appeared soul, Little Bowl seemed slightly tense.
"When the Evangelical Institute attacked, did they attempt to capture any of you and extract secret intelligence and lines related to Tai Sui’s base from them?" Little Bowl carefully inquired. "Did anyone speak?"
The new soul, also a man, naturally entered the conversation, shook his head: "...No. Once realizing fighting back or fleeing was impossible, the rest of us committed suicide."
"Then, unknown sir, could you tell me the route to Tai Sui’s stronghold?" Little Bowl asked.
Upon hearing this, this soul readily nodded, "Yes..."
He lifted his right hand, and the white light surged upward, forming a pattern composed of countless lines. Like a cartographer’s map, this was a Doomsday map. To share such secret information so easily—in intelligence work, Little Bowl’s ability is practically cheating.
Little Bowl felt around herself, apparently searching for writing tools but finding none. I handed her a cartographer’s notebook and a pen. She thanked me and quickly jotted down the Doomsday map in a blank space.
Seemingly just in case, she asked again, "Gentlemen, you’ve been dead for a while, and Tai Sui Army has always been on the run. Is this base still operational?"
"Just follow the map’s route, and you’ll reach it on time," the soul who handed over the map said.
"I see... thanks to both of you, now you may continue resting," Little Bowl evidently hinted they should leave.
Yet they remained completely still, without any sign of departing.
The two white souls merely stood silently in front of us, eyes fixed on Little Bowl.
It’s easy to invite the god; hard to see him off—a saying flashed through my mind. Many summoning rituals, including the familiar urban legend "Pen Spirit," carry this lore. If the ritual falters or sheer bad luck strikes, summoned spirits could spiral out of control, transforming into terrifying evil spirits, threatening the practitioner.
The two white souls before us aren’t normal, given they should’ve long been dispersed. Thus, these entities present, may not truly belong to the corpses on the ground; instead, they’re inexplicably mysterious stand-ins.
I readied myself to act, yet the two white souls paid me no mind, their expressions vacant as they watched Little Bowl.
"Any more questions?" they asked in unison.