My Ares Son-in-Law

With a "thud," the corpse crashed heavily onto the clean floor, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

The corpse was no longer human; its limbs were twisted and deformed, its head was tilted to one side, and its face was slashed open, revealing the white bones and bright red flesh underneath, emitting a nauseating stench.

Blood spread rapidly across the floor, forming a shocking pool of blood, as if announcing the arrival of death to everyone.

In the crowd, someone gasped first, the sound sharp and abrupt, like a blade slicing through the silence of a cold night.

Immediately afterwards, a series of low gasps spread through the council hall. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the mangled corpse, and finally someone recognized the face that was twisted beyond recognition by extreme pain and fear.

That was one of the key leaders in charge of the outer perimeter security of the headquarters—Poison Scorpion!
In the martial arts world of the ancient city, the name of the Poisonous Scorpion is legendary and feared by all.

His martial arts skills had long been honed to a level of unparalleled mastery, reaching a state of perfection.

Ordinary swords and knives struck him, but it was like a tickle; they couldn't cause him any harm at all.

He moved with lightning speed and was ruthless in his attacks, drawing blood with every strike. Countless self-proclaimed heroes of the martial world have fallen at his hands.

Even Situ Cang, the leader of the Black Phoenix Organization, relied heavily on him, regarding him as his right-hand man and a powerful general.

At headquarters, the Scorpion is an unbreakable barrier, protecting the organization's safety.

But now, this once powerful and arrogant scorpion lies on the cold ground like a dead dog that has been skinned alive and stripped of its tendons, utterly devoid of dignity.

His body was limp, and his limbs were twisted in an extremely strange posture, as if they had been kneaded by a huge force.

His eyes were wide open, empty and lifeless, still bearing the lingering fear and despair of his death.

Its mouth was wide open, as if it wanted to let out a final scream, but it could no longer make a sound.

His chest was slightly sunken, clearly indicating that he had suffered a severe injury; he was completely lifeless and had no breath left.

"Heh, it seems the rest of the rotten fish and shrimp are all here."

A cold, calm voice, yet seemingly carrying shards of ice, slowly escaped from the young man's mouth.

The sound wasn't loud, but it rang in everyone's ears like thunder, echoing in the silent council hall.

His tone was languid, as if he were not in this dangerous place full of murderous intent, but leisurely strolling in his own garden.

However, this languid tone was like the whisper of death, each word like a heavy hammer, striking the tense nerves of the crowd, causing their hearts to beat faster involuntarily, and fear to spread like a tide in their hearts.

The young man ignored the menacing, murderous stares that filled the hall.

Those gazes were filled with anger, fear, and vigilance, as if they wanted to devour him alive.

But he acted as if nothing had happened, his expression calm and his steps leisurely as he slowly took out a pack of cigarettes from his trench coat pocket.

The cigarette box was somewhat old, and the patterns on it were a little blurry, but he treated it like a precious treasure, carefully taking out a cigarette and putting it between his lips.

Then, he stretched out a hand and waved it gently in the air. With a crisp "ding," an old Zippo lighter appeared in his hand.

The lighter's casing was somewhat worn, but it still exuded a unique texture.

He gently pressed the switch, and a ghostly blue flame instantly ignited, flickering and dancing in the dimly lit council chamber like a will-o'-the-wisp. He slowly brought the cigarette close to the flame, lit it, took a deep drag, and then slowly exhaled a smoke ring.

The smoke rings slowly spread through the air, carrying a pungent tobacco smell that permeated the atmosphere.

In the firelight, everyone was horrified to discover that his fingers, which held the lighter and cigarette, were long, clean, and had distinct knuckles, like works of art.

There wasn't a single trace of blood on his fingers; they were unbelievably clean.

This eerie cleanliness contrasted horribly with his blood-soaked appearance.

His trench coat was soaked in blood, emitting a pungent, bloody smell, and his face was splattered with blood, making him look like a demon crawling out of hell.

But his fingers were so clean, as if all the bloodshed and violence had nothing to do with him.

He killed so many people... those were vibrant lives, easily crushed like ants in his hands.

Blood splattered like a fountain, completely staining his trench coat a dark red, the strong smell of blood seemingly seeping out from the fabric fibers.

But strangely, his hands... how could they not be stained with blood?!
Those hands, which should have been stained with the marks of sin in the bloodbath, should have been stained red and sticky with blood, were now so clean that it sent chills down one's spine, as if the bloody massacre had nothing to do with them.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette. After the tobacco burned briefly in his lungs, white smoke slowly escaped from his mouth, like a thin veil, blurring the profile of his cold, handsome face.

The silhouette, appearing and disappearing in the smoke, added to its mystery and coldness.

Then, he strode into the council hall, which was like a den of dragons and tigers, step by step, unhurriedly.

Each step he took seemed to carry immense weight, steady and resolute, as if this place was nothing more than an ordinary spot to him.

His footsteps were very light, as light as a falling leaf drifting to the ground.

However, when he stepped on the broken wood chips, it made a faint "crunching" sound.

The sound might have been insignificant on ordinary days, but in this deathly silent hall, it was like a heavy hammer, each sound striking the heart of everyone with immense weight!
The sound was like a countdown to death, one beat after another, causing everyone's hearts to beat faster involuntarily, and fear to spread like a tide in their hearts.

The whole world seemed to be filled only with this monotonous and deadly rhythm, and all other sounds were drowned out by the sound of footsteps.

At this moment, the people in the council chamber reacted in various ways.

A group of people stared intently at the approaching youth, their eyes filled with anger and hatred, as if they wanted to devour him alive.

Their bodies were tense, their hands clenched into fists, their knuckles white from the force, ready to rush forward and fight him to the death at any moment.

The other group, however, looked on with even greater fear, past the young man and fixed their gazes on the wide-open door behind him!
Those eyes were filled with despair and helplessness, as if they had seen the most terrifying sight in the world.

By the light filtering through the hall and the pale moonlight, they saw...

Corpse!

Corpses lay scattered haphazardly, their postures contorted in agony! (End of Chapter)