A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

Ji Zuodao pricked up his ears and downed another half cup of wine before he finally got a general idea of ​​what had happened.

It's not some kind of killing contest, it's not some kind of evil cultivation team building or passionate mutual hacking.

There's a mysterious organization pulling the strings behind the scenes, sending out invitations, setting goals, and offering rewards—the process is clear, the rules are well-defined, and the objectives are precise.

It could be a person, a family, or even a building.

Finally, those who stand out will receive a hefty reward.

"Tsk, this is organized and premeditated..."

Ji Zuodao stroked his chin, his interest growing even stronger.

He initially thought it was just a pack of mad dogs biting each other indiscriminately, but he never expected there to be such a thick thread hidden behind it.

So what are the people organizing this competition after?

Money? Power? It can't all be for fun, can it?

His gaze swept around the bar, finally settling on the old man in the black robe in the corner.

Old Deng, sipping his liquor and chewing on a centipede, remained oblivious to the excited chatter around him. The faint smile at the corner of his mouth seemed to say, "A bunch of idiots."

There's a chance.

Ji Zuodao raised an eyebrow, picked up his wine glass, and swayed over, then plopped down opposite the old man.

Without any hesitation, he stretched out two fingers, picked up a dried-out centipede from the small dish in front of the old man, tossed it into his mouth, crunched it twice, and then pursed his lips.

"Old man, you've processed this thing too roughly. It's just burnt and bitter, and the flavor isn't strong enough."

As he spoke, he took out a small jade bottle from the human skin bag, poured out a few pills the size of longan, blood-red in color, and with a warm luster, and gently placed them on the side of the old man's plate.

"Try one of mine."

The old man's bone needle, used to poke the centipede, froze in mid-air.

His cloudy eyes, which had been half-closed, slowly lifted and fell on the few blood-red pills on the edge of the plate, his pupils shrinking almost imperceptibly.

He looked up again and took a closer look at Ji Zuodao's face, which had a slightly sly and mischievous smile.

"Blood Pill..."

The old man's voice became even hoarser, tinged with an indescribable emotion.

"This is incredible! These days, there are only a handful of people left who can still refine this stuff, and even refine it to this quality."

He stretched out his withered, chicken-claw-like fingers, with suspicious grime stuck under his fingernails, picked up a blood pill, and instead of eating it, he held it under his nose and took a deep breath.

The numb wrinkles on his face seemed to have smoothed out a bit.

Then, he put the blood pill into his mouth, closed his eyes, chewed it carefully, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"call--"

After a long while, the old man exhaled a long breath of foul air that smelled of blood, opened his eyes, and the turbidity in his eyes seemed to have cleared up a bit.

"It's just right...that's the domineering flavor I've had in decades."

He smacked his lips, still wanting more, then picked up another one and popped it into his mouth before looking at Ji Zuodao and saying directly:

"Young man, be frank. Speak up, what do you want to ask? Considering these few good things you have, this old man will share what he knows without reservation."

"happy!"

Ji Zuodao also smiled, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice:

"Just two things. First, who's behind this damn competition?"

"Secondly, what are they after? They can't just be throwing money away, using it for charity to encourage industry innovation, can they?"

"Heh..." The old man grinned, revealing a few sparse, blackened teeth, his smile filled with undisguised sarcasm.

He chewed the blood pill in his mouth again, making a crunching sound.

"Who else could it be? Those sanctimonious, self-proclaimed noble families doing the dirty work."

"Use the hands of us, these heretics they usually wouldn't even bother to look at, to clear away the obstacles that they can't personally intervene in."

"If they kill them all, they'll achieve their goal without getting any blood on their hands. If they don't kill them all, or if things get out of hand, it'll just cause trouble for those officers from 749 and divert their attention."

The old man paused, his tone almost overflowing with sarcasm:

"As for that title of leader of evil cultivators, and that little bit of reward... it's just a prize to fool fools."

"In the eyes of those big shots, we are no different from this broken bone knife that is used and then thrown away."

"Oh, right."

He seemed to remember something, and pointed the bone needle at a booth on the second floor, lowering his voice and making a slightly amused, spectator-like sound.

"See him? That guy in the suit and tie, sitting there drinking tea like a proper gentleman. He's from a big family, and he even has an invitation in his hand."

Ji Zuodao squinted and looked in the direction the old man pointed.

On the second-floor railing, a man in his early thirties, dressed in a sharp suit and with his hair neatly combed, sat alone in a booth, leisurely sipping a cup of tea.

In this chaotic bar filled with the stench of blood and violence, he stood out conspicuously, yet remained remarkably composed.

It was as if all the filth, bloodshed, and madness around him had nothing to do with him; he was just a gentleman who had wandered onto the wrong set.

He seemed to sense the gaze, turned his head slightly, and his eyes met Ji Zuodao's downstairs for a moment. Then he gave an impeccable, yet cold and distant, polite smile and gently raised his glass.

Ji Zuodao smiled, revealing a set of white teeth. He raised his hand and made a shooting gesture, aiming at the second floor, and made a soft "bang" sound.

Ji Zuodao turned around, tilted his head back, and drank the remaining wine in his cup in one gulp. He loosened his grip, and the cup cracked with a crisp sound, exploding on the ground like a sparkling flower.

The sound wasn't loud, but because it was imbued with a trace of spiritual energy, its crisp and clear tone overwhelmed all the noise in the bar.

Dozens of eyes instantly fixed on him.

Ji Zuodao grinned, pushed off with his feet, and nimbly leaped onto the bar counter. The rough wooden counter groaned under the weight.

"Gentlemen—"

He opened his arms, and his voice, amplified by spiritual power, carried clearly to every corner, with a deliberately drawn-out, dramatic tone.

"After listening for a while, I have some thoughts that I just have to share."

He paused, then his smile widened, though his usually crescent-shaped eyes held little warmth at that moment.

"Who are we? Heretical cultivators! What does 'heretical' mean? We're lawless and have no taboos! We kill when we want, we rob when we want, we just want to have fun and be free!"

"But what about now?"

Ji Zuodao abruptly changed the subject, his tone now laced with undisguised sarcasm.

"What are you all talking about now? Invitations? Connections? Have you caught their eye?"

"What the hell is the difference between this and those monkeys in a circus waiting to be fed, hoping for the whip to crack so they can jump through the fire ring?!"

"If someone throws a bloody bone at us, we'll bar our teeth, wag our tails, and pounce on it, fighting tooth and nail, just to hear a few scattered claps and exchange them for a couple of moldy dates?"

"Isn't that shameful?! Isn't that embarrassing?!"

His voice suddenly rose, almost roaring:

"Screw the invitation! Screw the bullshit competition! Screw the aristocratic patriarchs!"

"Who do they think they are?! Do they even deserve to sit up there and watch us make a fool of ourselves?!"

Ji Zuodao suddenly waved his hand, slicing through the air:

"If you ask me, this is what a real competition should be like—"

A nearly ferocious, ecstatic smile spread across his face:

"No rules! No referees! No fucking prizes or spectators!"

"Drag all those pretentious types down! Tear apart all that bullshit about 'family' and 'white gloves'! Shatter them to pieces!"

"We don't need anyone's approval! We don't need to perform for anyone!"

"Here, right now, just us!"

He took a deep breath, and then, with all his might, roared out his final declaration:

"Fight! Fight like true beasts!"

"Those who survive are the only victors! Only they deserve the title of 'evil cultivator'!"

He suddenly slapped Qiqi's little head beside him.

"Seven Seven, seal off the venue!"

Qiqi raised her head, her little face still expressionless, but a faint glint of light flashed in her big eyes.

She raised her fair and delicate little hand and gently pressed down.

Without a sound, an indescribable, extreme chill suddenly erupted from her center!

Click, click—

The icy blue frost, visible to the naked eye, spread rapidly like a living thing, instantly covering the walls, floors, and ceilings!

Thick layers of ice suddenly solidified, completely sealing off doors, windows, vents, and any possible escape routes in the blink of an eye!

The entire "Night Raven" bar instantly transformed into a crystal-clear, chilling ice cave!

Bright lights refracted through the thick ice, casting eerie halos that illuminated every face—whether astonished, angry, bewildered, or suddenly contorted in rage.

The temperature dropped sharply, and breath turned to frost.

Ji Zuodao stood on the bar counter, in the center of the ice cave, his smile dazzlingly bright.

He opened his arms wide, as if embracing the desperate situation he had created, his voice echoing in the enclosed, icy space:

"Alright, the monkey show is over."

"Now--"

"Welcome to a real, unregulated killing party."

"Fight, you worthless trash!"

"Only those who survive to the end are entitled to breathe their last breath."

The bar was deathly silent, except for the murderous intent that began to boil silently.