If I, a death row inmate, am not to become a demon, am I to become a member of the Imperial Guard?

The capital city, at the southern edge of the city wall.

The air here is different from that in the northern part of the city. It lacks the grandeur of the imperial city and the fragrant aroma of the mansions of high-ranking officials. There is only a lingering smell of stale wine mixed with cheap cosmetics.

Zhou Yang huddled behind a tea stall on a street corner and ordered the coarsest tea. Tea leaves floated on the surface, bitter as life itself. He didn't care; what he wanted was this spot.

You can clearly see the shop across the street with the sign that reads "Tongji Rice Shop".

That shop sells rice during the day and works like a madman at night.

The underground boxing ring in Beijing was hidden in the cellar of this rice shop.

Yesterday at the banquet at Prince Zhao's residence, while he was carrying Prince Zhao's heir, he casually pulled a note from Chen De, the commander of the security division. The note simply stated this place. It seems this commander wanted to find a place to vent his frustrations.

Zhou Yang took a sip of bitter tea, his gaze falling on the entrance of the rice shop. A shop assistant in a short jacket was peeking out cautiously. Their eyes lacked the shrewdness of merchants, displaying only a wild, animalistic wariness.

This is it.

Zhou Yang put down his teacup, tossed a few copper coins on the table, and got up to walk over. His steps were heavy, as if he were dragging something invisible across the ground. This was a gait he had deliberately practiced to make his body appear more clumsy.

He walked up to the waiter, said nothing, and simply extended a hand. The palm was rough, the knuckles large, covered with calluses and scars. This was the "butcher's hand" he had created for himself overnight using medicine and fine sandpaper.

The waiter paused, looking Zhou Yang up and down. Zhou Yang was dressed in a drab gray linen outfit, with mud splattered on his trousers. His face was also painted a waxy yellow with a special solution, and his eyes were cloudy, making it impossible to tell his age.

"What do you do?" the waiter asked in a low voice, his tone rude.

Zhou Yang opened his mouth, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing.

"Looking for work."

"What kind of work?"

"The job of killing."

The waiter's eyes suddenly sharpened. He stared into Zhou Yang's eyes, as if trying to discern the truthfulness of his words. Zhou Yang's gaze remained unchanged, still as stagnant as a still pond. After a long while, the waiter turned to the side and pointed inside.

"Back door, wait there."

Zhou Yang nodded and silently walked around to the back alley of the rice shop. It was darker there, and a musty smell hit him. An inconspicuous wooden door was ajar. He pushed it open and went inside. There was a small courtyard piled with sacks. A one-eyed man was sitting on a small stool, sharpening a knife.

A flash of cold light from the blade revealed his intact eye.

"A newcomer?" The one-eyed dragon didn't even look up.

"Mm," Zhou Yang replied.

Do you know the rules?

"have no idea."

"Win and you get paid. Lose and you die here."

"understood."

"What's your name?"

"Butcher."

The one-eyed man paused in his knife-sharpening motion, raised his head, and his single eye gleamed fiercely in the dim light, like a wolf's. He scanned Zhou Yang from head to toe several times.

"Good name. Come with me."

One-Eyed Dragon stood up and pushed open another door in the courtyard. A strong stench of blood and sweat instantly rushed out. Behind the door was a downward staircase, dark and bottomless. Zhou Yang followed behind him, step by step, down the stairs.

At the end of the stairs was a huge cellar.

In the center of the cellar was a fighting arena made of thick logs and iron chains. The ground beneath the arena was covered with a thick layer of dark red sand, already soaked with blood. The surrounding area was bustling with noise, crowded with all sorts of people. There were wealthy young masters, local thugs, and even people dressed in official robes, but they had all removed their outer robes, wearing only their undergarments.

They were all yelling and cursing, frantically throwing their silver notes and gold coins at a counter that collected money.

This is the most primitive and bloodiest arena in the capital. Except, those fighting for their lives in the cages are people.

One-Eyed Dragon led Zhou Yang to a corner near the arena. There were already a dozen or so "beast fighters" dressed similarly to Zhou Yang there. Some were stretching their limbs, some had blank stares, and some were greedily eyeing the bets.

"Tonight your opponent is 'Iron Head'." One-Eyed Dragon pointed to a burly man across the ring. "Live, fifty taels. Kill him, one hundred taels."

Zhou Yang looked in the direction he was pointing. The man called "Iron Head" was shirtless, and his head was much larger than normal, with a metallic sheen.

He looked away, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.

System, scan.

[Target scanned: Ironhead.]

[Realm: Third level of body refining realm. 】

[Technique: "Stone-Shattering Technique" (Unorthodox).]

[Weakness: Unstable lower body, recurrence of an old injury to the left knee.]

At the third level of the Body Refinement Realm, they were considered minor experts in the martial arts world. Unfortunately, Zhou Yang now viewed them as nothing more than a group of ordinary people who knew no martial arts.

[Burning away one year of lifespan to develop the basics of the "Breaking Wind Blade" technique.]

[Burning ten years of lifespan, I developed the perfect complement to the "Wind-Breaking Blade" technique, "Throat Severing."]

[Ding! Deduction complete.]

In an instant, countless essences of swordsmanship flooded into Zhou Yang's mind. It was as if he had wielded that invisible sword hundreds of times, and he knew every angle and every force like the back of his hand.

He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze still cloudy, but now with a sharp, razor-like edge.

"Butcher! Your turn!" the one-eyed man roared.

Zhou Yang stood up, stepped over the fence, and walked onto the ring. "Iron Head" on the opposite side also stood up, cracking his neck with a series of sharp, cracking sounds. He looked at Zhou Yang as if he were a dead man.

The opening gong sounds.

Iron Head let out a strange cry, lowered his head, and charged forward like a mad bull. His head was indeed hard; when it slammed into the log, it sent splinters flying.

Zhou Yang stood still.

Just as Iron Head's head was about to collide with his chest, he moved.

There were no unnecessary movements. He simply made a knife shape with his right hand and swung it with lightning speed.

"Sever the throat."

A barely perceptible flash of cold light passed by.

Ironhead's charge came to an abrupt halt. His massive body froze in place, his eyes wide open, a hoarse sound emanating from his throat, like a broken bellows. A thin line of blood appeared on his neck.

He reached out, trying to grab Zhou Yang, but grasped only air. His body slammed to the ground, twitched twice, and then lay still.

The entire venue was deathly silent.

The gamblers who had been screaming wildly just moments before all fell silent. They stared in disbelief at the "Butcher" on the ring. He didn't even glance at his fallen opponent, just stood there quietly, as if he had done something utterly insignificant.

one move.

With a single move, he killed "Iron Head," who was known for his hard skull.

Zhou Yang stood in the center of the arena, feeling the wisps of black energy emanating from the depths of the earth. It was malevolent energy, the resentment left behind by countless people who had died here. This malevolent energy was seeping into his body through the soles of his feet.

[Ding! Absorbed the killing intent of the deathmatch, lifespan increased by 10 days.]

[Ding! Absorbed the killing intent of the deathmatch, lifespan increased by 15 days.]

[Ding! Iron Head defeated, lifespan increased by 20 days.]

Although it wasn't much, it added up. This was much more efficient than him going out to rob and plunder.

"Good! Well done!" The one-eyed man was the first to react. He roared excitedly and threw a bag of silver to Zhou Yang. "Here! One hundred taels! There's another show tonight!"

Zhou Yang took the silver, weighed it in his hand, and put it in his pocket. He stepped off the stage and returned to his corner.

That night, he fought three matches in a row.

His opponents were stronger than ever, ranging from the third to the fifth level of Body Refinement. But none of them could withstand three moves from him.

His reputation spread rapidly throughout the cellar. The name "Butcher" became synonymous with death. He killed cleanly and efficiently, without any hesitation, as if he were born to do it.

He absorbed a large amount of malevolent energy as a result, which increased his lifespan by nearly three months.

After the final battle, Zhou Yang did not leave immediately. He watched as two servants dragged away the last corpse, the bloodstains spreading rapidly on the sand, only to be covered by new sand.

He followed them.

The servants dragged the corpse toward a passage deeper into the cellar. Zhou Yang quietly followed behind, his figure disappearing into the darkness.

The stench in the passage grew stronger. In addition to the smell of blood, there was also a strange odor, a mixture of decay and some kind of herb.

At the end of the passage were rows of iron cages.

It's not just people who are locked in the cage.

Zhou Yang's gaze fell upon a massive cage. Inside was a wolf, entirely black, more than twice the size of an ordinary wild wolf. Its eyes gleamed with cunning and ferocity; it was no ordinary beast. It was a demonic beast.

In the cage next to it was a short man with greenish skin. Unlike the people of the Central Plains, he had pointed ears, was huddled in the corner, and let out a low growl like a wild beast.

As Zhou Yang walked further in, he stopped.

Several iron cages contained several corpses. These corpses had no external injuries, but their skin had an abnormal bluish-gray hue. Black, waxy residue remained around their mouths and noses.

Zhou Yang's pupils contracted.

He was all too familiar with this scene. The Imperial Advisor's corpse-refining techniques!

Is this underground boxing ring connected to the national martial arts master?

No, that's not right. The Imperial Advisor is dead. Who was behind this? That mysterious prince? Or... someone in the palace?

Zhou Yang's heart sank. He realized that he might have inadvertently stumbled into a vortex far larger than he had imagined.

He quietly slipped out and returned to the noisy cellar.

Thoughts raced through my mind.

Simply killing to gain lifespan is no longer enough. He needs to get closer to the center of this vortex.

A plan quickly took shape in his mind.

He found the one-eyed man.

"I have to play again tomorrow," Zhou Yang said, his voice still hoarse.

One-Eyed Dragon was already thrilled with the "Butcher" as a cash cow, and immediately nodded upon hearing this: "Okay! No problem! I'll arrange the strongest opponent for you!"

"No need." Zhou Yang shook his head. "Anyone at the Body Refinement Realm will do."

The one-eyed man was taken aback: "Why?"

Zhou Yang grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth. He extended a finger and lightly traced a line on his neck.

"I want to try something new."

The next day, the same arena, the same "butcher".

This time, the opponent was a swordsman at the fourth level of Body Refinement. His sword was fast, and he was ruthless.

Zhou Yang, however, was not as clean and efficient as yesterday. He deliberately created an opening, allowing his opponent to slash his arm with a knife.

Fresh blood immediately gushed out.

Overjoyed, the swordsman pressed his advantage and thrust his blade toward Zhou Yang's heart.

Zhou Yang neither dodged nor evaded, letting the blade pierce half an inch into his shoulder. At the same time, he grabbed the other man's wrist with his other hand and twisted it forcefully.

"Snap!"

The swordsman's wrist was twisted off, and he screamed as he dropped his sword.

Zhou Yang kicked him away, then stood still without pursuing him.

Everyone stared at the wound on his shoulder, where an eerie black layer was beginning to appear at the edges. Moreover, the blackness was spreading upwards at a visible speed.

Zhou Yang's own face turned ashen, as if he had been poisoned.

"This is... corpse poison?" someone in the crowd exclaimed.

The entire cellar erupted in chaos. Everyone stared at Zhou Yang in terror, as if he were a plague demon. Black gas, deadly poison—this stuff was worse than dying in the arena.

The one-eyed man was terrified and immediately ordered the match to be stopped.

Just then, a middle-aged man in a brocade robe, with a fair complexion and no beard, walked out of a private room on the second floor. He was followed by several guards and walked straight toward Zhou Yang.

"You, come with me." The middle-aged man looked into Zhou Yang's eyes, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable command.

Zhou Yang raised his head, his dark face and cloudy eyes meeting the other person's gaze. He didn't speak, but simply nodded and followed the man into the private room.

Inside the private room, the finest sandalwood incense burned, dispelling the stench of blood from outside.

The middle-aged man poured Zhou Yang a cup of tea.

"Your name is Butcher?"

"Um."

"What happened to the corpse poison in your body?"

"It's innate," Zhou Yang said vaguely.

The middle-aged man was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled. "A person born with extraordinary signs must be no ordinary individual. Would you be willing to do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"I killed someone." The middle-aged man held up one finger. "After it's done, you'll receive ten thousand taels of gold, plus a Xuan-level cultivation technique."

Zhou Yang picked up his teacup and drank it all in one gulp.

"Okay." He put down his teacup, his voice hoarse.

"I need you to be a knife hidden in the shadows, a knife that only obeys my commands." The middle-aged man stared at him. "Are you willing?"

Zhou Yang raised his head, and for the first time, a glimmer of light flashed in his cloudy eyes.

"As long as the money is there, that's fine."

The middle-aged man nodded in satisfaction, took out an ebony token from his pocket, and handed it over.

"Take this, and someone will naturally contact you."

Zhou Yang took the token; it was icy cold to the touch. He clutched the token, turned, and walked out of the private room.

Outside, the noise continued. He looked down at the ebony token in his hand, and a subtle, unnoticed smile curved his lips on his dark, bluish face.

The fish has taken the bait.