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

The stone platform was dark.

Deep within the secret chamber, there was no light, only the faint blue glow emanating from the runic chains. The light shone on the central fragment, refracting it into a cold, dark golden hue.

The fragment hovered three inches above the table, slowly rotating. Its sharp edges cut through the surrounding air, emitting a faint hissing sound.

Zhou Yang licked his chapped lips, the taste of blood spreading on his tongue. He took a step forward, his boot crushing a piece of dry bone with a crisp sound.

This is it.

The second fragment of the dragon's spine.

A loud noise suddenly came from behind.

Boom!

Stone fragments flew everywhere, and dust billowed up. A figure burst through the heavy stone door, the gust of wind whipping up the accumulated dust on the ground, making it hard to open one's eyes.

Mysterious Master.

His hair was disheveled, and his once elegant Taoist robe was torn in several places, revealing bleeding flesh underneath. He rushed into the secret chamber and the first thing he saw was Zhou Yang in front of the stone platform.

His pupils suddenly contracted, his facial muscles twitched, and his eyes instantly turned red.

"you..."

Master Xuanji took a step forward, and the stone slab beneath his feet cracked open.

"Put those things down!"

The voice was hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against metal.

He flipped his right hand, and a bronze mirror appeared in his palm. The mirror's surface was mottled, yet it instantly shone with a dazzling golden light. He pushed it sharply, and the bronze mirror floated up, its light beams shooting straight into Zhou Yang's eyes.

The bright light made Zhou Yang squint, leaving white spots on his retina.

He did not back down.

He reached into his robes with his right hand, his fingertips touching a rough paper package. He crushed the package and tossed it away.

The paper package exploded in the air, turning into a cloud of grayish-white smoke with a sweet almond scent, instantly enveloping Xuanji Zhenren.

Caught off guard, Master Xuanji inhaled the air and froze in mid-air. His eyes widened, but it was too late to hold his breath. His arm trembled violently, and the bronze mirror, its light flickering, clattered to the ground.

His legs went weak, his knees buckled, as if the bones had been removed.

Right now.

Zhou Yang pushed off the ground with both feet, his body shooting out like an arrow. The muscles in his right hand suddenly tensed, his knuckles crackling, and the veins beneath his skin bulging. Twenty years of his lifespan were instantly burned away, transforming into a violent torrent that surged into the meridians of his right arm.

The final move of "Eight Trigrams Swimming Dragon Hands" - Dragon Breaks the Golden Platform.

His palm glowed with a faint blue light, his five fingers like hooks, piercing through the lingering smoke and precisely gripping Xuanji Zhenren's throat.

Click.

The sound of the throat bone breaking was very faint, like stepping on a dry twig.

Master Xuanji's eyes bulged out, and his mouth opened wide, but he couldn't make a sound. He futilely grasped Zhou Yang's arm with both hands, his fingernails scratching several bloody marks on the skin, before his arms fell limply to the ground.

His body went limp and he collapsed to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

Zhou Yang didn't look at him a second time.

He turned and strode toward the stone platform. He stretched out his right hand and reached for the floating fragment.

The moment his fingertips touched the fragment, a bone-chilling cold shot up his arm, making his teeth chatter. The fragment felt heavy in his hand, like a red-hot iron suddenly plunged into ice water.

Just then, the sound of wind came from behind.

There was no sound of air being cut, no prelude to killing intent, only the pure chill brought by death itself.

Zhou Yang's hair stood on end instantly, and goosebumps rose on the back of his neck. Without thinking, his body instinctively lunged to the left.

The flashing blades were like mountains.

The blade slashed down from the entrance to the secret chamber without any warning or fancy moves. Pure killing intent materialized, and the air was sliced ​​open wherever the blade passed, emitting a shriek.

The blade grazed Zhou Yang's right shoulder, severing several strands of hair and tearing a long, bloody gash in his back.

laugh.

Blood splattered.

The blade struck the ground, slicing the bluestone floor like tofu, leaving a three-foot-deep, ten-foot-long ravine, with pebbles flying everywhere.

Zhou Yang rolled to his feet, kneeling on one knee, his right hand clutching his left shoulder tightly. Blood gushed from between his fingers, dripping onto the ground with a soft, pattering sound.

A man was standing at the entrance.

He wore gray cloth clothes and had an ordinary face, the kind of person you'd easily lose in a crowd. In his hand, he held a long, narrow knife with a straight blade, no blood groove, and the tip was still trembling slightly.

He was a member of the Prince of Zhao's household.

The man's aura locked onto Zhou Yang, like a tangible pressure, making it difficult for Zhou Yang to breathe. With each inhale, his lungs felt like they were being pricked by needles.

Grandmaster Realm.

Zhou Yang's heart sank, and his blood seemed to freeze. He slowly straightened up, his right hand quietly reaching into his robes.

Men don't waste words.

He took a step forward, his figure instantly covering a distance of three zhang, and slashed out with his sword again.

This cut was even faster.

The blade flashed, transforming into a white line, aimed straight for Zhou Yang's head. Even before the blade arrived, the chilling intent of the blade already caused a sharp pain between Zhou Yang's brows, drawing blood from his skin.

Zhou Yang tried to dodge, but his body felt like it was stuck in quagmire, every movement becoming incredibly sluggish. He desperately leaned to the right, but the blade still caught up.

Just as the blade touched his body, a blinding golden light suddenly flashed across Zhou Yang's chest.

Gold leaf for taking someone's place.

clang.

The deafening clang of metal striking metal echoed through the sealed room, making one's eardrums ache.

The gold leaf shattered, turning into specks of golden light that drifted into the air. The immense impact sent Zhou Yang flying, like a kite with a broken string, his back slamming against the stone wall with a dull thud.

Gravel fell in a soft rustling sound.

Zhou Yang slid down onto the ground against the stone wall, spitting out another mouthful of blood, which splattered onto his clothes.

But using the force of the impact, he rolled into the shadows behind the stone platform, then without hesitation, he scrambled to his feet and staggered toward the depths of the secret passage.

The man in gray frowned.

He glanced down at the golden fragments on the ground, then looked in the direction Zhou Yang had disappeared, his eyes cold.

He did not chase after them immediately.

Instead, he first walked to the stone platform, reached out and probed it, then looked down at the corpse of Xuanji Zhenren on the ground, and finally confirmed that the fragments were gone.

The man gripped the knife handle tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, making a cracking sound.

Deep inside the secret passage, Zhou Yang clutched his chest, his hand tightly gripping the shard. The edge of the shard cut his palm, and blood trickled through his fingers, but he was completely unaware.

He gritted his teeth and walked step by step into the deeper darkness.