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

The night was like a piece of coarse cloth soaked in ink, covering Black Wind Mountain.

Zhou Yang walked along the mountain path, his boots crushing a dry twig. The crisp sound echoed in the silence, startling a few roosting birds. He stopped, his nostrils flaring.

There's a smell in the wind.

The air was thick with decaying soil and rust, carrying the bitter scent of burnt herbs. The Dragon Corpse's sense of smell amplified this subtle aroma, tracing a clear path in its mind. Zhou Yang turned, veering off the mountain path and disappearing into the dense forest to the west.

A branch whipped against the hem of his robe, making a soft tearing sound. Zhou Yang paid it no mind. This blue cloth robe was a cheap one he'd bought on short notice; he could just replace it when it got damaged. He was more concerned about the direction of that aura.

The deeper they went, the dimmer the light became. Moonlight was fragmented by the tree canopy, falling to the ground like silver dust. Zhou Yang's eyes flashed with pale golden vertical lines, a sign that the Dragon Corpse's physiology was activating. The scenery in the darkness suddenly became clear; even the tracks of ants crawling on the tree trunks were visible.

The breath stopped here.

Zhou Yang stood before a massive rock. Its surface was covered in moss, blending seamlessly into the mountainside. He raised his hand, his fingernail tracing five faint white lines across the rock face.

Not here.

He walked around to the side of the rock and crouched down. Half a piece of gravel was buried in the soil, and a twisted symbol was carved at the bottom of it: three horizontal lines and one vertical line, with a hook at the end.

Secret markings of the Heavenly Principle Sect.

Zhou Yang ran his fingers along the edge of the symbol; the soil was still fresh. He stood up and looked around. Behind the rocks was a steep cliff, with vines hanging down, obscuring most of his view.

Illusion array.

Zhou Yang didn't understand formations. He also had no patience to break through any talk of life or death gates. He stretched out his hand and placed his palm against the rock wall. The veins under his skin bulged, revealing purplish-black patterns.

The power of the dragon corpse surged within his body.

He exerted his strength.

The rocks groaned under the weight, cracks spreading from his palm outwards. The entire mountain trembled, and loose rocks rained down. Zhou Yang remained expressionless, his fingers digging into the cracks in the rock, applying pressure once more.

Boom!

He forcefully tore a half-person-high rock off the rock face. The foundation of the illusion array was destroyed, and the scene before them distorted for a moment, revealing the real cave entrance behind it.

The cave entrance is low, allowing only one person to pass by bending over. More symbols are carved on both sides of the entrance, the dark red paint resembling dried blood in the moonlight.

Several gasps came from inside.

Zhou Yang didn't rush in immediately. He took three steps back, raised the torn rock above his head, and then smashed it towards the cave entrance.

A huge rock blocked half of the entrance.

He ducked behind a protruding cliff face and held his breath.

The footsteps were chaotic.

Three men dressed in gray cloth shorts rushed out, carrying steel knives. Their faces were still filled with panic; they clearly hadn't expected anyone to find this place, let alone that the entrance would be forced open by brute force.

"What happened?"

"The formation has been broken?"

"Watch out, there's an ambush!"

Before the third person could finish speaking, Zhou Yang had already made his move.

He emerged from behind the cliff face, moving so fast that he left a blur in his wake. The cultist at the front felt a chill run down his neck, and his vision blurred. He saw his headless body, spitting blood as he fell.

The second man swung his sword, the wind whistling through the air.

Zhou Yang didn't dodge. He raised his hand, his five fingers like hooks, and gripped the blade directly. The steel blade made a teeth-grinding scraping sound in his palm before breaking into three pieces. He lunged forward, his elbow slamming into the other's chest.

The sound of the sternum collapsing is dull.

The man was sent flying backward, crashing into the rock wall, then slid down softly, lifeless.

The third man tried to run, but as soon as he turned around, the back of his neck was pressed down. Zhou Yang slammed him to the ground, his knee pressing against his spine. The cultist's face was buried in the mud, making a cracking sound as his bones broke.

How many people are still inside the cave?

Zhou Yang's voice was very soft, as if he were talking about something insignificant.

The cult members struggled desperately, squeezing out broken screams. Zhou Yang increased his force, and their spines cracked with a chilling sound. The cult members' bodies suddenly went limp, and the stench of incontinence filled the air.

"Not going to talk?"

Zhou Yang stood up and stomped on his throat, crushing it.

The entire process takes no more than five breaths.

Zhou Yang stood between the three corpses and shook his hand. Blood dripped from his fingertips and seeped into the soil. He looked at the dark cave entrance; it was quiet inside, and no more sounds came out.

He bent down, tore a piece of cloth from the corpse, and slowly wiped his hands. The cloth quickly became stained red, and he casually tossed it aside.

"Whether there are dates or not, we'll still shoot."

Zhou Yang muttered to himself, a slight smile playing on his lips. He pulled a tinderbox from his pocket and blew on it. The tiny flame flickered in the darkness, illuminating half of his face.

The cave entrance was deep and dark, like a mouth waiting to be devoured.

Zhou Yang stepped over the corpse on the ground, bent down, and entered the cave. The light from the tinderbox cast a long, distorted shadow on the cave wall.

The cave walls were covered with murals depicting bizarre sacrificial scenes. Zhou Yang didn't examine them closely; his attention was focused ahead. The dragon corpse's senses told him there was something inside.

It might be a treasure.

It could also be a trap.

For him, it's all the same.

Gold can be found even in a grave if the price is high enough.

Zhou Yang gripped the tinderbox tightly and walked into the depths of darkness. His shoes echoed softly as they trod across the damp stone steps.

Deep inside the cave, flames flickered.

A strange odor filled the air. It smelled like rotting herbs mixed with the stench of animal blood and the burnt smell of grease. The smell assaulted my nostrils, making me feel nauseous.

Zhou Yang frowned.

The tinderbox in his hand had limited light, illuminating only three feet ahead. Deeper into the darkness lay an impenetrable void. From within the darkness, a low, chanting sound emanated. The sound didn't seem human; it was more like the muffled roars of several wild beasts, a buzzing, rattling noise that tickled the eardrums.

His dragon-like corpse was naturally sensitive to such sinister things, and a fine layer of goosebumps rose on his skin.

There are things. Living things. And more than one.

Zhou Yang slowed his pace, his shoes barely making a sound on the slippery stone slabs. Like a cat slithering into the night, he crept along the cave wall toward the source of the sound and smell.

After turning a corner, the view suddenly opened up before me.

This is a natural cave with countless stalactites hanging from its ceiling. In the center of the cave is an altar made of black stones. The altar is about three meters square and is engraved with twisted, blood-red runes. Between the runes, there is a viscous black liquid, within which countless wronged souls seem to be struggling.

Around the altar stood seven or eight men dressed in gray robes. They were shirtless, their skin painted with strange white patterns, and they swayed their bodies rhythmically to the low chanting.

Directly in front of the altar, with his back to Zhou Yang, stood a person in charge.

The man was tall and thin, wearing a long black robe embroidered with dark red flames. He raised his hands high, chanting incantations, seemingly presiding over some kind of ritual. With each incantation, the black liquid on the altar would boil, bubbling up foul-smelling bubbles.

True Essence Realm.

Zhou Yang saw it at a glance.

The aura emanating from that man in black robes far surpassed that of the martial artists they had encountered before. It was a feeling of inner abundance and inexhaustible vitality, a sign that true essence had condensed into a pill.

A leader of the Heavenly Principle Sect.

Zhou Yang's gaze swept across the entire scene. He had no interest in understanding what this ritual was all about. He only cared about one thing.

How much are these people worth?

His gaze fell on the leader of the guild. A cultivator at the True Essence Realm must have a long lifespan. The gray-robed lackeys behind him, even added together, could only amount to a fraction of that.

This deal is worth doing.

Zhou Yang didn't hesitate at all. He wasn't the kind of person who liked to hide on the sidelines and wait for the opponent to make a move. In the face of absolute strength, any scheme would be superfluous.

He moved.

The figure emerged from the darkness like a ghost, silently. The gray-robed followers, absorbed in the ritual, were completely unaware of the impending death.

Zhou Yang's goal was very clear: to become the leader of the helm.

He strode forward, his five fingers forming a blade, a faint silver light emanating from the edge of his palm. The power of the Dragon Corpse was infused into it, giving it a sharpness capable of tearing everything apart.

The leader was immersed in the mysterious power of the ritual. He felt the feedback of the altar's energy and a smug smile appeared on his face.

Just then, a chilling sense of crisis suddenly struck him from behind!

Without thinking, he suddenly turned to the side.

"Sizzle!"

A sharp gust of wind grazed his shoulder. His black robe was torn open like paper, revealing a deep, bone-revealing wound on his shoulder, from which blood gushed out instantly.

A sharp pain shot through him, and the helmsman let out a muffled groan, staggering forward two steps. He turned around, his face filled with horror as he stared at Zhou Yang, who had suddenly appeared.

"Who are you?!"

The gray-robed followers behind him only then reacted. Seeing their leader injured, they all let out strange cries and charged at Zhou Yang, brandishing their broadswords.

Zhou Yang didn't even glance at them.

He simply took a step forward, unleashing the full power of the Dragon Corpse within him. An invisible pressure emanated from him, spreading outwards with a deafening roar.

"roar!"

This doesn't sound like a human roar; it sounds more like the howl of an ancient ferocious beast.

The gray-robed cultists at the forefront suddenly stiffened, as if struck by an invisible behemoth. They all coughed up blood, flew backward, crashed into the cave wall, and slid down softly, lifeless.

In just a moment, the oppressive aura annihilated all the small fry.

The captain's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

His face was deathly pale, he clutched his bleeding shoulder, and his body trembled uncontrollably. He looked at Zhou Yang as if he were looking at a demon from hell.

In that instant, what he felt wasn't true essence or internal force, but rather... an absolute suppression on a life level. It was like an ant looking up at a lion.

"You...who exactly are you..." The leader's voice trembled.

Zhou Yang didn't answer his question. He felt there was no need to waste words on a dead man. He took another step and walked towards the helmsman.

One step, two steps.

Every step was like a heavy hammer blow to the helmsman's heart.

Just as Zhou Yang was three or four steps away from him, the leader suddenly sniffed, his face showing an even more horrified expression. He seemed to have smelled something he absolutely could not believe.

"This...this aura..."

The captain stared intently at Zhou Yang, his pupils shrinking to the size of pinpoints.

"Fang Tian! It's the scent of Master Fang Tian! Why do you smell like Master Fang Tian?! Who are you?!"

He gripped the last straw and roared at the top of his lungs. The name Fang Tian seemed to have stirred up some deep memory, allowing him to temporarily forget his fear.

Zhou Yang paused for a moment.

Fang Tian?

That old man who taught him the basic techniques, and whom he later used as his "coffin money" to refine? I never expected that his aura would still remain on my body.

interesting.

A cold smile curled at the corners of Zhou Yang's lips. He found the scene somewhat ridiculous. He was already too lazy to explain, and now he was even less inclined to.

Since you recognized me, that's perfect.

That way I won't have to go looking for you again.

"Oh?" Zhou Yang finally spoke, his voice soft but with a hint of amusement. "You know him?"

"I...I was once a...leader under Master Fangtian..." the leader stammered, seemingly believing this connection could save his life. "Master Fangtian...he's dead! What are you to him? A disciple? Impossible! I know every single one of his disciples!"

He spoke faster and faster, and his emotions became increasingly agitated.

"Speaking of which, I was one of those who hunted down Master Fang Tianxiang back then! Turns out he wasn't completely dead and left behind his legacy! Haha, it's like finding a needle in a haystack!"

In the end, a ferocious look of joy appeared on the leader's face. He seemed to feel that he had gone from prey to hunter.

Zhou Yang watched his performance quietly.

His smile remained unchanged, but his eyes grew colder and colder.

This person's life or death depends solely on how much money he is worth. What he says or does is completely irrelevant.

"Noisy."

Zhou Yang uttered two words.

He stopped walking forward and slowly raised his right hand, his five fingers spread, his palm facing the still-dreaming helmsman.

The leader's smile froze.

"What do you want to do?!"

He immediately sensed a deadly danger. This danger was a hundred or a thousand times stronger than when Zhou Yang had slashed at him with his blade!

He wanted to escape, but his body felt frozen, unable to move. He could only watch helplessly.

A fist-sized cloud of black mist quietly appeared in Zhou Yang's palm.

The mist swirled and condensed, with faint wisps of crimson lightning flickering within it. It exuded an aura of greed, hunger, and the ability to devour everything.

"What kind of sorcery is this?!"

The helmsman screamed in terror.

He felt his true essence, his blood, and his life force being drawn to that black mist, like iron filings attracted by a magnet, uncontrollably trying to leave his body.

"Devour and refine."

Zhou Yang silently recited in his heart.

The black mist transformed into a thin, invisible black line, shooting out like lightning and instantly piercing into the helmsman's brow.

"ah--!"

A piercing scream, so shrill it was inhuman, echoed throughout the entire cave.

The helmsman's body convulsed violently; he was like a puppet on strings, manipulated at will by an invisible force. His skin lost its color at a visible rate, becoming withered and sallow.

His once robust physique deflated rapidly, like a punctured balloon. His thick black hair withered and turned white in an instant, then fell out like withered grass.

His life, his spirit, everything about him was being frantically extracted and refined.

The process was quick, taking only a few breaths.

When the black line receded from the helmsman's brow and returned to Zhou Yang's palm.

"Bang."

A soft sound.

The helmsman's body fell straight to the ground. He became a dried corpse, his eye sockets sunken, his mouth wide open, as if silently accusing the most terrifying evil in the world.

The cave was deathly silent.

Only the black liquid on the altar was still bubbling away.

Zhou Yang stood still and closed his eyes.

A surge of extremely pure life energy, mixed with boundless true essence, flowed into his limbs and bones like a warm current. Every cell, every inch of bone, cried out joyfully under the cleansing influence of this energy.

The dragon-like corpse's instincts were also devouring this power.

He could feel himself becoming stronger.

Just then, a phantom light screen, visible only to him, unfolded before his eyes.

[System Notification: Having absorbed a True Essence Realm cultivator, lifespan increased by 150 years.]

Current lifespan: 950 years.

Nine hundred and fifty!

We are just one step away from the milestone of a thousand years.

Zhou Yang slowly opened his eyes, a satisfied glint in them. This leader of the Heavenly Principle Sect was indeed a fat sheep. His gains far exceeded all the previous ones he had devoured combined.

This is the correct way to "pay extra".

He glanced down at the horrifying dried corpse on the ground, then at the several gray-robed cult members beside him who had died tragically, his face showing no emotion.

Killing is merely the price of a transaction.

He walked to the altar, his gaze sweeping over the strange runes and viscous black liquid. He used the end of his sword sheath to stir the liquid and scooped out a fist-sized, dark red crystal.

The crystal felt warm to the touch, and it seemed as if countless tiny blood vessels were flowing inside, radiating a violent aura.

"Blood Fiend Crystal? It's not bad, it has some value."

Zhou Yang casually tucked the item into his pocket and then searched the dried corpse of the helmsman again. He found a booklet and a small purse.

The booklet cover read "Blood Nerve," a sinister martial art. The purse contained a dozen or so loose silver coins, nothing particularly interesting.

He put the booklet away and examined the eerie altar. After a moment, he took out a fire tinder he had taken from one of the dead and casually tossed it onto the altar.

"call--"

The flames licked the black liquid and burst into flames with a roar. The flames were dark red, casting an eerie blood-red hue over the entire cavern.

Zhou Yang turned around and didn't look back.

The fire will burn everything here.

He walked back the way he came, heading towards the cave entrance. Behind him, raging crimson flames and an evil ritual that had been forcibly ended.

His shadow stretched long in the firelight, only to be completely swallowed up by the darkness ahead.

This trip to Black Wind Mountain was very fruitful.

Not only did they eliminate a branch of the Heavenly Principle Sect, but they also gained nearly two hundred years of lifespan. This deal was worthwhile.

He touched the book "Blood Nerve" in his arms, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

The secret of Master Xuanji may lie hidden in the cultivation techniques of the Heavenly Principle Sect. And he has now obtained the key.