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

The cart swayed, lifting the straw mat. A streak of dirty red paint flickered in the wind, like a bloodstained smile line.

"Grin!" The blade flashed across the surface, the crescent-shaped scimitar gleaming coldly in the lamplight.

The man was thin, but his muscles were taut. His face was covered with ghostly paint, his eyebrows and eyes were completely blacked out, leaving only two bright red dots on his lips.

He charged toward Zhou Yang, the tip of his knife pointing at the saddle.

Zhou Yang was in no hurry to engage in battle. He lightly tapped his horse's hooves and turned left to circle around to the left side of the cart. The sound of the horse's hooves stirred up tiny splashes of water in the mud.

He turned to the side, his long sword rippled across the water like waves, the blade cutting through the air before stopping three feet in front of the assassin.

"Shadow Fiend Blade." He muttered to himself, lightly tapping the back of the blade against the saddle, and dark red patterns instantly appeared on the blade.

The blade pattern swept across, then transformed into fine, dense blade energy, like an invisible blade slicing through the night.

The first assassin cried out in alarm as his body was slashed open by the blade's energy, and blood immediately spurted out.

At the same time, a slight rustling sound came from the bushes on both sides of the road. Four figures suddenly rushed out, their robes stained with ghost face paint, their faces equally distorted.

They surrounded the cart, their target Qin Shuang.

Qin Shuang's guard drew his short sword, its tip gleaming coldly. Two masked assassins rushed forward, their blades clashing, forcing the guard back behind the carriage.

The guard's blade was entangled, and his sleeve was slashed, with blood dripping onto the dust.

A cold smile flashed in Zhou Yang's eyes.

Instead of engaging the first assassin head-on, he turned and charged at the killer on the other side.

The blade traced an arc, red patterns blooming in the night, its aura like a charging tiger.

The assassin was forced back three steps, his curved knife trembling, the blade gleaming in the light.

Taking advantage of the situation, Zhou Yang rushed to the side of Qin Shuang's carriage, leaning against the wooden railing. Qin Shuang stood in front of the carriage, her eyebrows and eyes sharp as knives.

The two stood back to back, like a solid fortress.

"Stop running," Zhou Yang whispered, his voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm.

At this moment, four assassins surrounded them, their blades flashing and forming a net.

Zhou Yang held the knife in his left hand and gently stroked the saddle with his right, as if sensing the horse's breath.

He instantly pointed the tip of the knife at the ground, and the blade made a low metallic sound as it touched the ground.

The metallic sound was like an alarm bell, and the four assassins paused for a moment.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Zhou Yang stepped into a horse stance, and his blade swept forward in an arc, the blade energy like a cold wind cutting through the air, directly severing the blades of the two assassins on the left.

The two men stepped back in surprise, the tip of their knives falling into the mud, their blood quickly being swallowed by the muddy water.

Upon seeing this, the two assassins on the right rushed forward fiercely, but were forced back by Zhou Yang's sword energy.

The blade energy crisscrossed in the air, forming an invisible net that forced them into a narrow grassy path.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Qin Shuang's guard drew his sword and cut off another assassin's curved blade. The blade shattered with a crack, and the assassin looked terrified.

"Don't panic." Zhou Yang's voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable force.

He pressed the tip of his knife onto the grass, and the red veins danced among the blades, the aura of the knife gradually intensifying.

Then, the blade energy spread towards the four assassins like burning embers.

The assassins tried to retreat, but were caught in a sticky net of blade energy, their movements slowed.

The scimitar in an assassin's hand was twisted by the aura of the blade, and the blade shattered into several pieces, flying towards the ground.

Blood blossoms bloomed in the lamplight, and the blades of grass were slashed open with thin, long cuts by the blade's energy, emitting a soft hiss.

A cold glint flashed in Zhou Yang's eyes. His lifespan was being drained by the sword energy, but he did not hesitate in the slightest.

"This is my way," he murmured to himself, the aura of his blade echoing in the night wind.

Qin Shuang stood in front of the carriage, her brows slightly furrowed, but she quickly composed herself. Her eyes gleamed with determination amidst the glint of the blade.

"Stop," she whispered, her voice as cold as iron.

Zhou Yang nodded, and the sword energy in his hand subsided, finally turning into a faint red hue that dissipated into the night.

The four assassins had been forced to reveal their true colors, their faces clearly visible beneath their masks: they were all illegitimate sons of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, wearing dark red cloaks and the same ghost-face badges on their chests.

"The Embroidered Uniform Guard?" A hint of surprise flashed across Qin Shuang's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by calmness.

Zhou Yang smiled and tapped the saddle lightly with the back of his knife, producing a crisp metallic sound.

"They've been bought with money," he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Qin Shuang nodded and turned to walk towards the carriage.

"Where should we go?" she asked, her voice tinged with barely perceptible worry.

Zhou Yang looked back at the blood-stained grass, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Let's clean this area up first," he said, a calculating glint in his eyes.

He then sheathed his sword, the sound of horses' hooves echoed again, and the cart continued its journey on the muddy road.

As the night wind swept by, the remaining ghost face paintings in the grass looked particularly eerie under the lamplight.

Not far away, another pair of eyes in the shadows were watching the moving convoy closely, their brows furrowed, as if they were pondering their next move.

The night was dark, and the light of the torches in the distance was blurred by the mist.

Just as Zhou Yang and Qin Shuang finished cleaning up the blood-stained grass, they suddenly heard light footsteps behind them.

"Be careful!"

Qin Shuang gave a low shout, her hand already on the hilt of the Embroidered Spring Blade.

Zhou Yang reacted even faster. Almost at the same moment Qin Shuang spoke, he had already leaped to the side and rear.

Five dark figures approached from different directions.

They were dressed in night clothes, their faces adorned with bizarre, ghostly face paint—white, pink, and red, like masks on a theatrical stage, or some kind of evil sacrificial pattern. Their movements were perfectly synchronized; in groups of three, with two supporting each other, they formed a coordinated attack in the blink of an eye.

"Ghost Face Killer"

Zhou Yang thought to himself, "In the martial arts novels I read in my previous life, this kind of attire usually refers to assassins. Since they dare to block the path of the Imperial Guards, they either have something to rely on or someone behind them."

"How dare you!"

Qin Shuang sneered, her voice as cold as ice. Without another word, she drew her embroidered spring knife, its blade gleaming like snow.

The assassins ignored Qin Shuang. Their eyes were all fixed on Zhou Yang, like hunters spotting their prey.

"wrong……"

Zhou Yang sensed something was wrong. The five people's positioning was very deliberate—three were facing him head-on, while two blocked his retreat from the flanks. This was a combined attack formation, specifically designed to deal with a single expert.

"kill!"

One of them gave a low shout. Five longswords were swung out simultaneously, the swordsmanship strange and unorthodox, seemingly a fusion of several martial arts styles. The wind from the blades swept by, carrying a faint smell of blood.

Something's not right.

Zhou Yang only needed one glance to tell that this was no ordinary martial arts style. The five men's teamwork was clearly the result of long-term training, and the angle of each strike completely sealed off their own room to dodge.

"One year."

Zhou Yang almost didn't hesitate and directly sacrificed a year of his lifespan.

Deep within his mind, something seemed to be ignited. It was a mysterious and profound feeling—he seemed to see through the trajectory of these sword techniques, each move's initiation, variation, and killing strike clearly presented before his eyes.

"left!"

Zhou Yang gave a low shout, while simultaneously winking at Qin Shuang.

Qin Shuang understood. She knew Zhou Yang must have a backup plan. She immediately brandished her embroidered spring knife, blocking the attacks of the two men on her left.

"Now!"

Zhou Yang made his move. Instead of confronting the three men head-on, he attacked directly from the weakest point in their offensive.

That spot was in the gap where the three figures met. Normally, this is where the swordsmanship is most relaxed, but because it's so obvious, it makes it impossible to underestimate.

Zhou Yang dares.

The Shadow Blade was drawn.

The blade flashed like blood.

An assassin's throat was pierced. Before he could even react, he saw a black knife pierce his neck.

"No--"

He wanted to say something, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

The Shadow Fiend Blade trembled slightly, emitting a pleasant ringing sound. The assassin's essence blood flowed back up the blade, and red patterns spread across the blade like living vines.

"The second year of life was worth it."

The thought flashed through Zhou Yang's mind. The Shadow Fiend Blade was more powerful than he had expected—after absorbing the essence blood, the blade's power had clearly increased by a level.

The remaining four assassins were clearly stunned.

They weren't inexperienced in killing, but the comrade they had killed was the strongest among them. To be taken down in a single exchange was completely beyond their comprehension.

"Kill him! Kill him!"

The leader shouted sharply, a hint of panic already in his voice.

The remaining four people surrounded them again, but their coordination was noticeably less tight than before.

Zhou Yang did not give them a chance to regroup.

He closed in, his Shadow Blade sweeping across.

"Pfft!"

Another person fell. The blade had struck his side, the wound so deep it exposed bone. The man groaned and fell backward.

The third person wanted to retreat, but it was too late. Zhou Yang's knife was too fast; he could barely react.

"The third year."

Zhou Yang silently chanted in his heart. He used all his strength in this strike, and the blade severed the opponent's head.

The head rolled to the ground, the face still bearing a look of terror.

Three out of five were removed, leaving only two people.

Including the leaders.

"withdraw!"

The leader finally gave the order. It wasn't that they weren't afraid of death, but in this situation, survival was the most important thing.

The two assassins feinted with their knives, then turned and ran.

But Zhou Yang had no intention of letting them go.

"Trying to leave?"

With a flick of his wrist, the Shadow Blade flew out of his hand.

"go!"

The knife moved like a shooting star chasing the moon.

The leader was running when a knife pierced his back. He looked down in disbelief at the blade in his chest, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.

"Why...?"

He knelt on the ground, never understanding until his death.

The other assassin ran even faster, already leaping more than ten feet away.

But he was wrong.

Zhou Yang's target was never the leader.

"And you."

Zhou Yang picked up a piece of gravel from the ground and casually tossed it away.

"Snap!"

The gravel struck the man squarely behind the knee. He screamed and collapsed to the ground.

Zhou Yang walked over slowly, his Embroidered Spring Blade already in his hand.

"Great hero... spare my life..."

The assassin turned around, his face no longer showing the ferocity he had before, only fear remained.

Do you think it's possible?

Zhou Yang slashed down with his sword.

solved.

He stood there, glancing at the Shadow Blade in his hand. The red patterns on the blade had fully come to life, flowing as if they were alive.

"good."

Zhou Yang nodded in satisfaction. The knife's potential was greater than he had anticipated—it had absorbed the life essence of four assassins, increasing its power by at least 50%.

No, that's not enough.

He shook his head, denying his own thoughts. Knowing the system's nature, such an improvement would definitely come at a price. It seemed like he'd gotten a good deal now, but he might have to pay it back with interest later.

"Let's take a look at the spoils first."

Zhou Yang began searching through the corpse.

Qin Shuang stood to one side, her embroidered spring knife already sheathed. She looked at Zhou Yang's back, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes.

"Are you... alright?"

She hesitated for a moment, but still asked the question.

"fine."

Zhou Yang didn't even look up, continuing to search.

"Who are these people?"

Qin Shuang asked again. She could tell that the coordination of these assassins was beyond what ordinary martial arts practitioners could achieve.

"Five people, working in perfect harmony, with unpredictable swordsmanship."

Zhou Yang stood up, holding a money bag in his hand. "They're from the Heavenly Principle Sect."

"Tenrikyo?"

Qin Shuang frowned. She had heard the name before, but didn't know much about it.

"We'll talk about it another time."

Zhou Yang put away the silver and some useful items, leaving the rest for Qin Shuang to handle.

"We should go."

"Um."

Qin Shuang nodded. She took one last look at the corpses and said nothing more.

The two men led their horses and continued on their way.

As the night fell, the cart gradually disappeared into the distance.