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

The sound of the stone door closing was like shutting a door to hell for the living on earth.

Zhou Yang stood still, without moving.

He waited a few breaths.

Confirming that no traps had been triggered and no patrolling messengers had arrived, the underground palace was so quiet that one could hear their own heartbeat.

Only then did he take a step.

The smell in the air grew stronger. It wasn't just the smell of blood. It was a cloying, sweet odor mixed with rust, rotting herbs, and something burnt. The smell filled your nostrils, lingered in your throat, and made you want to vomit.

Zhou Yang covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, and slowed his breathing even more.

His footsteps were very light, making no sound as he walked on the stone path. The stone slabs under his feet were a little slippery; he couldn't tell if it was water or something else.

The underground palace was deeper than he had imagined.

The steps descended endlessly. There were no windows or torches on the stone walls on either side. The only source of light came from deep below, where a dark red glow illuminated the entire underground space as if at dusk.

The halo was still pulsating slightly.

Like a giant heart.

Zhou Yang's eyes sharpened. He knew that was the core of the magic array.

After descending several dozen more steps, the view suddenly opened up.

This is a huge underground cavern. The cavern's dome is very high, inlaid with a kind of stone that emits a faint glow, barely illuminating the entire space.

In the center of the cave stands a huge bronze alchemy furnace.

The alchemy furnace was at least three zhang tall, its body a strange dark red. It was covered with densely packed runes, but these were no ordinary runes.

Those were human faces.

A series of distorted, pained faces. There were old people, women, and children. Their features were elongated, their mouths agape as if emitting silent screams. The details of each face were incredibly lifelike, as if they had been cast alive into bronze.

Zhou Yang stared at those faces, feeling a tingling sensation on his skin.

This alchemy furnace is no ordinary item. It's more like an evil artifact.

Below the alchemy furnace was a huge circular pool. The pool was filled with a dark red liquid, with a thick layer of grease-like substance floating on the surface. The strong smell of blood was emanating from this pool.

This is the Blood Pool.

From the edge of the blood pool, a dozen thick copper pipes extend. The copper pipes, like the blood vessels of a giant beast, run along the ground and meander to the various stone chambers around the cave.

The entire underground palace is like a flesh and blood factory centered on an alchemy furnace and powered by a blood pool.

Zhou Yang's gaze swept over the copper pipes. He saw at the entrance of a stone chamber, at the joint of a copper pipe, drops of dark red liquid were slowly dripping down, forming a small puddle on the ground.

He suppressed the pounding in his heart, pressed his body against the wall, and moved like a shadow toward the nearest stone chamber.

The stone chamber had no door, only a dark, gaping entrance.

Zhou Yang did not go in directly.

He listened intently, but there was no sound.

He took out a small bronze mirror from his pocket, carefully inserted the mirror into the opening, and used the reflection to observe what was inside.

The image in the mirror was blurry; only the outlines were barely discernible.

There seemed to be many things hanging in the stone chamber.

He put away the bronze mirror, took a deep breath, and slipped into the stone chamber.

An even stronger stench of blood and death assaulted his senses, making his stomach churn.

He saw it clearly.

There were people hanging inside.

Dozens of living people, or rather, people who were once living people.

Their hands and feet were chained, and they were suspended from the wall, their heads hanging limply. Their bodies were completely shriveled, their skin clinging tightly to their bones, like mummies dried for hundreds of years. Their clothes were tattered, revealing their protruding ribs and sunken abdominal cavities.

Their eyes were sunken, like black holes. Their mouths were wide open, as if frozen in a moment of utter despair.

This is not a corpse.

This is the dregs of the medicine.

Zhou Yang walked up to one of the "people". He reached out and gently touched the other's skin.

The skin felt dry and lacked any elasticity, like touching an old parchment.

The instant his fingertips touched it, the "person's" withered head rolled off his shoulder, fell to the ground with a "thud," and shattered into several pieces. Dust flew everywhere.

Zhou Yang withdrew his hand.

His pupils suddenly contracted.

He looked down at the copper pipe connecting the stone chamber. The end of the pipe was directly above the hearts of these people. He understood.

These pipes are the tools that drain their vitality.

Their essence, blood, bone marrow, and life force—everything—was continuously transported through this tube and flowed into the central blood pool. Finally, it was refined into the so-called "elixir of immortality" by that sinister bronze furnace.

Immortality?

Zhou Yang pursed his lips into a straight line.

He had seen ruthless killers and powerful figures who treated human life like dirt. He himself was no saint either. But he had never seen anything like this before.

This is not killing.

Killing, at least, has a reason: revenge, treasure hunting, or a power struggle.

But this matter had no apparent cause. In the eyes of those alchemists, these people kept in captivity were not human. They were no different from the herbs in the ground or the minerals in the mountains.

They are just medicinal herbs.

It is a consumable for alchemy.

Zhou Yang's breathing became heavy. He felt a dull ache in the emptiness in his chest again. It wasn't the pain of burning away his life force; it was a chill that welled up from the depths of his heart.

He used to think that this world was a cannibalistic world. He believed that as long as he ran fast enough and hid well enough, he wouldn't be eaten.

Now he understands.

Weakness is not a sin.

Just because you are weak, you can be used as "medicinal material".

Your only value is to be exploited by stronger people.

Zhou Yang's gaze swept over the mummified corpses in the room. On their faces, the last traces of fear and resentment from their lives remained.

He recalled his days in Anyang County. He remembered the passerby whom Commander Chen had casually crushed to death. He remembered those pawns in the power struggles, whose very names were left behind.

If you are not strong enough, ruthless enough, or valuable enough, the ending will be the same. You will be locked in some dark corner, used as a elixir, a sacrifice, or a stepping stone on some great figure's path to immortality.

He clenched his fist.

My fingernails dug deep into the flesh of my palm, sending a sharp pain through me.

The sharp pain instantly brought him to his senses.

anger?

No, it's not just anger.

It is a deeper fear, and the murderous intent forced out by this fear.

He's going to destroy this magic circle.

It wasn't because of the orders from the Embroidered Uniform Guard, nor because of Qin Shuang's request.

It was for his own sake.

He didn't want to live in a world where people could boil him down like medicinal herbs.

Zhou Yang slowly turned around and walked out of the stone chamber.

The underground palace outside remained deathly silent. The countless faces on the bronze alchemy furnace seemed to be silently watching him in the dim light.

Zhou Yang raised his head, the warmth in his eyes completely gone.

It was a pure, cold intent to destroy.

His gaze swept over the blood pool, over the copper pipes, and finally settled on the top of the alchemy furnace. There, a faint current seemed to be swirling.

The core of the magic array.

He began to move.

This time, his goal was clear.

His steps remained light, yet each step carried an undeniable decisiveness. He was like a cheetah stalking in the darkness, having found the prey's most vulnerable throat.