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

Zhou Yang began to move.

His goal was clear.

His footsteps trod on the damp stone slabs without making a sound. He was like a drop of water, merging into the dark ocean of the underground palace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of blood and herbs, carrying a cloying, rotten aroma. He disliked the smell, but it kept him alert.

His gaze remained fixed on the bronze alchemy furnace.

The furnace was covered with distorted human faces. In the dim light, those mouths and eyes seemed to be turning, silently telling tales of suffering. He drew closer and closer to the furnace. Thirty steps. Twenty steps. With each step, the emptiness in his chest became clearer. It was as if an invisible hand was gently squeezing his heart.

He knew this was a consequence of burning through his lifespan. It was also the price of his power.

He still has a chance.

Destroying the alchemy furnace before the ceremony is completed, or taking action at the crucial stage of the soul-summoning process, would completely thwart the Heavenly Principle Sect's plan.

The underground palace was quiet. Only the dripping sound of water from a distant copper pipe could be heard. Tap, tap, tap. The rhythm was like some kind of countdown.

Zhou Yang's breathing followed the rhythm. One step, one inhale. Another step, one exhale. His body was synchronized with this space. He felt as if he had become a part of the underground palace, a stone, a shadow. He could feel the movement of every breath of air, the coldness of every stone slab.

This feeling was both mysterious and dangerous. It made him extremely perceptive and exceptionally sensitive to changes in his surroundings.

Therefore, he was the first to notice when the temperature in the palace dropped without warning.

That wasn't ordinary cold. It wasn't the dampness you'd find deep underground. This chill had a texture, like the kind of cold that comes from suddenly pulling back the covers in the dead of winter, leaving you naked and exposed to frost—a cold that seeps into your very bones.

The dripping stopped.

Zhou Yang's steps also stopped instantly. He stood frozen in place, like a statue.

He slowly raised his head.

The shadows in the corners, the darkness that should have been still, now writhed and stretched like living things. They poured out from the cracks in the walls, seeped down from between the stones in the ceiling, and converged in one place.

In the center of the underground palace.

The Heavenly Principle Sect protector who had been directing the followers also sensed something was wrong. His face turned deathly pale, his previously triumphant expression frozen on his face, then replaced by extreme fear.

He did not hesitate.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed to his knees with a thud. His forehead slammed heavily against the cold stone slab, producing a dull thud. His body trembled violently, not from fear, but from a kind of oppression that came from the depths of his being. He didn't even have the courage to lift his head, curling up into a ball, wishing he could disappear into the cracks in the stone slab.

The air in the entire underground palace seemed to solidify. It was thick, oppressive, and suffocating. Zhou Yang felt an even greater tightness in his chest, and the hollow, piercing pain became sharper. He held his breath, silently taking two steps back, completely disappearing into the shadow behind a thick stone pillar. He dared not move, not even dared to let his heart beat faster.

Where the shadows converge, an outline gradually rises.

It was a dark shadow.

It has no specific shape, no clear features. It's like a human-shaped thick fog, or a black hole that can devour all light. You can't see it clearly, but you just know it's there. Its very existence is a distortion and desecration of the surrounding space.

The kneeling protector trembled even more violently. The sound of his teeth chattering was particularly jarring in the deathly silent underground palace.

The shadowy figure moved.

It was just a casual wave of its hand.

An extremely simple movement, slow and deliberate, as if shooing away an annoying flying insect.

But this action caused the entire underground palace to react.

"Buzz—"

A deep hum didn't originate from any one place, but rather from all directions, simultaneously resounding from every stone and every inch of air. The countless human faces on the massive bronze alchemy furnace seemed to come alive, their mouths opening to emit silent, piercing screams. Visible ripples spread outwards from the furnace's center.

Blood pool.

That pool of viscous, dark red blood, as if it had been branded with a red-hot iron thrown into the entire mountain, suddenly began to boil!

"Glug! Glug! Glug!"

Huge bubbles surged and burst, spraying out scalding blood. The pungent smell of burning flesh instantly overwhelmed all the previous odors. The color of the blood also changed, from dark red to an ominous crimson-black, as if something terrifying was awakening within it.

The copper pipes connecting to the blood pool began to tremble violently. A thin layer of red light shone on the pipe walls, like red-hot iron.

A hoarse voice echoed in the underground palace.

The sound didn't seem to come from a human. It sounded more like two rusty iron plates rubbing against each other with all their might, each word accompanied by a harsh scraping sound.

"The time has come."

The sound wasn't loud, but it was like a needle, precisely piercing everyone's eardrums. Zhou Yang felt a tingling sensation on his scalp.

The kneeling protector trembled, and with all his might, he managed to squeeze out a voice from his throat: "Yes...yes, Dharma King!"

Blackwater Dharma King.

Zhou Yang's heart sank. The worst-case scenario. The Dharma King of the Heavenly Principle Sect had personally arrived. A figure of that caliber was far beyond his current capabilities. All his previous plans had become a joke at this moment.

He was like a thief who had spent ages preparing to break into a house, only to find a dragon sitting inside.

The Dharma King ignored the protector. He slowly turned his head, and the outline of the dark figure seemed to glance in the direction where Zhou Yang was hiding.

Zhou Yang's heart almost stopped beating for a moment.

He felt that his every move, every trace of his presence, was laid bare in that seemingly casual glance. He was like a rabbit exposed to a hawk's sight, with nowhere to hide.

Fortunately, that gaze only lingered for a moment before moving away.

The Dharma King seemed unaware of him. Perhaps, in the other's eyes, his level of cultivation was no different from a speck of dust in the underground palace.

This is a deeper kind of despair.

That hoarse voice rang out again.

"Open the furnace, summon the soul."

The commands were clear and emotionless.

The guardian, kneeling on the ground, felt as if he had been granted a pardon or received a tremendous blessing. He trembled as he scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards the workbench beside the alchemy furnace. His movements were clumsy and flustered, and he nearly fell several times. He pulled a strangely shaped bronze key from his robes, held it in both hands, and tremblingly reached for a keyhole on the furnace.

The ceremony is about to begin.

Zhou Yang remained motionless in the shadows. His mind was racing.

run?

He might still have time to run. With his agility, as long as the Dharma King doesn't deliberately pursue him, there's a high chance he can escape.

Stay?

Staying means death. The Blackwater Dharma King's casual wave of his hand was enough to crush him into dust. There was no chance.

but……

Zhou Yang's gaze passed over the flustered protector and landed on the base of the alchemy furnace. He had observed it before; it was the weakest point of the entire formation. If he could seize even a fleeting moment to thrust a poisoned dagger into it with all his might, perhaps... perhaps it could cause the formation to collapse.

Perhaps.

Not necessarily.

This is a gamble with their lives. If they win, they can hold off the Heavenly Principle Sect, greatly reducing the pressure on Qin Shuang. If they lose, they will be reduced to ashes.

He instinctively touched his chest. It was empty. His life was slipping away, life was becoming cheap. If he died today, what would be the point of everything he had burned for?

He didn't like this feeling.

He hates leaving his fate in the hands of others.

Inside the underground palace, the guardian had already inserted the key into the lock. He took a deep breath, preparing to turn it.

Zhou Yang's gaze was fixed on the boiling pool of blood. He watched the surging waves of blood, the dark red bubbles. In his pupils, the bronze alchemy furnace was reflected.

His hand slowly moved towards his waist. There, hidden, was a short knife only three inches long. The hilt was wrapped in sharkskin for a non-slip grip. The blade was jet black, coated with a deadly poison that could kill instantly upon drawing blood.

He just needs one chance.

A protector turns around, or the Dharma King is distracted for a moment.

He gripped the hilt of the knife tightly. The cold touch traveled through his palm, calming his burning thoughts slightly.

He stopped thinking about the consequences. He stopped weighing the pros and cons.

Now that we're here...

Now that we've already entered this game...

Then we have no choice but to keep going. Either we overturn the chessboard, or we get crushed by the pieces.

The guardian's hands rested on the key.

Zhou Yang's muscles tensed up.

His gaze finally settled on the protector's right wrist, which was trembling uncontrollably due to extreme tension.

That was where he could strike.