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

The mountain road was rugged.

The night was dark.

Three figures hid in a crevice in the mountainside. They were motionless, like three lifeless stones. The crevice was deep, and while a mountain wind blew outside, it was stifling inside. The air smelled of stone and moss, mixed with a faint, almost imperceptible, stench of blood.

The leader had a long scar on his face, running diagonally from his forehead to his chin like a centipede crawling across his face. His name was Black Crow. His eyes were small, but surprisingly bright.

Beside him stood a man as thin as a bamboo pole. He was huddled in the shadows, as if trying to blend into the rock face. His name was Thin Bamboo. His hands were steady, and his fingers were long, like eagle claws.

The last one lay on the ground. His skin was the same color as the soil, and even his breath smelled of earth. His name was Loach.

They were assassins from the Heavenly Principle Sect.

Their only task is to observe, record, and report back.

"Here you are." Shouzhu's voice was very soft, like the wind blowing through withered leaves.

Black Crow followed his gaze downwards.

A figure emerged from the dark mountain path. The footsteps were heavy, each one feeling like a blow to the heart. The moonlight was faint, barely outlining a silhouette. The person walked slowly, their body swaying slightly.

Black Crow's pupils contracted slightly.

"It's him."

That's right, it's this person. The target of the cult's highest kill order. Zhou Yang.

Shouzhu didn't speak. His hand was already on the short blade at his waist. That was his life. He stared at the moving figure below, like an eagle eyeing its prey.

The loach merely raised its head. Its eyes, in the darkness, were like a snake's eyes, devoid of emotion, only cold.

Zhou Yang stopped in his tracks.

He leaned against a crooked tree, panting heavily. His chest heaved violently, each breath tearing at his lungs with a burning pain.

He looked down at his chest. The outline of the backpack was clearly visible. Inside, there was a fragment that could determine the fate of countless people.

He grinned.

The smile looked somewhat pale in the moonlight, yet it radiated a sense of satisfaction, like a wolf that hadn't eaten for three days finally finding a piece of meat.

In the cracks of the rocks.

Shouzhu took out a paper package. He moved very quietly, without making a sound. He opened the package, inside were several specially made charcoal pencils. He then took out a piece of sheepskin about the size of his palm.

The charcoal pencil moved quickly across the parchment.

A line, a mark.

He was drawing. He drew the direction of the mountain road, marked the location where Zhou Yang stopped, and sketched the crooked tree with a few strokes.

"He's in terrible shape," Black Crow said in a low voice. His voice was like sandpaper scraping. "He's depleted of energy and his spirit is unstable. It's like he's just had a deadly fight."

"Hmm." Shouzhu nodded, his pen still writing. "He took a very steady route. No detours, no hesitation. He knew exactly where he was going."

"The thing in his arms is very heavy," Mudfish spoke for the first time. His voice was hoarse, like two stones grinding together. "His gesture of protecting his chest is too deliberate. That thing is very important to him."

"It's what the church needs." Black Crow's gaze sharpened.

He stared at Zhou Yang's pale, smiling face, his brows furrowing. This man was clearly like a candle flickering in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment. How could he still manage a smile?

He doesn't understand. Nor does he need to understand. His task is not to comprehend the objective.

"Shouzhu, the route is clearly recorded."

"clear."

"Loach, did you smell the scent he left behind?"

"I smelled it." The loach's nose twitched. "Very faint. It's the smell of blood, mixed with something... I don't recognize it. Very peculiar. I'll remember it."

"it is good."

Black Crow made a decision.

"Don't move." He looked at the other two. "The order in the cult is to observe, record the route, and report the location. We don't have the authority to take action."

Shouzhu's fingers rubbed against the hilt of the knife. He was somewhat unwilling. This target was practically meat delivered right to his mouth. One stroke, and he'd be done and leave.

But he listened to Black Crow. Black Crow was the leader of this operation.

The loach didn't react at all. From beginning to end, it was like a real lump of mud.

Black Crow pulled a palm-sized black iron box from his pocket.

The box was engraved with intricate patterns, like twisted worms. He gently pressed the side of the box with his thumb.

"Click."

The box popped open a crack.

A locust, about the size of a palm, crawled out from the crack.

This locust was entirely black, except for its blood-red wings, which were as thin as cicada wings and covered with golden threads. It didn't seem like a living creature, but rather like an intricate machine. Its compound eyes glowed with an eerie red light in the darkness, devoid of warmth.

This is the communication tool of the Heavenly Principle Sect. Blood-Thread Locust.

It can travel a thousand miles a day, does not dissolve in water, and is extremely difficult to detect.

The black crow scratched its fingertip with its fingernail. A drop of blood seeped out.

He smeared the blood droplets on the locust's antennae.

The blood-lined locust's antennae trembled slightly, as if it were absorbing blood. A few breaths later, its red wings flashed for a moment.

Black Crow took the sheepskin with the route map drawn on it from Thin Bamboo's hand, carefully tore off a small piece, rolled it into a thin roll, and stuffed it into a small groove on the locust's abdomen.

"Go," he whispered.

Blood-red locust flaps its wings.

No sound.

It transformed into an extremely thin red line, instantly bursting out of the crevice and disappearing into the pitch-black night sky.

The intelligence has been sent. It's heading towards the Heavenly Principle Sect's central headquarters, located deep within the capital city and unknown to anyone.

Below, Zhou Yang had rested enough.

He leaned against the crooked tree and straightened up again. He patted his backpack, as if patting an old friend on the shoulder.

He continued walking forward.

Step by step, very slowly, but without stopping.

His shadow stretched long in the moonlight, looking lonely and somewhat stubborn.

The three people continued to lie in wait in the crevice.

They are like rocks, like dead trees, like part of the mountain path itself.

Their mission was not yet over. They would continue to observe until Zhou Yang left the area.

In the darkness, the black crow's eyes followed the moving figure.

He found this person very strange.

It's already a tattered net, yet it's still trying its best to catch the wind.

Even though it's already a dying candle, it still wants to light a path.

"The Money-Giving Hermit..." Black Crow silently murmured the code name in his heart.

He couldn't understand why someone who loved money so much would go to such lengths for something he didn't even know.

This deal doesn't seem like a good one.

But he quickly dismissed the idea.

Thinking about these things is useless. He's just a knife carrying out orders.

A knife requires no thought.

The night wind blew across the hills.

It brought the howling of wolves from afar and the chirping of insects nearby.

Zhou Yang's footsteps echoed through the silent mountain path, striking the slumbering earth once more.

He was unaware that three pairs of eyes were watching him from the rock face above.

Unbeknownst to him, information about him and the fragment in his possession was flying at an even faster speed toward a darker, more massive vortex.

Undercurrents are already gathering beneath our feet.

And he is walking step by step toward the center of the vortex.