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

Zhou Yang walked up the gravel.

His shoe sole crunched over a dry leaf. He suddenly stopped.

A mountain breeze blew from behind, carrying the smell of rust. It wasn't blood, but minerals from the cracks in the rocks. The hairs on the back of Zhou Yang's neck stood on end.

His perception changed after the breakthrough. The world became lighter, yet heavier. Lighter was his footsteps, heavier was the killing intent in the air.

Three zhang (approximately 10 meters) above their heads, a dark shadow protruded from the rock face. The shadow moved, then lowered even further, almost blending into the rock.

Zhou Yang didn't look up. He stared at the road ahead, the moonlight casting the stones a ghastly white hue. His hands hung at his sides, his fingertips slightly curled. The frayed edges of his sleeves fluttered in the wind, brushing against his wrists, causing a slight itch.

There are three people on the rock face.

They were all dressed in night clothes, their faces covered with black cloth, only their eyes visible. Their eyes gleamed coldly in the moonlight. The man in the middle held three blue-tipped nails in his hand. The man on the left held a short knife, the blade wrapped in cloth to absorb sound. The man on the right was empty-handed, his ten fingers clad in iron finger guards, the edges of which were sharpened and gleamed with a ghostly blue light.

The person in the middle is making a hand gesture. The gesture is very short and quick, like scissors cutting a thread.

Three dark figures pounced down at the same time.

The sound of the wind changed. It wasn't the night wind, but the sharp rustling of clothes tearing through the air, a hissing sound.

Zhou Yang looked up.

He clearly saw the positions of the three men. The one on the left lunged at his throat with the speed of an arrow. The one in the middle struck his back, his palm whistling through the air. The one on the right locked his lower body, his hands grabbing at his knees. Their coordination was masterful. They had practiced combined attacks. This killing formation was specifically designed to deal with experts, leaving no way out. A single strike was fatal.

Zhou Yang took a breath.

The true energy in his dantian was blue, like a deep, calm pool with magma surging beneath. With a thought, the pool exploded.

boom!

A shockwave erupted from beneath his feet. A blue halo emanated from him, rapidly expanding outwards. Within a three-zhang radius, rubble was whipped up and pulverized in mid-air. The flying stone chips struck the rock walls, creating a dense, crackling sound, like a hailstorm. A circular crater was pressed into the ground, and the grass instantly turned yellow.

The three assassins collided with the halo of light.

The man on the left had only thrust his short knife halfway forward when the blade bent. Not from being blocked, but from the sheer pressure of the air, bending it into a bow. He felt a tightness in his chest and heard the sound of his ribs breaking. A snap, like breaking a bundle of dry firewood. He was sent flying backward, his back slamming against the rock wall, his spine instantly shattering into three pieces. His body slid limply down, leaving a black trail in the rock. The wound was instantly charred, the flesh torn and charred, emitting the smell of cooked meat.

The bone-piercing nail fired by the middle man shot back, even faster than it had come. His pupils contracted as he tried to turn his head, but the nail was already embedded between his eyebrows. The sound of it piercing his skull was faint, a soft "pop," like a blister bursting. His eyes bulged out, and before he even hit the ground, his body began to shrivel. His skin charred, his muscles turned to ash, and his clothes caught fire, the flames blue. When he landed, he was left with only an empty set of night clothes, filled with bone fragments. A gust of wind blew, scattering the fragments into three wisps of black smoke that rose gently into the air.

The man on the right suffered the worst. He was closest to Zhou Yang, his hands attempting to block, but the iron finger guards instantly turned red-hot, then melted and dripped. The molten iron poured onto his hand bones, sizzling and emitting blue smoke. He opened his mouth to scream, but the shockwave filled his throat, burning his vocal cords to ash. He fell backward, and in mid-air, his flesh burned like paper, revealing white bone, which quickly turned black and shattered. Before his clothes were completely burned, his body turned to ash, scattering it along the way.

Three bodies, three ways to die.

The same result.

ash.

The mountain path was filled with the smell of burning meat. It wasn't from burning firewood, but from burning meat—more pungent, more greasy, and with a metallic, rusty odor. The smell was strong and irritating.

Zhou Yang stood still, his robes slowly falling down. The true energy he had just unleashed was blue, and arcs of electricity still lingered in the air, crackling and striking the surrounding stone walls, leaving behind charred spots like pockmarked faces.

He looked at his hands. Blue marks were moving across his palms, like small snakes or branches of lightning. This was a side effect of burning his lifespan, and also proof of his power. His fingers were a little numb, the shock of his true energy being instantly drained and then surging back, his blood throbbing at his fingertips.

There were three piles of ash on the ground.

The wind blew, scattering half the ash and revealing the rocks beneath. The rest clung to the stones, black and indistinct, like three splatters of ink, or the remnants of burned paper money. Something glittered within the ash.

Zhou Yang walked over and used his foot to clear away the ashes on the left. A short knife lay there, its blade twisted and reduced to scrap metal. He then cleared away the ashes in the middle, and three bone-piercing nails fell out. The blue patina on the nails had burned away, leaving them as ordinary iron nails, their heads somewhat melted and blunt. In the ashes on the right, several iron finger guards had melted into a clump, making it impossible to distinguish the fingers.

Zhou Yang squatted in front of the pile of ash in the middle. He dipped his finger in the ash; it was wet, oily, and greasy, sticking to his fingertip. He drew a line on the ground with his finger, mixing the ash with the blood seeping from the ground, and made a mark.

The word "reverse".

The strokes were a mixture of blood and ash, gleaming a dark red in the moonlight. A vertical line on the left, a vertical line on the right, a horizontal line in the middle, and a horizontal line at the bottom. They were crooked and uneven, but still recognizable. The last stroke was drawn out long, like a knife, pointing down the mountain road.

Zhou Yang stared at the character for three breaths.

This is his reply to the person behind the scenes. Those who killed him, upon seeing these words, should understand that he is no longer a pawn to be manipulated. This is a warning, and also a declaration. "Rebellion" is defiance, and also defiance of fate.

He stood up, rubbed his foot against the nearby pebbles to cover up some traces, but the main strokes of the painting were still visible. Only by leaving them exposed could they be seen. Only by leaving them exposed could future generations know what had happened here.

Zhou Yang turned around and continued walking.

The mountain path fell silent again. Only three piles of human-shaped ashes and a word written in blood remained in place. An owl hooted once from a distant tree, then fell silent.

As dawn breaks, perhaps a woodcutter will pass by and witness all this, terrified out of his wits. Perhaps a wild dog will come and lick the ash, then run away howling, its tongue blistering from the heat. Perhaps the rain will wash away the character "逆" (reverse/against), or perhaps it won't, seeping into the stone and remaining there for many years to come.

Zhou Yang walked down the slope, his shadow stretched long by the moonlight, casting a slanted shadow on the ground like another "逆" (reverse) character. He touched his chest; the scar was burning hot, throbbing in sync with his heartbeat, reminding him of something.

The price is life.

But he is still very young.

The road ahead is long.

In the valley at night, the cold mist smeared the rock walls like sharp blades. The lights in the dark room of the Heavenly Principle Sect were dim, with a few bronze candles flickering wearily.

The cult leader's low voice echoed in the stone chamber, like water droplets hitting an iron plate, dripping and pattering.

"The Bloodstained Reversal Talisman is complete." A priest in black robes reached out to the stone table and lightly touched the spread-out talisman paper with his fingertips.

The bloodstains on the edge of the talisman shimmered in the candlelight, the red color resembling tiny stardust.

Each reversed rune was collected from the hunting grounds at the foot of the mountain, the dark alleys of the town, and the ruins of the wasteland.

The priest chanted incantations in a low voice, his voice like the wind blowing through withered branches.

The bloodstains on the talisman paper undulated with the incantation, as if they were breathing with a will.

The cult leader's gaze was like a cold knife, locked on the trembling bloodstain.

"Continue," he instructed briefly.

Another priest carried the wooden box to the front of the altar. The box was heavy and contained several dark red crystals.

The crystal emitted a faint warmth, like the lingering heat of rotting flesh.

The cult leader placed his hand on the lid of the box and pressed it gently. The lid hummed and slowly opened.

The True Essence Container is semi-transparent, with a swirling blue light inside.

The blue light absorbed the surrounding dark energy, like a giant mouth devouring stars.

The cult leader's fingers traced across the surface of the container, leaving faint golden marks.

The trace was immediately captured by the blue light and instantly spread into ripples.

"The true essence has been injected," the priest announced briefly.

The cult leader nodded, raising an eyebrow slightly.

He spread the reverse talisman around the true essence container, the red of the bloodstains intertwined with the blue light.

The red and blue of the talisman paper form a striking contrast, like the confluence of blood and the sea.

The cult leader chanted ancient scriptures in a low, rhythmic voice.

The scriptures seemed to drip from the cracks in the stone wall, seeping into every rock.

The texture of the stone wall trembled slightly, like the surface of water being stirred by breath.

The edges of the bloodstain reversed symbol began to glow, and the red light seeped into the blue light.

The blue light was covered by blood red, and the colors became chaotic in an instant.

In the chaos, a form vaguely appears, its outline indistinct yet grand.

Its shape resembles the roots of an ancient tree, as if a mountain is breathing.

The cult leader's lips curled into a faint smile, like a cold knife slicing through the air.

"Holy messenger, return," he whispered.

The outline of the holy messenger became clearer, as if piercing through the dust of time.

Its eyes are deep, like starlight lost in an abyss.

The cult leader reached out and grasped the holy envoy's shoulder, his fingertips touching a stream of blazing true energy.

The true energy surged through the leader's body like a tidal wave, bringing excruciating pain.

The cult leader's breathing became heavier, and his chest heaved violently.

Ignoring the pain, he continued to guide the true essence into the holy messenger.

The Bloodstained Reverse Talisman was completely devoured by the True Essence, and the talisman paper turned into fine ashes.

The ashes drifted in the wind and eventually settled on every brick of the stone chamber.

The holy messenger's form was finally complete, and his body had been restored to its appearance from thousands of years ago.

Its head is high up, and there are several golden stripes shining between its eyebrows.

The cult leader took a step back, and the full image of the holy envoy was reflected in his eyes.

"Prepare to receive His commands," he whispered to the priest beside him.

The priest nodded, holding a slender silver knife in his hand.

Ancient runes were engraved on the blade of the silver knife, shimmering with a faint light.

The cult leader handed the knife to the holy messenger, the tip of which lightly touched the messenger's chest.

The moment the blade sliced ​​through, the holy envoy emitted a low hum.

The buzzing sound echoed like thunder in the stone chamber, causing the walls to tremble slightly.

A crack appeared on the envoy's chest, from which golden true essence seeped out.

Golden true essence flowed into the leader's palm like blood.

The cult leader clenched his hands, his true energy swirling in his palms.

He felt an unprecedented power, like a burning flame spreading through his body.

But at the same time, I also felt my life being drained away, and the pain in my chest was like being pricked by needles.

The cult leader gritted his teeth, forcibly suppressing the sharp pain.

He knew that once the true essence was exhausted, the resurrection of the holy envoy would be incomplete.

He dared not hesitate for a moment.

"continue".

Another priest threw a blood-stained inverted rune into the air, where it spun like a shooting star streaking across the night sky.

The reversed talisman hovered in mid-air before transforming into tiny specks of light that merged into the true essence.

The light spot disappeared in the vortex of blue light, leaving a faint trace of red light.

The vortex of blue light intensified, like surging waves threatening to engulf the stone chamber.

The cult leader's voice remained calm amidst the clamor, like a cold wind passing through a pine forest.

"Holy Envoy, please follow my instructions."

A faint light shone in the envoy's eyes, as if he had seen through the echoes of countless ages.

Its voice was like thunder pressing down on the roof of the stone chamber, deep and majestic.

"...I have returned."

As the sound faded, all the lamps in the stone chamber went out, leaving only blue light wandering on the ground.

The cult leader's palm was enveloped in blue light, and the bloodstains on his fingertips were completely erased.

He looked up at the Holy Envoy, a calculating glint in his eyes.

The holy messenger's form began to spread outwards, seeping into every rock like mist.

Its aura lingered between the stone walls, like an ancient incantation being revived.

The cult leader chuckled softly, "Tonight's gains are enough for us to control even more Bloodstained Scars."

The priests responded in unison, their voices echoing in the stone chamber, but there was no reply.

They collected the remnants of the bloodstain runes into a special black velvet bag, which emitted a faint hum.

The velvet bag was placed in a hidden compartment in the secret passage, and only the cult leader knew its exact location.

The cult leader turned and walked towards the side door of the stone chamber, his steps light yet unwavering.

He glanced back at the now-faded silhouette of the Holy Envoy, silently counting in his mind.

If three more Reverse Symbols are collected, the Holy Envoy can be fully resurrected.

If three more segments of lifespan are burned away, the Holy Envoy will gain true power.

He knew this path was destined to be bloody, but he still decided to continue on it.

The stone slab of the side door was gently pushed open, and a cold wind rushed in instantly, taking away the remaining warmth of the room.

As the cult leader stepped out of the stone chamber, the night had completely swallowed the valley.

The distant howls of wolves were scattered by the wind, as if setting the stage for the impending blood rain.

He tightened his sleeves and walked steadily and quickly toward the highest hall of the Heavenly Principle Sect.

Along the way, the runes on the rock walls shimmered in the moonlight, like fragments of stars.

Each rune records the flow of blood, reminding every follower:

Death can bring power, and power can also offset death.

A faint smile appeared on the cult leader's lips, as if he were secretly celebrating.

He knew that the next step of the plan was already in his mind, waiting for the bloodstains to reappear.

He didn't turn around; his footsteps echoed through the valley like the beating of war drums.

The brightly lit tower of the Heavenly Principle Sect in the distance seemed to be a reminder to all eyes in the shadows:

The holy messenger has returned; the night is no longer silent.

The cult leader's figure gradually faded into the distance in the lamplight until it disappeared into the thick fog.

At this moment, the residual warmth of the bloodstained inscription on the stone wall of the valley still pulsates gently, waiting for the next greedy hand to gaze upon it.