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

Qin Shuang closed the booklet very softly.

In the deathly silent tomb, the faint clicking sound was like the tolling of a bell.

Zhou Yang didn't respond.

He just felt cold. A cold that seeped into his bones. The lifespan he had just lost had taken away not only time, but also some of the body's essential warmth. He couldn't help but shiver.

"The main burial chamber is just ahead," Zhou Yang said, his voice slightly hoarse. He pointed to a massive stone door not far ahead. The door was carved with intricate patterns, the material of which was indiscernible, and it gleamed with a cold, eerie light.

Qin Shuang nodded. She didn't urge him or ask any further questions. She simply put away the notebook and gripped the cold scythe again. Her posture told Zhou Yang that she knew his current state and was prepared.

Just as Zhou Yang was about to take a step...

A slight but intense vibration came from the stone slabs underfoot.

It wasn't an earthquake. The feeling... was more like countless feet running in the distance, the sound of their footsteps traveling through the rocks.

Zhou Yang suddenly turned around.

The direction they came from. The stone door, which should have been a smooth rock face, was now groaning under its own weight.

"boom!"

A loud bang.

The stone door wasn't pushed open, but violently smashed. Countless fist-sized pebbles shot outwards, kicking up clouds of dust. Enveloped in the dust, a dark hole replaced the original stone door.

A cold wind rushed in from the cave entrance.

It had a strong smell of blood, and... a strange smell of rust and rotting flesh mixed together.

Zhou Yang's pupils suddenly contracted.

He smelled something familiar in that breeze. It was the distinctive scent of the Heavenly Principle Sect members.

A figure slowly emerged from the smoke.

He walked slowly and steadily. His feet were on gravel, but his footsteps made no sound.

He wore a simple black robe, devoid of any superfluous embellishments. But the fabric was peculiar; it didn't reflect light, as if it absorbed all the surrounding light. His face was very pale, a sickly pallor from years of lack of sun exposure. His appearance was unremarkable, even somewhat refined, like an old scholar buried in books all day.

But it was this face that made Zhou Yang's heart sink to the bottom.

The man was holding a human head in his hand.

The head's eyes were still open, its face frozen in the terror of death. Zhou Yang recognized him. It was the Jinyiwei guard with the small flag that stood outside the tomb entrance.

The scholarly figure walked to the center of the open space and stopped. He casually tossed the head to the ground, where it rolled a few times before coming to rest not far from Zhou Yang's feet.

"Hand over the items."

His voice was flat and monotone, as if he were talking about something utterly ordinary.

Behind him, the smoke and dust gradually dissipated. Dozens of dark figures filed in. They were all dressed in black, tight-fitting armor, the armor engraved with eerie runes. Each of them carried a strangely shaped crossbow bolt. The arrowheads gleamed with a ghostly blue light, indicating they were coated with deadly poison.

These people were calm and collected, moving silently like a pack of venomous wolves hunting in the dark.

This is the Shadow Guard, the most elite unit of the Heavenly Principle Sect.

The identity of the person in charge is self-evident.

Priest Jueying.

The highest-ranking envoy dispatched by the Heavenly Principle Sect.

Zhou Yang felt his wounds starting to hurt again. His fight just now seemed easy, but he was actually completely exhausted. Now, he couldn't even run fast, let alone fight.

Qin Shuang took a step forward, blocking Zhou Yang's path. She held the scythe horizontally in front of her chest, the tip pointing at the Shadowless High Priest.

"The stuff is with us. Come and take it if you dare." Her voice was equally cold.

The high priest didn't look at her. His gaze passed over Qin Shuang and landed directly on Zhou Yang. His eyes were strange; there was no murderous intent, no anger, only a scrutinizing look as if assessing someone.

"You are Fang Tian's variable," the high priest said. "You carry his scent, but also... something that doesn't belong to him."

He was probably referring to the fragments of the divine weapon, as well as the original soul of his own body.

Zhou Yang forced a dry smile.

"The old man has a good eye; all the apprentices he's taken on are very capable." He deliberately spoke vaguely to buy time, "I just don't know if you have the ability to take us on as apprentices."

He quickly calculated in his mind.

Run? The depths of the tomb are a dead end. The exit is blocked.

Fight? The high priest on the other side is unfathomable, and he has dozens of shadow guards fighting to the death. I'm now a fish on a chopping board.

The only way out is to use the power of divine weapons.

But the cost was too high.

"Delaying time is pointless."

The high priest seemed to read his mind. He slowly raised his right hand.

"Move it. Capture the man alive, and kill the woman."

At a command.

The shadow guards behind him moved. They didn't shout; their movements were perfectly synchronized. They drew back the crossbow strings, pointed, and fired.

laugh!laugh!laugh!

Dozens of eerie blue poisoned arrows formed a dense rain of arrows, blocking all angles. Their speed was unimaginable, leaving trails of blue afterimages in the air.

Qin Shuang's pupils dilated slightly. She swung her scythe, creating a white curtain of blades. With a series of crisp clangs, she deflected seven or eight arrows aimed at her.

But even more arrows were shot at Zhou Yang.

Zhou Yang's muscles tensed. He knew he couldn't dodge.

He never intended to hide.

At that moment, he made his decision.

Since death is inevitable anyway, might as well die a glorious death.

He closed his eyes.

He no longer suppressed the violent power surging in his chest. He poured all his will into the fragment of the divine weapon that was now intertwined with his flesh and blood.

His heart clenched, as if gripped by an invisible hand. Intense pain coursed through his body. He could feel his life force being drained and burned away at an alarming rate.

Everything around us seemed to slow down.

He could clearly see the trajectory of each poisoned arrow. The dark blue venom on the arrowheads emitted a sweet, pungent odor.

He even saw the fleeting determination and...pain in Qin Shuang's eyes when she turned around.

"Now!"

Zhou Yang roared inwardly.

He suddenly opened his eyes.

In that instant, those deep black pupils were completely filled with a crimson gold. Domineering, violent, and filled with a desire to destroy everything.

A crimson light shot into the sky.

From the spot on his chest where the fragment had been, a torrent of blood erupted. The blood-red light twisted, tumbled, and coalesced in the air.

"roar--!"

A silent roar exploded deep within everyone's soul.

The blood-red light was no longer a simple glow; it had become tangible. A colossal dragon, composed of pure, violent golden blood energy, coiled and took shape within the tomb.

The dragon's body was enormous, almost reaching the ceiling. Golden scales shimmered with light, each one like a sharp blade. The ferocious dragon's head lowered, its crimson-gold eyes coldly surveying all living beings below.

This is the form of a divine weapon.

It was also Zhou Yang's ultimate strike, born from burning his life force.

Blood Dragon Roar!

The dragon opened its mouth. There was no sound. There were no flames. Only a destructive energy storm suddenly spread out!

The storm was golden, and also blood-red. Like a tsunami, it swept across the entire space in an instant.

The Shadow Guards at the forefront didn't even have time to react. The moment their bodies touched the storm, they began to disintegrate. First, the runes on their armor extinguished, then the armor itself turned to ashes, and finally, their flesh and blood vanished completely in the light without even a scream.

The shadow guards behind them tried to resist. They raised their crossbows, and some even drew their daggers. But faced with this pure, destructive power, all their struggles seemed utterly ridiculous.

Where the light passes, everything turns to ash.

A layer of hard stone wall was scraped away, revealing the rough rock beneath. Deep furrows were plowed into the ground. The air was scorched, sizzling loudly.

In the blink of an eye.

Dozens of elite shadow guards vanished without a trace, as if they had never existed.

Priest Jueying.

He was also standing in the eye of the storm.

But just before the storm was about to engulf him, a thin layer of obsidian-like crystals appeared on his body. That crystal blocked most of the impact.

Even so, he was thrown back by the immense force, crashing heavily into a wall in the distance. He coughed up blood, his sickly complexion regaining some color. His black robe was tattered, revealing his equally ravaged and damaged skin beneath.

He looked up at the golden blood dragon that was still circling in the air, and for the first time, shock appeared in his eyes.

The dragon's shadow began to thin.

It roared, circled once unwillingly, and finally transformed into countless golden specks of light, slowly dissipating.

The light faded.

Zhou Yang stood still, motionless.

The moment the dragon vanished, all the strength in his body was drained. He swayed, then collapsed to his knees with a thud. He used his sword to brace himself, preventing himself from falling completely. His vision blurred, and his ears were filled with a buzzing sound.

He was gasping for breath, and with each breath, his lungs felt a burning pain.

That attack just now almost drained all the energy from his body, and... at least five years of his lifespan.

He lost. He ran out of cards.

Qin Shuang stepped to his side. She didn't speak, but simply reached out and took Zhou Yang's arm. Her hand was steady and cool, yet it calmed Zhou Yang's chaotic emotions slightly.

Zhou Yang raised his head and looked into the distance.

High Priest Jueying stood up from the ground. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, cracked his neck, and made a snapping sound.

He didn't rush over immediately.

His gaze swept between Zhou Yang and Qin Shuang, finally settling on the tightly closed stone door of the main tomb chamber behind them.

"What astonishing power." The high priest's voice was no longer calm, but rather hoarse. "Unfortunately, you are already at your last gasp."

He raised his hand and drew a circle in the air with his index finger.

A black, chilling ring.

He looked toward the exit behind the high priest. The hole he had smashed open.

"Trying to run? No way."

He pressed his finger down.

"Obsidian Seal!"

Click... Click...

A sickening cracking sound rang out. Around the gaping hole, black cracks suddenly spread across the stone walls. Pure black crystals, like living plants, grew wildly from the cracks. They rapidly intertwined, spread, and devoured each other.

Within seconds, the entire opening that had been smashed open was completely sealed off by these black crystals. The crystals continued to grow, constantly pushing inward, and eventually solidified into a smooth, mirror-like black wall.

Click.

The last gap was filled.

The entire exit had transformed into a single, ominous obsidian mirror, completely cutting off Zhou Yang and his companions' last escape route.

The tomb was utterly silent.

Only Zhou Yang's heavy breathing could be heard.

The high priest lowered his hand. He looked at his "masterpiece" and nodded in satisfaction.

Then, he looked at Zhou Yang kneeling on the ground again.

"Now, this is a real tomb," he said slowly. "Hand over what I want, and I might let you die a quick death."

Qin Shuang did not answer.

She simply released Zhou Yang's hand and took a step forward. She gripped the sickle with both hands and slammed the end of the handle heavily onto the ground.

A crisp clang.

She used this gesture to express her attitude.

She stood in front of Zhou Yang, like an insurmountable iceberg.