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

Zhou Yang burned through his remaining year of life to break the obsidian seal, the Shadowless High Priest was destroyed, and the two escaped from the tomb.

An obsidian door blocked the passage. Its smooth surface gleamed with a cold, eerie light. Zhou Yang raised his hand to touch it, a sharp pain shooting through his fingertips. A chill crept up his spine. The door had drained the last vestige of warmth from his body.

Water seeped through the walls. Water droplets fell to the floor, making a monotonous dripping sound. Drip. Drip.

Qin Shuang leaned against the wall, blood seeping through the bandage on her shoulder. Drops of blood splattered on the bluestone slab, forming a small puddle. Her breathing was heavy, and the knife in her hand trembled. The blade reflected the torchlight, flickering between light and shadow.

Footsteps echoed from the depths of the passage. Slow. Heavy. The soles of shoes scraped against the gravel, making a soft, rustling sound.

High Priest Jueying didn't die. He dragged himself over, barely clinging to life.

Zhou Yang didn't turn around. He stared at the system panel in front of him. The number was scarlet: Remaining lifespan, one year.

One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Burning now, instantly returning to zero.

He bit his tongue. The taste of blood filled his mouth. His fingers traced the surface of the panel, confirming the consumption. His fingertips trembled.

The system coldly prompted: [Deduct one year of lifespan to deduce the Blood Dragon Technique's breaking seal technique. Confirm?]

Zhou Yang clicked "confirm".

A sharp pain exploded in his spine, as if someone had used an iron hook to rip out his marrow. His vision went black, and snowflakes appeared at the edges of his vision. His knees slammed into the ground, the cold, hard stone piercing through the fabric and sinking into his bones.

Qin Shuang called out to him. Her voice sounded distant, as if it were coming from across water.

Zhou Yang raised his head. His pupils flashed with a bloodshot light. His vision blurred for a moment, then became exceptionally clear. He could see every tiny scratch on the stone door. He could see the dust floating in the air.

He raised his hand and placed it on the obsidian door. The skin on his palm began to crack, and beads of blood seeped out, only to be absorbed by the stone. The blood didn't drip; instead, it seeped into the stone.

The patterns on the stone gate lit up. A red glow. Like pulsating blood vessels. The patterns were ancient and twisted, like the intestines of some creature.

The Shadowless High Priest has arrived.

He was covered in blood. His left arm hung limply, broken bone piercing through his flesh, revealing a white, jagged edge. Half his face was covered in blood, with only one eye still able to see. He still clutched a broken blade in his hand, the edge curled and dripping black blood.

He saw Zhou Yang's movement, and his intact pupil contracted.

"You've gone mad," the high priest's voice was hoarse, like a broken bellows straining against the ground. "Burning to ashes, you won't even have a chance to be reincarnated. Your soul will be scattered to the winds."

Zhou Yang didn't speak. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His arm muscles bulged, veins stood out, as if they were about to burst through his skin. The veins beneath his skin had turned purplish-black.

The stone gate trembled. A deep rumble came from underground. Gravel fell from above, hitting Zhou Yang on the shoulder. Dust filled the air, making people cough.

The high priest charged forward. The broken blade pierced Zhou Yang's back. The blade's force tore through the air, emitting a shrill whistle.

Qin Shuang blocked the attack with her sword. The two blades clashed, sparks flying. The clang of metal echoed deafeningly in the tomb passage. Qin Shuang staggered back three steps, her back hitting the wall. Brick shattered, and she groaned softly.

Her hand was split open, and blood flowed down the hilt of the knife, staining the strip of cloth wrapped around it red.

"Get out of here!" the high priest roared. His voice echoed through the tomb passage.

He kicked at Qin Shuang's knee. The kick was swift and powerful, carrying the scent of blood. Qin Shuang dodged to the side, her blade slicing towards the high priest's throat. A flash of light.

The high priest bowed his head and raised the broken blade. The blade sliced ​​into Qin Shuang's left arm, tearing open the flesh, and blood immediately gushed out.

Blood splattered onto the stone wall, forming irregular shapes.

Zhou Yang heard it. His head felt like it was being pricked by needles. But he couldn't stop. The red light on the stone door grew stronger, the life force it was absorbing was transforming into something more violent. The stone door was burning hot, so hot it made his palms sizzle, and the smell of burning flesh wafted up.

His hair was turning white. Starting from the roots, it was turning gray inch by inch, like snow falling on black hair.

The high priest shook off Qin Shuang and lunged at Zhou Yang. He raised the broken blade high, its tip aimed at Zhou Yang's crown.

Right now.

Zhou Yang turned around. His eyes were bloodshot, but the center of his pupils was a deathly black. He raised his hand and slapped the high priest on the chest. The movement looked light and airy, like swatting away a mosquito.

There was no sound of wind during this strike. Only a dull thud, like a hammer hitting mud.

The high priest froze. He looked down at his chest. His clothes were intact, his skin was intact. But the bones inside were shattered. Shattered to pieces.

He opened his mouth and spat out clots of blood. The blood, in a misty form, splattered onto Zhou Yang's face. The blood was mixed with fragments of internal organs. It was dark red and still warm.

The high priest collapsed. His knees slammed to the ground, and then he fell to the ground. His eyes were still open, staring at Zhou Yang. He was lifeless. His one intact eye quickly became clouded with a layer of gray.

A deafening roar erupted from the stone gate. A surge of red light erupted, then it shattered. Not from the outside in, but from the inside out.

The obsidian shattered into three pieces. The cracks radiated outwards. A passage opened. The wind blew in, carrying the scent of earth and grass, and the warmth of the morning light.

Zhou Yang swayed. He tried to stand up straight, but his legs wouldn't obey him. His knees buckled, and he fell forward.

Qin Shuang rushed over and pinned him down with her shoulder. Her blood mingled with Zhou Yang's, dripping onto the ground. The blood droplets made a soft sound as they seeped into the dry soil.

"Let's go," Zhou Yang said, his voice like a leaky bellows.

Qin Shuang gritted her teeth and hoisted his arm over her shoulder. Zhou Yang's body felt both heavy and light, like an empty shell. The two staggered through the stone gate. Gravel rolled beneath their feet.

Behind it were stairs leading upwards. They were very long. The stone steps were slippery and covered in moss. The edges of the steps were weathered, chipped, and unstable to walk on.

Qin Shuang dragged Zhou Yang up the steps. Zhou Yang's feet left marks on the stone steps. The soles of his shoes scraped against the stones, making a harsh sound. His white hair was very conspicuous in the darkness, like a cloud of gray mist.

There was light at the end of the steps. Not firelight, but daylight. Grayish-white, carrying the coolness of dawn.

Qin Shuang dragged Zhou Yang uphill. She was panting heavily, as if her lungs were filled with burning coals. Every step tore at her wounds, and the cut on her left arm burned with pain. Blood flowed down her forearm to her elbow, dripping onto the stone steps.

Zhou Yang's steps grew increasingly unsteady. He was practically being dragged along. His vision began to blur, and he saw double images of Qin Shuang's profile.

A deafening roar of collapse came from behind. The tomb was crumbling. The shattering obsidian triggered a chain reaction. Load-bearing walls broke, and the dome collapsed.

The sound of rolling stones grew closer. It was like thunder, like the roar of a giant beast. The ground trembled, the stone steps shook. Dust poured down from above, choking people and making it impossible to open their eyes.

Qin Shuang let out a low growl. She dragged Zhou Yang along, taking three steps at a time, and rushed towards the ball of light.

It's blinding.

The two fell to the ground. The scent of grass filled their nostrils, tinged with the sweet, metallic tang of dew. The sky was a greyish-blue, at dawn. The east was tinged with the pale light of a fish's belly.

Zhou Yang lay prone on the ground, his fingers digging into the soil. The soil was damp, retaining the resilience of grass roots. He coughed up blood, mixed with black clumps. Those were remnants left from overburning. The blood fell onto the grass blades, bending them down.

Qin Shuang lay beside him, her chest heaving. She raised her hand to shield her eyes. Morning light filtered through her fingers, casting a reddish glow on her eyelids. Her fingers trembled.

Birdsong could be heard in the distance. Clear and melodious. It wasn't an echo from a tomb; it was a real, living sound.

Zhou Yang rolled over and lay on his back. He raised his hand and looked at his palm. His skin was loose, revealing wrinkles like an old man's. His fingernails were gray. His lifespan was almost gone, and his body was in a state of decay. He could feel his internal organs failing, like a drafty house.

But he was still alive. His heart was still beating. Slowly, weakly, but still beating. Thump. Thump.

Qin Shuang turned her head to look at him. Her face was covered in blood, mud, and tear stains. It was unclear whether it was from pain or something else. Sweat had stuck a few strands of hair to her face.

"Is it worth it?" she asked softly, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Zhou Yang closed his eyes. He felt his heart pounding. The throbbing in his chest was proof that he still existed in this world. The wind blew across the grass, carrying the smell of blood from his face.

"A year," he said. "Worth it for a life."

A gust of wind swept by, bringing with it the sound of distant pines rustling in the breeze. Dewdrops slid from the blades of grass, landing on Zhou Yang's face. They were icy cold.

Qin Shuang propped herself up and sat up. She tore off her other sleeve and re-bandaged the wound on her arm. The bandage tightened, and she frowned, remaining silent. She bit her lower lip, leaving white marks.

"Where to next?" she asked, her voice regaining some strength.

Zhou Yang sat up. His movements were slow, like an old man's. He looked at the path he had come from. The mountain had collapsed, the entrance buried, leaving only a dark pit. Dust was still rising. The Shadow Priest and the Shadow Guards were buried there. Forever.

"Find medicine," Zhou Yang said, "something to prolong life."

He stood up and brushed the mud off his trousers. His movements were slow, with the unsteady gait of an elderly man. His kneecaps scraped together. He swayed, then steadied himself.

Qin Shuang looked at his hunched back and gripped her knife tighter. She walked over and stood beside him. The two were slightly different in height, their shadows cast long shadows on the ground by the morning light.

"I know a place," Qin Shuang said, "the black market. A lawless area."

Zhou Yang nodded. He touched his chest; the stone shard was still there. It was pale blue, and he could feel a slight coolness through the fabric.

The two limped deeper into the woods. Dewdrops on the grass dampened their trouser legs. Morning mist hung in the air like a veil.

Zhou Yang took a few steps, glanced back at the collapsed tomb, then looked away and continued walking.

The swaying shadows of the trees swallowed up the two figures.