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

Starlight spilled across the ruins like scattered silver. Zhou Yang stood in the center of the altar, the blue stone slab on his chest trembling slightly. Qin Shuang reached out to the slab, her fingertips tracing the cool, shimmering patterns. Her gaze was steady, yet her brows were furrowed in worry.

Shi Gun stood to one side, his back against a collapsed stone pillar. He held a rusted dagger in his hand, the blade stained with blood.

"Place the stone slab at the heart of the altar," Qin Shuang whispered.

Zhou Yang nodded, lightly tapping the edge of the stone slab with his fingers, and placed it into the groove in the center of the altar. The groove resembled a giant mouth, and the patterns of the obsidian seemed to come alive under the light.

The blue light spread instantly, like a tide pressing in all directions. The stone slabs of the altar emitted a deep hum, and a metallic chill filled the air.

Zhou Yang felt the life force in his chest being drained away bit by bit. A warning bell suddenly rang in his heart—only one year left.

"I know how much it will cost me to take this step." His voice was low, but tinged with sarcasm.

Fragments of the Blood Dragon Divine Weapon shimmered in the corner of the altar. They were fragments eroded by time, dull and ashen.

Zhou Yang reached out and picked up the first fragment. When the blue light touched it, the fragment immediately transformed into blood-red flames. The flames spread rapidly, engulfing the surrounding fragments.

The flames rose, blocked by the high walls of the altar, transforming into a crimson pillar of light that shot towards the sky. The pillar pierced through the clouds, tracing a blazing arc.

Qin Shuang's gaze followed the beam of light. Her hands trembled slightly, but she did not retreat.

"The Blood Dragon's soul has returned to its rightful place," Shi Gun said in a low voice, his voice filled with barely concealed excitement.

The beam of light terminated at the top of the altar. The main form of the Blood Dragon Divine Weapon awakened, revealing itself to be a longsword entirely blood-red. The patterns on the sword resembled the veins of living blood, radiating a faint heat.

Zhou Yang stood before the altar, his breathing becoming heavy. The Blood Dragon Sword gleamed in the starlight, like a living beast.

"Can this sword absorb more lifespan?" Qin Shuang asked, her eyes filled with calculation.

Zhou Yang chuckled and reached for the sword hilt. The hilt was warm, radiating a subtle pulse.

"After burning out completely, the residual heat can help me extend my lifespan," he explained in a low voice, his tone laced with calculating self-interest.

Shi Gun took out a copper coin engraved with ancient runes and handed it to Qin Shuang. On the coin was a soaring eagle.

"This is a 'Drumbeat' pass." Qin Shuang took it, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Drum sound?" Zhou Yang raised an eyebrow.

"The drumming tribe on the northern ridge has always used drumming as a signal to control the sound of the wind in the valley. Recently, they have been searching for traces of the Blood Dragon," Qin Shuang explained, her voice filled with vigilance.

"It seems we're not the only ones chasing the Blood Dragon." Zhou Yang nodded, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

The starlight faded, and night fell once more. The radiance of the Blood Dragon Sword still flickered faintly at the center of the altar.

Zhou Yang gently drew his sword. The blade sliced ​​through the air with a crisp whistling sound. Crimson light flowed along the blade, like blood surging in a river.

He carried the sword on his back, and felt his aura inexplicably boosted.

Qin Shuang placed her hand on his shoulder, gripping it rather tightly.

"Do we still have time?" she asked in a low voice.

Zhou Yang looked up at the starry sky. The stars were sparse, but one particularly bright star was slowly moving.

"Time is running out, but we can use this sword to gain more," he replied calmly.

Shi Gun sheathed his short sword and turned to walk out of the altar.

"Let's go to the valley of 'Feather Armor' first," he called back.

"Feather armor?" Qin Shuang frowned slightly.

"Feathered Armor is another secretive organization in the north. Its members are all clad in feathered armor and are skilled in aerial attacks. They are extremely interested in the power of the Blood Dragon," Shi Gun explained, his steps steady.

"On the way to the valley, we need to replenish our lifespan first," Zhou Yang said, his eyes sweeping towards the blood-red flames at the bottom of the altar.

The Blood Dragon Sword slightly contracted, as if absorbing the residual heat of the altar.

"This sword can convert residual heat into lifespan," Zhou Yang murmured to himself.

He lightly touched the heart-shaped groove on the altar with the tip of his sword, and the crimson light was instantly swallowed by the sword, causing the pillar of light to dissipate.

As the beam of light disappeared, Zhou Yang felt the fatigue in his chest lessen slightly, and his lifespan number rose slightly in the system.

Qin Shuang stared at his back, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes.

"Let's go." She finally spoke, her voice carrying an undeniable force.

The three left the altar and stepped into the night. Starlight fell upon them like fine gold dust.

A deep, rhythmic drumbeat echoed from the distant mountain ridge. The sound seemed like a distant call.

Zhou Yang listened intently, secretly calculating in his mind. Behind the drumbeats, there must be a force observing in the shadows.

"The drumbeat has already started," Qin Shuang said in a low voice, her eyes showing alertness.

"We need to hurry." Zhou Yang glanced back at the dimly lit altar, the Blood Dragon Sword emitting a faint afterglow behind him.

Their footsteps made a crisp sound on the gravel, carrying the weight of life and death, yet also filled with unpredictable hope.

The light of the Star Altar gradually faded in the distance, but it ignited a new fire in their hearts.

The Blood Dragon Divine Weapon has awakened, and a new era is slowly beginning.

Zhou Yang stepped out of the portal.

His knees slammed against the gravel with a dull thud. He hadn't kept his balance, and was bracing himself with one hand, his knuckles digging into the mud.

A pebble pierced my palm. I felt no pain.

Zhou Yang froze. He looked down at his hands. His skin was sagging, like a sheepskin bag stripped of its skeleton, wrinkles creeping up the back of his hands at a visible speed. Brown age spots emerged from his wrists and spread rapidly.

He raised his hand and touched his face. His fingertips touched the crisscrossing lines of his face.

A metallic taste rose in his throat. Zhou Yang coughed and spat out a mouthful of black blood. The blood fell onto the grass, still cool.

[Warning: Lifespan reduced to zero]

[Entering a seven-day deadline]

[Remaining lifespan: 6 days, 23 hours, and 59 minutes]

The system notification sound exploded in my mind, no longer the usual gold, but a glaring scarlet. Numbers danced at the edge of my vision, like a death knell.

Zhou Yang gasped for breath. His breathing was labored, like a bellows, and his lungs felt like leaky sacks.

"Zhou Yang!"

Qin Shuang's voice came from behind her, trembling. She rushed over and grabbed his arm. She visibly stiffened when her fingers touched his wrist.

"How could you..."

She walked around to face him, her voice abruptly ceasing.

Zhou Yang looked up. Morning light filtered through the treetops, illuminating his face. Qin Shuang noticed that the hair at his temples was turning white, the silver frost spreading upwards from the roots, as if a bucket of snow water had been poured over it.

"Just exhausted."

Zhou Yang spoke, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper were being scraped. He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't obey him, his knees trembling.

Qin Shuang didn't let go. She stared into his eyes. Those eyes, which always carried a calculating and nonchalant air, were now much more cloudy, the whites of his eyes yellowish.

"You're lying."

Qin Shuang's tone was cold, but her fingers tightened their grip. She reached for her waist with her other hand and grasped the hilt of the knife.

Zhou Yang twitched the corners of his mouth. His facial muscles were stiff, making the smile look ferocious.

"Really. The Blood Dragon Sword has drained its true energy; it only needs half an hour of rest."

He pushed Qin Shuang's hand away. His movements were slow, his fingers trembling violently, as if they wouldn't obey him. He braced himself on his knees, trying to stand up straight, but his spine made a cracking sound, like a rusty door hinge.

Qin Shuang stood still. She looked at Zhou Yang's gray hair, watched him transform from a young man into a middle-aged man in a few breaths, and watched him forcefully straighten his back.

She didn't ask any more questions.

Zhou Yang finally stood up. He brushed the dust off his knees, his movements sluggish. The Blood Dragon Sword hung on his back, its blade dull, no longer emitting its previous golden light.

"Let's go," Zhou Yang said. "The smell of blood here is too strong; it'll attract wild dogs."

He strode forward, his steps unsteady, the fallen leaves crunching under his feet. Qin Shuang followed, walking beside him, occasionally reaching out to lend a hand, only to withdraw her hand again.

The two walked through the bushes. The branches and leaves rustled against their clothes. Zhou Yang's breathing grew heavier and heavier, each breath seeming to be forced out of his lungs.

The sound of drums could be heard in the distance.

thump.

Dull, heavy, like striking a muffled drum.

Zhou Yang stopped and listened intently. The sound was different from the sharp, metallic whistle of the Heavenly Principle Sect; it was lower and more rhythmic.

"It's not the Heavenly Principle Sect," Qin Shuang said in a low voice.

She squinted, gazing at the mountain ridge to the northeast. Morning mist shrouded the peaks, obscuring any figures. But the drumbeats continued, one after another, as if conveying some kind of signal.

"It's the rallying drum of the Zhenshan Camp." Qin Shuang's expression changed. "It's the Marquis of Annan's men."

Zhou Yang frowned. The tension in his facial muscles caused a tearing pain in his skin. He raised his hand and found his vision was blurry, with overlapping shadows of distant trees.

"How did they get here?"

"I don't know." Qin Shuang gripped the hilt of her knife, "but they're definitely not here to rescue us."

Before she could finish speaking, the bushes on her left suddenly swayed.

There was no wind. It was a person.

Zhou Yang spun around abruptly, the movement straining his lumbar spine, a sharp pain causing his vision to blur. He gritted his teeth to steady himself, his hand resting on the hilt of the Blood Dragon Sword.

The sword hilt was cold. His palms were cold too.

A figure emerged from the bushes. He wore a feathered helmet and bronze armor, with a soaring eagle engraved on his breastplate. He held a long halberd, its tip pointing diagonally at the ground, reflecting the morning light.

Then came the second, and the third.

From all directions, even the grass and trees seem like soldiers.

Zhou Yang looked around. On the ridge, behind the trees, and beside the rocks, the reflections of feathered armor began to emerge. Bronze in color, densely packed, like a swarm of hibernating beetles.

They had been lying in ambush here for who knows how long.

Qin Shuang leaned closer, her shoulder against Zhou Yang's back. Her knife was already three inches from its sheath, its cold light gleaming.

"Run?" she asked, her voice extremely low.

Zhou Yang glanced at the steep slope ahead, then at his trembling legs. He tried to gather his qi, but his dantian felt empty; only the system's scarlet countdown flashed in his vision.

[6 days, 23 hours, and 47 minutes]

"They can't escape," Zhou Yang said.

He drew the Blood Dragon Sword. The sword was heavy; the divine weapon, which had been as light as a feather, now felt as heavy as a thousand pounds. The blade dragged on the ground, carving deep furrows.

The drumming on the ridge stopped.

Dead silence.

Then, a voice came from above, with a metallic echo:

"Commander Qin of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and... that friend who took the fragment of the dragon's spine. The Marquis requests your presence."

Zhou Yang looked up, squinting at the source of the sound. A row of dark figures stood on the ridge, the leader wearing a tiger-patterned helmet and holding a black command flag in his hand.

The command flag was embroidered with a blood-red character for "town".

Zhou Yang gripped the sword hilt tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. He could feel Qin Shuang's back taut, like a fully drawn bow.

"Add more money," Zhou Yang suddenly said.

Qin Shuang was stunned: "What?"

"I said," Zhou Yang grinned, revealing an ugly smile, "this time it's more money. My appearance fee has gone up."

Qin Shuang didn't laugh. She stared at Zhou Yang's gray hair, his hunched back, and his trembling hand holding the sword.

"Okay," she said, "ten times."

The wind swept through the forest, swirling up withered leaves. The reflection of the feathered armor shimmered all around, like an iron cage tightening around it.

Zhou Yang raised the Blood Dragon Sword, its tip pointing towards the mountain ridge.

He doesn't have much time left.