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

The long passageway felt like an inverted coffin lid, suffocating him. Zhou Yang's footsteps were silent, leaving only a faint trail of heat on the stone slabs. A soft metallic clang came from the shadows ahead, like some kind of mark being rubbed. He looked up and saw three dark figures exchanging glances at the alley entrance, their eyes filled with surprise and doubt. The Blood Shadow Guards, seasoned on the front lines, showed signs of panic upon seeing him arrive alone.

"Break through," the man on the far left whispered. His tone was curt, like an order dropped on a knife's edge.

The Blood Shadow Guards wanted to move, but their true energy wouldn't rise. Their breathing was labored, their true energy seemingly bound by a layer of cold, dampness. Zhou Yang pressed his hand to his chest, clearly feeling the yin energy flowing backward along his meridians. He didn't hide his smile, and said calmly, "Let's just run them over."

The three moved simultaneously, their blades flashing like silver snakes. He, however, did not engage in direct combat. With a flick of his left hand, the Dragon Spine Sword was drawn, its tip writhing in heat. He stepped forward, like a phantom licking the night, passing between the first two blades. Each strike was precisely aimed at their most exposed throats.

The first man's neck was slashed open, spittle and blood splattering. Zhou Yang suddenly reached out, pressing his palm against the man's skull, fingertips pressed against his knuckles. A stream of clear blood gushed from the wound, flowing down his arm. The skin was burning hot, as if sparks were leaping along its veins. The Blood Shadow Guard's pupils constricted sharply, his expression deathly palpable. Unlike usual, there was no hesitation in his gaze, and his heartbeat abruptly stopped.

A low, discordant voice popped up: [Kill a True Essence Realm martial artist, lifespan +2 years].

As blood rushed into Zhou Yang, he felt as if he had drunk a pot of sweet spring water, and his complexion quickly regained its rosy hue. The true energy that had previously been unable to be propelled suddenly became clear, and the hidden injury in his chest actually shifted and slowly closed up. He stood there, silent, and even the Blood Shadow Guards had not yet fallen.

Seeing this, the remaining two felt an immediate increase in pressure. They moved in one after the other, their blades whistling, intending to force him to retreat. Zhou Yang conjured a corpse soldier, its chains lashing out from the air and tightly binding the leg of one of the Blood Shadow Guards. The rust spots on the corpse soldier danced in the firelight, seemingly roaring. After using the corpse soldier to block the attack, he instantly teleported to the other person.

The anger in the man's eyes froze instantly. Zhou Yang raised his right hand, his five fingers spreading like a ladybug unfurling spider silk. True energy gathered at his fingertips, instantly transforming into tiny specks of light over ten feet in diameter, piercing towards his heart. He neither retreated nor dodged, but instead stood even more firmly, much like a dancer standing on a bamboo pole.

The name of the finger technique never uttered a sound, only a chilling echo drifted through his heart. "Shattered Star" finger technique. A point of light pierced his chest, his heart turned to dust, and the Blood Shadow Guard clutched his chest before collapsing. He didn't even have time to breathe.

The notification popped up again: [Killing a True Essence Realm martial artist grants +2 years to lifespan] [Heavenly Eye: Essence blood concentration increases, Longevity True Essence breaks through the early bottleneck, True Qi solidification improves.]

The last man froze. His two companions had fallen instantly, and shock filled his eyes. He reached out, his blade slicing through the corpse soldier's ribs, and charged at Zhou Yang. Zhou Yang merely reached out his left hand, grabbing the man's collar, his body bending to the side like a drawn bow. With a kick of his right leg, he flipped the man over, pulling him behind his back. Almost simultaneously, his left and right hands unleashed a finger that shot out, tracing a path along the back towards the heart, the fingertip like a small blade slicing through flesh.

His eyes suddenly went blank, like a lamp going out. In the instant he fell, the spot where his fingertips had pierced his skin remained motionless. Blood trickled down between his fingers, dripping into his already torn sleeve. The corpse soldiers pinned him to the ground, and with a gentle tug of their iron axes, the man inexplicably stopped breathing.

The entire process took less than half an incense stick's time.

Zhou Yang stood up and looked at the three corpses. He didn't raise his sword in celebration, nor did he move. He simply reached out and lightly pressed his thumb into the wrinkles on his chin, as if calculating. He heard the system notification again: [Kill 3 True Yuan Realm Martial Artists, Lifespan +6 years]. The voice was low and heavy, as if reminding him: everything is a cost.

He glanced at the fallen Shadow Guards beside him, and upon rising, he found that the true energy circulating within his body was now thicker. The previous viscous feeling within him had been completely washed away, and the new true energy was as still as lake water, reflecting his image. The number on his lifespan bar was higher than before, though the light was still faint, but he knew that breaking through the bottleneck was only a matter of time.

He crouched down and traced an arc in the ground with his finger. Dust rose from his fingertip, scattering in the dim air. The sound was like a symbol he was writing to himself, telling him: almost there.

He looked up at the door at the end of the passage. Through the crack in the door, the air still breathed softly, as if waiting for him to continue. Zhou Yang smiled slightly, the scar at the corner of his mouth trembling. He grasped the hilt of the Dragon Spine Sword and wiped away the bloodstains with the back of his hand. The blood wasn't dry; it seemed to still be flowing.

He stood up, muttering to himself, "Keep the hints, we'll need them later." Then he grabbed the arm of a zombie soldier and made it point forward; the road ahead was still dark, and his increasingly heavy steps were heading towards the entrance.