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

The stench of blood still lingered in the air, thick and sticky like an unyielding fog.

Zhou Yang crouched down, his fingers slipping inside the corpse's collar. The fabric was soaked in blood, wet and cold to the touch, with a metallic, rusty smell. He didn't mind the filth, groping slowly until his fingertips touched something hard.

It is an iron plaque.

He wiped it with the corner of his clothes, revealing the corroded patterns on it—the Blood Shadow Guard's token. The edges of the token were slightly curled, clearly indicating that it had been used for many years. The front was engraved with the character "杀" (kill), and the back had a string of numbers, so small they were almost invisible.

"This thing should be worth some money."

He muttered something and stuffed the token into his pocket.

Then he began to strip the corpse of its clothes. His movements weren't exactly practiced, but they were swift and efficient. Outer robe, armor, belt—he peeled them off piece by piece, shaking off the blood clots. The corpse was still twitching slightly, a sign that its nerves weren't dead. Zhou Yang ignored it and continued with his work.

The inner lining was unwearable; the blood had seeped in too deeply. He thought for a moment, then took off his outer robe, put on the blood-stained armor, and then donned the Blood Shadow Guard's black robe over it.

The size is just right.

"You're lucky."

He stood up and put the cold mask on his face.

The inside of the mask still retained the body heat of the deceased and was slightly damp. The moment it touched his skin, Zhou Yang felt something strange—the residue left after he had drained his life essence seemed to be swimming in the blood.

[Homologous blood gas detected.]

Disguise mode activated.

[Current Identity: Centurion, Thirteenth Division of the Blood Shadow Guard.]

The system panel flashed by.

Zhou Yang looked down at his hands. Dried blood was still embedded in his fingernails, but a dark red tinge emanated from beneath the skin, as if something was flowing in his veins. He clenched his fist, and his knuckles cracked.

The aura was faint, but it was definitely there. It was exactly the same as the scent emanating from those Blood Shadow Guards earlier.

"They can even imitate this."

He smiled, but the smile was hidden behind the mask, revealing only his eyes.

His eyes were bright, with a scrutinizing quality, as if he were appraising a newly acquired item. He walked to the wall, where there was a bronze mirror, covered in a thick layer of dust. He wiped it with his sleeve and leaned closer to examine it.

The person in the mirror wore a black robe and a mask, exuding a chilling, bloodthirsty aura. He looked no different from the patrolling monsters outside.

perfect.

He turned and walked towards the door.

The gates of the abandoned prince's mansion were ajar, and the sounds of footsteps and the clanging of armor could be heard outside. A night breeze, carrying a damp, musty smell, blew in through the cracks in the door.

Zhou Yang pushed open the door.

Two guards stood at the entrance, dressed in ordinary soldier's uniforms, with standard-issue long swords at their waists. They were talking in hushed tones, but stopped talking as soon as they saw someone come out, their eyes scanning the person warily.

"Who is it?"

Zhou Yang didn't stop, walking straight towards them. His breathing was steady, and the rhythm of each step was precisely controlled. The system in his mind was constantly correcting the parameters—the stride length, the amplitude of the shoulder swing, and the angle of the head tilt.

They were all imitating the Blood Shadow Guard leader who had just been drained of his life force.

"The Thirteen Departments are on duty."

His voice was low and slightly hoarse. The voice coming from behind the mask sounded almost exactly like the dead man's.

The two guards exchanged a glance, their eyes landing on the token at his waist.

"Inside..." one of them hesitated before speaking, "Where's the assassin?"

"He's dead."

Zhou Yang's tone was as calm as if he were discussing a trivial matter. He raised his hand and dusted off non-existent dust from his cuffs. "The assassin has been killed. The body is inside; someone will come to collect it later."

"You mean…" The guard's eyes lit up, "that fugitive who caused such a stir in the city, is dead?"

"nonsense."

Zhou Yang didn't stop; he had already walked to their side. "I need to return to camp to report. The Imperial Advisor is waiting for news. If I'm delayed, can you afford the consequences?"

The two guards quickly made way for them.

"Please, sir."

Their attitude became respectful, even somewhat obsequious. They knew very well the Blood Shadow Guard's status in the capital. They were the Imperial Advisor's sharpest blade, specializing in those shady, clandestine tasks.

Zhou Yang strode past them without turning his head.

A night breeze swept over him, carrying the chill of early autumn. He took a deep breath, and the metallic scent of blood in his lungs finally subsided somewhat.

The streets were quiet; the curfew drums had long since stopped. A few lanterns flickered in the distance, belonging to the soldiers on night patrol. Zhou Yang slowed his pace, trying to blend into the shadows.

He is not on the run.

He swaggered down the streets of the capital, wearing the skin and face of a Blood Shadow Guard, exuding a strange, bloody aura.

Satire.

But he likes it.

The Demon Suppression Bureau's prison is in the east of the city. You have to walk through three streets and then turn into an alley to get there. It's where serious criminals are imprisoned, and it's heavily guarded. It's said that not even a fly can get in.

But now, he's going to swagger in.

Zhou Yang touched the token in his pocket; the metal edges dug into his fingertips, causing a slight pain.

"Blood Shadow Guard..." he murmured, his voice swallowed by the night wind, "What a huge signboard."

He raised his head and looked ahead.

At the end of the alley, the outline of a dark building could be vaguely seen. That was the prison of the Demon Suppression Division, like a giant beast lurking in the night, mouth agape, waiting for its prey to walk into its trap.

Zhou Yang's lips curled up slightly.

He quickened his pace.

As they walked, they suddenly heard a commotion ahead. A patrol of soldiers, numbering more than a dozen, approached, their torches illuminating the alleyway.

Zhou Yang did not dodge.

He continued walking forward, his pace neither hurried nor slow. The mask on his face concealed his expression, but his back was ramrod straight, his shoulders slightly open, exuding an air of arrogance.

That was the Blood Shadow Guard's usual posture.

The patrol leader saw him, paused for a moment, and then raised his hand to signal the team to stop.

"Who's up ahead?"

Zhou Yang walked up to them and stopped, took out the Blood Shadow Token from his pocket, and held it up in the firelight.

"The Thirteen Departments are on duty."

His voice was cold and emotionless. "Make way."

The firelight illuminated the menacing character "Kill" on the token. The leading soldier's expression changed, and he quickly waved his hand, signaling his men to make way.

"May you rest in peace, sir."

Zhou Yang put away his token and strode through the crowd. The soldiers' gazes fell on him, filled with a mixture of fear and apprehension. The Blood Shadow Guards didn't have a good reputation in the capital.

But he doesn't care.

He only needs their fear, not their respect.

Passing through the patrol, the alley came to an end. The outline of the Demon Suppression Bureau prison became clearer, and two huge red lanterns could be seen at the entrance, making the copper-studded gate gleam.

Two rows of guards stood at the entrance, dressed in uniform black outfits with long swords at their waists. Their posture was impeccable, and their eyes were sharp; they were clearly the elite of the elite.

Zhou Yang took a deep breath.

He straightened his black robe, made sure the mask was on properly, and then walked towards the door.

"stop!"

The guard at the gate stopped him, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Who goes there?"

Zhou Yang didn't say anything, but took out the token from his pocket and twirled it in his hand.

"Thirteenth Division, someone has been imprisoned for urgent matters."

He deliberately mimicked the tone of the Blood Shadow Guard leader from before—cold, nonchalant, and arrogant—"This is a task personally assigned by the Imperial Advisor; it cannot be delayed."

The guard's gaze lingered on his face for a moment, then fell on the token.

The lantern's light flickered.

Zhou Yang felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end—an instinctive reaction to being stared at. But he remained expressionless, simply raising his chin and looking back at the other person with a condescending air.

A moment later, the guard withdrew his gaze and stepped aside.

"Please, sir."

Zhou Yang stepped across the threshold.

He succeeded.

That blood-stained token, that stripped black robe, that mask ripped from a dead man's face—these were all used to brazenly send him to the Demon Suppression Bureau's prison.

He was no longer the fugitive being hunted.

He is a Blood Shadow Guard.

He walked through the dark door, which slowly closed behind him, shutting out the night.