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

The stone gate shattered beneath their feet with a deafening roar.

Rock fragments flew everywhere, and dust billowed up. Even before Zhou Yang's men entered, the strong smell of rust filled the air, making their throats itch.

This is not the ordinary smell of blood.

It has that smell of something that has been accumulating for a long time, fermented and spoiled, mixed with the smell of rotten meat and mud.

Zhou Yang stepped over the gravel and entered the tunnel buried deep underground.

The ground was slippery. Looking down, I saw that the cracks between the paving stones were filled with dark red silt, as if someone had poured thousands of buckets of blood here, letting it dry layer by layer before pouring another.

"Who?!"

A sharp shout came from ahead.

The walls on both sides of the passageway were fitted with ever-burning lamps, the wicks of which were made of some kind of dark red grease, crackling as they burned, the light dim and flickering.

Using the eerie red light, Zhou Yang was able to see the scene in front of him.

This is a huge underground dome.

The staircase descended in layers, each level filled with people. They wore uniform dark red robes, held bone flutes and copper bells, and chanted incantations.

On the lowest level of the altar, runes were densely engraved. Those runes seemed to be alive, writhing greedily, absorbing the churning blood energy in the central pool.

Dozens of eyes turned to look at it at once.

Stare at him.

"A lone wolf?"

Someone recognized Zhou Yang's outfit, and their tone was somewhat surprised.

"How did this mad dog get in?"

"No matter how he got in, kill him! Don't ruin the Grand Preceptor's important plans!"

After a brief silence, a sharp shout of battle erupted from within the dome.

More than twenty red-robed cultivators rose from the ground. They did not resemble normal martial arts masters; their movements were stiff, and their posture, using both hands and feet, was very much like that of some kind of reptile.

But they were quick.

In the blink of an eye, he rushed to within ten steps of Zhou Yang.

The leader was a burly man who carried a large, monstrous machete with a demon-shaped head. His face was trembling, and he grinned maliciously as he swung the machete down at people.

"die!"

The wind howled, carrying with it a nauseating stench of corpses.

Zhou Yang didn't move.

He didn't even lift his eyelids.

In this narrow, oppressive underground space filled with runes, facing dozens of madmen who have sold their lives to evil spirits, any conventional methods seem pale in comparison.

That being the case.

Then add more money.

In Zhou Yang's sea of ​​consciousness, the number representing lifespan began to jump wildly.

Lifespan: 5 years

[Derived Technique: Nine Forms of Sky Splitting → Third Form: Mountain Collapse]

A searing heat instantly surged from his heart, coursing through his veins to every part of his body. That wasn't power; that was life itself.

Five years have passed in an instant.

Zhou Yang tightened his grip on the embroidered spring knife.

He looked up.

Those originally jet-black pupils now glowed with an eerie red light.

"The second move is too slow."

Zhou Yang muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the corridor, sending chills down one's spine.

"We need to use the third method."

The burly man's blade was less than three inches from the top of his head.

Zhou Yang moved.

There were no fancy starting moves, nor any charging up of power.

He simply held the knife in both hands and swiftly slashed it upwards.

With that single slash, the surrounding air seemed to be sucked away in that instant.

Immediately following was an extremely muffled explosion.

"boom!"

Air blast.

A visible white wave of air swept outwards in a fan shape from Zhou Yang's center.

This is not sword energy at all.

This is a pure, brutal outburst of power.

The burly leader didn't even have time to scream. The ghost-headed saber in his hand shattered into pieces the moment it came into contact with the shockwave, and then he was hit as if by a charging rhinoceros.

His body disintegrated in mid-air.

First his arms broke off, then his torso was torn apart, and finally even his head was swept into the violent airflow.

It wasn't just the burly man in the lead.

Behind him, the twenty-odd red-robed cultivators who swarmed forward were like a group of moths caught in a typhoon.

There was no intense collision.

It was a one-sided crushing defeat.

"Puff puff puff puff—"

A series of rapid tearing sounds rang out.

That was the sound of a human body being forcibly torn apart by powerful energy.

The blood mist exploded.

Like a giant and enchanting spider lily, it bloomed instantly in the dim underground.

Limbs and severed arms fell to the ground with a clattering sound, like dumplings being dropped into a pot.

The dozens of heretical cultivators who were chanting incantations, ringing bells, and striking strange poses all froze in that instant.

The row closest to Zhou Yang had been reduced to minced meat; only the puddles of mud on the ground indicated that people had once stood there.

Those a little further away also had their heart meridians shattered, collapsing to the ground bleeding from all seven orifices, only able to exhale but not inhale.

The entire domed hall fell silent instantly.

Only the ever-burning lamps continued their tireless crackling.

Zhou Yang slowly sheathed his sword.

His face was somewhat pale.

The side effects of burning lifespan are immediate—extreme hunger and weakness, as if an invisible hand is hollowing out his body.

But the light in his eyes shone even brighter.

The third move of the "Nine Forms of Sky Splitting" did not disappoint him.

This is the power gained at the cost of one's life.

Absolute violence.

Zhou Yang took a step, stepping on the thick layer of blood on the ground, and walked down into the ground.

The soles of my feet were in a pool of blood, making a "gurgling" sound.

This is a road to hell.

The cultivators around him, who weren't quite dead yet, twitched on the ground, emitting weak groans. Zhou Yang didn't even glance at them, and walked straight past them.

Occasionally, one or two would try to get up and launch a sneak attack, but before they could even raise their heads, Zhou Yang would crush their throats with a single stomp.

The runes here are getting brighter and brighter.

As he went deeper, the runes on the walls began to emit a faint blue light, like eyes opening in the darkness.

The ground is just ahead.

The stench of blood in the air was extremely strong, almost as if it were boiling.

Zhou Yang turned the last corner.

My vision suddenly opened up.

This is a huge natural cave with stalactites hanging overhead, and a human-shaped object hanging from the tip of each stalactite.

No, that's not a stone.

That was a real "wick".

Those were people who had been skinned and hung up by iron hooks through their collarbones. They were not yet dead; their bodies were twitching slightly, and blood was dripping from their toes.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

The blood pooled in the center of the cave.

There is an octagonal altar there.

Twelve enormous stone pillars stood around the altar, each with a person in a coma strapped to it.

Zhou Yang's gaze swept over one of them.

It was a woman. Dressed in black, her face was covered in blood, but he recognized her at a glance.

That was the standard night uniform of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

It's Qin Shuang.

At the very top of the altar, a man dressed in a black and gold robe stood with his back to him. The man held a long, thin bone needle in his hand, gesturing towards the infant still in swaddling clothes in the center of the altar.

The man seemed to have noticed the movement behind him.

He didn't turn around, but stopped what he was doing and let out a low laugh.

"Lone Wolf".

The sound was particularly eerie in the empty cave.

You're late.

Zhou Yang did not speak.

He simply wiped the blood off the knife on the ground.

Then he looked up at the back of the figure and gave a signature professional fake smile.

"I was indeed a little late."

Zhou Yang took out a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the bloodstains off his face.

"But it's okay."

"After all, I'm here to close my account."

He glanced at Qin Shuang, who was tied to the stone pillar, and then at the man in the black and gold robe.

The system panel in my mind reappeared.

[Remaining lifespan: 14 years]

Zhou Yang silently calculated in his mind.

That last slash was exhilarating, but it came at a high price.

but.

Looking at the so-called "national advisor" in front of him, and the blood sacrifice array all over the ground.

Zhou Yang felt that this deal was profitable.

He suddenly raised his knife and pointed it at the man's back.

"Sir, shall we talk?"

Zhou Yang asked with a smile, as if he were not in a den of dragons and tigers, but discussing business in a private room of Chunfeng Tower.

"If I pay extra for this deal, could you give me your life in cash?"

The sound landed.

The cave was deathly silent.

Only the sound of blood dripping remained monotonous and clear.