The inner city's undertone was still crimson.
Anyone with a keen mind could sense the ominous wind and whispering tension in the air.
In the past two days, sales of pills and weapons in the inner city had surged — a clear sign of what was coming.
Even more striking was this:
In the southern district, for two consecutive days, notorious killers from the other three districts had been seen prowling around.
These bloodthirsty fiends all came for one reason —
the so-called "treasure" of the Blood Slaughter Sword.
If that treasure were mere rumor, it might not have caused such a storm.
After all, the Blood Slaughter Sword's name was too fearsome—
who would dare covet what belonged to him?
But the rumors these two days were too strange, too intoxicating.
One sentence alone—
"With that treasure, even the Hell Road shall be but a stroll through the garden"—
was enough to drive every desperate soul in the Slaughter City into madness.
Those who set foot in this place—
who among them did not crave to reign supreme after a hundred battles?
Either one passed through Hell Road to once more see the light of day,
or remained here forever,
a guest beneath the throne of the Slaughter King.
Such tension, such suffocating killing intent,
had hung over the city for more than a month.
Now—
the day of the Blood Slaughter Sword's battle in the Slaughter Arena had finally arrived.
...
When that cold, black-clad youth stepped into the arena,
countless hidden gazes snapped toward him,
and one after another the spectators flooded into the stands.
Before long, latecomers carrying dozens of bottles of Bloody Mary were met with an icy voice:
"This match is full."
"Choose another arena if you wish to spectate."
The crowd faltered in disbelief,
an uproar rippling through the air.
"Full?! Impossible!"
"When has the Slaughter arena ever been full?!"
"How many have come to watch the Blood Slaughter Sword this time?!"
From the shadows came a murmur.
A crippled figure leaning on a cane stood there — his face ruined, a single remaining eye gleaming coldly like a serpent's.
Without moving his lips, his voice came from deep within his chest, eerie and hollow:
"All three hundred arenas are open."
"Each one holds a thousand at most."
At those words, the surrounding eyes flickered with dread.
That man was known as Old Scarface, a living legend of the inner city.
No one knew how long he had survived here.
It was only known that he rarely entered the Slaughter Arenas,
and that the reason he'd earned his infamous title — and freed himself from being numbered like the rest —
was because he had once ambushed three seed-level contestants outside the arena,
each one with a chance to become a "King of a Hundred Battles."
Though he had failed to kill any of them,
and his own body had been left broken beyond repair,
none of those three ever survived Hell Road afterward.
A man like that — brutal, cunning, half-dead yet dangerous —
was naturally feared by all.
...
At that moment, even the shadows outside the arena were packed with people.
"There must be two thousand outside, and a thousand more inside!"
"Three thousand pairs of eyes fixed on the Blood Slaughter Sword's treasure! The inner city's about to erupt!"
"And what about that Angel girl from Spirit Hall? Who'd dare touch her? Her status outside is too terrifying!"
"Hmph! This is the Slaughter City! Under the protection of the Slaughter King! Even if Spirit Hall sent a thousand families, they'd still crawl here!"
…
The air itself thickened with killing intent,
forming clouds of blood above.
Inside the arena—
Li Zhexian seemed to have finally met his match.
A streak of crimson sword light swept past,
eight corpses fell in unison—
only one giant remained,
his heavy black staff intercepting the blood-hued light head-on.
"Hmph! Blood Slaughter Sword!"
"Others may fear you—
but my Mad Demon Staff does not!"
Bang!
The staff slammed down, the entire platform trembling under its force.
"I'm not like those cowards outside who only dare to sneak and swarm you!"
"Those rats who don't even dare to sign up to face you — and yet dream of your treasure?"
"Your so-called treasure… belongs to me now!"
With a roar, the Mad Demon leapt high into the air —
his massive staff lifted above his head, his eyes wide with fury as his voice cracked like thunder:
"DIE!!"
The staff's shadow carried crushing force,
splitting the air with a shriek of wind.
Boom! Boom!
The pressure was so violent
that the pools of blood on the ground burst into boiling spray.
This power that split earth and stone
was far beyond the reach of an ordinary Spirit Emperor.
No wonder the Mad Demon Staff was so arrogant —
He was clearly a high-level Technique Dao Expert.
Li Zhexian swung his sword in a blazing arc, a crimson blade light colliding with the head of the heavy staff.
RUMBLE—!!!
The explosion of spirit force echoed like thunder.
Blood from the stage was blasted high into the air, falling back down as a rain of crimson.
The Mad Demon Staff's strike was halted mid-swing — the skin between his thumb and forefinger split open, blood spurting freely.
Eyes wide and veins bulging, he let out a beastlike roar, pouring all his Spirit Power recklessly into the staff. The weapon howled with renewed fury, its force growing even more savage as it came crashing down toward Li Zhexian's head.
Li Zhexian brought his sword up in a horizontal guard.
CLANG—!
The impact rang out like iron striking iron.
He was hurled backward, his body spinning through the bloody rain.
Through the crimson haze, the streak of blood at the corner of his mouth stood out sharply —
yet his black eyes, glinting through the storm, were still as cold and piercing as a blade.
...
From the stands came a rising wave of whispers:
"The Bloodslaughter Sword… is losing ground?! Could he actually be defeated today?"
"The Mad Demon Staff's a renowned fighter too! His Spirit Power's deep — at least level sixty or higher — far greater than the Blood Slaughter Sword's!"
"Damn it! If he wins, the treasure's his!"
"Based on past records ,Blood Slaughter Sword's stronger, and he's got the treasure — but this time it won't be easy!"
"Hmph! No matter who wins, they'll both die soon anyway. The bloodier the fight, the better!"
…
In one corner of the spectator stands, Hu Liena's foxlike eyes narrowed slightly.
"That treasure must return to the Spirit Hall."
"But… for such a prodigy as the Blood Slaughter Sword to die here — what a waste."
Elsewhere in the shadows, Tang San's gaze was calm and steady.
"A mutual destruction, then?"
"That so-called treasure… I admit, I'm curious."
...
In the end, things unfolded just as most had expected.
The Blood Slaughter Sword won.
The heavy black staff fell to the ground.
A thin red line appeared across the Mad Demon Staff's neck — then his head rolled away into the distance.
But Li Zhexian looked no better for it.
His long hair hung loose,
his breathing ragged,
his complexion ghostly pale,
blood still wet at the corner of his lips.
Such a battered figure
was utterly unlike the cold, unshakable youth of before.
As always,
after victory,
Li Zhexian did not leave.
He sat cross-legged upon the platform,
eyes closed, adjusting his breath.
...
From the stands,
one by one, the onlookers slipped away,
vanishing into the endless dark beyond the arena.
Then, outside—
someone could no longer hold back their whisper, trembling with excitement:
"Blood Slaughter Sword fought the Mad Demon Staff!"
"He won—but he's gravely injured!"
The rumor struck like sparks falling into oil.
In an instant,
the air outside the Slaughter Arena exploded into tension.
The silence still hung heavy,
but beneath it—
murderous intent boiled like a storm cloud before the rain.
...
Minutes passed.
At last, the black-clad youth emerged—
his garments dyed entirely red.
Though his face was pale,
his back was straight as a bloodied spear.
And facing the countless pairs of eyes in the darkness,
all burning with greed and killing will,
he suddenly—
laughed.
That laugh was like a blade,
slicing through taut skin.
And with it—
the killing intent of three thousand men
erupted like wildfire.