Two years passed in the blink of an eye.
The oppressive air of the Slaughter City lingered with its suffocating chill, thick with murderous intent.
Inside a dimly lit chamber, Hu Liena sat alone, quietly holding a delicate golden chrysanthemum in her slender hand. This was no ordinary flower—it was the immortal treasure known as the Velvet Sky Chrysanthemum, the fairy herb Lu Yuan had once gifted her.
It had already been three years since she had entered the Killing Capital. Most people would have crumbled under the weight of the endless bloodlust that pervaded this cursed city—but not her.
The reason was simple: this golden chrysanthemum.
Because of this precious flower, Hu Liena was able to anchor her mind and resist being consumed by madness. While others lost themselves to killing intent, drowning in slaughter and despair, she remained calm, rational, and astonishingly clear-headed.
Now, she had become a shining star in the Hell Arena, an existence spoken of in hushed reverence.
They called her by a title that reverberated through the whole city: The Messenger of Hell.
To this day, Hu Liena had won ninety-nine matches. Just two more victories, and she would qualify to challenge the legendary Hell Road.
Yet there was another competitor—a mysterious one who had risen side by side with her. His title: King Shura.
This King Shura had also achieved an astounding record, his victories just one less than hers.
More and more, Hu Liena suspected his true identity—that this man was none other than Tang San, the fugitive relentlessly pursued by the Martial Soul Hall.
But she had no proof.
Time and again, she tried to approach the man, yet he evaded her with subtle precision, avoiding her as if on instinct. Whether intentional or not, King Shura refused her contact.
"Has he also reached ninety-nine wins…?"
Hu Liena murmured softly. From outside, the muffled sound of the crowd's exclamations reached her ears.
Her expression shifted slightly, and after some hesitation, she rose and pushed open the door.
"King Shura has reached ninety-nine victories."
In the shadowed depths of the Slaughter City, a cold female voice echoed.
"I see."
A deep voice responded. A tall figure sat high upon a throne, his entire body engulfed by a blood-red cloak. His pale face seemed drained of life, while his crimson eyes glowed with an eerie, demonic radiance.
This was the ruler of the Slaughter City—the King of Slaughter.
"Your Majesty, if King Shura wins one more match tomorrow, will he attempt to challenge Hell Road?"
A woman stepped forward from the darkness, bowing her head.
"That was his purpose from the very beginning."
The King of Slaughter's reply came after a brief silence.
"Should we intervene?"
The people of the Slaughter City despised when anyone stepped onto Hell Road. Because each time a person ascended to become a God of Slaughter, the city trembled under disaster.
"Intervene? And how exactly would we intervene?"
The King of Slaughter's voice dropped to a frigid tone.
"King Shura and the Messenger of Hell—both were sent to us by two other Killing Gods. If we dare act against them, our capital will face ruin. Would we have spared them until now if they weren't under divine protection? They would have long since been eradicated."
The woman fell silent, her brows furrowed. "Then what should we do? The murals on the Slaughter City's Wall of Fate warn us: 'When the Killing God descends, disaster befalls the Slaughter City.' Every birth of a God of Slaughter in history has left us heavily scarred."
The King of Slaughter sneered, eyes narrowing.
"No need for panic. They come here only for the Killing God's domain, not to raze our city. Do not forget—we hold an ancient pact with the Martial Soul Hall. For them, we trap and imprison the continent's most malevolent criminals. In return, Martial Soul Hall tolerates our existence. Our destruction benefits them not at all."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Losses are inevitable, yes—but still within the tolerance of our capital. Nothing more."
"But, my King," the woman hesitated, her voice low. "The Messenger of Hell was clearly sent here by the Martial Soul Palace. But King Shura was not. Who can say what he might do?"
Before her words had even finished, two beams of blood-red light burst from the Slaughter King's eyes. The air grew heavy as suffocating bloodlust permeated the hall, making the very atmosphere viscous.
"Do you take King Shura for a fool?" The King's voice thundered. "He came here for one thing—the Killing God's domain. What gain would he find in destroying this place? To let loose all the evil spirit masters and scum we've contained here onto the Douluo Continent? Even a pig could see the folly of such an act. Do you think King Shura wouldn't understand?"
His furious gaze silenced the hall.
At that moment, an attendant hurried in, prostrating himself on the cold ground.
"Great King—the Messenger of Hell requests an audience."
The King of Slaughter hesitated, before finally saying, "Send her in."
After all, this messenger was dispatched with Martial Soul Palace's authority.
Hu Liena stepped inside the blood-stained chamber. Her beautiful eyes held no fear as she met the King's penetrating gaze.
"King of Slaughter, I wish to see my teacher."
Her words went straight to the point.
Within her heart, doubt no longer wavered. The one called King Shura—she was more certain than ever—was Tang San! This truth needed to be delivered to her teacher at once.
"The Messenger of Hell, you seem to have forgotten where you stand."
The King of Slaughter's voice was icy.
"Spare me the act. You already know who I am." Hu Liena's tone was resolute. "I have an urgent matter to report to my teacher."
But the King shook his head slowly.
"You should understand the laws of this city. No one leaves but those who successfully clear Hell Road. We cannot summon the God of Slaughter—we can only wait for him to descend. These are the rules."
It wasn't a lie. Even if the King had the means to contact Martial Soul Hall, he would never use them. To do so would invite disaster.
Hu Liena clenched her fists, delicate knuckles whitening. In the face of these rules, her words meant nothing.
Fine. Then she would rely on herself.
Her thoughts swiftly coalesced into a plan: Defeat Hell Road before King Shura! If she could exit before him, she could alert the Martial Soul Palace and allow them to besiege Tang San once and for all.
Her fingers brushed the Soul Guidance Device at her slim waist. Within it rested a treasure she had long saved—the immortal herb Qirong Tongtian Chrysanthemum. She had not been willing to consume it before. But now, to increase her chance of clearing Hell Road, she knew the time had come.
Resolve flashed in her eyes. Yes. She would use it.
Meanwhile, far away in the core zone of Star Dou Great Forest…
"Dad, when are you giving my soul bone back?"
A crisp, childish voice echoed among the ancient trees.
Two years. For an ordinary toddler just past his first year, remembering something that long would be unheard of.
But Lu Xiaoyu, Lu Yuan's son, remembered perfectly.
Why? Because the matter was far too important in his little world—he'd lost a soul bone.
To him, that was practically the end of the sky!
Lu Yuan cradled his small son in one arm, a wine jar in the other. He smiled helplessly.
"Didn't I already tell you? Don't believe everything your Uncle Da Ming says. How could Dad ever take your soul bone?"
But Lu Xiaoyu's pout deepened.
"Mom said you did! And Mom never lies! Just give it back to me, okay? You have extra soul bones anyway! A few days ago, Uncle Er Ming even took me hunting, but I couldn't even catch a rat! It must be because I don't have a soul bone…"
His big bright eyes blinked up hopefully.
Lu Yuan's brows lifted slightly. "Oh? Then tell me—who exactly told you I had your soul bone?"
He had been intending to give his son a soul bone as a special present upon awakening his Martial Soul at age six. Who leaked this surprise?
Lu Xiaoyu puffed out his cheeks and answered innocently, "It was Aunt Xiao Wu! And she never lies to me!"
Lu Yuan froze. Then his mouth twitched.
"So it's that rabbit again…" His voice grew ominous. "Just wait until I get back—I'll make sure to teach her a proper lesson."
"Dad!" Little Xiaoyu tugged his sleeve anxiously. "Don't bully Aunt Xiao Wu all the time!"
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