The iron door, etched with the insignia of the chained skull, groaned as it slid open. A nauseating wave of formalin vapors, mixed with the metallic tang of stale blood, surged out like a physical tide.
Beyond the door lay no standard laboratory or storage facility. Instead, it was a vast, semi-circular abyss. Thousands of rusted iron cages hung from the jagged edges of the rim like fruit on a dead vine. Far below, a thick, dark-red liquid churned with a low, bubbling sound—this was the true Pool of Purgatory, a hellish slurry of concentrated corpse-dissolving acids and low-grade Order-chemical waste, designed specifically to process "scraps" that knew too much.
"Who... who has come to seek death this time?"
A voice, as raspy as sandpaper grinding against bone, echoed from the deepening shadows.
Gu Hanzhou's pupils contracted. On a throne fashioned from bleached human bones at the pool's edge sat a twisted, hunched figure. He wore the tattered remnants of a standard Inquisitor's trench coat, but the hem had long since fused with his rotting, necrotic flesh. The left side of his face was completely overrun by pulsating, dark-purple granuloma—the sign of advanced aberration. A mechanical prosthetic eye, flickering with unstable blue sparks, let out a constant, irritating static buzz.
This was a [Discarded].
They were once the most elite executors of the Inquisition. But after performing tasks too dark for the public record, they were stripped of their identities, their names, and their humanity. Cast into this lightless pit, they became the eternal, un-living sentries of a mass grave.
"The ones you seek... they are all down there," the Outcast said, slowly pulling himself to his feet. In his right hand, he dragged a massive, heavy-duty cleaver, its serrated edge still dripping with a segment of blackened, necrotic entrails. "Or rather... pieces of them are down there."
Gu Hanzhou didn't respond. He focused on placing the semi-conscious Su Qingyue into the shadows behind the vault door. He tightened his grip on the fractured hilt of [Black Order], his internal spiral vortex beginning to squeeze every last drop of residual energy from his marrow.
"Lin Xiu is dead," Gu Hanzhou said, his eyes locked on the Outcast's flickering mechanical eye. "Duke Mordent executed him personally."
The Outcast's movements stiffened. At the mention of Mordent's name, a complex surge of emotion rippled across his disfigured face—a mixture of bone-deep hatred and an inescapable, primal terror.
"Mordent..." The Outcast let out a low, chilling cackle that sounded like a ghost's weeping. "He's still alive? That old beast... has he not yet been strangled by the very 'Order' he worships?"
"Give me the ledger of the Night-War Legion soldiers sent here, and I will give you a swift end," Gu Hanzhou stated, his blade rising in a steady arc.
"Swift? In this pit for thirty years, 'swift' is the most expensive luxury in the world."
The Outcast suddenly exploded forward. His withered, decaying body moved with a burst of power that shattered the stone tiles beneath his feet. The heavy cleaver sliced through the air, leaving a pale, sickly streak of Order Energy in its wake.
CLANG!
Gu Hanzhou parried the strike, but the sheer momentum forced his boots to plow two deep furrows into the ground. Though heavily mutated, this man had clearly been a high-tier warrior in his prime. Even as a living corpse, his killing instincts remained terrifyingly sharp.
"Kill me! If you can kill me, the ledger is in my stomach!"
The Outcast swung the cleaver frantically, every strike a suicidal gamble. He didn't bother with defense; his body was already a ruin. He only wanted to taste the blood of a true warrior before he rotted away entirely.
Gu Hanzhou's gaze remained calm. He didn't engage in a battle of attrition. Instead, he danced along the narrow edge of the pool, observing his opponent. He noticed that with every violent exertion, the mass of purple flesh on the Outcast's abdomen would contract violently. That was his energy core—and the source of his eternal agony.
[Lethal Incision]
As the cleaver slammed into the floor, embedding itself in the stone, Gu Hanzhou stepped onto the spine of the blade and leaped. He became a streak of dark-gold lightning, vaulting over the Outcast's head.
[Black Order] spun in the air. Gu Hanzhou caught it in a reverse grip, the tip pointed downward.
"As you wish."
SHLICK!
The fractured Tang Dao plunged vertically into the Outcast's nape. Dark-gold Imperial Blood surged down the blade, flooding the creature's chaotic, mutated meridians. To a victim of aberration, the pure, tyrannical laws of the Ancient Court were the most potent poison in existence.
"AAAAAAAAGH!"
The Outcast let out a scream that was both horrific and laced with an unmistakable sense of relief. Beneath the radiance of the dark-gold light, the purple granulomas withered and vaporized into black ash.
He fell to his knees at the edge of the Pool of Purgatory. His mechanical eye flickered one last time and went dark. For the first time, a trace of human peace appeared on his distorted features.
"The ledger... cough... is in the metal cylinder in my stomach..." The Outcast looked up at Gu Hanzhou, a final moment of clarity returning to his gaze. "Beware Mordent... he is no longer human... he has already... sacrificed himself to the..."
The voice cut off abruptly.
The Outcast's body disintegrated into dust within seconds, leaving behind only a pile of dry bones and a small metallic cylinder, yellowed and pitted by stomach acid.
Gu Hanzhou picked up the cylinder, his hands trembling slightly.
He slowly unscrewed the cap. On a stack of parchment soaked in old blood, on the very last line of the final page, he found the name that had haunted his dreams for ten years:
[Gu Qingshan: Night-War Legion, 7th Battalion. Due to unique bloodline compatibility, designated as 'Subject No. 1'. Transferred to—Mid-Sector: Inquisition Black Prison.]
"Subject..."
Gu Hanzhou clenched his teeth so hard they threatened to crack. His nails dug into his palms until they bled.
His father was alive.
But this kind of "life" was likely a thousand times more painful than death.
"Gu Hanzhou..." From the shadows, Su Qingyue's weak call reached him.
He stowed the ledger and turned his gaze toward the churning, dark-red waters of the Pool of Purgatory. The secrets here had been partially unveiled, but in the depths of that abyss, it felt as though something else was watching him—something ancient, waiting for the Imperial Blood to descend.