Qian Renxue sat in her dimly lit chamber, fingers lightly tapping against the wooden desk. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across her serene yet calculating expression. The letter from Ryan was securely hidden, but its implications weighed heavily on her mind. She had work to do.
A soft knock echoed through the room.
"Enter," she said, her voice calm yet commanding.
The door opened silently, and a tall, lean man in dark robes stepped inside. His long, narrow eyes gleamed with a predatory sharpness, and his movements were as smooth as a serpent slithering through grass. This was Snake Lance Douluo, one of her most trusted guards.
"Your Highness," he greeted, bowing slightly.
Renxue didn't waste time. "Xue Beng. I want him gone."
Snake Lance Douluo's lips curled slightly, as if savoring the command. "Disappearance, accident, or a message?"
"An accident," she decided. "No loose ends. No suspicions."
Snake Lance Douluo nodded. "Consider it done."
With a final bow, he turned and left, vanishing into the corridors like a ghost.
Renxue leaned back in her chair. One problem was about to be taken care of. Now, it was time to focus on the bigger ones.
---
In the heart of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan's training ground, three figures stood together, radiating powerful auras. Ning Fengzhi, the esteemed clan leader, stood between his two greatest protectors—Bone Douluo and Sword Douluo.
He exhaled slowly, eyes closed, feeling the immense energy surging within him. For decades, he had cultivated tirelessly, refining his spirit power with absolute precision. Now, at long last, the bottleneck that had held him back at rank 79 was crumbling.
A surge of radiant light enveloped him.
Sword Douluo's sharp gaze flickered with approval. "It's happening."
Bone Douluo grinned. "About time."
Ning Fengzhi's aura expanded rapidly, shattering through the final barrier. His newly evolved Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda spirit materialized behind him, glowing with unprecedented brilliance.
Rank 80.
His entire being felt lighter, stronger. But there was no time to celebrate. He needed a spirit ring.
"We leave immediately," he announced.
The three of them vanished into the night, heading toward the Star Dou Forest.
---
Days later, deep within the forest, a violent battle raged. A ten thousand-year-old beast, a perfect match for Ning Fengzhi's abilities, let out a final, pained roar before falling silent. As its energy dissipated, Fengzhi sat cross-legged, absorbing its pitch black spirit ring.
The process was smooth—too smooth.
The moment the spirit ring settled, an uncontrollable force erupted from within him. His years of accumulated cultivation, the countless refinements of his power, all surged forward like an unstoppable flood.
Another breakthrough.
And another.
And another.
Sword Douluo and Bone Douluo exchanged stunned glances as Ning Fengzhi's aura soared, crashing through the ranks.
Rank 81.
Rank 82.
Rank 83.
Each increase refined his body, strengthening his foundation. But it didn't stop.
Rank 84.
Rank 85.
Rank 86.
When the surge finally settled, Ning Fengzhi opened his eyes. They gleamed with newfound strength, an authority he had never wielded before. He had entered a new realm, one that few auxiliary-type spirit masters had ever reached.
Bone Douluo whistled. "Well, that was unexpected."
Sword Douluo chuckled. "Heh."
Fengzhi stood, feeling the power coursing through his veins. "It seems fate has granted me a rare opportunity."
He clenched his fists. This wasn't just a breakthrough. It was a transformation. And now, he had a lot to reconsider about the future of his clan—and about Ryan.
---
The wind howled as Ryan stood before the entrance of a place most feared to even speak of—Slaughter City.
A realm of madness and carnage. A haven for killers and the damned. Once someone entered, leaving was nearly impossible. The only law was strength.
Ryan smirked, his expression unfazed by the oppressive atmosphere. "Well, this looks fun."
Criminals lounged near the entrance of a rundown bar, their eyes sharp and predatory. These men had long abandoned morality, their hands stained with countless lives. Yet, despite their hardened nature, their gazes held a flicker of amusement. A fresh face was always entertaining.
"You sure about this, kid?" one of them sneered, his scarred lips curling into a smirk. "No one comes here unless they're running from something—or looking to die."
Ryan tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "I'm not running from anything." His smirk widened. "And as for dying..."
He took a slow step forward, letting the air around him grow heavy. "Let's just say I don't go down easily."
The criminals exchanged glances, their interest piqued. But in the end, they shrugged. It wasn't their job to stop fools from throwing their lives away.
Behind the bar counter, the barkeep continued wiping down a glass, indifferent to the exchange. That was until a sudden flash of blue illuminated the room.
For a brief moment, silence reigned.
Then, one by one, every single criminal in the bar collapsed without a sound. Their chests bore clean, smoldering holes—burned straight through in an instant. Before their bodies could slump over, they vanished.
The barkeep's hand froze mid-wipe. A cold sweat formed on the back of his neck.
Ryan approached the counter, his smirk still in place. "Mind letting me into the city?"
The barkeep swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he reached for a hidden latch. "C-certainly."
With a creak, a trapdoor opened, revealing a gaping abyss of darkness. Without hesitation, Ryan stepped forward and dropped in.
---
His feet landed soundlessly on the stone pathway below. The air was damp, filled with the scent of blood and decay. Ahead, towering in the distance, were the great iron gates of Slaughter City.
Before he could take another step, a figure materialized in his path.
Clad in black armor and a flowing cloak, the figure exuded an oppressive aura. His voice was deep, carrying the weight of authority.
"You broke the rules," the armored man declared, his crimson eyes gleaming under the helmet. "To enter Slaughter City, you must defeat me in combat."
Ryan raised a brow. The "proper" entrance required a ritual—drinking a Bloody Mary made from human blood. He had skipped that part.
Not that it mattered.
Slaughter City was little more than a prison for evil soul masters, a place where the strong consumed the weak. It was also the proving ground for the Asura God's inheritance—where one could claim the Death God Domain.
Of course, there were rules. Spirit abilities and spirit energy were sealed here. The only way to regain them was to survive 100 battles in the Hell Arena. Each match was a ten-man free-for-all—only one left alive.
That was also the price of admission to Hell Road.
Ryan sighed. "Alright."
And then he moved.
The black knight never had a chance.
Before he could even react, Ryan's finger pierced straight through his forehead.
A dull crack echoed as the knight's body went rigid. His lifeless form crumpled instantly.
Ryan casually snatched up the corpse, storing it in the Gate of Babylon.
From the shadows, the other Night Guards—the enforcers of Slaughter City—watched in stunned silence.
One of them, a pale woman with a hot figure and black robes quickly stepped forward. Her expression remained unreadable as she handed Ryan a thin, engraved metal plate.
"Here is your identification. Number 77357. You are granted 24 hours of safety under my protection." Her voice was steady, but the way her fingers trembled slightly did not go unnoticed.
"Follow me."
Ryan smiled, slipping the plate into his pocket.
With calm, measured steps, he walked forward—deeper into the abyss.