The Hell Slaughter Arena is centrally located in the Inner City, divided into four major sections: East, West, South, and North.
If combined, it practically swallows a third of the Inner City's territory.
Deep within the circular arena's walls,
countless bones were fused into the very foundations.
The suffocating stench of blood that filled the entire city—
this was its origin.
Li Zhexian paused briefly at the entrance gate of the Slaughter Arena, then stepped inside.
The rules of the Slaughter Arena were simple and brutal:
Ten entered.
No matter the means — only one survived.
A hundred consecutive victories,
and the winner would earn the right
to knock upon the gates of the Hell Road.
It sounded simple.
But with every victory, the opponents grew fiercer,
more ruthless, more skilled.
By the final rounds,
it was not uncommon to wait months
for a truly even match—
a duel to the death worthy of the name.
The moment Li Zhexian stepped across the threshold,
a thick, tangible darkness swallowed him whole.
No light could pierce it.
No sound but his own footsteps.
He walked dozens of steps.
When his last step fell, the darkness before him receded like a tide.
Before him appeared a vast square arena,
a kilometer across,
surrounded by nothing but endless black.
No referees.
No audience.
Only ten figures on the stage—
including Li Zhexian—
each casting cold, murderous eyes toward the others.
Silence lasted a single heartbeat.
Then—
"Die!"
"I'm the only one who gets to live!"
The roar of madness tore through the air.
Spirit Power flared — some strong, some weak.
But none could use Spirit Abilities here.
Thus, the battle returned to its most primitive form:
Bludgeoning with axes and hacking with blades!
Flesh against flesh!
Zheng—!
A sharp sword light cut through the murk,
cold as frost.
Colder still were the black eyes of the man who wielded it.
Li Zhexian gripped the Qinglian Sword,
its body sheathed in azure-golden swordlight.
Facing two fierce opponents who pounced at him, he lightly flicked his wrist.
A single horizontal cut.
Pfft—
The azure-gold light flashed and vanished. The sound was so faint it felt like an illusion.
The two men froze mid-charge.
They looked down,
as if puzzled—nothing seemed amiss.
A sneer crept back onto their faces—
they surged forward again—
Then, one step later—
Thud!
Thud!
Both bodies suddenly lost balance and fell heavily to the ground.
In their shock, they looked back, only to see the lower half of their bodies still standing rigidly in their original spots.
Great gouts of blood spewed from the severances. The two remaining torsos twitched, quickly losing all life.
In a flash, of the ten people... only four remained!
The remaining three instantly exchanged glances.
Without a word,
their Spirit Power surged in unison—
all locking onto Li Zhexian.
By their energy, each was merely at the Spirit Elder level.
A combined assault like that—
To Li Zhexian,
they were nothing more than chickens and dogs.
With a mere thought,
the blood pooling at his feet—still warm—began to stir.
It rose, quivering,
and formed into swords of coagulated crimson
The dim arena was lit with eerie, hellish red.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
The blood swords cut through the air, carrying sharp shrieks. Agonizing screams erupted almost simultaneously, then abruptly ceased, leaving three more mutilated corpses.
At this point, Li Zhexian stood alone on the dark arena.
He exhaled a cloud of foul air that smelled of rust.
"For ordinary Spirit Masters, with their Spirit Rings sealed, seven or eight parts of their combat strength are gone."
"But for those who have walked the sword path like me—
the balance tips the other way."
"The Slaughter City, tempered by a thousand years…
few have survived long enough to comprehend their own exclusive techniques."
"But those who do—
they are the true masters of skill."
"Such people,"
he whispered,
"can be called TechniqueDao Experts."
Like Feng Xiaotian's Thirty Six Successive Chops,
Tang San's Chaotic Cloak Hammer Technique,
and the various secret techniques of the Tang Sect —
all fell within this path.
Li Zhexian's eyes gleamed faintly.
He had fought countless battles,
defied rank and realm again and again,
and carried his own pride.
"The Fourth Realm of Sword Dao…"
"Should be called Grandmaster of the Art."
"This place…
is the perfect ground to temper my path."
"The Sixth Form of the Qinglian Sword Song
must be forged in blood and fire!"
"That tavern owner and the veiled woman said I lacked killing intent…"
At that thought,
Li Zhexian's sword brows tightened sharply.
His gaze locked upon the crimson swords of blood still floating before him—
blades imbued with the mysterious power of the Fourth Sword Realm.
And yet, before his eyes, they began to dissolve—
silently, as if melting into nothingness.
At the same time,
all the blood that had pooled across the arena floor
seemed to respond to some unseen summons,
rushing downward, seeping into the ground, vanishing without a trace.
"Hm?"
Between his brows, behind the mask,
a faint mark in the shape of a Qinglian Sword flared to life.
His black robes billowed.
The full might of the Fourth Realm's sword intent poured forth—
A storm of pure, swird intent spread out from him like a hurricane.
The blood that had begun to sink into the ground
was forcefully dragged back by that terrifying sword intent,
slowly condensing once more into gleaming crimson swords.
But then—
From deep below, an immense, unseen power surged upward,
shattering the blood swords instantly.
The two forces clashed in violent struggle—
the sword intent and that invisible dominion pulling against each other,
as the blood writhed between coagulation and dissolution.
Li Zhexian gritted his teeth,
veins bulging at his temples.
Pouring out his sword intent without restraint
left his vision swimming, his breath ragged.
Finally—
A soft crack.
The blood swords disintegrated completely,
falling as a rain of blood that splattered across the stone floor.
Moments later, the blood slithered away like serpents returning to their nest,
soaking into the ground and vanishing.
Li Zhexian breathed heavily, eyes narrowing.
"The Slaughter City lives upon blood itself."
"The Fourth Realm — "All Becomes the Sword."' —
can it truly contest the Slaughter King for dominion over blood?"
"It's a shame the Fourth Sword Realm is still lacking the power to reach the desired goal."
Just then,
a bitter, iron-scented wind howled through the dark arena.
Li Zhexian knew—
the arena was casting out its victor.
He turned without hesitation,
and stepped once more into the clinging black passageway.
A few dozen breaths later,
he emerged before the gates once more.
The dim sky made him squint.
All around the gate,
bloodshot eyes gleamed in the shadows.
Those eyes... were like jackals discovering prey, filled with bloodthirsty madness and greed, staring intently at every person who emerged from the Slaughter Arena.
A few figures stumbled out of the gate, their aura feeble—
and before they could take more than two steps,
a dozen others lunged after them with savage grins.
Li Zhexian walked forward calmly,
expressionless,
each stride steady and deliberate.
Many of those predatory gazes shifted toward him.
He did not flinch.
Instead, his cold eyes cut back at them—sharp as swords.
This was the normalcy of the Hell Slaughter Arena.
One survivor out of ten.
To walk out alive was not the end—only the beginning.
Beyond the gates,
one had to guard against the packs of wolves that waited in ambush.
Unless, of course—
You had a companion worth trusting with your life.
But here,
in this city where every wicked thought of the world had gathered—
trust was the greatest luxury of all.
"To say it harbors filth and wickedness... is insufficient to describe the Slaughter City..."
Li Zhexian raised his right hand slightly—
Buzz—
The Qinglian Sword appeared in his grip,
its blade wrapped in swirling azure-golden flames of sword intent,
glimmering with a chilling radiance.
Under countless gazes that instantly turned fearful, Li Zhexian not only did not retreat but flashed forward, actively charging toward the covetous "hunters."
Slash—!
Slash—!
The azure-gold sword light wove a deadly lattice through the air.
Everywhere it passed,
fountains of blood burst open like crimson blossoms.
The hunters who moments ago leered like wolves
now screamed in terror,
their laughter replaced by shrieks.
They scattered like an ant colony sprayed with boiling water,
fleeing in all directions.
Where the sword pointed—
wolves and jackals fled!