Wang Yan walked deeper into the city, the faint echoes of his sword strikes behind him still lingering in the air. The silence around him was thick, not peaceful, but oppressive—like the calm before a storm.
As he moved through the shadowed streets, figures with hostile gazes backed away, leaving him space. Their eyes were hungry, but a deeper instinct told them he was not prey.
A presence emerged from the darkness ahead.
A tall figure stepped forward, his posture calm yet unmistakably authoritative. The moment he appeared, even the few who had dared approach Wang Yan retreated a few paces, uneasiness flickering across their faces.
The man walked toward Wang Yan without hesitation.
"I'm a representative of the Slaughter King," he said quietly, voice steady and controlled. "For the next forty-eight hours, I will assist you. During this time, no one in this city will interfere with you. After that… your life or death will be entirely up to you."
Wang Yan nodded once, expression composed, neither grateful nor cold. He understood the weight of those words without needing further emphasis.
He looked at the man and asked, "What kind of place is this? Why does killing intent fill the air like this?"
The representative did not hesitate. His explanation was direct, concise, but heavy with truth.
"This place is Slaughter City—a land without laws, without mercy, and without restraint," the man began. "Here, murder, theft, rape, betrayal, all manner of crimes, occur openly. As long as you have the strength to carry them out, you can do whatever you want."
He continued without pause, his voice neither boastful nor apologetic, but matter-of-fact:
"In Slaughter City, soul power cannot be used as usual. Spirit abilities are ineffective here. To survive, you must rely on your physical strength and instinct alone. Soul power exists only as a source of raw energy, but even that cannot be deployed freely."
Wang Yan's expression remained unreadable, absorbing the implications.
The man's explanation grew firmer.
"Slaughter City was created long ago by a powerful cultivator who once reached the highest spiritual levels—an Asura God. Over time, the city became ruled by its leader, the Slaughter King, who watches over everything."
He gestured toward the dark skyline, where the moon hung like a heavy bruise, casting violet and black hues over broken buildings.
"This city has two divisions," the representative continued. "The Outer City, where arbitrary murder is discouraged, and the Inner City, where there are no rules whatsoever. The only way to reach the inner area is to prove yourself—usually by surviving the Hell Slaughter Arena."
Wang Yan's gaze narrowed slightly as he processed each word.
"The Hell Slaughter Arena," the representative said, "is where ten people enter and only one survives. You accumulate victories there. Win one match, and you live another year in this city. Win one hundred matches… and you become the champion."
His voice dropped a fraction, but the meaning was clear.
"Only those who complete one hundred victories are considered worthy of advancing beyond Slaughter City. They earn the title of Death God, and only then can they challenge the Hell Road—the only way to leave this place."
Wang Yan listened. The atmosphere was not just lawless—it was designed to test survival itself. Strength, instinct, cruelty, dominance… all mattered here. It was not a city of rules. It was a city of survival.
The representative paused, his expression unreadable.
"Now that you know what this place is," he said, "you will understand why the strongest survive, and the weak become nothing more than fuel for others."
Wang Yan nodded again—not in consent, but in understanding.
Wang Yan did not hesitate.
After hearing everything, after feeling the suffocating killing intent that filled Slaughter City like poisoned air, he had already made his decision. Staying idle here would change nothing. Observation alone would not carve a path forward. In a place where survival itself was measured by blood, the only way to move was straight through the center.
He decided to go to the Hell Slaughter Arena.
Without another word, he turned and followed the direction the representative had indicated earlier. The streets grew narrower the deeper he went, the buildings more broken, the killing intent heavier. Along the way, countless gazes locked onto him—some greedy, some wary, some filled with barely concealed madness—but none dared approach. The blood on his sword earlier had already sent a clear message.
Soon, a massive structure emerged from the darkness.
The Hell Slaughter Arena stood like a giant beast crouched in the city's heart. Its walls were dark and scarred, soaked with the history of countless deaths. From within, muffled roars echoed—screams, laughter, the clash of weapons—sounds that blended into a single, horrifying rhythm.
This was not a place of honor. It was a slaughterhouse.
At the entrance, guards stood silently, their eyes empty. They did not question him. In Slaughter City, no one asked why someone came here. Entering meant only one thing: a willingness to kill or die.
Wang Yan stepped forward.
Inside, the arena opened into a vast circular pit. Tiered stands surrounded it, filled with figures cloaked in darkness. Some were cheering. Some were screaming. Some were simply watching with hollow eyes, as if life itself had already left them.
A cold voice echoed across the arena.
"New challenger registered."
A faint stir ran through the crowd.
Wang Yan stood alone on the stone floor, sword in hand, posture calm. He did not look up at the spectators. He did not scan for enemies.
He already knew the rules.
Ten would enter. Only one would walk out.
This would be a battle of instinct and endurance.
Wang Yan exhaled slowly.
The moment the battle began, nine opponents moved at the same time.
They did not hesitate or test him. Killing intent crashed toward Wang Yan from every direction as blades, spears, and hooks closed in. Wang Yan stepped forward instead of retreating. His sword flashed once—clean, direct—and the first man fell with his throat opened.
Two more rushed from the left. Wang Yan lowered his stance, swept his sword in a short arc, and both collapsed before they could even swing. A heavy blade came down from above; Wang Yan twisted his wrist, deflected it, and drove his sword straight through the attacker's chest.
The remaining fighters panicked.
One tried to flee. Wang Yan chased him down in three steps and ended him with a single thrust. The last two attacked together, desperation replacing madness. Wang Yan cut one across the waist, then turned and pierced the other through the eye.
Silence followed.
Nine bodies lay scattered across the arena. Wang Yan stood alone, sword dripping blood.
The first victory was his.
End of chapter.