The large gong thundered like a war drum.
Nine participants stepped forward—each an evil soul master, dressed in rags and drenched in blood. Their eyes burned with hunger.
In the center stood Tang Yin—silent, still. His head bowed, hair shadowing his sharp eyes.
Around him, the nine murderers closed in—armed with warhammers, spears, chains, and claws. Grinning like a pack of hyenas, lost in the thrill of bloodshed and violence.
But they didn't know—they were already dead.
As Tang Yin released his Spirit Body, glowing blue runes lit up his skin—like marks etched by a divine chisel, spiraling down his arms and crackling like lightning across his shoulders.
Then—the air cracked. The ground shivered beneath him. The blood pooled on the arena floor recoiled from his feet.
The first one screamed and charged, twin cleavers in hand. He didn't make it three steps.
Tang Yin blurred forward.
One elbow—jaw shattered. The cleavers fell as he caught one mid-fall and spun. The blade howled through the air, carving a crimson arc clean through the man's torso.
Dead before he hit the ground.
Two more came—a women with whip-blades, a bulky male with a hammer. A pincer attack.
Tang Yin stepped into it.
The whip tore into his side—clothes peeled away—but he didn't falter. Murderous intent descended like a collapsing mountain; his enemies suffocated under its crushing weight.
He surged forward, caught the woman's throat mid-strike, and slammed her headfirst into the hammer-wielder. Skulls collided like thunder. Before they hit the ground, he twisted—her neck snapped. One punch shattered the man's collarbone.
His fists began to glow faintly golden, charged by the constant absorption of kinetic energy.
Three down.
Screams. Four more rushed in panic.
Tang Yin didn't retreat. He exhaled slowly… then vanished like a shadow towards them.
A spear thrust straight toward his chest—he sidestepped, palmed it aside, letting the shaft graze his ribs. Elbow—solar plexus crushed. A sword followed—deflected off rune-gleamed forearm. He snapped the blade and rammed it back into the attacker's gut.
One by one, they fell.
No flashy techniques. Just raw, unrelenting brutality unleashed without a hint of mercy.
The arena fell into stunned silence as Tang Yin seized a man by the throat, lifted him with one hand, and hurled him like a ragdoll into the last two—Bones cracked. Screams erupted.
"Aaah!!!"
One of the two suddenly started fleeing, panic devouring pride. Tang Yin didn't chase.
He simply raised a hand.
An invisible thread of spiritual force shot forward—telekinesis—wrapping tightly like a leash around the poor man's throat.
With a flick of his fingers, Tang Yin twisted the force sharply. The man's neck snapped silently; he crumpled without a sound.
The final opponent—a trembling female with bloodied hands and a broken spirit—collapsed to her knees mumbling to herself.
"Monster… he's not human…"
Tang Yin walked toward her.
She tried to crawl away. He raised his hand—not in rage. Not in hate. Just cold inevitability. A flick of his wrist, the cleaver spun once—twice—and buried itself deep in her spine.
Nine bodies. Nine souls silenced.
Tool spirits dissolved into nothing, fading like smoke on the wind—Traceless.
And Tang Yin stood alone. The blue runes still glowed—shimmering with the unwavering might of a top-tier martial soul.
The arena made no sound at his performance. It simply watched—in awe. In terror.
Even from the shadows above, the Slaughter King leaned forward, his brows furrowed in a deep frown as he watched Tang yin.
"This one…" he muttered. "...is a problem."
And there was a reason why the Slaughter King wouldn't dare lay a hand on him openly.
Tang Yin's relationship with Hu Liena was too valuable. If he ever laid a hand on Tang Yin, he'd risk angering Bibi Dong—a threat who could kill him effortlessly if crossed.
As Tang Yin stepped down from the blood-soaked platform, Hu Liena rushed into his arms, wrapping herself around him intimately. She curled into his lap like it was hers by right.
He didn't resist. He was used to it—ever since he'd accepted her feelings six months ago, she'd been this clingy even in public.
From the crowd, voices whispered.
"Don't ever cross him. He doesn't fight for the thrill... he butchers everyone he meets."
"He tears men apart with his bare hands like a damned butcher demon—and he's already won seventy rounds in a single year. Terrifying"
"And look there—his lover, 'Emissary of Hell.' Won fifty-eight rounds this year alone. Don't be fooled by that face—she's just as cold as the Butcher. I'm no believer… but I'll still offer a moment of silence for their next opponents."
Hu Liena smiled proudly at the mention of her progress and stole a grateful glance at Tang Yin—she had grown stronger thanks to the secret technique he'd shared when he finally accepted her feelings.
Afterward, it was Hu Liena's turn to fight.
Her cultivation had already reached Level 59, thanks in part to a 100,000-year-old head soul bone gifted by Bibi Dong.
A treasure even rarer than the grand prizes of the Continental Tournament, it was a clear testament to how deeply Bibi Dong valued her—especially after severing her emotional ties to Yu Xiaogang. How unfortunate… for him..
Wielding a powerful spiritual-type martial soul and a dagger technique honed through a year of relentless practice as Spirit Hall's Saintess, Hu Liena was no ordinary opponent.
This was the same strength that, in the original story, allowed Hu Leina to survive a hundred consecutive rounds—while even Tang San had struggled in comparison.
As she stepped into the arena, most didn't dare target her—not because of her charm, but because they feared one thing: Tang Yin.
In Slaughter City, no one wanted to provoke that monster. Still, there were always a few mindless fools who flirted with death.
A rugged, bald man—face scarred, blade stained—leered at Hu Liena the moment she appeared. He licked his knife, a deranged glint in his eye, and crept toward her with murder—and something far sinister—on his mind.
But the moment he lunged, his vision blurred and he hesitated—for just a second—without understanding why.
That was all she needed.
With a single, elegant motion, Hu Liena's dagger sliced clean across his throat. He collapsed without a sound. The reason for disorientation? A burst of spiritual attack—subtle, precise, deadly from Hu Leina.
Then came a sneak attack from behind—a woman this time, quick and silent. But the moment she moved, it was already over.
Hu Liena vanished.
Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track.
She reappeared behind the attacker, her blades already slick with blood. The woman dropped instantly, her body twitching.
Ever since mastering the Mysterious Heaven Technique, Hu Liena's combat prowess had soared. Precise attack, speed, and spiritual dominance—it was a dance of death, and she led it with grace.
She clashed with the remaining opponents in a brief but brutal skirmish. One by one, they fell beneath her blades and mental assaults.
And just like that, it was over. The last body hit the ground, and she was already walking away.
Still breathing heavily, sweat clinging to her brow, she hurried out of the arena and returned straight to Tang Yin—tired, but victorious.
Hu Liena practically melted into his chest the moment she reached him. Her arms wrapped around his waist with no intention of letting go. "I won," she murmured, muffled against his robes, her voice breathless but proud.
Tang Yin caught her effortlessly. "Of course you did. I wouldn't expect anything less from you, my little fox. So, tell me—what reward do you want from me?"
Hu Liena chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the praise. She looked up at him, eyes shimmering with fatigue and something more dangerous—
She snuggled close, burying her head in his chest. "Tang Yin, take me back like this. I want to be spoiled by you~" she moaned, her voice low and lustful.
But Tang Yin simply didn't dare deepen their relationship here—in this damned place where the Ashura God might be spying like a stalker.
Despite his caution, he still carried her back to their run-down place, holding her close like a spoiled princess. But before she could try anything, he quickly made her bed and let her rest—clearly avoiding anything suggestive.
As Hu Leina settled in, she wordlessly stretched her arms toward him. Tang Yin smiled and pulled her into a gentle hug.
By now, he was used to being her pillow. In the stillness, the two lovers simply basked in each other's warmth. A lover by their side in a place like this—it was a quiet kind of luxury.