Jiang Kuotian, wearing shackles on his ankles and handcuffs on his wrists, slowly walked out of the prison. His robes were tattered, his hair was disheveled, and his body was covered in wounds. He had no shoes on, and his bloody, mangled feet left one bloody footprint after another on the ground.
In front of him and behind him, many other prisoners just like him shuffled onto the street like walking corpses.
Though dark clouds rolled overhead and the sun was nowhere to be seen, Jiang Kuotian still found the light somewhat glaring.
He could no longer remember how long he had been imprisoned. Now, all his cultivation was gone, leaving him as good as crippled. Even walking made his whole body ache.
After a long while, he finally adjusted and raised his head. The once-prosperous streets of the prefectural seat had fallen into ruin. The shops on either side were tightly shut, and lanterns, scraps of cloth, and all manner of debris littered the streets. He even saw a woman's corpse lying beside the edge of a roadside well. It seemed she had suffered some kind of torture; her clothes were disheveled, and dried blood covered her forehead.
Jiang Kuotian glanced at the woman's corpse, then looked elsewhere.
His heart had gone numb. In that dungeon, he had seen hell.
He had no idea where he would be taken next, but if he was going to his death, it would be a release.
"Move faster!"
A Demonic Sect martial artist on horseback whipped his reins and shouted harshly. As he spoke, he lashed the prisoner at the head of the line with his whip.
Jiang Kuotian recognized that prisoner. He was a hall master of White Emperor Mansion, once an imposing figure. Jiang Kuotian had always thought him formidable.