Blood Tax

The three of them stumbled back to the Garrison, supporting each other, as the sky began to show the pale white of dawn.

The mud and bloodstains on their bodies had dried into crusts in the morning light, and every step felt like dragging a heavy shackle. Although the medicine pill had somewhat eased the sharp pain in his abdomen, every breath still pulled at the unhealed wounds deep inside. Wang Quan gritted his teeth, trying to keep up with Wei Dayong's swaying but unceasing pace. The pale young man—Wang Quan later learned his name was Hou San—had woken up on his own, but his eyes were vacant, and he remained silent.

Scar-faced Commander Chen waited by the training grounds in the Garrison's front courtyard, like a cold stone statue. The morning light fell on his sallow face, making the scar appear even deeper.

"Commander Chen." Wei Dayong released Hou San, stepped forward, his voice hoarse. He quickly and quietly recounted their encounter with the Corpse Puppets during the night, the loss of two men, and their subsequent encounter with the Pig Demon, which had demanded offerings. When he mentioned the five living people and tomorrow night, his voice became barely audible, his head bowed low.

Commander Chen listened without any change in his expression, as if he were merely hearing about an unimportant triviality. He was silent for a few breaths, his gaze sweeping over the three disheveled figures before finally settling on Wei Dayong.

"I understand," Commander Chen's voice was flat and emotionless. "I will report to Captain Chen. He paused, his eyes suddenly sharpening like knives scraping across the three men's faces. "What happened tonight stays buried. Anyone who dares to let even half a word slip will have their Blood Tax paid with their lives next month. Understood?"

Blood Tax.

The words struck Wang Quan's heart like a block of ice. So, that dirty offering using living people had such a naked name here.

Wei Dayong trembled and bowed his head, replying, "Understood."

Hou San also mumbled a reply.

Wang Quan quickly lowered his head, concealing the shock in his eyes.

"Get out." Commander Chen waved his hand, no longer looking at them, and turned to walk towards the neater-looking brick houses deeper within the Garrison.

Wei Dayong turned around, the last trace of color draining from his face. He looked at Wang Quan and Hou San, his voice weary but firm, "Return your weapons. Remember what Commander Chen said; if you want to live, keep your mouths shut. Tonight…." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Tonight, we patrol as usual."

He took out two black pills, similar to yesterday's, from his bosom, tossing one to each of them. "Take these, and you'll feel a bit better."

Wang Quan took the pill; it was cool to the touch. Without hesitation, he swallowed it. A warmth, gentler than yesterday's but more lasting, spread through his abdomen, slowly nourishing his damaged internal organs. The agonizing pain from the Pig Demon's strike was finally being soothed. He glanced at Hou San, who was also numbly swallowing the pill.

"This afternoon, you," Wei Dayong pointed at Wang Quan, "come with me to pick people." He said no more, dragging his broken arm, and stooped as he walked towards the armory.

Wang Quan silently returned the saber, stained with mud and dark purple corpse blood, and went back to Room Bing-7, which reeked of mildew.

The door closed, shutting out the gradually brightening sky and the indistinct sounds of people outside. He leaned against the cold dirt wall and slowly slid to the ground. Fatigue and the exhaustion of surviving a near-death experience washed over him, yet his mind was unusually clear.

He once again sank his consciousness into his mind.

The few lines of faint glowing text appeared:

[Current Martial Art: Wind Slaying Saber Technique (Proficient)]
[Can add points, requires: 1 point]
[Current Realm: Mortal]

Mortal.

Wang Quan tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing a bitter smile. How… blunt. Other than telling him he was a Mortal, the system offered no other hints. How could he improve his realm? Did he need a Cultivation Method? Or special Pills? Could the Wind Slaying Saber Technique, when practiced to a high level, contend with monsters like the Pig Demon?

Everything was unknown. He was like someone blindfolded and thrown into a cage with beasts, forced to grope his way forward by instinct and a bit of luck.

His predecessor's memories only contained some basic martial arts and survival experience from being a bandit; he knew nothing of true Cultivation or realm divisions. As for Pills, they were things of legend. Yet, the black pills issued by the Garrison had such remarkable effects, far beyond ordinary medicinal drugs for injuries. Commander Chen, Wei Dayong, and the yet-unmet Captain Chen were likely not ordinary martial artists.

The waters of this world were deeper and more dangerous than he had imagined. To survive, relying solely on this saber technique and luck was far from enough.

He had to know more. About Cultivation, about this world, about the sickening Blood Tax transaction between the Garrison and the Monsters.

His abdominal wound had healed by a small portion thanks to the medicine, at least enough for normal walking. Footsteps sounded outside the door, followed by the clatter of a lock being opened.

The door was pushed open, revealing Wei Dayong standing in the doorway. He had changed into a clean, dark green tunic, his left arm bandaged and slung across his chest. His face was still pale, but his eyes had regained their usual cold hardness. "Let's go."

Wang Quan got up and followed.

The two did not head to the training grounds but passed through several courtyards, heading towards a secluded area in the northwest corner of the Garrison. The closer they got, the heavier the stench in the air became—a mixture of excrement, rot, blood, and despair. A high wall appeared before them, topped with iron thorns to prevent climbing. There was only a single wooden door reinforced with iron, guarded by two men with sabers.

Seeing Wei Dayong, one of the guards immediately put on a fawning smile and approached. "Oh, Officer Wei, why have you come yourself? What are your orders?"

Wei Dayong's expression remained unchanged. He took out a dark, heavy wooden plaque from his bosom and handed it over. "By Commander Chen's order, to retrieve five prisoners to fill the vacancies in Team Ding for tonight's city patrol."

The guard took the plaque with both hands, examined it carefully, and checked the markings before nodding and bowing as he returned it. "Yes, yes, it's Commander Chen's order. It's correct." He signaled his companion to open the heavy iron gate. "Please, sir. What kind of prisoners are you looking for?"

"Criminals, strong and healthy, preferably newcomers," Wei Dayong said as he stepped inside.

Wang Quan followed closely, and a more intense stench and chilling air assailed him, making his stomach churn.

Behind the door was a stone staircase leading down. The walls on either side were damp and covered in moss. Torches were stuck in the walls, casting a dim light that only illuminated a few steps ahead. Descending the stairs led to a narrow corridor, with cells on either side sealed by thick wooden bars. The cells were low and damp, with moldy straw covering the ground. Vague human shapes could be seen curled up, and upon hearing footsteps, some shadows stirred, emitting weak groans or slurred curses.

The guard led the way, holding a torch, and introduced with a fawning smile, "These few here are for theft, those are for fighting and assault… In the innermost cell are two fierce bandits who robbed people on the road. They were brought in just two days ago, strong, but wild."

Wei Dayong's steps did not falter as his gaze swept over the cells. The flickering torchlight illuminated the numb, fearful, or ferocious faces of the prisoners. He finally stopped in front of the cell housing the two fierce bandits, then pointed to the adjacent cell containing three relatively younger prisoners. "These five."

"Right away!" The guard nimbly took out his keys and jingled them open. He went in, kicking and hitting, dragging out the five prisoners. He bound their hands with rough ropes, stringing them together. The five prisoners struggled, especially the two bandits, their eyes blazing, cursing incessantly. The guard unceremoniously struck their bellies with his scabbard, turning their curses into pained groans.

Wei Dayong watched with cold eyes, nodded to the guard, gestured for Wang Quan to follow, and turned to leave. The guard obsequiously led the string of prisoners out of the cell, shoved the end of the rope into Wang Quan's hand, and said with a smile, "Safe travels, Officer Wei. Feel free to give us orders anytime you need us."

Emerging back into the sunlight, Wang Quan squinted, his eyes stinging from the brightness. The rough rope in his hand strained with the struggles of the five stumbling figures behind him—the Blood Tax. Wei Dayong walked silently ahead, leading them through secluded alleys towards a more desolate, walled-off compound behind the Garrison. It looked like a warehouse or an abandoned training ground, rarely visited by anyone.

Halfway there, Wei Dayong suddenly spoke, his voice not loud but clearly reaching Wang Quan's ears: "After we get out, I'll allow you to ask three questions." He paused, his steps not stopping. "Whether I answer them depends on my mood. You can take your time to think."

Wang Quan's heart leaped, and he tightened his grip on the rope.

Three questions. He had to think carefully. They finally arrived at the walled compound. The heavy wooden door was shut tight. There were no guards outside, but it exuded an aura of solemn oppression. Wei Dayong knocked on the door with a specific rhythm. The sound of a bolt sliding open came from within, and the door opened a crack. He pushed the five Blood Tax prisoners inside one by one. Muffled shouts and the clanking of chains could be heard from within, and the large door closed again, sealing off everything inside.

Having completed this task, Wei Dayong seemed to sigh with relief, his tense shoulders slumping slightly. He turned and looked at Wang Quan, who had been following silently behind him. His face, bearing the arrow scar, was expressionless.

"If you have questions, ask them now."

Wang Quan took a deep breath. The cold wind of the wilderness filled his lungs, clearing his feverish mind. He quickly sorted through his tumultuous thoughts. The confusion about survival, strength, and a way out finally coalesced into the three questions he most needed answers to at this moment.

"Master Wei," Wang Quan began, his voice dry and strained with nervousness, "First question: For someone like me, how can I obtain a genuine Cultivation Method?"

Wei Dayong's footsteps didn't falter. His gaze fixed on the dusty alley ahead, his expression unreadable, as if he'd anticipated the question. He walked in silence for a few steps before slowly replying, "Cultivation Method? The true cultivation techniques are all held by Captain Chen." He glanced sideways at Wang Quan, his eyes complex. "Want it? Exchange it for merit, exchange it for your life, or... have other value."

Wang Quan's heart sank, but he wasn't discouraged. He immediately asked his second question, the deepest desire in his heart: "Then, second question, Master Wei, for someone like me, a sinner, is there any way to truly escape this identity?"

This time, Wei Dayong's footsteps paused almost imperceptibly. He turned his head again, studying Wang Quan for a longer moment, his gaze sharp, as if trying to pierce through his flesh and see what lay within his bones. The alley was quiet, only the soft sound of their footsteps echoing.

"Completely escape?" Wei Dayong repeated the words, a faint, almost imperceptible curve tugging at the corner of his lips, whether in mockery or something else, it was impossible to tell. "When you... can escape, you will naturally be free."

He suppressed his churning emotions and asked the final, most direct question, the one concerning their immediate survival:

"Third question, Master Wei, if... if I encounter something like last night again, like a Pig Demon, or something else, what should I do to... kill them?"

"Kill monsters?"

Wei Dayong finally stopped walking and turned fully to face Wang Quan. On his weathered face, the arrow scar appeared particularly ferocious in the dim light. He didn't answer immediately, merely fixing Wang Quan with his eyes, eyes that had seen too much life and death, a little cloudy yet still sharp, staring deep into Wang Quan's own, as if examining the quality of his soul.

The alley fell into a dead silence, the distant clamor from the Garrison seemingly cut off. Time flowed slowly in their silent gaze.

"You ask how to kill monsters..." Wei Dayong finally spoke, his voice low and even, betraying no emotion. "The knife is sharp enough, the strength is great enough." Wei Dayong leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them. His gaze felt tangible, pressing down heavily on Wang Quan as he slowly asked the question:

"But most importantly... kid, do you have the guts? Do you have that... willingness to risk everything, that killer instinct where it's either them or you?"

His gaze locked onto Wang Quan's eyes, not missing a single flicker. It wasn't a question, but a cold probe. Wang Quan felt his throat tighten. Under such oppressive scrutiny, he could even hear the rush of his own blood. The terror of the Pig Demon last night, the despair of near-death... images flashed through his mind. Fear still lingered, but something hotter, more unwilling, was quietly growing beneath the ashes of that fear.

He didn't avoid Wei Dayong's gaze, though his fingertips felt a little cold. He didn't answer yes or no, because at this moment, any words felt pale in the face of such a question. He merely pressed his lips together firmly, the line of his jaw tightening.

Wei Dayong stared at him for a long time, so long that the shadows in the alley seemed to shift. Finally, the faint, unreadable expression on his face vanished, replaced by his usual hardened indifference. He said nothing more, then turned around without a word, his back quickly disappearing into the mottled shadows of the wall ahead.