The alleyways were bathed in moonlight late at night, and the weeds at the base of the walls were covered with night dew.
Tang San sat cross-legged against the wall, the dark red lines on his palms flickering like his breathing.
After a full day of back-and-forth, he barely managed to suppress the Asura God sense back into the depths of his soul, but he knew better than anyone that this was only temporary.
The vines continued to grow downwards, their roots connecting to a distant and bloody space. No matter how tightly he pressed them down, the murderous aura would seep out little by little through the gaps.
Simply enduring it won't work.
With his eyes closed, his inner vision followed the dark red divine thought downwards, passing through layers of Entanglement vines.
Touching that chaotic undercurrent, the damp, fishy smell, the congealed blood scabs, the endless fighting and howls—it was Slaughter City.
He had once traversed the Hell Road and obtained the Divine Slaughter's Domain, believing it to be the starting point of the Asura.
Looking back now, that blood-soaked city buried underground is the root of all this.
Bibi Dong pointed out that he was being pushed around, but pointing it out was useless; he had to find a way to break the deadlock himself.
Staying in Spirit City all the time will only put them in a passive, defensive position.
To avoid becoming a pawn, one must first understand the rules of the chessboard, and figure out who left this Asura and what it contains.
Tang San opened his eyes, his gaze devoid of confusion, only filled with determination.
He needs to go back to the Slaughter City.
Go see the person sitting on the throne, find out the truth about the inheritance, and take control of this power back from God's hands.
He did not go to the Tranquil Mind Hall to say goodbye.
The barrier blocked his way, preventing him from breaking through and only causing trouble for Xiao Wu.
He merely condensed a faint trace of divine consciousness at his fingertips and gently pressed it against the wall at the alley entrance.
If Xiao Wu's senses were to scan this area, she would know that he left voluntarily, not because something happened, nor because he was retreating.
Having done all this, he wrapped his outer robe tightly around himself, then leaped into the night without a sound.
The dark red lines on his palms were slightly warm. This time, it wasn't his divine sense urging him forward; he was walking towards the source of blood and slaughter on his own initiative.
Seven days later, at the entrance to the Slaughter City.
It's still that hidden, dilapidated tavern, and still that Bloody Mary with its fishy smell.
Tang San pinched the rim of the wine glass and took a sip. The spicy liquid slid down his throat, feeling even more astringent than he remembered.
As he stepped into the passage leading underground, he immediately sensed something was wrong.
The dark red veins on the tunnel walls were slowly wriggling, like dried-up blood vessels seeping blood again.
The blood mist was several times thicker than when he last came. It clung to his bare wrists, causing a slight pricking sensation, and even his Soul Power protection was slowly being eroded.
The further you go in, the heavier the air becomes, making your chest feel suffocated.
The city, which should have been bustling, was now deathly silent.
There were no more roars in the arena, no more drunken curses in the tavern, and even the Fallen Soul Master who robbed people in the alleys were gone.
Corpses lay scattered haphazardly on both sides of the street, each one shriveled and emaciated, as if all the blood had been drained from their bodies, leaving only a layer of wrinkled skin covering their bones.
The vitality of the entire city is flowing towards a certain core through unseen cracks.
Tang San summoned the Clear Sky Hammer, its body sinking into his palm, and the Divine Slaughter's Domain cautiously unfolded a thin veil.
He could clearly sense that all the surging killing power was converging towards the city's central square, towards the towering black throne.
This is not a simple collapse of order; something has happened to the master of this city.
The blood mist in the central square was so thick it was almost impossible to dissipate.
A black throne stood high at the top of the steps, upon which sat the Slaughter King, his wide black robes draped down, covering his entire body.
The blood mist surrounding him was thicker than the surrounding area, a mixture of dark red and pitch black, surging and spreading outwards, even causing the surrounding space to distort slightly.
The aura was so strong that it far exceeded Tang San's perception when they last met, almost reaching the pinnacle of Titled Douluo.
But as Tang San stood at the bottom of the steps, looking at that figure, his heart suddenly clenched.
It's all too familiar.
The contours of his shoulders and back, the prominent knuckles on the back of his drooping hands, and the faint, yet unmistakable, sense of weight deep within his Soul Power fluctuations—a weight that shared the same origin as the Clear Sky Hammer—
They were like fine needles, precisely piercing into his bloodline and memory.
He had heard Tang Hao describe what his great-grandfather looked like, and he had also seen a blurry portrait in the sect's records.
Those fragmented outlines gradually overlapped with the person on the throne.
"You've come."
The Slaughter King spoke, his voice hoarse like the grinding of sand, carrying an inescapable sense of chaos.
"Successor of Asura, you've finally deigned to return."
Tang San did not respond, but his knuckles tightened slightly as he gripped the hammer.
He raised his eyes, his gaze piercing through the blood mist, fixed on the shadow beneath the other's hood. "Who are you?"
The man on the throne chuckled softly, his laughter laced with madness and violence.
"I am the Slaughter King, the ruler of this place, and... the one who awaits you to take over everything."
As he spoke, he leaned forward slightly, his hood slipping down his forehead to reveal the lower half of his face.
His tightly pursed lips, strong jawline, and a faint old scar on his brow bone were exactly as Tang Hao had described.
Tang San's breath hitched for a second.
" Tang Chen."
These three words were spoken very softly, yet they were like a stone thrown into boiling oil.
The person on the throne froze abruptly. The next second, a towering cloud of blood mist exploded, and a terrifying pressure swept down the steps.
"Presumptuous!"
With a loud crash, the stone slab beneath Tang San's feet cracked inch by inch.
He grunted, his feet planted firmly on the ground, holding the Clear Sky Hammer horizontally in front of him to block the oncoming wave of blood.
But his gaze didn't waver; he remained fixed on the other person's eyes.
Those eyes held half the majesty and clarity of a top-tier expert, and half the madness and chaos submerged in blood.
The two expressions tore at each other, like two souls vying for control within a body.
They're not crazy, they've been contaminated.
Tang San instantly understood the cause and effect.
The Rakshasa God Trial, the underground fissures, and the lingering sinister aura in this Slaughter City —that is the power of the Rakshasa, which has entangled this legendary figure of the Clear Sky Sect who should have inherited the Asura God.
Trapped in this blood city, he was made to guard the legacy, yet his soul was forever tormented, waiting for his successors when he was lucid, and becoming a puppet when he was in a state of chaos.
No wonder the Asura God's thoughts are always shrouded in an unyielding malice; no wonder this inheritance always pushes people toward fanaticism. From the very beginning, it was tampered with by other gods.
In this game of gods, even a level 99 Limit Douluo cannot escape the fate of being a pawn.
"Great-grandfather."
Tang San lowered his voice, and his hand holding the hammer trembled slightly.
He grew up listening to the legends of Tang Chen, knowing that he was the pinnacle of the Clear Sky Sect and the strongest person on the entire continent.
He never imagined that this legendary figure would be trapped in this blood-soaked city where the sun never shines, growing into a grotesque, inhuman state.
Tang Chen on the throne was still tugging at it repeatedly.
During the Qingming Festival, he looked at Tang San at the bottom of the steps, a faint sense of relief and weariness flashing in his eyes. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't utter a complete sound.
In the midst of chaos, he raised his hand and unleashed a blood-red blade of light, carrying a world-destroying force, slashing towards Tang San.
Tang San did not fight with all his might.
Through the bloodline connection of the Clear Sky Hammer, he would send a wisp of extremely faint, clear Soul Power along the blood wave each time he dodged, like gently picking a thread from a tangled mess.
I don't seek to break the curse immediately, I only hope to stabilize the other person's soul for a moment, and then another moment.
He knew very well that with his current strength, he couldn't defeat Tang Chen at his peak, let alone break the mark of the Rakshasa God.
Forcing your way in would only result in losing yourself; it's pointless.
He retreated to the edge of the square, looked at the surging blood mist, and suddenly closed his eyes.
The Divine Slaughter's Domain is no longer a defensive shield, but an open net.
He no longer rejected those violent killing forces, nor did he let his divine thoughts lead him; instead, he tried to use his own consciousness to guide and organize them.
The aura within the blood mist was complex, containing the essence of Asura, the pollution of Rakshasa, and the resentment of countless dead.
He was like parting the water in a turbid river, slowly picking out the primordial power belonging to the Asura and channeling it into his own soul along his meridians.
He used to think that the power of killing was a weapon, something used to kill enemies.
Only then did he realize that power itself is neither right nor wrong; the wrong lies in the hand that holds it.
The Asura God wanted to tame him into a vessel for slaughter, Rakshasa wanted to turn his legacy into a breeding ground for darkness, but he refused.
He wants this power, this blood city. But not to be devoured, but to be controlled by him.
"Buzz--"
The blood mist over the entire square suddenly trembled.
The originally turbulent dark red mist began to flow slowly with Tang San's breathing, as if it had found a new center.
Tang Chen, seated on the throne, paused, a hint of surprise flashing in his chaotic eyes, and the violent aura around him subsided somewhat.
Tang San knew this was just the beginning.
He couldn't break the Rakshasa's curse, couldn't rescue Tang Chen, and couldn't swallow the entire Slaughter City.
But from this day forward, he will no longer be a pawn pushed around by divine will.
He will stay here, honing his skills little by little, refining this power, imbued with blood and slaughter, into something truly his own.
When he truly grasps this power, he will return to save people and overturn this game.
Spirit City, Tranquil Mind Hall.
Xiao Wu's fingertips were enveloped in pale pink Soul Power as she slowly refined her meridians. She suddenly paused.
My senses swept across the direction of the alleyway in the south of the city, and the dark red aura was gone.
She was slightly taken aback at first, then touched that extremely faint divine imprint.
There were no extra words, only steady breathing, indicating that he left voluntarily, not because he was in danger.
Xiao Wu withdrew her senses, and the Soul Power at her fingertips continued to flow.
She didn't panic, nor did she complain.
He went to do what he had to do, while she honed her skills here.
When he comes back, when the opportunity arises, she needs to be able to go out on her own, instead of standing still waiting for someone to come and pick her up.
In the Pope's Palace study, Bibi Dong stood by the window, her fingertips resting on the windowsill.
She immediately realized that Tang San had left Spirit City and was heading towards the Slaughter City.
A faint smile played at the corners of her lips, a smile that was both indifferent and playful.
They were smarter than she thought.
Knowing that staying in the city was pointless, he dared to go back to the source and confront the truth. But even if he knew, what could he do?
Once the shackles of inheritance are put on, they cannot be removed at will.
She did not send anyone to chase after them, nor did she do anything to stop them.
It doesn't matter where the pieces go; as long as they remain on the board, they cannot escape the predetermined outcome.