King of Slaughter: Who's Cooking Pickled Cabbage in the Inner City?

In this rotten land within the inner city of the Slaughter City, the purple moon overhead seemed even dimmer, casting a deathly greenish glow upon the ground.

Right there, that Hell Slaughter Arena looked like a huge black iron millstone overturned in a mud pit. From morning till night, all that could be heard were the cracking sounds of bones breaking, the screams of pigs being slaughtered, and the strange cries of a group of desperados below after smelling the blood.

Ten people went up, and one person rolled back down alive.

According to the strict rules here, before going on stage, everyone looks like they've swallowed two pounds of gunpowder, their eyes bloodshot and filled with murderous intent, as if they're afraid of being a step too slow and having their necks bitten off by someone else.

But today, right in the middle of the second-floor stands of this giant millstone, the scene has completely veered into a muddy ditch.

A large, carved mahogany couch, which I don't know where it was taken from, is placed crookedly in front of the railing with the best view.

Ling Yun was sprawled on the railing, his shoes on the stone benches, gnawing on a freshly boiled braised pig's trotter, his mouth greasy. Xiao Wu sat on a small wooden stool next to him, holding a large palm-leaf fan, idly fanning Ling Yun while chewing on roasted chestnuts.

Beside the mahogany couch, Ning Rongrong tossed the small, gold-plated abacus onto the Stone Railing. In front of her were piles of ironware she had taken from Tang San, silver notes seized from bandits outside the city, and a dozen or so fine pieces of broken stone.

"You've placed your bet!"

The young lady rattled the abacus beads, yelling at the surrounding desperados, "Hell Slaughter Arena, Match 1322! Blue Tyrant Boss Dai's odds are 1 to 1! One punch to kill, 1.2 to 1; two punches to kill, 3 to 1! Place your bets now, no credit, and any payments secured by Blood Dew will be halved!"

The dozens of masked assassins in the stands were completely dumbfounded.

These guys are ruthless killers outside, and they live a life where their heads are always on the line here. They've never seen anyone turn this deadly Asura into an underground gambling den in the East Market of Heaven Dou City!

"You little wench, you're using those broken iron nails as the banker? I'm betting five cups of Blood Dew, and I bet that Dai Mubai won't last three moves!" A burly, one-eyed man with a face full of scars gritted his teeth and slammed the black porcelain bowl in his hand onto the table.

"Got it! Next!" Ning Rongrong waved her little hand, her bookkeeping skills were even better than the old accountant's.

The cast iron fence beneath the Arena creaked open.

Dai Mubai, shirtless, slowly strolled onto the Arena. His solid muscles gleamed under the purple light, and he casually placed his large hands on his lower back, not even bothering to strike a proper pose.

The nine desperados opposite him, all wielding heavy weapons with barbs, their eyes bloodshot, exchanged a glance, and then suddenly pounced on Dai Mubai!

"Die!!"

The man at the front swung a large axe down at Dai Mubai's forehead.

Without even blinking, Dai Mubai twisted his body to the side, the axe blade narrowly missing his chest. Using this position, Dai Mubai twisted his right arm, his thick forearm like a cast iron rod, and swung it across the face with a powerful slap!

Bang!!

A dull thud of bone cracking echoed throughout the stadium.

The man didn't even utter a sound before half his cheekbone and molars were shattered on the spot. He was sent flying seven or eight zhang away, sliding down the barbed wire fence of the stands like a lump of mud.

Without stopping, Dai Mubai swept his leg and broke the ankles of the two men. He then reached out with both hands, grabbed each of them by the back of the neck like chicks, and slammed them together!

"Crack!"

Two heads collided, splattering red and white matter all over the ground.

All in all, it took no more than five breaths.

Nine corpses lay scattered in pools of blood. Dai Mubai flicked the blood off his fist and spat towards the referee's stand. "Next! Bring Fatty on!"

The referee, gripping the gavel, trembled violently, his voice cracking as he announced, "The winner... the victor Asura Mad Tiger! Three wins in a row!"

The faces of the desperados in the stands turned completely green.

Ning Rongrong's eyes narrowed into slits with delight as she shoved the gold notes, blood, and bones from the table into her large sack. "Money, money! They were all taken down with a single punch! One-Eyed Dragon, your five cups of blood are mine!"

Inside the deepest palace of the Slaughter City.

Blood-red stone pillars stood tall, and thousands of large bats hung upside down from the dark rooftops.

In the center, on a large bone chair, sat a man draped in a scarlet cloak. His face was as white as a corpse, two large fangs protruded from his lips, and his entire body exuded a suffocating aura of menace.

King of Slaughter.

Right now, the ruler of hell was pressing his large hand firmly against his forehead, his brows furrowed into a deep knot.

A trembling, black-armored leader knelt below, nervously delivering the message:

"Your Majesty... those newcomers in the outer city are absolutely outrageous..."

"What have they been up to now?!" The King of Slaughter's voice was hoarse and cold, suppressing a furious Evil Fire.

"Reporting to Your Majesty... Scott, the gatekeeper, is still wrapped in a tattered horse blanket and wiping away tears in the outer city tunnels. Those men stripped him of his iron armor and saddle and sold them for scrap metal..."

"Over at the Hell Slaughter Arena, that kid in the blue shorts never even went up on stage. He was running a gambling den on the second floor with a little girl! The gamblers in the inner city won Sanqian gold coins and hundreds of cups of blood dew in half a day, and they were all crying and begging for money in the stands..."

The King of Slaughter's eye twitched violently twice, and he was about to slam his fist on the table and curse.

Suddenly, his nostrils twitched slightly.

A pungent, overpowering sour and spicy smell, mixed with the aroma of minced garlic and rotten cabbage, poured straight into the foul-smelling hall, which hadn't been ventilated for centuries, through the cold, damp ventilation holes.

"Slurp..."

The King of Slaughter paused, even drooling involuntarily. He slammed his hand on the bone armrest, roaring furiously, "What the hell is this awful smell?! Who's dumping swill outside the hall?!"

The black-armored leader wiped the yellow sweat from his forehead, his head pressed against the Plate as he kowtowed repeatedly. "Reporting... reporting to Your Majesty! Those people think the blood in the city is unclean, so they've occupied the outbuilding behind the killing field! They've set up a huge black iron pot, and they're... cooking sauerkraut, pork belly, and vermicelli stew in it! They've sprinkled half a pound of minced garlic on it, and the whole street is overwhelmed by the smell!!"

The King of Slaughter nearly Spit Up a mouthful of blood.

It's been hundreds of years!

The Slaughter City has stood here for hundreds of years. Anyone who rolls into it trembles with fear, eats raw meat and drinks blood, and lives a life that is neither human nor ghost!

Today, a bunch of bandits came, robbed the gatekeeper, took over the killing field and turned it into a gambling den, and even set up a big iron pot to cook sauerkraut in this gloomy den of the dead?!

"Send them away! Think of a way to get these living devils out of the city as soon as possible!!" The King of Slaughter, clutching his throbbing head, roared, causing bats on the roof to fall down with a clatter.

It was completely dark.

In the dark, dead-end alley outside the killing field, a cold wind howled.

A limping shadow was carefully inching forward along the damp, moldy base of the wall, like an old dog.

It was Tang San.

His face was covered in bruises, and his right ribs ached so much he could hardly breathe. Without his belt and most of his Hidden Weapons, he couldn't even find a dilapidated house to shelter him from the wind and rain in the inner city, and could only Gust.

But the resentment in Tang San's eyes not only didn't dissipate, but instead grew wildly like weeds.

'As long as there's iron... as long as we can forge the object again...'

Tang San was breathing heavily, his two purple eyes darting around in the darkness.

He heard it clearly during the day: Ning Rongrong, that spendthrift woman, thought his Bone-Piercing Nails were just scrap iron, so she threw dozens of untreated spare nails into the garbage dump outside the back gate of the killing field!

Even if the Deep Sea Sinking Silver is mixed with scrap iron, it's still a rare find! As long as he retrieves it, he can use his Mysterious Jade Hand to recreate the mechanism!

Tang San followed the smell of rancid water from the garbage heap, squatted down in the muddy pit, and desperately dug his hands into the rotten vegetable scraps and stinking blood.

All ten fingers were covered in black mud.

"Bite."

My fingertip touched a cold, hard piece of cast iron.

Tang San's eyes welled up with tears, and he quickly gripped the iron nail tightly in his hand, almost bursting into tears of emotion.

However, before he could even let out that suppressed, cold smile...

"Squeak--"

The small wooden door of the back room suddenly opened a crack.

A strong, scalding aroma of pickled cabbage and pork belly hit me head-on.

Ma Hongjun, burping, swayed as he walked out carrying a large, chipped copper basin to empty the water from washing the pots.

With a loud crash!

The scalding hot water from washing the pot, mixed with a few rotten pickled cabbage leaves and garlic peels, splashed right onto Tang San's head as he bent over picking up nails!

"Hey, where did this stray dog come from, rummaging through the garbage heap?"

Ma Hongjun wiped his greasy chin with his sleeve, glanced sideways at the dark figure in the mud—a figure covered in rotten pickled cabbage leaves and steaming hot—and muttered something under his breath:

"Luckily, Brother Yun didn't finish this sauerkraut soup earlier. You can have it all. Lick it clean while it's still hot!"

After saying that, the wooden door slammed shut again with a "bang".

In the muddy puddles deep in the alley.

Tang San, his face covered in a yellowish-brown sauerkraut soup, clutched the rusty iron nail he had picked up tightly in his hand, shivering all over, his eyes bloodshot.

The smell of pickled cabbage and garlic wafted straight into his brain through his nostrils.

The wind was bitterly cold in the Slaughter City that night.

The last vestige of pride that Tang San held in his heart as a disciple of the Tang Sect was completely extinguished under this basin of dishwater, turning into a pool of sour, foul-smelling rotten waste.