The one-eyed man, known as Jue Mu in the lower district because of his single sharp and unforgiving eye, laughed hoarsely. The laugh sounded like sand grinding over stone.

  "The Devil's Bite Chain Arena, is it?" Jue Mu picked up one of the gold coins with his long, dirty fingernail, spinning it between his fingers. "That's no dragon's lair, Young Master. It's a meat grinder. The 'dragons' there are bloodthirsty Devils, and you, with that porcelain face of yours, are a fat pig freshly cut from an overfed sect."

  Jue Mu glanced at Zhi Xuan's red silk robe. "Besides, you're a Blood Transformation cultivator—dawn stage. At best, you might last three rounds in there before your spiritual blood is completely drained. And you come to me with just these crumbs?"

  Zhi Xuan ignored the insult. He kept his passive aura stable, suppressing his spiritual blood from radiating its full power. Instead of getting angry, he let out a calm sigh and offered a sidelong smile.

  "What can multiply the stakes for the arena connoisseurs?" Zhi Xuan said, his voice dripping with a hunger for something big and challenging. "I want every one of my fights to be valued at a hundred spiritual stones. With every broken bone."

  Jue Mu stopped spinning the gold coin, his single eye narrowing sharply, trying to see past Zhi Xuan's disguised Spiritual Blood. One hundred low-level Spiritual Stones per fight was a massive amount for the Blood Transformation realm—it was equivalent to four rounds of fighting.

  "You're bold," Jue Mu whispered, returning the gold coin to the table. "But foolishness is not the same as courage. The connoisseurs there don't bet a hundred spiritual stones to watch children fight. They bet artifacts, heavenly herbs, and even the lives of slaves. You must offer something more interesting than your virgin blood."

  Zhi Xuan sighed. He had solidified his Blood Transformation, but he did not yet have an attack technique capable of manifesting his spiritual blood. Relying on the Azure Holy Flame alone was too limited, and he did not have time to search for an attack technique.

  Zhi Xuan calmly raised one hand and flicked a pinch of essence, forming a pure blood-red blade of a sword. The Blood Devil Sword, a primitive technique he manifested, was fortified by his spiritual blood.

  "How about a spectacle of blood dripping on the arena floor," Zhi Xuan said, the corner of his lips twitching faintly. "Not only that, every killed Transformation cultivator's spiritual blood will condense and form a blood crystal."

  Zhi Xuan boldly flicked the Blood Devil Sword towards Jue Mu. The thread-like sword shot out and stopped precisely in front of Jue Mu's eye, yet Jue Mu was unmoved.

  Zhi Xuan smiled faintly and retracted the Blood Devil Sword. "Isn't a blood crystal something of high value to bet?"

  Jue Mu stared at the blade of the sword whose coldness he had just felt in front of his cornea. Although the Blood Devil Sword was thin and primitive, it emitted a dense and pure Essence aura—a quality impossible for an ordinary Blood Transformation cultivator to possess. Then, he heard Blood Crystal.

  A Blood Crystal was an extremely rare residue, condensed from the spiritual blood of Transformation cultivators during a brutal death. It was used in dark alchemy and weapon refinement, highly sought after in the illegal market.

  "You promise to produce Blood Crystals?" Jue Mu laughed again, the laugh now turning into a raspy sound full of interest. "So, you're saying you will kill every opponent in the arena? Your confidence is truly naive."

  "Confidence is capital in the right place, Sir Jue Mu," Zhi Xuan retorted, his tone as flat and cold as his black jade essence. He retracted the Blood Devil Sword, which immediately melted back into his body, as if it had never existed.

  "The spectators are thirsty for brutality, not graceful sword dances," Zhi Xuan continued, resting his elbow on the dirty table. "And they are thirsty for worthy prizes. Blood Crystals are the answer to what I will wager."

  Jue Mu leaned back, observing the young man in front of him. His single eye was now filled with sharp calculation. He had seen many enthusiastic young cultivators enter the Devil's Bite Chain Arena, and all of them came out as dust. But this one was different. There was something hidden, and the promise of Blood Crystals.

  Previously, no one openly dared to wager killing opponents, then offering the condensed blood crystals of the dead opponent to the arena. Jue Mu laughed lowly, a laugh that came like stones rubbing at the bottom of a river.

  "Fine, very good!" Jue Mu said, slamming the table with his long fingernail. "I like the smell of your madness. The Arena will take the full value of the Blood Crystals. And for every Blood Crystal you produce, your stakes will multiply, attracting insane cultivators to crush you. Is this fair, Young Master of Pure Blood?"

  "Fair," Zhi Xuan replied, his faint smile curving slightly, a smile that carried a hint of the Seed of the Devil's cruelty. This deal gave him money, a stage, and most importantly, a life-or-death fight that would solidify his new spiritual blood.

  "I have a more urgent question, Sir Jue Mu," Zhi Xuan continued, switching from the wager to his primary need. "I need an attack technique. And surely the arena has many attack technique scrolls obtained from every dead cultivator."

  Zhi Xuan raised his hand and signaled the bar maid to order a cup of drink. Then he leaned in for a moment to whisper to Jue Mu.

  "So, does the arena have the leniency to provide one attack technique? I promise to pay for it after my victory."

  The one-eyed man, Jue Mu, laughed again. This time, his laughter was longer, louder, and drew the attention of some thugs at nearby tables.

  "Only in this Lower District will you find a cultivator offering his life to be wagered for a hundred Spiritual Stones, and then asking for a loan of an attack technique," Jue Mu scoffed, yet there was a flash of appreciation in his single eye.

  "Chu Feng, come here!" Jue Mu shouted with lingering laughter, calling a skinny man sitting in the corner of the bar.

  The skinny man named Chu Feng reluctantly rose from his table, leaving his slimy drink and messy betting cards. He walked with a stumbling step and a loud laugh, his ragged gray robe hanging loose on his bony body. Chu Feng was in the Blood Transformation realm, eclipse stage, and his entire aura exuded spiritual sharpness and deep madness.

  "What is it, Jue Mu?" Chu Feng asked, his voice hoarse. He glanced at Zhi Xuan, and his eyes were immediately filled with strangeness and disgust at the expensive red silk robe.

  "This Young Master," Jue Mu said, pointing at Zhi Xuan with his long fingernail, "needs a loan of an attack technique. A technique suitable for the Blood Transformation dawn stage. Tell him about the scrolls we have in storage."

  Chu Feng snorted, crossing his arms. "A loan? Little boy, I have lived for a hundred years! And this is the first time I've heard someone borrow a scroll!" Chu Feng laughed loudly, followed by hoarse laughter and mockery from the thugs in the bar.

  Zhi Xuan ignored the hoarse laughter and sneers from the thugs at 'The Poison Cup'. He let Chu Feng mock him. In the cultivation world, power speaks, not volume. He sat up straight, his hands resting on the table, his stable aura exuding a strange calmness amidst the hustle and bustle of madness.

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  He was accustomed to insults. Compared to Ruo Xianxue's mockery that touched the core of his Dao, the sneer from this stray Blood Transformation cultivator felt like a meaningless breeze.

  "Borrowing one scroll is only momentary, Sir Chu Feng." Zhi Xuan said, his voice low and stable amid the mocking laughter. "However, the result given by one scroll loan is capable of producing ten other scrolls."

  The mockery in the bar suddenly subsided, replaced by curiosity. Zhi Xuan was not angry, not intimidated—he spoke as if explaining undeniable logic. Chu Feng, whose aura was filled with madness, felt this strangeness. He stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes, observing the young man in front of him who looked like expensive porcelain sitting on mud.

  "Ten scrolls? Where does that naive calculation come from?" Chu Feng urged, slouching in the chair across the table, now wearing a more focused expression of contempt.

  "Of course, from the Blood Crystals and every spoil of the killed cultivators," Zhi Xuan said, calmly handing over the spiritual stones and gold coin he had previously placed on the table. "If I die, you get my blood crystal. If I live, ten blood crystals will be yours."

  Silence descended upon 'The Poison Cup'. Even the drunken thugs held their breath. The proposal was not just insane, it was calculated suicide. A Blood Crystal was the product of a brutal death; promising ten Blood Crystals meant promising at least ten murders of Transformation cultivators.

  Jue Mu and Chu Feng exchanged glances. Jue Mu saw a golden opportunity; Chu Feng saw a tempting foolishness.

  "What kind of scroll are you looking for?" Jue Mu asked, his voice hoarse and holding back his excitement. "We have all the techniques—all the junk from the losers who died in the arena."

  Zhi Xuan was silent for a moment, thinking about what attack technique he wanted. Zhi Xuan remembered the day he saw the sword formation released by Jin and Shu, when he was running from the pursuit of Young Master Gu's two guards.

  "Circular sword formation," Zhi Xuan said seriously, his voice sharpening and flicking the Blood Devil Sword again. "I want a spiritual sword technique."

  Jue Mu and Chu Feng exchanged meaningful glances. The request was not strange—sword techniques were the most common—but the specific request for a 'circular sword formation' indicated that this young man knew what he was looking for.

  “Circular sword formation…” Chu Feng muttered, scratching his sharp chin. He scoffed at the idea of borrowing a technique, but he could not ignore the promise of ten Blood Crystals. That was a great fortune that could raise his own cultivation level.

  “A spiritual sword technique that focuses on a circular formation… We have a lot of sword junk left in there,” Chu Feng said, standing up and waving his hand in disgust. “But the newest one, which the previous owner claimed as the ‘Blood Wind Vortex’ from the Organ Transformation realm, is in the warehouse.”

  Chu Feng glanced at Jue Mu, who merely gave a quick nod of approval.

  “Follow me, Young Master. I will show you why you are the pig that will be slaughtered,” Chu Feng said with an ugly sneer, leading the way out of the smelly, dark bar.

  Zhi Xuan immediately got up, following Chu Feng's steps without hesitation. He ignored the gazes of the cultivators who were beginning to be filled with greed, as if they could already see his spiritual blood condensing into tempting Blood Crystals.

  Zhi Xuan followed Chu Feng through the narrow, dark alleys of the East Lower District. This area was much gloomier than the main streets. The Spiritual Essence here felt thick and foul, contaminated by death energy and passive poison from dark alchemy waste.

  Chu Feng walked with a careless and confident step, his ragged gray robe billowing behind him. On the other hand, Zhi Xuan's steps were graceful, his body exuding a striking contrast to his surroundings. He was like a jade lotus flower growing in the mud.

  ‘Monkey, remember what we agreed upon,’ Ruo Xianxue echoed, her voice now serious. ‘After you get the technique, immediately copy and destroy it. Techniques in places like this usually contain the spiritual trace of the former owner or even a curse.’

  Zhi Xuan nodded inwardly. He was not naive. The Devil's Arena would not loan a clean technique. He had to be careful.

  They stopped in front of an iron door hidden behind a pile of old burlap sacks and decaying wooden crates.

  Chu Feng glanced around, making sure no eyes were watching, then flicked his finger. A grim, wolf-jaw-shaped blood rune lit up on the iron door, and the door slid open with a low whirring sound that only a cultivator could hear.

  Behind the door was a winding stone staircase descending into darkness. The air inside felt cold, damp, and filled with the smell of wet earth.

  “The Arena Warehouse,” Chu Feng whispered, his sneer returning. “The place where the dreams of geniuses die and turn into junk.”

  They descended into a large underground room, lit by several night pearls emitting a dim light. The room was filled with towering wooden shelves, crammed with scrolls, damaged small artifacts, and unused poison bottles.

  Chu Feng walked to the oldest shelf, which was covered in dust. He pulled out a scroll wrapped in hard animal skin, the skin felt rough and smelled faintly metallic.

  “Blood Wind Vortex. Circular Formation Sword Technique, Organ Transformation realm. As I said, this scroll belonged to an Organ Transformation cultivator who died in the sixth round. He was quite arrogant, thinking he could conquer the Arena with just this one technique,” Chu Feng said, handing the scroll over. “Now, it's yours. Consider it our initial investment.”

  Zhi Xuan took the scroll. The skin felt cold in his palm. He did not hesitate; he immediately channeled his Divine Sense into it, ignoring Ruo Xianxue's warning.

  As his Divine Sense entered, his Sea of Consciousness was flooded with diagrams, intricate energy pathways, and the mental image of a man surrounded by a quickly spinning sword vortex, creating a ferocious blood storm.

  The technique was effective and brutal. It drew Spiritual Blood Essence from within the body, manifesting it as spinning sword blades, forming a simultaneous defensive and offensive formation.

  However, in the corner of the diagram, Zhi Xuan felt a stubborn spiritual trace—the residue of the previous owner's despair and hatred.

  ‘See, Monkey,’ Ruo Xianxue chided. ‘This technique is dirty. If you practice it directly, the former owner's hatred will interfere with your Dao Heart.’

  Zhi Xuan smiled faintly within his Sea of Consciousness. The spiritual trace was indeed there, but it would not be a problem for his newly born Spiritual Blood.

  “I like it,” Zhi Xuan murmured, pulling his Divine Sense out of the scroll. He had copied the entire Blood Wind Vortex technique into his Sea of Consciousness.

  "So, when does the arena schedule my first duel?" Zhi Xuan slipped the scroll into his storage pouch, looking at Chu Feng. "I need at least two nights to study this technique."

  "Two nights?" Chu Feng snorted, his hoarse laughter filling the cold underground room. He crossed his arms, his sharp eyes staring at Zhi Xuan with disgust mixed with curiosity. "Young Master, you are not choosing tea in your pavilion. If you are truly confident, then listen to the rules of the arena that I will tell you."

  The skinny man, Chu Feng, stepped forward, his hand resting on a shelf full of foul-smelling junk. His sneer returned, and this time, it was not just mockery; it was a promise of coming cruelty.

  "Listen carefully, Black-Haired Devil," Chu Feng said, using Zhi Xuan's title which he heard from Jue Mu with a strong tone of derision. "In the Devil's Bite Chain Arena, time is money, and blood is a commodity. Two nights? That is a luxury only owned by generals in the mortal world."

  ‘He is not lying, Monkey. Illegal arenas operate quickly,’ Ruo Xianxue echoed, her voice calm, but with a dark anticipation.

  Zhi Xuan nodded inwardly. He had copied the technique. Two nights was the ideal time, but he had to be pragmatic.

  "Then, when is my first fight?" Zhi Xuan asked, his tone returning to coldness, indicating that he was ready to sacrifice rest time for action.

  "Tomorrow night," Chu Feng cut in, his voice sharp. "The third hour after sunset. You will be entered in the first wave of Blood Transformation fights, to test whether your Spiritual Blood is truly worth the Blood Crystals you promised."

  "And the rules?"

  "Rules? There are no rules," Chu Feng sneered. "You step onto the stone circle, and you will fight until your opponent is dead, surrenders, or one of you is chopped to pieces. Blood must flow. The Arena only likes to see completion."

  “Completion? That sounds fair,” Zhi Xuan replied, completely unfazed by Chu Feng's cruel description. In fact, the words 'blood must flow' and 'fight to the death' actually triggered a cold yet excited pulse within his suppressed devil seed.

  "Yes," Chu Feng replied, stepping closer and patting Zhi Xuan's right shoulder, his hand feeling cold. "You may use all techniques, weapons, and formations. You win, you live. You lose, you are just junk who does not know the depths of the underground."

  "Where is the arena?" Zhi Xuan asked, ignoring Chu Feng's cold touch and insulting words. His sapphire eyes radiated a strange glow in the dim light of the warehouse. There was no fear, only sharp anticipation—like a sword finally finding its prey.

  Chu Feng snorted, pulling his hand from Zhi Xuan's shoulder. "Right below here. the Devil's Bite Chain Arena is an underground structure connected to the entire city network, beneath the mountain abyss. But access is only through a secret passage in the depths of this Lower District."

  "Tomorrow night, the third hour after sunset, come to 'The Poison Cup' bar again. Don't be late. Jue Mu will be waiting for you and will take you there." Chu Feng turned around, walking towards the hidden iron door. "Now go, Black-Haired Devil. Use your precious time to prepare for your death."

  The iron door whirred shut, leaving Zhi Xuan alone in the damp darkness.

  ‘Twelve hours, Monkey,’ Ruo Xianxue echoed, her voice now filled with dark excitement. ‘Enough time to practice the Blood Wind Vortex technique. Don't disappoint me, or I will mock your Dao even into the afterlife.’

  Zhi Xuan ignored the Sacred Devil's threat. He did not have the luxury of disappointment. If he failed in the arena, he would lose more than just honor. His Spiritual Blood would become a Blood Crystal, and he would die as junk in the Lower District.