Chu Feng flinched, almost stumbling backward, but he immediately composed himself. As a long-time underground merchant dealing with madness and cruelty, he knew how to recognize a nascent danger.

  The youth before him, in his red silk robe stained with dried blood, was no longer the injured "Young Master," but an entity radiating an undeniable will. The subtle red circle in Zhi Xuan’s eyes looked like an ancient rune freshly carved on sapphire crystal, cold, yet containing a primordial fire.

  "I am ready," Zhi Xuan stated, his voice now calm, flat, devoid of emotional turmoil. The voice contained neither promise nor threat; it merely stated a fact that would soon become law.

  Chu Feng swallowed, gazing at the Heavenly Moth, Xiao Die, hovering beside Zhi Xuan—the insect looked fragile, but its hum had an extremely pure resonance, a perfect contrast to its master's cruel aura.

  "Young Mast—" Chu Feng's voice choked as Zhi Xuan passed, his steps seeming stiff and somehow accelerated in a few strides. Chu Feng knew, a Transformation cultivator was capable of shadow steps akin to teleportation.

  However, Zhi Xuan, whom he looked at with keen interest for the blood crystals he was about to produce, now looked different. And the moth on his shoulder seemed like just a small insect whose origin he did not know.

  Zhi Xuan did not wait for Chu Feng. His pace was stiff, fast, and cold, like a moving jade carving based on absolute calculation. He did not use full speed, but the efficiency of his steps surpassed logic; he did not move, he merely existed at the next point.

  Each step radiated a faint wave of the Law of Winter, freezing the air around him, suppressing the remaining poison and internal noise.

  Xiao Die, the Heavenly Moth, now rested gracefully on Zhi Xuan's left shoulder, its soft rainbow wings trembling slowly. It looked like a very fragile piece of jewelry, a perfect contrast to the aura emitted by its master. Zhi Xuan deliberately kept Xiao Die’s aura hidden, showing only a resonance of purity.

  The roar that had previously subsided into a restless murmur now exploded back into a deafening storm of cheers. This noise was the music Zhi Xuan sought, no, not himself, but "Zhi Xuan"—a symphony of greed and justification.

  "Look! The Black-Haired Devil is back!" one of the corpulent spectators pointed towards Zhi Xuan walking from the passage.

  "With his open wounds? Is he crazy or is he truly a killing god?" another cultivator exclaimed, his eyes filled with greed and calculation.

  "I bet a thousand low-grade spiritual stones on his blood! He will collapse before reaching five Blood Crystals!" a bookmaker shouted hoarsely.

  "Look at the insect on his shoulder! Is that his spiritual beast? Does he think a small insect can help him?" mocked a female cultivator from the Realm of Consciousness Transformation, her tone full of disdain. "It must just be a cute ornament."

  "Do not be stupid! That is the supporting spiritual beast he demanded! Jue Mu agreed! Wagers are doubled! Tonight, we will see the real hunt!" a cultivator in the front row roared, his eyes shining.

  "Bet two hundred spiritual stones, the Black-Haired Devil will harvest at least fifteen Blood Crystals! That insect, look! Its aura of purity is deceiving, it must possess a special Dao!"

  "The Devil's Harvest! I heard he asked for Arena Slaves! He truly wants to plunder Blood Crystals!"

  "Madness! Cruel! I like it! This is the real spectacle! Kill them all, Black-Haired Devil! Give us blood!"

  The cheers now became more brutal and personal. They no longer respected Zhi Xuan; they admired the savagery he offered.

  Zhi Xuan stepped into the center of the Devil's Bite Chain Arena, where the black sand was still stained with the Deathbringer's ashes. He stood tall, allowing his dirty red robe to lift slightly by the cold essence wave he radiated. The red circle in his eyes absorbed all the noise, transforming it into a cold, brutal warmth.

  The Arena Guide, with a red dragon tattoo that now looked more alive and danced under the dark black flames, leaped onto the podium. His voice was hoarse but filled with maniacal excitement, reflecting the deepest desires of the spectators.

  "Silence! Silence, blood connoisseurs!" the Arena Guide roared. "Tonight, we are no longer witnessing a duel, but a Harvest! Upon the demand of the Black-Haired Devil, he will fight Twenty Arena Slaves!"

  A terrifying shockwave spread among the spectators, followed by an almost inhuman roar. Most cultivators there had never witnessed such open and mass slaughter of slaves. This was pure cruelty, a spectacle they would recount for years.

  The Arena Guide raised his high, dragon-tattooed hand, forcing a tense silence after the Mass Harvest announcement. The audience's roar subsided into a low hum, like bees ready to swarm. Hundreds of cultivators' eyes were fixed on Zhi Xuan, who stood alone in the center of the ring, a shepherd awaiting his sheep.

  "We have accepted the challenge!" the Arena Guide roared, his voice containing a promise of inevitable bloodshed. "He is the Black-Haired Devil, and he demands Blood Crystals. Tonight, he will not just kill, he will harvest!"

  The Arena Guide paused dramatically, letting the terrifying title sink in. "The wagers have been doubled! We will provide Twenty arena slaves, unfortunate souls who have long lost their will and sanity! They still possess spiritual blood, and most importantly, they still hold the Blood Crystals that we desire!"

  A wave of excitement mixed with disgust swept the stands. Zhi Xuan ignored it. He only felt a cold warmth creeping into his chest, the pulse of the newly merged Devil Soul's pleasure, taking the cheers as validating prayers.

  The Arena Guide, with the red dragon tattoo writhing on his arm, waved toward the thick iron bars on the north side of the arena. Roars exploded again, but this time, the roars were more primitive, more bloodthirsty. The iron bars, which had been holding the desperate cultivators, shifted aside with a long, painful metallic groan.

  The dark passage behind the bars was now wide open, revealing an abyss of darkness.

  "Arena Slaves!" the Arena Guide roared. "They have been sold, they have been beaten, they have lost their Dao, their mind, and their hope! They are merely vessels of spiritual blood that we must harvest!"

  From the dark passage, twenty terrifying figures stepped out. They were cultivators in the dawn stage of Blood Transformation, early stage like Zhi Xuan, but their bodies were withered, their eyes empty, and their mouths let out hoarse groans. They wore tattered clothes stained with old and new blood.

  They were no longer human; they were puppets whose souls had been ripped out by the Arena and the poison of despair. Yet, in their chests, in their dimming Sea of Consciousness, Blood Crystals still shone faintly—the resource Zhi Xuan sought.

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  The twenty slaves, who had undergone brutal indoctrination, no longer feared death. They only radiated a savage, bloodthirsty, instinctive, and aggressive aura remaining in their brains.

  The twenty figures, whose bodies trembled and emitted hoarse moans, stepped onto the black sand of the Devil's Bite Chain Arena. They moved without tactics, without purpose, driven only by the remaining primitive instinct: Kill or Be Killed. They spread out in a chaotic formation, but their empty eyes focused on the only target standing tall in the center of the ring: the Black-Haired Devil.

  In the eyes of those arena slaves, Zhi Xuan was merely flesh. Flesh they had to tear to satisfy the deep desires programmed into their damaged souls.

  Zhi Xuan stood tall in the center, letting the twenty savage auras surround him. Xiao Die, on his shoulder, hummed once, a pure and gentle rainbow hum, as if the heavenly moth was singing a lullaby in the middle of a storm.

  The circle of arena slaves was about five zhang away from him, forming a circle of death that radiated a chaotic and foul-smelling Spiritual Blood Essence. In the eyes of those slaves, all that remained was the primitive instinct to tear and rip, driven by the remnants of their shattered Dao.

  Although they were Early Stage Blood Transformation and their minds were broken, twenty cultivators attacking simultaneously was a force capable of crushing any Organ Transformation cultivator. This was a fight against the laws of nature, a fight impossible to win without losing one's life.

  Zhi Xuan raised his left hand forward, his palm open. He did not summon the Divine Cauldron, nor did he summon sword blades. He merely allowed his Black Jade Essence to radiate, creating a freezing cold aura.

  On his shoulder, Xiao Die hummed once more, and this time, the hum was not just gentle; it released a subtle and invisible vibration, enveloping Zhi Xuan’s body. This was a Spiritual Speed Catalyst—a subtle blessing that enhanced Zhi Xuan's reaction speed, perception, and Essence flow, but offered no direct attack.

  A gong sound boomed, splitting the heavy air in the Devil's Bite Chain Arena, a signal that triggered the programmed madness. The twenty arena slaves charged. They lacked coordination or tactics, but their number was strength, and their despair was ammunition.

  "Kill!" roared an arena slave in the front row, his voice hoarse. Without further warning, they attacked.

  With hoarse howls, they darted forward, forming a wave of rotten, blood-stained flesh. Fists hard as stone, claws sharpened by relentless fighting, and crude yet deadly Blood Transformation techniques were launched simultaneously.

  The polluted spiritual essence from the twenty of them formed a suffocating mist in the air, smelling of rust and despair. Zhi Xuan did not falter. The red circle in his eyes flashed, turning every attack into efficient data. He did not retreat. He faced the wave with terrifying composure, like a sturdy reef in the middle of a storm.

  WHIRLLLLL!

  From his palm, the Heavenly Trifold Reincarnation Cauldron appeared, no longer as a shield, but as the core of a storm. He manifested ten Blood Devil Swords, no longer forming a vortex, but spreading around him in a rapidly spinning Jade Circle Formation, deflecting twenty attacks at once.

  CLANG! SHIING! THUD!

  The sound of clashing metal and essence struck, piercing the ears of the spectators. Zhi Xuan spun in the center of the formation, his movements fluid and deadly. Each blood sword blade deflected a fist, cut a claw, and parried a Blood Transformation technique thrown at him.

  Xiao Die, on his shoulder, hummed faster, radiating a calming, pure wave, helping him maintain focus amidst the chaos.

  However, their numbers were too great. Twenty opponents, each with the power of the early stage of Blood Transformation, was an overwhelming pressure. Several of the more agile arena slaves managed to sneak under the sword formation, aiming for Zhi Xuan’s legs. Others, with insane brute force, struck the formation with a despair that disregarded injury.

  One arena slave, with a hard fist enveloped in blood essence, managed to strike Zhi Xuan's back. Although protected by the silk robe and a thin layer of black jade essence, the impact was sharp.

  THUMP!

  Zhi Xuan staggered forward, the pain from his cracked ribs attacking again. Blood crept up his throat, but he swallowed it back. The pain, instead of weakening him, triggered a more intense red flash in his eyes. The Devil Seed in his Sea of Consciousness pulsed, absorbing every suffering into a colder strength.

  "Die! Die!" shouted another arena slave, launching a brutal kick towards Zhi Xuan's head.

  Zhi Xuan rotated his body, allowing the kick to only graze his shoulder. At the same time, he swung his Jade Circle Formation to the side. The ten blood sword blades merged into a sharp line, cutting down the two nearest arena slaves.

  SHIING! SHIING!

  Blood spurted into the air, thick and foul. Two arena slaves fell, their bodies split in half. They no longer moved, but Blood Crystals began to form in their bodily ruins, shining faintly. The spectators erupted in maniacal cheers. The scent of fresh blood was a catalyst for them.

  "Two! Two Blood Crystals already! The Devil's Harvest has begun!" the Arena Guide roared.

  Zhi Xuan did not stop. He had to be efficient. The ten blood sword blades spread out again, forming a tighter defensive vortex, but now with a more savage attacking intent. He channeled the Law of Summer from the Divine Cauldron, adding burning speed and destructive power to each blade.

  Dark purple flames, the Azure Holy Flame, danced faintly at the tips of the blood sword blades, penetrating the spiritual poison mist still hanging in the air.

  Two other arena slaves leaped from different sides, each with an improvised weapon—a sharpened piece of bone and a pointed stone enveloped in essence. They attacked with surprising speed, looking for an opening.

  Zhi Xuan stomped his foot. With a speed that surpassed the Blood Transformation realm, he shot forward, stabbing one arena slave right in the chest with five merged sword blades.

  SHIING!

  The arena slave fell, the third Blood Crystal starting to form. But at the same time, another arena slave managed to stab Zhi Xuan's thigh with the pointed stone.

  GAAAH!

  A burning pain spread. The stone did not just stab; it also carried foul spiritual essence, trying to poison his meridians. Zhi Xuan hissed, his eyes radiating a thicker red flash, almost completely obscuring his sapphire.

  Xiao Die, on his shoulder, hummed louder. A soft essence pollen began to drift from its wings, attempting to soothe his master's spiritual blood and cleanse the incoming foul essence.

  These wounds, this pain, were triggers.

  Zhi Xuan was no longer just defending and attacking; he moved with controlled madness, channeling every pain into strength. His spiritual blood circulated faster, cleansing the poison and foul essence with Xiao Die's help, but each purification burdened his Essence.

  The seventeen remaining arena slaves, seeing their three comrades fall, instead of retreating, became more savage. Their bloodthirsty aura intensified, forming a denser wall around Zhi Xuan. They knew this was their only chance for revenge for untold suffering.

  They attacked from all directions, launching a more coordinated barrage of techniques—a relentless wave. Punches, kicks, blood essence techniques, all aimed at flooding Zhi Xuan's defense.

  Zhi Xuan narrowed his eyes. He realized this would be a long, exhausting fight. He had to choose who to kill first, who had the best Blood Crystal, and who was the most dangerous.

  He was the Black-Haired Devil, and this was his harvest. Blood and cruelty were the warmth he now recognized as home.

  Zhi Xuan took a deep breath, ignoring the burning pain in his thigh.

  He swung his Jade Circle Formation faster, but he was no longer purely defensive. He sought openings, striking with deadly precision, aiming for vital points, and harvesting Blood Crystals.

  Seventeen opponents, each with fierce Blood Transformation essence. Zhi Xuan, covered in his own blood, was surrounded, fighting in the middle of a chaotic storm of flesh and essence.

  The red flash in his eyes grew larger, swallowing the sapphire ring, becoming a turbulent sea of blood. Every drop of blood staining the black sand was food for his Devil Seed.

  Zhi Xuan knew he had to break through this wall. He had to kill more, faster, to achieve his goal, to fulfill his promise. And to give him the brutal warmth he considered family.

  Zhi Xuan, surrounded by seventeen cultivators driven by maniacal killing instincts, felt the pressure on his chest. The previous blow had reopened his cracked ribs; the foul essence from the pointed stone was still struggling to seep in. However, these wounds now felt distant. His attention was focused on the efficiency that demanded absolute composure.

  He swung his Jade Circle Formation—the ten spinning blood sword blades—with a speed that surpassed his realm, thanks to the subtle boost from Xiao Die. The blades sang, splitting the air and essence, creating a narrow death zone around him.

  Three of the largest arena slaves attacked simultaneously, swinging fists and bones with a brute force driven by the remnants of their most primitive Blood Transformation. They did not aim for the blades; they aimed for the center, Zhi Xuan's body.

  CLANG! CLANG!

  Zhi Xuan's Jade Circle Formation shook violently. The force of the impact, though dampened by the rapid rotation, sent a piercing shockwave, causing blood to spurt from Zhi Xuan's nose.

  He roared lowly, not from pain, but from frustration. He could not maintain the formation and strike lethally at the same time!

  'Kill. Kill ruthlessly, Monkey. Do not restrain your attacks,' Ruo Xianxue echoed, her voice feeling close and bloodthirsty, now seemingly a whisper that justified his desire.

  Zhi Xuan nodded in his mind. He could no longer just defend. He had to take a risk, exchanging injury for life.