58: Chapter 58 Slaughter, Madman!

Quiet.

Dead silence.

In the Cell Block D corridor, the noisy clamor was instantly cut off as if by an invisible giant hand.

Only thick blood flowed, dripping and pattering through the cracks in the mottled bluestone floor tiles, refracting a dark red luster under the dim oil lamps.

All the prisoners' gazes froze, staring fixedly at the headless corpse.

That was One-eyed Dragon.

A genuine 8th-grade Martial Artist, considered a tough character in the Jianghu, yet he had his head smashed to pieces by someone with a casual slap.

In everyone's line of sight, that young jailer who usually only kept his head down to deliver food and rarely even spoke loudly was now slowly retracting his right hand.

Chen Ran looked at the speck of red and white matter stained on his fingertip, his brows slightly furrowed.

He took out a plain white handkerchief from his bosom, and with unhurried movements, wiped it finger by finger.

"It's dirty."

Chen Ran sighed softly, his voice echoing in the empty corridor, carrying a flatness that made one's bone marrow turn cold.

He tossed the blood-stained handkerchief onto One-eyed Dragon's corpse, raised his gaze slightly, and swept it across the dozen or so prisoners who were stunned like wooden chickens.

The air seemed to freeze at this moment, heavy enough to make one unable to breathe.

"Run... run quickly!"

"He's not human! He's definitely not human!"

Terrified screams finally tore through the dead silence.

These desperate criminals, who usually killed without blinking, now scrambled and crawled, trying to squeeze toward the exit like livestock seeing their natural predator.

"Since you've all come out, don't go back."

Chen Ran snorted coldly, his right hand pressing onto the hilt of the black iron long saber at his waist.

He didn't use any fancy saber techniques, nor did he even deliberately urge his True Qi.

It was just the most basic slash.

"Zheng—"

The buzzing of steel exploded suddenly, drowning out all the screams.

A brilliant, almost blinding white saber light swept across the dim corridor like a crescent moon.

The speed was too fast, so fast that the retina could only capture a trace of residual white.

Each slash carried a shrill sound of piercing the air, and wherever it passed, the hard bluestone floor was plowed with cracks several inches deep.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The sounds of heavy objects hitting the ground rang out one after another.

In just a few breaths, the originally crowded corridor was empty again.

A dozen prisoners, without exception, were all decapitated.

Scarlet blood almost dyed the entire floor red, and the thick, bloody smell fermented rapidly in the enclosed space, making one nauseous.

Chen Ran shook off the last drop of blood from the blade, flicked his wrist, and the long saber returned to its sheath with precision.

[You executed the prisoner Liu Erhu, participation: high. Reward: half a year of cultivation.]

[You executed the prisoner Zhao Liutong, participation: high. Reward: 3 months of cultivation.]

[You executed the prisoner Liu Jiaran, participation: high. Reward: 3 months of cultivation.]

...

In his mind, the ancient and heavy [heavenly book of prison suppression] flipped crazily. Streams of golden light, visible only to Chen Ran, shot out from the corpses, converging into a torrent that sank into the center of his brows.

Most of these Cell Block D prisoners were of the lower three grades, so the rewards were indeed meager.

But they made up for it in quantity.

As they accumulated, a surging heat flow rose from his Dantian, instantly rushing through his limbs and bones.

[Current cultivation: 115 years → 120 years]

Chen Ran closed his eyes, feeling the qualitative change in the True Qi within his body.

The True Qi, which had originally flowed like a small stream, now became more refined, faintly showing a tendency to transform into mercury-like liquid.

His muscles became tighter amidst the tremors, and a tingling sensation came from deep within his bones—a sign that his strength was improving in all aspects.

This pleasure of getting stronger came violently and left quickly.

Chen Ran opened his eyes and shook his head regretfully.

"Although this harvesting method is fast, the 'crops' in the prison grow too slowly; it is not a long-term solution after all."

He turned around, his gaze falling into the depths of the cell.

Jiang Mengli still maintained her previous posture. Her cherry lips were slightly parted, and those eyes, which were usually filled with charm or arrogance, now held only deep confusion.

She hadn't seen wrong.

This man, who delivered her food on time every day and whom she jokingly called the "little jailer," had just displayed strength that far exceeded her initial expectations.

"7th-grade Bone Forging? No... definitely more than that."

Jiang Mengli's heart pounded like a drum.

Three months ago, when she first saw Chen Ran, the other party was clearly just an ordinary person with slightly vigorous blood and Qi, at most just at the threshold of entering the 9th grade.

Three months, crossing from the 9th grade to the 7th grade?

Impossible, absolutely impossible.

"You... have you always been hiding your strength?"

Jiang Mengli's voice was a bit hoarse. She stared fixedly at Chen Ran, trying to see even a trace of a flaw on that calm face.

Chen Ran paused and did not answer.

...

...

Rumble!

The vibration above the prison became more and more intense, as if the entire mountaintop was about to collapse.

Under the night sky, four afterimages collided crazily in mid-air.

Every exchange triggered a visible shockwave, shattering the surrounding buildings.

That was the battlefield of 4th-grade and 5th-grade experts.

"Hall Master of the Red Lotus Demonic Cult, Pei Jiu!"

An angry roar resounded through the sky.

The speaker was a commander of the Demon Suppression Division, who was now half-kneeling on the roof, his black official uniform already tattered.

There was a bowl-sized charred hole on his right arm—a mark from being hit head-on by the "Red Lotus Karmic Fire"—and the eerie dark red flames were continuously drilling deeper into his Meridians along the wound.

"Going too far? It was your Demon Suppression Division that made the first move."

In mid-air, an old man with graying hair had a grim expression.

He wore a robe embroidered with red lotuses, surrounded by raging Karmic Fire, looking like a demon god who had walked out of Hell.

Pei Jiu looked down at the three Demon Suppression Division experts below, his eyes indifferent.

"Hand over the Saintess, and I will spare your lives."

"In your dreams!"

The commander with the handlebar mustache, Fan Zhiyuan, gritted his teeth. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, a flash of fear appearing in his eyes.

The three of them, all 5th-grade Martial Artists, had thought they could use the prison's Formation to hold the opponent off.

But who could have imagined that the Red Lotus Demonic Cult would actually send out this madman, Pei Jiu, and that the opponent had already stepped into the 4th-grade Aperture Condensation Realm.

What was worse was that for this operation, the Demonic Cult had actually used the extremely precious "Six-Turn Soundproofing Formation."

Within a hundred zhang, news could not get out at all.

And due to rumors of a divine skill recently, their branch was currently short-staffed.

It would take at least half an incense stick of time for reinforcements from the prison headquarters to arrive.

"Brother Fan Zhiyuan, we can't drag this out any longer!"

Another commander transmitted his voice urgently, "The Demonic Cult's goal is the Cell Block D. You go and transfer that demoness away. As long as she is in our hands, Pei Jiu won't dare to kill us!"

Upon hearing this, Fan Zhiyuan was overjoyed.

He had long been chilled by Pei Jiu's domineering Karmic Fire, and hearing this task now felt like receiving an amnesty.

"Don't worry, Brother Li, I'm going now!"

Fan Zhiyuan feinted, and taking advantage of the impact of an explosion, his whole body flew backward like a broken kite, landing accurately at the entrance of the prison.

As soon as he entered the corridor, that thick, unbearable bloody smell rushed toward him.

Fan Zhiyuan's heart sank. Could it be that the people from the Demonic Cult had already snuck in?

He endured the injuries in his body, his figure like lightning, rushing crazily down the stairs.

Turning the last corner.

Fan Zhiyuan stopped abruptly, his pupils shrinking suddenly.

Under the dim oil lamps.

The ground was covered with headless corpses strewn about, and blood had gathered into a river.

And in the center of the blood pool, a young jailer in black casual clothes was quietly looking at him, holding a dripping long saber.