118: Chapter 118 A real man rolls up his sleeves and gets to work!

The first floor of the Demon Suppressing Tower is a massive circular prison, resembling a hollowed-out mountainside.

All around were pitch-black stone walls that stretched upward out of sight, covered in dense suppression runes that emitted heart-palpitating spiritual fluctuations, completely eliminating any possibility of escape.

In the center of the prison was a vast open space, which was also the only "exercise area" here.

At this moment, over a hundred prisoners were gathered in small groups on this open ground.

Each of them had a fierce Aura and ferocious eyes; even though their cultivation was suppressed by the Mortal-Binding Formation, the overwhelming Evil Qi honed from mountains of corpses and seas of blood did not diminish in the slightest, nearly staining the entire space a dark red.

Those imprisoned here were all desperate criminals who had committed heinous crimes outside, their hands stained with the blood of the innocent.

When Lin Feng—a "newcomer" who looked physically weak and had an Aura as ordinary as a Mortal—strolled in.

The entire prison instantly fell into an eerie silence.

All conversations, fights, and roars ceased. Over a hundred pairs of eyes focused on him simultaneously, like searchlights.

Those looks were like a pack of wild dogs that had been starving for three days and nights, spotting a piece of tender, juicy, and steaming pork belly.

Filled with undisguised greed, mockery, and the excitement of an impending feast.

"Yo, a newcomer? And he's a fair-skinned pretty boy."

A voice as raspy as two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together broke this suffocating silence.

From the crowd, a nine-foot-tall, broad-shouldered man with muscles knotted like iron lumps slowly emerged, bare-chested.

Several hideous scars crisscrossed his face, one even slashing down from his forehead, nearly blinding his left eye.

His eyes were an eerie blood-red, filled with beast-like violence and madness.

Most striking were his abnormally large, dark-red hands, which looked as though they had been soaked in blood for a hundred years.

He was the overlord of the first floor of the Demon Suppressing Tower, a Demonic Path titan who had once slaughtered three cities with his "Blood Handprint" and was only captured alive after several experts from the Demon Suppression Division joined forces.

The Blood-Handed Butcher!

He approached step by step with heavy strides, each one seemingly stepping on the heartbeats of everyone present; the invisible pressure made the surrounding prisoners instinctively take half a step back.

"Looking at you, you don't seem like someone from our path."

The Blood-Handed Butcher walked up to Lin Feng, his massive frame casting a shadow that completely enveloped him.

Looking down at him, his fan-like hand, carrying a heavy scent of blood, patted Lin Feng's cheek insultingly as he grinned savagely, "Kid, do you know the rules here?"

Lin Feng didn't speak; he only slowly stood up from the dirty ground and patted the dust off his clothes.

He looked up, his clear eyes calmly gazing at the Blood-Handed Butcher—no fear, no anger, not even a hint of emotional fluctuation, as if he were looking at a stone by the roadside.

This calmness made the Blood-Handed Butcher feel a strange sense of irritation.

He was used to the fear, trembling, and begging of newcomers; this indifference made him feel like his authority was being challenged.

"Not talking? Seems like a tough nut to crack."

The savage grin on the Blood-Handed Butcher's face grew more cruel as he stuck out his scarlet tongue and licked his dry, cracked lips.

"In here, I am the rules! Either kneel down now, give me a hundred kowtows, and then crawl over like a dog to lick my boot soles clean, and maybe I'll consider making you my lowliest slave. Or..."

Before he could finish, his voice stopped abruptly.

Because Lin Feng moved.

No one even saw how he attacked.

One second, he was standing quietly in place.

The next second, a blurred afterimage had already closed in on the Blood-Handed Butcher's chest.

A seemingly ordinary, even somewhat fair fist pressed lightly against the Blood-Handed Butcher's steel-like chest.

There was no world-shaking Aura, no flashy visual effects—it was like a friendly pat between friends.

"...Die."

Lin Feng finished the last word for him in the lowest of voices.

[6850x critical hit triggered!]

Pfft!

Time seemed to slow down at this moment. The savage grin on the Blood-Handed Butcher's face froze instantly, replaced by endless horror and disbelief.

He looked down, only to see his chest caving in deeply at a visible rate, forming a terrifying fist-print vortex!

An indescribable, terrifying force that seemed capable of crushing the heavens, earth, and stars surged through that seemingly weak fist into his body with unstoppable force!

His internal organs, his limbs and bones, and the powerful Physical Body he was so proud of—tempered for decades—were as fragile as ice and snow under sunlight before this unreasonable power; they were instantly washed away, dissolved, and annihilated!

Without even being able to let out a scream, this overlord who had dominated the first floor for decades fell straight backward.

His body began to disintegrate in mid-air; muscles, bones, and organs turned into the most primitive particles under that terrifying destructive force. Finally, with a "bang," he exploded into a mist of blood, not even leaving behind a fragment of bone the size of a fingernail.

[Ding! Successfully killed a fifth-level Martial Soul Realm Martial Artist!]

[critical hit multiplier increased to 7000x! Obtained 10,000,000 critical hit points!]

The entire prison was dead silent.

One could hear a pin drop.

Everyone looked as if they had been hit by a freezing spell, staring blankly at the blood mist slowly spreading across the open ground, their minds completely blank.

"Blood... Boss Blood-Hand... is just... gone?"

A prisoner said tremblingly, his voice full of a sense of unreality.

"One punch? That's impossible! In the Mortal-Binding Formation, how could he have such power?!"

"Monster! He's a monster!"

After a brief silence came extreme fear and madness! In the perception of these outlaws, power they couldn't understand was equivalent to a massive threat!

"He must have used some secret technique! He must be at his limit now!"

A nearby prisoner roared, his eyes flashing with greed and madness, "Kill him! The secrets on him will be ours!"

"That's right! Let's go together! Kill him!"

The instinct for survival and fear of the unknown turned into the most primitive brutality.

Over a hundred vicious outlaws, like sharks completely stimulated by blood, swarmed toward Lin Feng from all directions.

Lin Feng stood in the center of the blood mist, his face devoid of any expression.

Looking at the human-shaped "EXP packs" rushing toward him, the corners of his mouth curled into a cold arc.

"Very well, this saves me some trouble."

The moment his voice fell, he moved.

It wasn't a battle, but a one-sided, efficient slaughter that bordered on art.

Lin Feng's figure turned into a black bolt of lightning that couldn't be caught by the naked eye, weaving through the chaotic crowd at will.

Every punch landed precisely on a target, the terrifying critical hit power turning a living human body into a rain of blood without any suspense.

Every kick brought a gust of wind like an invisible giant axe, slicing several prisoners in half at the waist, sending organs and blood flying.

At times, he pressed his fingers together like a sword, easily slicing a prisoner's throat.

At times, he formed a claw with his fingers, directly crushing another's skull.

He even casually grabbed a prisoner attempting a sneak attack and used him as a human weapon, sweeping him in a circle; the "crackling" sound of breaking bones was incessant before he casually tore the "weapon" in half.

Here, there was no True Qi, no Concept, only the purest and most primitive aesthetics of violence.

And Lin Feng was the pinnacle of these aesthetics of violence!

Screams, wails, the sound of bones shattering, and flesh exploding... intertwined into a symphony of Hell.

But this music was so brief; in less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, it stopped abruptly.

In the entire prison, besides Lin Feng, there was not a single person left standing.

Thick plasma pooled into streams, flowing slowly across the floor and reaching above the ankles. Severed limbs and broken arms were everywhere, and the pungent scent of blood was so thick it nearly solidified.

The entire first floor had already turned into a literal Shura Hell.

Lin Feng stood in the center of the mountain of corpses and sea of blood, yet he was strangely untainted by a single speck of dust.

He slowly closed his eyes, feeling the Battle Intent boiling slightly in his body due to this slaughter, as well as the numbers constantly skyrocketing in his mind.

"A real man should just roll up his sleeves and get to work!"

"This is what I call grinding mobs."