Douluo: Reincarnation of Leosli, punishing the evildoers

Tang San thought to himself, then put away the Eight Spider Spears in his hand, looked down at the corpse at his feet, and dragged it without mercy, throwing it outside.

After being eroded by the devouring of soul power and life force, the corpse's skin looked paler than before, but there were no major changes in other aspects. The bright red blood was still flowing, which made people feel more at ease—at least it didn't seem so abrupt.

Tang San closed the door and began to diligently clean the room. As night fell, the silence was suddenly broken by the sound of footsteps, like invisible dancers lightly treading outside his door. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Tang San slowly opened his eyes, a cold smile playing on his lips. "Heh, I haven't even gone looking for you yet, but you've come to my door on your own initiative. Perfect timing for a trap, to use you again."

"Although the improvement isn't much, it's still better than dawdling outside," he muttered, seemingly quite satisfied. After some time, Tang San licked his lips, a hint of excitement in his eyes.

If someone were to observe closely at this moment, they would notice that subtle black lines were beginning to appear on the Blue Silver Emperor within his body, and even his eyes, the Purple Demon Eyes, were mixed with an unusual black light.

This is a sign of depravity.

The next day, Tang San embarked on his journey to the Hell Slaughter Field with great enthusiasm.

As night fell, he released a corpse from his soul tool.

As a disciple of the Tang Sect, Tang San's art of assassination is unparalleled, especially in the darkness of night. Although his storage soul tool cannot store living beings, it can easily conceal inanimate objects like corpses, perfectly solving his problem of dealing with the aftermath of an assassination.

However, due to time constraints, the body cannot be left unattended for too long.

Therefore, he often had to take action in the City of Slaughter to hunt down those Soul Masters.

Tang San knew in his heart: "I have to be careful. That guy who calls himself the King of Slaughter is probably also a Title Douluo, and he can even use his soul skills freely in this City of Slaughter."

Although killing was commonplace in this place, he understood that there was no need to attract unnecessary attention and get into trouble.

He felt his soul power rapidly recovering and his injuries gradually healing, and his strength was quietly increasing.

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The enforcement team of the Slaughter City is composed entirely of Soul Masters at the Soul King level or above. In this city shrouded in shadow, the King of Slaughter has granted them special enforcement authority, allowing them to use their Soul Skills, as if injecting an extraordinary power into the maintenance of this law.

If Leiosli's memory is correct, the captain should be a Title Douluo.

"The Hell Slaughter Fields have begun!" A loud command pierced the air.

"Woo-oh~~Woo-oh~~Woo-oh~~" The roars, rising and falling like thunder, reverberated across the land.

This is the entertainment venue of the killing city.

It is also the place that the true fallen ones of the Killing City like to come to the most.

Inside the Hell Slaughter Arena, there are powerful individuals from all over the world who fight and wager on their lives!
If you win, you can get everything you want from the losers!
If you lose, you can only pay with your life.

Unlike the underground boxing matches in Mello Petersburg, after his reforms, it was basically a gambling arena where people gambled on licenses. Of course, if it was a fight to the death, it would only be held when the conflict between the two sides reached an irreconcilable point.

However, this situation almost never occurred in Melo Petersburg after his reforms.

As he slowly stepped through the heavy gate, the clanking of the chains seemed to whisper an ominous premonition. In a daze, his gaze caught sight of a figure suddenly appearing behind him—a burly man holding a sharp machete.

This man was at least two meters tall, with muscles as solid as steel, and the two crisscrossing knife scars on his face made his already gloomy appearance even more ferocious.

The gleaming blade gradually magnified before my eyes.

But Leosley showed no sign of backing down; his eyes held only calm and coldness.

His eyes were as sharp as cold stars, as if they could see through the other person's murderous heart.

The burly man first felt a little dizzy, then his hand holding the machete couldn't bring itself to strike, as if it were restrained by an invisible force, unable to move. His pupils suddenly contracted, fine beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead, and his breathing became rapid and erratic.

The blade of the machete was only inches away from Leosley's neck, but it could not be pushed any further.

Leosley's two fingers were clamped between the tip of the burly man's cleaver, the force seemingly gentle, but in reality, it was like an iron clamp that firmly locked the blade.

The surrounding air seemed to freeze for a moment, and everyone's eyes were focused on him, holding their breath and not daring to make a sound. The burly man's face gradually changed from astonishment to terror, and his arms trembled more and more violently, as if the weight of the cleaver had suddenly become unbearable.

Leosley's gaze remained cold, his brows unwavering, as if the crisis before him was nothing more than a trivial matter.

With a flick of his fingertip, the cleaver emitted a crisp hum, then flew out of his hand, tracing an arc in the air before embedding itself heavily in the distant wall. The hilt trembled slightly, emitting a deep resonance.

The burly man staggered back a few steps, lost his footing, and fell to the ground. Cold sweat dripped down his face and onto the ground, splashing up tiny droplets.

Generally speaking, such things are commonplace in the killing city; if you kill someone, you should be prepared to be killed in return.

Leosley's gaze remained calm and composed, as if the previous scene were merely a trivial interlude. He didn't glance at the burly man again, turning and continuing to walk forward with steady and unhurried steps. The surrounding audience held their breath, no one daring to utter a sound, even deliberately slowing their breathing.

The burly man slumped to the ground, his face deathly pale. His right hand trembled slightly, the numbness from the shock still lingering in his fingertips. He looked up at Lyosley's retreating figure, his eyes filled with fear and awe. He knew he had just escaped death.

Just then, a low murmur arose from the crowd.

"Who is this guy? I've never seen him before?"

"Judging from his attire, he's clearly not an ordinary person. To be able to block Old Black's knife so easily, he must be a master."

"But not killing anyone in the Land of Slaughter is quite an oddity. Aren't you worried about not having enough Bloody Mary?"

"Hey, with skills like that, you can go find Bloody Mary anywhere."

"rational!"

In the crowd, a man wearing tattered leather armor quietly approached his companion and whispered:
"Look at the way he's acting, he doesn't seem to take us seriously at all. Should we test his strength?" (End of Chapter)