Only I Follow the Law: An Unorthodox Tokyo Cultivation Routine.

The elite class, having experienced all the wonders of the world, find that ordinary stimulation is no longer enough to trigger dopamine release, and thus begin to pursue so-called novelty, using power that transcends law and morality to fill the emptiness in their hearts.

Take, for example, the Epstein case that broke out not long ago.

The ways the wealthy play are far more elaborate than ordinary people can imagine.

Especially when they discover that the law no longer restricts them, the evil in human nature will burst forth like a flood.

Therefore, he was not surprised to find traces of the so-called demon race here.

This is what they call freedom.

But it doesn't matter, the price will always come, and he is the judge of hell who will carry out that price.

This is an ordinary-looking detached house, not much different from the surrounding houses. However, if you look closely, you will find a miniature camera hidden in the bushes in the corner of the courtyard wall.

Several well-equipped sentries were stationed all around, constantly observing the surroundings.

Inside, push open a seemingly ordinary closet to find a downward staircase. Stepping down the stairs, you'll discover a huge basement.

The basement was decorated very luxuriously in the center, with a genuine leather sofa placed in the middle and various decorative items displayed around it.

The surrounding scenery was quite different; it was separated by iron fences and transformed into a circle of low cubicles.

The simple huts were like prison cells, with electronic locks on the iron doors, and only certain people had the keys.

There were five or six men and women locked inside. They weren't starving to the point of being skin and bones. They told the managers that starving would affect the quality of the parts.

Two meals a day, just the right amount to maintain vital signs, but the taste is so bad it's nauseating.

Some people, due to prolonged imprisonment, have become completely numb, their eyes vacant, leaning against the wall as if they have lost all attachment to the world, leaving only the instinct to survive.

Footsteps echoed in the basement.

A middle-aged man wearing a black suit and frameless glasses walked in.

He was of medium height, with a refined appearance and meticulously combed hair, exuding an air of gentlemanly elegance.

If you didn't see the hellish landscape around him, you would think he was a respectable corporate executive or a secretary in some parliament.

In fact, he is.

Hiroki Yamashita, a member of the Bunkyo Ward Council, appears to be a diligent public servant, participating in community development and shaking hands and smiling with voters in front of the camera.

Secretly, he was a crucial link in this black market supply chain for human organs.

His job was simple: find goods according to the needs of his superiors, and then maintain the daily operation of the underground base.

From a wealthy tycoon suffering from heart failure to a bureaucrat's relative in need of a kidney transplant, as long as there is demand and the price is right, he can arrange a match.

Everyone locked up in this basement has been successfully matched with a stranger hundreds of miles away.

At this moment, they are no longer human beings, but rather a spare parts depot for the human body.

There are currently six people left in the inventory, three men and three women.

Their ages range from teenagers to people in their thirties; some are homeless, some are foreign workers, and others are marginalized members of society.

Even if someone disappears, it won't attract much attention.

Hiroki Yamashita was holding a box of pizza he had just brought back from outside; it was still steaming hot.

The aroma of cheese filled the basement, and a few people who still had a shred of consciousness couldn't help but swallow hard, their eyes fixed on the box of pizza, filled with longing.

The prison food they received each day was barely enough to fill their stomachs, and tasted like cardboard; they hadn't had normal food in a long time.

"Anyone want some?" Yamashita asked, as if greeting his neighbors. "It's Friday today, so consider it an extra meal for you."

He walked up to a cell where a young woman was being held.

The woman huddled in the corner; she had a good figure but average looks, and beneath her tattered clothes, faint bruises were visible.

Her kidney buyer was a successful entrepreneur in his sixties.

She just needs to live a little longer until the industrialist decides to have the surgery, at which point her organs will be immediately removed and sent away.

Down the mountain near the iron fence, he beckoned with his finger, as if ordering a dog:

"Have you been hungry for two days? If you want to eat, you know how to cook it. There's a reward if you do it well."

Although this woman couldn't compare to the famous women in high-end brothels, the pleasure of being able to feed and control people like dogs far surpassed any illusion that money could buy.

The woman raised her head, silently stood up, walked towards the fence, and then knelt down in front of him.

"Yes."

She didn't know why she was suddenly kidnapped here. She had just worked at a convenience store and came home a little late. When she woke up, she found herself here, disheveled.

Because of her decent figure, she became a tool for these demons to vent their frustrations in full view of everyone.

However, she had a reason to live: her elderly mother, who was unable to move around easily, needed her care, and her mother must be very worried about her after she had been missing for so many days.

But do I really have a chance to escape?

Thinking of this, the woman's eyes filled with tears, and she obediently helped the man undress.

Through the railing, the man squinted and patted her head.

"So nice."

At this moment, in an alley not far from the detached house, Han Chuanyou, shrouded in mist, was examining the house, unaware of the evil hidden within.

After a moment's thought, just to be on the safe side, he produced an invisibility talisman in his hand. After activating it, his body disappeared from the spot, completely blending into the night, and he made his way towards the house.

In a corner of the courtyard, a sentry holding a samurai sword looked around.

The quiet night made him feel relaxed. He thought that after his shift ended, he should go back to his room and take a good bath, wondering if he could release his pent-up desires on that woman with a nice figure.

Thinking back to how it felt, the man smiled wistfully.

Suddenly, he felt a gentle breeze by his ear, as if something had brushed past him.

He glanced over instinctively.

With a clang.

A flash of inspiration struck him. Before he could even utter a sound, he felt his perspective spinning. For the first time, he saw his own body from a third-person perspective, except that his head was missing. He could clearly see the blood vessels in the cut of his neck.

The blood stopped flowing for a moment before gushing out from his neck with a "plop".

That's...my body?

His consciousness remained in that moment, and then vanished into nothingness.

With a thud, his body crashed to the ground, the blood gushing from his arteries still making a hissing sound.

"Who's there! What's that sound? Number Two, what's wrong on your end?"

A voice came from the walkie-talkie.

Han Chuan You didn't answer, but revealed his figure and walked towards the direction of the voice.

Chapter 35 Judgment, The Mask of Asura (Bonus 4K chapter, from the previous round, please vote!)

On the side of the sentry codenamed Number One, he had just put down his walkie-talkie and was about to come over to check the situation when he bumped into Han Chuanyou.

"Intrusion!"

He roared and instantly drew his katana from his waist, slashing down at Han Chuan You's head.

He possessed the skill of a seventh-dan swordsman and was very confident in the speed of his sword strikes, certain that he could cut down the uninvited guest before he could even react.

Han Chuanyou leaned back slightly, and Qing Ling blocked the sword-drawing slash in front of him.

too slow.

The man's pupils contracted sharply.

This speed is wrong, it's too fast!

He gritted his teeth, raised his sword, shouted, and slashed down again.

Han Chuanyou stopped defending and stepped forward, while Qing Ling slashed horizontally.

A flash of light.

The katana in the man's hand was cleanly severed, half of the blade flying out and clattering to the ground. He felt a chill on his neck and raised his hand to touch it.

My hands were covered in blood.

His artery was severed. He desperately tried to cover the wound, but to no avail. Blood gushed out from between his fingers, and his legs gave way, causing him to collapse to his knees.

Extremely fast.

This was his last thought.

Han Chuanyou didn't turn around and walked straight ahead.

The other two sentries who rushed over upon hearing the news were kicked in the chest by him as soon as one of them rushed out from around the corner. His ribs made a sharp cracking sound, and he flew backward and crashed into the wall, landing limply on the ground, motionless.

The other one turned to run, but Han Chuanyou stabbed him through the shoulder with a backhand stroke, pinning him to the door. His scream was cut short as he was punched in the temple, his skull shattered, and his voice came to an abrupt halt.

Arriving at the main gate, Han Chuanyou kicked it hard.

"boom!"

The wooden door, frame and all, flew inside and crashed onto the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Inside the room, seven or eight burly men, their clothes disheveled, emerged from the lounge and corridor, some carrying baseball bats and others wielding katanas.

They were startled by the sudden sound of the door being broken down, but quickly recovered and began to grumble and shove as they gathered around.

They all trembled when they saw the figure shrouded in mist before them, its form obscured.

"grim Reaper?"

One person couldn't help but speak up.

These days, the name Death is all over the place, said to descend upon the world specifically to judge sins.

These wicked people had certainly heard about it, and even joked about it, thinking it was just fake news exaggerated by the media to attract attention. They never expected to actually be come knocking on their door.

Han Chuanyou stepped through the door and into the room without saying a word, but the overwhelming pressure still made the people take a step back.

"Hurry up! Few who see him will survive, or we'll be the ones who die!"

"That's right! Let's all go together!"

"Xinei!"

They mustered their courage and charged at him together.

Faced with their siege, Han Chuanyou did not use any magic. Relying only on Qingling's sharpness and his own speed, he struck with each step, each strike aimed at the throat.

Blood splattered, and corpses fell one after another. In less than two minutes, only one survivor remained in the hall.

The burly man in front of me, wearing only a pair of shorts, was trembling like a leaf.

Looking at the corpses of his companions scattered on the ground, his legs went weak, and he collapsed to his knees. A foul, fishy smell emanated from beneath him, and he was so terrified that he lost control of his bladder.

"Lord Death, spare me!" He desperately sought a chance to survive, kowtowing frantically, his forehead slamming against the floor with loud thuds. "I was being manipulated, spare my life!"

Han Chuanyou frowned at the smell and took a step back in disgust.

"Who ordered it?"

Along the way, he didn't see any leaders; they were all small fry.

"I'll take you there! I'll take you there!"

The burly man scrambled to his feet, staggered to the wall at the far end of the living room, and pushed open a seemingly ordinary closet.

The inner panel of the closet was removed, revealing a downward staircase, with dim light shining up from below.

Han Chuanyou raised an eyebrow; there was even a basement.

He glanced at the burly man and gestured for him to go first.

The burly man trembled as he walked down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the narrow passageway.

The basement door was ajar. He pushed it open, and the interior was brightly lit, a hidden world.

Hearing the noise, Hiroki Yamashita, who was standing in front of the iron fence, turned his head with a displeased expression.

He hates being disturbed at times like this.

"What are you doing down here? Looking for women? I told you to take care of these goods, we'll talk about it tomorrow."

He noticed that the burly man was pale and trembling, and realized something was wrong.