Shameless One

"How far do we have to go?" Cao Zunsheng asked, his voice echoing softly as he and Yang Jiuzhou ventured down the dim, foreboding hallways of the central prison.

Nestled directly beneath the imperial palace, the Eternal Dynasty's central prison was reputed as the safest in the world. Its location was no accident; it was a declaration of the imperial family's absolute confidence in their authority and security. The prison descended nine levels underground, and its structure was a testament to a grim hierarchy—prisoners were confined deeper based on the threat they posed.

Yet, it wasn't the architecture or depth that made this place inescapable. Within the eternal dynasty, there were warriors so powerful that no substance in this world could lock them inside. The prison's true security was a well-guarded secret, whispered about in hushed tones among the Eternal Dynasty's citizens. Both men walking its halls knew the truth: the prison's impenetrability stemmed from a singular figure.

The Warden.

"This is the ninth floor," Yang stated flatly, his gaze sweeping over the shadowed cells. Within them, criminals—once infamous, powerful, or untouchable—were now reduced to hollow shells of their former selves. Eyes devoid of light, their spirits had been extinguished in the suffocating darkness. Strangely, the cells had no bars or visible barriers.

Cao glanced around, unease flickering in his eyes. Some of the faces stirred faint recognition, but the specters before him hardly resembled the villains he once knew.

"Where's Wu Que?" he asked, his voice steady and mechanical as always.

Yang continued without pause, lifting an arm and pointing to the ground below. His expression was unreadable, though his lips curled into a faint, chilling smile.

Cao's eyes narrowed. "I thought the central prison only had nine floors."

"Wu Que didn't like how cramped his new 'home' was," Yang said, almost lazily. "So, he dug himself a tenth."

At the corridor's end, a single cell stood apart. In its center was a gaping hole in the ground, leading into blackness below. Beside it, reclining on a plain bed, sat an elderly man in pristine attire—a stark contrast to the gloom around him.

The old man waved languidly at their approach. "Prime Minister Yang? What brings you here today?"

Yang straightened, inclining his head slightly. "Mister Bai, His Majesty has sent us for a brief conversation with Wu Que."

The old man, Bai Ling—warden of the central prison—arched a brow. "His Majesty's command, you say? Do you have the royal decree?"

Before Yang could respond, Bai Ling waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind. I trust you." He leaned back, eyes closing as if already disinterested. "Take care."

Cao Zunsheng sighed, shaking his head. Warden Bai Ling, known widely as the "Old Drunkard," was both the prison's greatest asset and its most enigmatic inhabitant.

The Eternal Dynasty's art scrolls were divided into three major sectors: Martial, Spiritual, and Channeling. Each branched further into specialized techniques, tailored to various forms of mastery. Ward art is a specific branch of the spiritual sector, focused on creating seals that could manipulate specific spaces. These seals served a myriad of purposes in combat, from confining foes to deflecting assaults.

But Bai Ling's mastery of Wardcraft deviated from convention, carving a path so unorthodox it bordered on singularity. Forsaking all offensive applications, Bai Ling refined his wards into pure, unyielding defense. His seals formed barriers so absolute that not even Huan, the strongest in the world, could breach them. These barriers were unrelenting, enduring indefinitely so long as Bai Ling maintained their flow of spiritual energy.

This unparalleled mastery elevated Bai Ling to the ideal warden—the linchpin of the Eternal Dynasty's central prison. Yet his immense power came at a cruel cost. To sustain the seals encasing the prison's most dangerous captives, Bai Ling was bound to its depths, shackled by chains of duty. The walls he had fortified also became his own eternal cage.

Over decades, he had resigned himself to this fate, finding solace only in his wine, earning his "honorary" title. His abilities had become so instinctual that he could fortify his barriers even when drunk.

Cao followed Yang as he leapt into the hole, landing on a smooth stone floor a few meters below. The space was pitch-black, save for the faint light filtering in from above. Just as Cao adjusted to the darkness, two crimson glows pierced the shadows.

"Hey, old friend," Yang greeted softly, waving at the light.

Before Cao could speak, the scarlet glow surged toward them at a terrifying speed. In an instant, a barrier materialized, repelling the charging figure.

The figure staggered back—a man whose blood-red eyes glared through the gloom. His scarred, sinewy frame was a portrait of brutality. Wu Que, the infamous Corpse Burier, exuded a presence more beast than human.

"Bai Ling…" Wu Que growled, his voice guttural and venomous. "Coward… I hate… cowards…"

Above, Bai Ling's voice floated down with a chuckle. "Can't help it. Defense is all I do."

Wu Que ignored him, his gaze snapping to Yang and Cao. His eyes widened in unbridled fury as he lunged again, only to be rebuffed once more by the invisible ward.

"Yang Jiuzhou!" Wu Que bellowed, his voice a storm of rage.

Yang stood firm, his expression unflinching. "It must be hard," he said quietly, almost sympathetically, "to be trapped here for so long."

Wu Que's only response was a glare so intense it seemed as if blood might seep from his eyes.

Yang's tone shifted, taking on a sharper edge. "Wu Que, do you want freedom?"

A pause. Then, a deranged laughter erupted from Wu Que. "Freedom? For me? At what cost?"

As Yang began to explain the emperor's command, Cao's attention drifted. He focused on the scarlet glow, his thoughts elsewhere, until Yang's voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper, ensuring Bai Ling couldn't overhear.

"That, is what the emperor wants from you, but guess what? I have a different request."

Wu Que sneered. "Yang Jiuzhou, simply because it's you asking, I refuse. No matter how tempting the offer."

Yang smirked. "Don't be hasty. Look first." He turned to Cao. "Show him."

Cao snapped back to the moment, extending an arm. Panels of synthetic flesh peeled back, revealing intricate mechanical components. A projection materialized—a young man in regal attire, speaking to a crowd. Cracks ran across his skin, making him look more like a robot than a human.

Wu Que froze, his expression shifting to disbelief.

"This," Cao began, "is the Vice Chairman of the Platinum Hall. A cyborg I designed. Unlike modifying myself, integrating machines into others is… imperfect. As I can't sense what other people were feeling." He gestured to the projection. "He's successful but slightly flawed. His memories and emotions remain, but you can no longer call him human. I had given him the codename 'Reset.'"

Wu Que collapsed to his knees, his face a canvas of despair.

Yang crouched, his voice calm yet insidious. "It's not over. If you do what we ask, not only will you be free, but so will he."

Wu Que's gaze locked with Yang's, brimming with loathing. "How can they call me a demon," he said through gritted teeth, "when you exist in this world?"

"You think I will trust you again after all that had happened?"

Yang laughed softly. "Better to trust the untrustworthy than to trust nothing at all. Alone, you can change nothing. I swear on the three champions' names, that I will fulfill what I've promised."

Wu Que's voice was a cold whisper. "The first thing I'll do when I'm free is kill you."

Yang straightened, chuckling. "Do you still find killing so entertaining?"

"For others, it's entertainment," Wu Que spat. "But for you, Yang Jiuzhou, it's justice." He paused, his voice losing its edge. "Tell me what you want."

"Now that's the spirit!" Yang grinned his cheer a chilling contrast to the grim tension. Beside him, Cao Zunsheng remained silent, his expression unreadable.