The hall was soaked in a frantic, bloody atmosphere, yet the exterior of the building, despite its association with carnage, possessed a lavish elegance that offered an inexplicable sense of comfort; the murderous intent that permeated the stairwells seemed to be suppressed within these walls.

The portly proprietor skipped lightly to the front desk, leaning his arms on the counter, and announced to the beautiful waitress, "Hi, Lisa, I've brought someone who wants to enter Blood Frenzy."

Lisa, with her dyed blonde hair, glanced at Qin Fen once, then dismissed him from her attention, already opening the safe to search for a number tag.

She had seen far too many young men like Qin Fen, those brimming with misplaced confidence who dared to come to Blood Frenzy believing they were hotshots.

If one possessed no special talents beyond fighting prowess, survival in the Golden Triangle meant seeking out places like Blood Frenzy, hoping that during the process of earning money, they might be noticed by military scouts working for some general, thus achieving a swift ascent to a better life.

"Here is your number..." Lisa looked down at the tag, faintly stained with dried blood, and paused internally: "Number forty-four..."

Hearing this number, the stout owner’s face bloomed with glee. He clapped Qin Fen on the shoulder: "The elevator is over there, you can head down first. I'll be right there..."

Qin Fen pinned the yellowish number tag, sullied with the blood of countless others, to his chest, and walked into the elevator without looking back.

Lisa watched the floor numbers change on the elevator, then shot the fat owner a scathing look: "How can you still be smiling? That’s the unlucky number forty-four tag. It seems no one who ever got that number has ever survived their first fight. If he loses, you only earn a small referral fee; if he wins, you still get a cut..."

"I know," the owner said, his gaze lecherous as he swallowed hard while staring at Lisa's partially unbuttoned blouse revealing deep cleavage: "Are you free tonight? How about dinner?"

"Dinner?" Lisa pushed up her ample chest with both hands: "Vincent. You don't want dinner. You want me, right? I'm very expensive."

"Hmph..." Vincent rolled his eyes at Lisa: "Expensive? Fine, skip dinner then. Tonight, I have better women to savor..."

Vincent finished speaking without sparing Lisa another glance, moving his rather corpulent body toward the elevator entrance. Compared to the mature Lisa, he preferred the silent woman beside Qin Fen—her figure, skin, and looks were impeccable! If only he could get that ice-cold beauty into his bed...

The thought of Lin Ling’s sexy and vibrant silhouette sent a surge of heat through Vincent's lower abdomen.

Qin Fen stepped onto the second basement level and was immediately assaulted by a din of chaotic shouts. The thousand-plus seats were already packed, the occupants wildly waving their betting slips and beer bottles, their expressions intensely focused on the single ring in the center of the floor.

Two martial artists were locked in combat on the platform. Rules prohibited the use of firearms and other heavy weaponry, but any cold weapon was permitted; even if you had enough wealth to buy a vibrating electromagnetic blade, no one would stop you from bringing it into the ring.

The two currently fighting had not chosen to enter bare-handed. One wielded a single saber, while the other held two iron rods, each studded with hundreds of half-inch iron spikes. The result of such weapons striking a body was easy to imagine.

Both men were already stained with blood, suggesting they had already enacted half a brutal battle before Qin Fen exited the elevator.

Qin Fen walked toward the number queuing area near the ring, eyes fixed intently on the two fighters above. It was clear these two middle-aged men were no strangers to such life-or-death arenas. Both the aura they exuded and the ruthless decisiveness of their attacks far surpassed those who only performed basic drills in the recruit camps. They were simply not in the same league.

Qin Fen was certain that without the experience of several life-or-death battles and daily intensive training alongside seasoned instructors, even reaching a five-star Meteor level through solitary practice would result in his death within ten moves against either man in the ring. Life and death were the ultimate forge. They tested not only the body but also the will.

Nearing the arena, Qin Fen noticed that the people sitting in the first row were not spectators but men like him, each bearing a number tag on their chest. These men wore stern expressions, entirely unfazed by the roaring chaos around them, observing everything on the stage with calm focus. They needed to study the combatants, as any survivor from the ring could become their next opponent.

Qin Fen approached the number scheduling desk and handed over the tag hanging on his chest.

The man responsible for the tags, covered in a thick stubble, suddenly displayed a bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes when he saw Qin Fen’s number. A mocking curve played on his lips as he said, "Kid, bad luck hitting you recently, huh?"

Qin Fen glanced sideways at the life-or-death battle nearing its end on the stage and replied casually, "Terrible."

The stubbled man wore an expression of vindication: "I knew it." He casually keyed the forty-four into the computer: "When do you plan to go up? Familiarize yourself with the environment first? Or..."

"Familiarize myself with the environment first. Can you schedule me for the last match before lunch?" Qin Fen asked, his tone utterly level as he observed the bloody scene unfolding on the platform.

By now, the saber-wielding martial artist was dead, his skull shattered on the platform, his eyes wide with lingering resentment. He had held the advantage until the final strike. However, he never anticipated that the two seemingly solid iron rods were hollow! Inside, there were iron chains! At the critical moment, the spiked rods suddenly transformed, the chains wrapping around the blade, smashing the man's head apart.

The victor showed no elation in winning. He had used his ultimate secret move to secure the victory, meaning his next opponent would certainly anticipate it.

The stubbled man laughed repeatedly upon hearing Qin Fen's request: "Truly worthy of drawing the unlucky number; even the match time you request is an unlucky slot. Look up at the big screen. Your opponent is waiting: Number fifty-four."

"Look quickly!" someone suddenly shouted from the noisy crowd: "The Finger Devil Butcher! Number fifty-four, the Finger Devil Butcher, his opponent is set!"

At this announcement, the boisterous crowd first fell silent, then erupted into an even more feverish clamor.

Qin Fen retrieved his number tag and turned around, noticing that those seated in the front row—the other fighters—were all looking at him as if he were already dead. A few showed pity, but most displayed mockery. Beneath these looks, they shared a common underlying emotion.

Qin Fen interpreted that expression as "relief"—these fighters were all glad they weren't facing the Finger Devil Butcher. Anyone who could participate in the [Blood Frenzy] fights was supposed to be a person who had long ago stopped caring about life or death. Yet, these very individuals feared the Finger Devil Butcher.

No explanation or background check was needed. Based purely on the audience's reaction and the demeanor of the other fighters, it was obvious that the Finger Devil Butcher was supremely formidable in this fighting pit on the second basement level.

When Vincent saw the man he brought matched against the Finger Devil Butcher, his face lit up with joy. The number forty-four tag truly was an unlucky curse; facing the Finger Devil Butcher on his first entry—what else could it be?

On this level, if one were to ask who the strongest fighter in the arena was, many people would offer different answers. Some might cite Chen Feiyu’s [Seven Severances and Seven Desolations Heartbreak Palm], claiming any hit guaranteed death, the victim's face contorted in a smile that was more tragic and hideous than any scream. Legend held that the requirements to master this technique were extremely harsh: the Seven Desolations were the severance of heart, emotion, gratitude, desire, pain, life/death, and yearning. The Seven Severances described the opponent's fate: severed heart meridians, severed blood vessels, severed tendons, severed liver/intestines, severed kidney fluids, shattered bones, and severed wrist pulses.

Others might argue for Bian Licè’s [Black-Green Corrosive Bone Palm]; those struck died looking like normal people, but upon dissection, one would find that all blood, organs, and bones had turned jet black.

Of course, some would still nominate the Finger Devil Butcher. But if the question was who was the most brutal, most insane, and most perverted fighter on this floor, there would be no disagreement: it would be the Finger Devil Butcher.

"Hello, I am your first opponent here in Blood Frenzy."

Hearing the voice, Qin Fen slowly looked up at the man standing before him. He was about 1.8 meters tall; the muscles beneath his clothes were extremely well-defined, suggesting powerful explosive force. His hands were rough and large, the main veins on the back of his hands bulging like old tree roots. His fingernails were clipped perfectly clean, entirely devoid of any sharpness, and the muscle mass at his 'tiger’s mouth' was hard like small stones.

The number fifty-four tag was polished until it gleamed and hung on his chest. Paired with his somewhat refined appearance, he resembled a scholar.

The two men sitting next to Qin Fen instinctively shifted slightly to the side, avoiding even looking at Number Fifty-four.

Lin Ling also walked out of the crowd and sat down unceremoniously onto Qin Fen’s lap, leaning sweetly and happily into his embrace.

Qin Fen wrapped his arms gently around Lin Ling’s waist, pulling her close, his eyes burning with challenge: "I might be your last opponent."

"Heh heh..." The Finger Devil Butcher showed no real surprise. Newcomers always thought they were invincible; arrogance was often just a way to bolster courage.

"Is that so? The thing I enjoy doing most is..." The Finger Devil Butcher leaned down toward Qin Fen, seemingly oblivious to the exquisite Lin Ling present: "Hearing my opponents beg for mercy in their screams, right up until they die."

The Finger Devil Butcher’s demeanor remained gentlemanly, yet his tone carried an undercurrent of hysterical excitement. This sharp contrast caused the skin on the arms of many nearby fighters to break out in goosebumps.

"I hate flies buzzing in my ear," Qin Fen shot back without yielding an inch: "So, I much prefer ending my opponents quickly and cleanly."

A look of thrilled amusement crossed the Finger Devil Butcher's face. He turned toward the fighter beside Qin Fen and bowed politely again: "Hello, could you perhaps give me this seat?"

The asked fighter hesitated. No one here was eager to offend the Finger Devil Butcher. However, yielding his seat in front of so many witnesses would lead to universal contempt and a collapse of morale, guaranteeing a loss in his next match.

"There’s no need to make room for a dead man," Qin Fen replied, not even looking at the other fighter, addressing the Butcher: "Also, I don't know who you encountered in the past to generate such intense admiration, but please stop trying to act hysterically mad. You’re not convincing."

The smile on the Finger Devil Butcher’s face stiffened for the first time. He mechanically turned his neck and scrutinized his opponent anew.

Qin Fen completely ignored the people beside him, quietly focusing on the new fight about to commence in the ring. Literal data was never as direct as witnessing and experiencing things firsthand. Understanding the local style deeply before engaging was the most crucial thing.

After watching several bouts, the audience began to jeer, chanting rhythmically: "Finger Devil Butcher~ Finger Devil Butcher~!" The sound rose and fell in waves, and the atmosphere grew more intense with their roaring.

A beautiful woman dressed in a three-point swimsuit stepped onto the stage carrying a microphone, her hips swaying in a way that provoked primal urges in men. "As everyone awaits, the next match features Number Fifty-four, the Finger Devil Butcher, against the newcomer with the unlucky number forty-four. Will this newcomer break the curse of the unlucky number? Or will he die under the torture of the Finger Devil Butcher?"

The Finger Devil Butcher sprang forward in three quick steps onto the stage and slapped the beauty’s tempting posterior. The sharp, loud sound echoed for all to hear.

Struck on the backside, the beauty let out a piercing scream, as if she were being murdered. She hastily took two steps back, reaching to touch her rear, only to realize she was physically unharmed. The moment she calmed down, the tiny patch covering her most intimate area ripped apart with a shhhwa, exposing her private parts to thousands of eyes.

At that moment, the floor erupted with howls and whistles. The woman showed no panic over her torn clothing. She decisively ripped off the two pieces covering her chest, walked nakedly, swaying her hips, off the stage, and stopped before Qin Fen, saying coquettishly: "Kid, if you can kill the man who undressed me, this sister is yours tonight."

Slap...

A loud, sharp slap landed on the woman's face; the hand belonged to Lin Ling, who was still seated in Qin Fen's lap.

"He is my man." Lin Ling's icy eyes and voice in that instant made the woman feel as though she were about to be killed.

The onlookers once again erupted in cheers, the sound wave building higher and higher.

Qin Fen stood up, drawing Lin Ling's alluring waist toward him, and said to the woman in a calm voice: "Do you think you are prettier than her?"

This simple question caused the naked woman's expression to change drastically, shame overriding disappointment. While she was attractive, compared to Lin Ling, the difference was not small—it was vast.

Qin Fen looked up at the ring. His Dragon Form steps of the Flying Dragon Eight Style allowed him to advance with shoulders drawn in and head held high, radiating an imposing aura as he vaulted onto the stage in a few strides.

"Two annoying men, I wish you both annihilation," shouted the woman who had been slapped by Lin Ling, holding the microphone high. "Start now!"

The Finger Devil Butcher's refined face instantly twisted into a manic grin. He lightly flexed the ten fingers of his hands and chuckled: "I was once hunted by the Federation for dismembering bodies. I had no choice but to flee here. On the way, I tore six police officers apart. I love the feeling of peeling chunks of flesh from a person's body with my fingertips, bit by bit. I love hearing the victim’s screams, and even more, I love seeing the terror they display because of my cruelty. I hope you won't disappoint me..."

Qin Fen stood rooted in place with his arms relaxed, a hint of disdain etched on his face: "Finger Devil? Perhaps you have earned the title. Mastering the Thousand Finger Technique to this extent is not easy. However... tsk, tsk..."

"However, what?" The Finger Devil's face contorted into something terrifying at Qin Fen's expression of contempt: "Do you have an issue with the 'Butcher' part of my title?"

"Yes, a major one," Qin Fen nodded, approaching his opponent as if taking a stroll: "You are unworthy of those two words. Starting today, I am requisitioning them."

"You?" The Finger Devil Butcher laughed. He lightly balanced on the balls of his feet, stepping out a strange sequence of movements—a routine he invented while fleeing into the Golden Triangle, which he called the Dance of Death: light and utterly bizarre. Its greatest advantage was that it left afterimages on an opponent's retina, causing critical errors in judgment. Only this way could he calmly tear the flesh from his opponent piece by piece until they died.

Qin Fen’s casual stroll abruptly morphed into the Dragon Form step. He thrust one foot out, appearing before the Finger Devil Butcher in what seemed like an instantaneous teleportation. This step was not only fast but perfectly positioned, cutting off all the Butcher’s retreat paths.

Slap...

The movements of both men were rapid, flashing past each other like lightning. A seam split in the fabric of Qin Fen’s shoulder. In previous arena fights, when a shoulder seam tore, it was inevitably followed by a blinding jet of crimson blood. This time, there was only a tear in the cloth, no pillar of blood, and no subsequent scream of agony to excite the crowd.

The Finger Devil Butcher stared in astonishment at his own fingers. It was the first time his Thousand Finger Technique had failed to tear away flesh. He turned to look at Qin Fen, who was also turning to face him.

The fighter numbered forty-four held an object in his hand, or perhaps, a human organ. The Butcher was intimately familiar with this organ. Each time he was on the verge of finishing an opponent, he would breach the chest cavity, listen to the painful cries, and then rip out the organ called the "heart." Now, this young man numbered forty-four held such an organ. Moreover, it was beating with a steady rhythm, squeezing out tiny mists of blood with every contraction.

The Finger Devil Butcher instinctively looked down. A hole gaped in his own chest, from which bright red blood was now flowing.

"You..." The Finger Devil Butcher stopped worrying about why his fingers hadn't ripped flesh and instead clutched his bleeding chest, staring at Qin Fen in sheer terror.

"Heart extraction, I am even more professional than you," Qin Fen said with a gentle smile, crushing the heart in his hand, thereby crushing the Finger Devil Butcher's hope. His icy voice reached the Butcher: "When I fled here, I killed over sixty police officers and seventeen professional special forces soldiers. In my eyes, you are as fragile as a child."