Chapter Nineteen: The Great Turmoil

As the glass platform slowly descended, the scene beneath their feet became ever clearer. Some of the Freemen had changed into running attire suited for long-distance sprints, while others remained in suits and leather shoes, all gripping various cold weapons. In the moonlight’s reflection, Mu You saw machetes among their arsenal—along with ropes, clubs, fishing nets, and countless other tools for capturing prey, their numbers overwhelming.

The other death row inmates, upon witnessing this, all changed expression; tension began to spread through their ranks.

"What are you afraid of? Don’t forget, you’re all here because you’ve dealt with people like them before," Mu You said, biting his finger and calling everyone to gather around.

"Close your eyes, relax completely," he instructed. Then, on each person’s cheeks, he drew a blood streak passing across their closed eyes. When they opened their eyes again, they saw fierce and imposing faces around them; their own expressions gradually grew resolute.

Mu You took out the mask distributed by the game and put it on. It was a half-mask, covering only his nose and below, shaped like a fearsome demon’s jaw with jagged fangs—terrifying to behold. Already possessing a hint of a rogue’s temperament, Mu You’s aura, long repressed, burst forth anew as he donned the mask. Behind the mask, his mouth twisted into a wild, unrestrained grin, while a savage and brutal energy spread from within. Staring at the increasingly excited faces below, his eyes no longer held emptiness or calm, but rather an indomitable, bloodthirsty spirit.

I was born kind, but fate made me a butcher.

It was the first time the others had seen Mu You so sharp-edged and imposing. Awed, they followed suit and donned their own masks—black-faced, fanged, streaked with blood—until a chilling murderous atmosphere began to coalesce. The platform’s descent suddenly accelerated, and the biting wind battered their prison garb, but their gazes only grew more determined.

"Yoo-hoo—" Mu You whistled, exclaiming, "Isn’t this feeling of descending like kings exhilarating? Show your ferocity! I don’t care about your pasts, but now—you need to go wild for me, just like..."

He bent low, arching his back, his eyes locked onto the Freemen below, like a wild beast stalking its prey—still as death, but ready to explode like thunder.

"...just like when you killed before."

At these words, nearly all the death row inmates felt their long-suppressed resentment and rage ignite.

"Good!"

To hell with it!

Wasn’t it because of these oppressors’ machinations that they’d fallen to such a wretched state—ruined, their families destroyed, forced onto this road of no return?

And these so-called rulers, not only had they enjoyed impunity, but now they used the inmates’ last breath as a wager for entertainment. Was that not a crime in itself?

What had become of this world?

The powerful liked to dress up the submissiveness of the lower classes as a kind of benevolent virtue—just yield and obey, or else, you are guilty.

Those who block the way, deserve death.

Everyone here had once stood in the way of those in power. Thus, they were marked for death, and if they wished to live, they had to beg for mercy, for pity. The ruling class simply threw them into this Death Row Paradise, to rekindle their appetite for cruelty as the inmates struggled in despair.

But what if these condemned men broke their chains of fate once more—what then?

The condemned are forbidden to kill, but there’s no rule that says Freemen cannot die.

The game of backlash had officially begun.

The platform’s descent slowed sharply, and they landed gently. Only ten meters now separated the death row inmates of Building A from the Freemen. Nearly fifty Freemen had entered this contest. Facing a crowd of inmates outnumbering them by more than twentyfold, the Freemen were nonetheless excited, rubbing their hands and whispering among themselves.

To conceal their identities, all the Freemen wore half-angel masks covering their foreheads and eyes, making their features indiscernible. Mu You noticed, however, that some had even brought children.

“Sweetheart, later Daddy will take you hunting—feel the real aura of a king,” one said.

The child said nothing, shooting his father a glance and lifting his pointed chin arrogantly as he surveyed the crowd. Finally, he declared, “I want to catch the fiercest man here, take him home, and train him as a human dog. I’ll make him fight my friends’ wolfhounds—now that’ll be impressive!”

By his voice, he was no more than fifteen or sixteen, yet the words were twisted beyond belief.

Rather than being shocked, the boy’s father seemed pleased, patting his son’s shoulder—only to be shrugged off impatiently.

As he spoke, the youth glanced at Mu You, perhaps sensing the aura he desired.

Mu You smirked coldly.

Wait until you enter Death Row Paradise—I’ll show you what real hunting is.

"The condemned will enter the Paradise to hide first. Freemen, please sign the life-and-death agreement; you will enter after half an hour. Should any accident occur, the park bears no responsibility."

Upon hearing this, Mu You’s heart lifted—there were clearly loopholes to exploit, or the park wouldn’t have set such a rule.

The first and thirteenth floors, led by their dangerous inmates, entered Death Row Paradise first. Astonishingly, the leader from the first floor was a striking, tall beauty, and judging by the respect she commanded, she was clearly formidable.

The two groups kept their distance, for Death Row Paradise’s rules lifted the prohibition on same-level inmate combat. Today, the condemned were free to slaughter each other.

Mu You and the tall beauty avoided each other’s gaze, picking directions and swiftly leading their teams away.

But as the second and twelfth floors entered, chaos erupted at the end of Mu You’s group—screams and curses rang out, interspersed with heartrending cries, most cut short after a single shriek.

"Not good!" Mu You exclaimed, ordering He Jing and Xu Chen to lead the group toward the artificial hills to seize the terrain, while he darted toward the chaos at the rear.

With every muscle surging, he shot forward like a cannon shell into the riot. The crowd parted in shock for their boss, and as the wind roared past, Mu You saw a melee had broken out between the rear of his group and the twelfth-floor inmates.

Hu Lei was almost crippling men with a single punch, while Mu You’s own comrades pressed on fearlessly, blocking the twelfth floor’s advance at the cost of their lives—buying their brothers time to retreat. Witnessing this, Mu You felt his blood boil, surging to his head.

He’d never trusted anyone, nor believed in loyalty—he’d always thought it a sham. Yet the scene before him crashed into his heart, awakening something within, sharp as a needle. Rage gave him new speed.

"Hu Lei, you bastard—get over here!"

Mu You smashed aside three twelfth-floor inmates who tried to block him, his roar drawing the attention of at least ten opponents, who surged toward him. Behind them, Hu Lei bared a cruel smile.

Mu You leapt, his elbow crashing into the skull of the foremost opponent, knocking him out instantly. Seizing the man’s leg, Mu You spun three hundred sixty degrees and hurled him at the oncoming mob.

A wall of bodies crashed to the ground. Mu You surged forward, bounding over the heap and soaring into the air, fist raised to slam down on Hu Lei.

Seeing Mu You’s fury, Hu Lei gleefully tossed aside the corpse impaled on his arm—his temples red with blood—and raised his own fist to meet the blow.

In midair, Mu You caught the corpse and recognized the short inmate who’d been bullied by the hairy-chested brute that morning. Inextinguishable fury surged through him.

"You’ll pay for this!"

Two fists—one large, one small—collided with thunderous force.