The Goal of Becoming a Corpse God

"You're indeed not just ordinary trash," Ye Han said indifferently.

"Yes, yes. I am trash, please spare me," Rich pleaded tremulously.

"Now you beg for mercy, isn't it too late? Where is your arrogance now?" Ye Han's cold voice said as his dagger lightly traced over Rich's body, creating deep gashes that split open due to the tension.

Rich screamed out in intense pain, his body writhing uncontrollably, but Ye Han's grip was like a vise on his neck, immovable despite Rich's struggles.

"Do you know? You're the third person to speak to me this way," Ye Han said, ignoring Rich's screams, continuing to slide his dagger across Rich's body. Rich's white clothes were quickly stained red with blood, turning him into a bloody figure as he kept writhing, accelerating the flow of blood.

"Do you know what happened to the second person who said that to me?" Rich, having little cultivation and usually relying on his family's power, could not endure such torture and had long since passed out from the pain.

Ye Han seemed not to notice that Rich had fainted and kept talking while continuously moving his hand.

"He was castrated by me," Ye Han's icy voice clearly reached everyone's ears. Coupled with his bloody methods, a chill ran through the bystanders, trembling in fear as they looked at Ye Han.

As the dagger continued to move, Rich's body kept twitching, indicating he was still alive and not just a corpse.

Rich's upper body was covered in a dense web of cuts — deep, shallow, long, and short — and his blood and flesh dyed a large patch of ground beneath him red.

However, Rich was now barely breathing in more than he was breathing out. Ye Han shook his head. "Trash sometimes has its uses; at least your life force is strong. You haven't died from this, but I'm tired of playing," Ye Han said, tossing the nearly skeletal, blood-drained Rich aside as if discarding trash.

The young girl who came with Rich was now looking at Ye Han with stars in her eyes, as if she had discovered a new continent, and began to walk slowly towards him with what she believed to be her most charming smile.

"Sir, this young lady..."

"Get lost, you make me feel sick," Ye Han said, turning and walking into the tavern. The two guards watched him with fear, and the crowd at the entrance parted ways for him automatically.

Shortly after Ye Han entered, the crowd gradually dispersed, leaving behind the uncertain fate of Rich and his guards.

Entering the tavern, a refreshing scent of flowers hit him.

"I need a room," Ye Han approached the counter.

The waiter behind the counter stood up, saw Ye Han's worn magic robe, and his smile vanished.

"Top rooms are one gold per day, middle rooms are fifty silver, and lower rooms are ten silver," the waiter said, unaware of the events outside. Those who followed Ye Han inside looked at the waiter with sympathy.

With a slap, a purple crystal coin appeared on the counter. "A top room, somewhere quiet," Ye Han said, not wanting to trouble the waiter, aware of what they must be thinking.

Seeing the purple crystal coin, the waiter's mouth dropped open in disbelief, knowing well how it appeared.

Quickly plastering on a smile, "Yes, yes. Please wait," the waiter swiftly processed the transaction and called a waitress to take Ye Han upstairs.

Ye Han was led to a room on the third floor, the furthest to the right. After a look at the furnishings, he commented, "Not bad," and entered the room, ignoring the waitress.

After freshening up and changing into the new black robe, Ye Han looked at his reflection — a face rosy and slightly youthful — and couldn't help but laugh, "I really have become quite the pretty boy."

After reaching the fourth level of zombie cultivation, as long as there's enough blood, one would appear just like a normal person, even more so than an average person.

Ye Han wrapped himself in the black robe. Although his appearance had changed, some could still recognize him, especially with his white hair. He headed to the hall and took a seat by the window.

"Bring me some of your best dishes," Ye Han said before turning to gaze out the window, watching the bustling crowd, feeling suddenly lost.

Everyone has a goal in life, for family, for higher levels of cultivation, but what was his goal?

A life without desires seemed easy and free but could also drive one insane with loneliness.

Confusion and uncertainty suddenly filled Ye Han's mind.

Then it struck him — he was a zombie, not human, a special existence beyond all in the universe. Why should he pursue those things?

Clarity dawned upon him, and all confusion was swept away.

"Although I don't need such motivations

, aimlessly drifting is also unpleasant. So, I should set a goal for myself," Ye Han thought silently. "I'm a zombie, already immortal. What goal should I have?"

In a moment, Ye Han found a new perplexity. "Corpse God, yes, isn't that a worthy goal? Then let my endless life march towards becoming a Corpse God."

After the incident in Celt City, Ye Han had absorbed nearly two hundred thousand units of death energy, resentment, and negative emotional fluctuations. After three months of cultivation, he finally advanced to the late stage of the fourth level of zombie a month ago, significantly increasing his strength. After another month of consolidation, Ye Han left and came to Miatt City.

When news of Celt City spread, the whole continent was shocked by Ye Han's actions. When the Frost Empire's army arrived, they found only ruins where Celt City once stood, replaced by a thirty-foot tower made of human bones, with tens of thousands of skulls scattered below — the heads of the people from Celt City. Atop the tower of bones, written in blood, were the words "Blood Sacrifice."

This was Ye Han's tribute to his deceased mother using the lives of tens of thousands.

After coming to his realization, the dishes Ye Han ordered arrived, and the sight and aroma of the beautifully prepared food whetted his appetite. Although zombies didn't need to eat, Ye Han didn't want to seem too out of the ordinary and continued to have three meals a day, having always eaten magical beasts in the Transverse Mountains.

"Hey, did you hear about what happened at the Shura Arena yesterday?"

Ye Han slowly ate his meal, his attention caught by a conversation at a nearby table.

"Psh, who hasn't heard of such a big event," one man said dismissively to his companion.

"Oh, you all know?" the first man said, embarrassed.

"It came out last night. They say the boy was only about sixteen but defeated a seventh-rank swordsman in just a few moves, without even using a sword."

"Do you only know that much?"

"Oh, do you know something else?"

"Of course," the man said confidently. "I have a friend who works for the Powell family. He heard the head of the Powell family say that person came from the Sword Sect, or was it the Magic Sect? And something about a ranking contest that happens every thirty years."

"The Sword Sect, which family is that?"

"I don't know."

"Psh, I thought you knew a lot. You might as well have said nothing."

Ye Han wondered, "Sword Sect, Magic Sect, I've never heard of them before. What's this ranking contest about?"

Shaking his head, Ye Han dismissed the thoughts. "If I can't figure it out, I won't think about it. Tomorrow I'll go to the Shura Arena and see."

As night fell, Ye Han returned to his room to begin his daily cultivation. One cannot relax during cultivation; although he had reached the level of a ninth-rank powerhouse on this continent and had some life-saving techniques, there were many strong individuals in this world. The strength of the holy rank was something Ye Han had seen clearly in the battle between Otus and the Black Dragon — a level he could not currently contend with.

Strength is the foundation of survival. To avoid being killed, one must continuously cultivate and enhance their strength.

Running the Fan Shi Jue repeatedly, strands of Tai Yin energy flowed into him from all over his body, converging into his corpse pill. When Ye Han awoke, the streets were already crowded, and the lower-class civilians had begun their busy day for a new life.

"Their fate is always in the hands of those with strength, living ant-like lives generation after generation," Ye Han mused, looking down at the teeming crowds on the street below.

"Heh, what am I thinking about, their lives are none of my business," Ye Han shook his head, enveloped in his black robe, and walked out.