It had been seven days since the Ancestor of the Blood Sea was "physically evaporated."

  Under the aggressive restructuring of Daoist Singularity (now the Chief Engineer of the Netherworld), the Palace of Yama looked nothing like the gloomy dungeon of the past.

  The walls, cast from Black Mystic Iron, flowed with blue data streams. A massive holographic projection hung in the center of the hall, displaying the real-time KPI indices of the Six Paths of Reincarnation. The Yin Soldiers, now clad in unified exoskeletons and wielding electric stun batons, patrolled on automated escalators.

  Everything was orderly. Everything was... peaceful.

  But King Yama, sitting on his ergonomic Dragon Throne, felt like he was sitting on pins and needles. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and the hand holding his iPad trembled slightly.

  Because right next to his executive desk—in the spot reserved for his personal bodyguard—sat a God of Destruction.

  The Slayer.

  He wasn't sitting on a chair. He was sitting on a pitch-black ammunition crate. He hadn't taken off his Praetor Suit. He hadn't even removed his helmet.

  It was too quiet here.

  No demonic screeches, no sound of bones snapping, no roar of explosions. Only the faint hum of server cooling fans in the distance.

  For a normal person, this was tranquility.

  For the Slayer, this was torture.

  Click-clack.

  The Slayer held his Super Shotgun, freshly fitted with a new firing pin. He broke the barrel open, dumped the shells, and loaded them back in.

  Ka-chunk. Locked.

  This crisp, metallic sound echoed through the empty, silent hall like the throwing of an execution chamber's switch.

  King Yama shuddered, nearly deleting an approved electronic decree by mistake.

  "Uhh... O Great Warrior," Yama forced a smile uglier than a crying face. "If you are feeling bored, perhaps... you could visit the 'Imperial Netherworld Sauna Center' (formerly the Steamer Hell) for a soak?"

  The Slayer ignored him.

  He simply raised his head slowly, turning his墨-green visor toward Yama.

  Though his expression was hidden, Yama could feel the gaze. It was physical. It was the gaze of a hunter who couldn't find prey—anxious, thirsty, and extremely dangerous.

  On the Slayer's HUD, the 10,086th environmental scan was in progress:

  [Threat Level: 0]

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  [Demonic Presence: 0]

  [Current Objective: NONE]

  [Suggestion: Standby]

  Standby?

  That word didn't exist in his dictionary. The Argent Energy flowing through his veins was boiling, screaming for release.

  The Slayer looked down again, pulling the Chainsaw from his thigh holster.

  Vrr... vrr-vrr...

  He gently tapped the throttle, keeping the engine in a half-dead, low-idle purr. It sounded like a starving tiger growling in its sleep.

  The civil and military officials in the hall shrank their necks, afraid to breathe. Especially Judge Cui.

  Judge Cui was trembling, holding a "Quarterly Reincarnation Report," trying to sneak past the Slayer to hand the file to Yama.

  Just as he passed the Slayer.

  The Slayer moved.

  It wasn't an attack. He simply, with lightning speed, raised his hand and performed a "Gun Aiming" feint.

  Because a Netherworld "Ghost-Fire Firefly" had landed on Judge Cui's red robe.

  In the Slayer's dynamic vision, that red dot was flagged as a "Micro-Mobile Target."

  "AHHH!!!"

  Judge Cui let out a squeal like a slaughtered pig, threw the report into the air, and dove straight under Yama's desk, hugging his head and shivering.

  "Don't kill me! I haven't done anything bad! I've worked diligently for three thousand years!"

  The Slayer's gun barrel paused in mid-air.

  He looked at the startled firefly, then looked at the Judge cowering under the table.

  He tilted his head.

  In his tactical visor, Judge Cui's silhouette was highlighted. A green [FRIENDLY] tag blinked over his head.

  But the Slayer stared at that tag for a long time.

  Out of sheer boredom, his finger tapped rhythmically against the trigger guard. Subconsciously, he seemed to be waiting for that green tag to suddenly turn RED.

  Even for just one second.

  That look...

  In the distance, Ox-Head whispered to Horse-Face: "Hey, do you get the feeling... the way the Hero looks at the Judge isn't like he's looking at a colleague?"

  Horse-Face gulped. "It looks like he's looking at... a target. A moving target that won't break."

  Just as the atmosphere in the hall was about to solidify—and the Slayer seemed to be genuinely considering target practice on the Judge—

  "Great Warrior! Hold your fire! That's a Friendly! Do not eat! Do not shoot!"

  At the entrance, Daoist Singularity rushed in, carrying a tool bag, looking like his hair was on fire.

  He saw the situation and knew it was bad.

  This was classic "War Dependency Syndrome."

  For a creature like the Slayer, who existed solely to destroy demons, a peaceful life was scarier than Hell itself. If they didn't find him a new outlet, he would eventually dismantle this newly renovated Netherworld just for entertainment.

  The Slayer turned his head to look at Singularity.

  He holstered the gun.

  But he extended one finger, pointed at his pristine, scratch-free armor, and then pointed at Singularity.

  The message was clear: "I am bored. I am annoyed. Find me something to do."

  Singularity wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath. He knew he had to ship this god out. The Netherworld was too small a temple for this dragon.

  "Great Warrior, don't rush," Singularity put on a mysterious smile, like an explorer who just found a new continent. "The demons in the Netherworld are cleared. True. But..."

  Singularity walked to the holographic map and tapped a dark, unmapped area at the edge.

  "...I just analyzed the spatial residue left by the Blood Sea Ancestor. I discovered that his hometown... is not here."

  The Slayer stopped fidgeting.

  His shoulders, which had been slumped with boredom, instantly tensed up.

  "That place," Singularity pointed at the unknown void, "has 10,000 times more demons than here. And... they are all High-Tier Elites."

  Ka-chunk.

  The Slayer racked the slide of his Super Shotgun.

  The crisp sound echoed in the quiet hall, but this time, King Yama and the Judge didn't feel fear.

  They felt liberation.

  The Slayer stood up and strode toward Singularity. The oppressive aura was gone, replaced by a heart-pounding battle lust.

  Boredom vs. Fear.

  For the gods of the Netherworld, the Slayer was the source of fear.

  But for the Slayer, a world without demons was the true Hell.

  "Next Chapter: Finding a New Battlefield. Singularity thinks: For the sake of public order (and my year-end bonus), I must divert this disaster elsewhere."