Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Downtown of the Fog City, the dock area, the Greywater River.

The crowd thronged outside the cordon like startled sardines, pointing and gesturing at the murky, churning river.

Several police officers in black uniforms were dispersing the crowd, while in the center of the cordon, a body hastily covered with a white sheet was being carried onto a carriage.

A pale arm hung down from the white cloth, the fist tattoo on it particularly striking—the symbol of the fraternity.

Moreover, they were baptized, and thus advanced to the first rank of extraordinary beings, baptized beings.

"God help me... that's someone from the 'Brotherhood,' right? I recognize that fist tattoo."

"That's a big shot who's been baptized! I heard these guys have skin thicker than oak, they're not even afraid of knives, but now they're rotting away like dead rats..."

"Shh! Keep your voice down! Are you tired of living? Even that monster died mysteriously. There must be some strange creature lurking at the bottom of this river. If we get even a little bit on it, we won't even have anyone to collect our bodies!"

Rumors spread like a plague across the docks, and fear was palpable in everyone's eyes.

……

Siren didn't go over to watch the commotion; he stood in the shadow of the huge freight warehouse, a heavy oak crate on his shoulder.

The rough hemp rope dug deep into his greasy vest, and sweat dripped down his angular chin, making small dents on the cinder-strewn ground.

He had just turned eighteen this year, but his deep brown eyes held the numbness and weariness of middle age.

Because he had not received a diploma from the parish charity school, he could only sell his labor as the cheapest in this Victorian era.

The scenery and people here are exactly the same as those in the Victorian era of the 19th century, but history has taken a different turn.

Extraordinary power revived from the mountains and rivers, giving birth to evil spirits and strange species, and opening up a system of extraordinary power.

A club that teaches breathing techniques, a conglomerate that deals in extraordinary materials, and the rumored, stunningly beautiful Queen Victoria...

These worlds had nothing to do with him; he was just an ordinary dockworker.

For four years, since he was fourteen, his life has consisted of moving goods like a tireless mule at this suffocating dock.

Not far away, Morgan, the foreman with a beer belly, was lounging comfortably in a canvas chair, a cheap cigar dangling from his lips, his leather whip tapping idly against his boots.

Under the watchful eyes of the overseers, countless dockworkers like Xilun were mechanically repeating the same hauling motions.

Their eyes were vacant, their faces withered, like a group of soulless, wound-up zombies, waiting to be scrapped in endless labor.

"beep--!"

With that sharp whistle, the half-hour lunch break finally came.

The workers collapsed to the ground like broken-down machines.

Xilun found a sheltered corner of the container and sat down. He took out a piece of rye bread that was as hard as a brick from his pocket and took a big bite.

"So this is what Victorian-era bread tastes like—dry and hard, almost like a baguette!"

The rough texture chafed his gums, causing him to unconsciously furrow his brow as he endured the dry, bitter sensation, which covered his tongue.

"The bread I used to eat didn't require any forceful biting. With just a gentle squeeze of my fingers, the bread would obediently indent, like a ball of airy cotton, or a cloud baked to a warm golden color. When I released my fingertips, it would playfully and slowly bounce back, releasing an intoxicatingly sweet aroma that blended the scent of wheat and fermented butter."

"When you tear it open, you can see the stringy and dense texture inside. Take a bite, and first you'll feel the generous layer of salty, savory, and crispy seaweed and pork floss on the surface. Then, the translucent sweet salad dressing inside will burst on your tongue."

In this day and age, enjoying fluffy and soft pastries is truly a luxury.

Perhaps only the nobility and church figures in the bustling areas of the city, or even the upper districts, could afford to eat it.

"No wonder, everyone wants to learn a trade or master a breathing technique to pave a way to success. But the dockworkers on this Greywater River are probably just living day by day. Who knows when they might be caught and eaten by some strange creature in the water."

Moreover, jobs that involve selling one's labor can hardly be considered a life; at best, it's just a matter of not dying.

Every day he lived in a daze, like a walking corpse, exchanging labor for food that barely kept him alive and a bed the size of a coffin lid. The remaining money had to be paid as protection money to gangs and associations.

As he chewed, his thoughts drifted slightly.

A high fever a year ago awakened his so-called "innate wisdom".

The memories of Li Zaiming, the Blue Star programmer, flooded into the body of Xilun like a tidal wave.

After a year of adjustment, his understanding of the relationship was completely integrated; he was Xilun, and he was also Li Zaiming.

And that strange program called "Crimson Editor" was also solidified deep in his retina along with his memory.

Crimson Editor was originally just a single-player game add-on that he developed, which could provide in-game benefits such as experience boosts and skill building.

Now......

[Completed one oak crate transport, experience +1]

[Completed one oak crate transport, experience +1]

[Completed one oak crate transport, experience +1]

[Heavy Object Handling: 499/500 -> 500/500]

[Skill Advancement: Proficient Level → Expert Level]

Xilun focused his mind slightly, and lines of pale red data, visible only to him, appeared before his eyes:

Name: Xilun

Age: 18

[Skill: Heavy Object Lifting (Expert)]

Progress: (0/1000)

【Characteristics: Stable arms, deep breathing, fatigue resistant, possesses the brute strength to single-handedly carry a medium-sized anchor (Note: a medium-sized anchor weighs approximately 136~227kg)】

[Talent: None]

His hard work this morning had finally advanced his skills to the expert level.

His tired body seemed to slowly regain its energy, and his fists unleashed even more ferocious power.

This is the foundation upon which he finds his place in this desperate world.

With consistent practice, skills will become quantifiable, receive constant feedback, become permanently solidified, and continuously improve without ever regressing.

During that year, he moved tens of thousands of shipping containers, honing his skills in this menial, low-level job from basic to proficient, all the way to "expert level".

This gave him a physique far beyond that of ordinary people, allowing him to move with incredible speed even when carrying two full boxes of goods.

In addition, the Crimson Editor has one feature that is not yet activated:

Hunt down alien species and absorb their talents.

"Damn it, when will this ever end?"

A complaint came from beside her, interrupting Xilun's thoughts.

That was Finn, a skinny porter, staring longingly at the half-eaten loaf of bread in Siron's hand.

"I heard the one who just died was a member of the Brotherhood?" Siren swallowed the last bite of bread and asked calmly.

"Of course, Siren, did you see that tattoo?" Finn leaned closer, his face, thin as a monkey, filled with terror and morbid excitement.

"That's 'Iron Fist' Jack! I saw him at the bar last week. That madman smashed a thick oak table to pieces with one hand! He was so imposing back then, wow... Who would have thought? That guy, as hard as a lump of iron, is now as empty as a rotten pumpkin with its pulp scooped out!"

"I saw it."

Cage, sitting on the other side, suddenly interjected. The thin man was pale and clutched his water bottle tightly. "A few days ago, I was working the night shift... There was something in the water. It looked like a snake, covered in scales, with claws this long, and a silver horn on its head... It was faster than a fish in the water. The Brotherhood member had just gone into the water to check the bottom of the ship when he was dragged in, without even a scream."

Extraordinary mutant!

The word instantly flashed into Xilun's mind, and his expression turned serious.

Even the "Baptized Ones" who possessed extraordinary power were slaughtered like chickens; for ordinary people, encountering them would be certain death.

He subconsciously touched the heavy cloth bag in his inner pocket.

That was his savings from the past few years, which he had painstakingly saved up. If he worked for another month, it would be enough to cover the tuition for the "Iron Cross Fight Club".

People like them, who have no background or skills, are like consumables on a steam train in this bustling, foggy city, squeezing out their life force every day to build industries for the factory owners in the upper district.

After their bodies break down and their minds become numb, they freeze to death on the street on a snowy day, then are wrapped in straw mats and thrown into a mass grave, or pushed into an incinerator and burned.

He must learn the real breathing technique, find a decent job, and then leave this dock that turns people into ghosts.

Just then, a strange ripple suddenly appeared on the river surface, as if something huge was turning over underwater.

Before the bronze bell on the dock, used to tell time, had rung, Morgan, the beer-bellied steward, suddenly stood up.

He was wearing an ill-fitting tweed plaid suit, a knock-off of the style worn by uptown gentlemen, which looked like it was about to burst open because of his fleshy body.

Behind Morgan, four thugs with bulging waists lined up in a row, their cold metallic texture instantly silencing all the workers.

The percussion smoothbore pistol, also known as the "pepperbox" or "rotten life gun," appears outdated and dilapidated compared to the advanced steam age.

Short range, prone to barrel explosion, slow loading, produces a lot of smoke...

However, precisely because of this, it is extremely inexpensive, costing only 5-8 pounds, with bullets and maintenance extra.

According to the West London conversion, one gold pound was equal to twenty silver shillings, one silver shilling was equal to twelve copper pence, and one copper pence had a purchasing power of approximately four dollars.

One penny, or about four dollars, could buy a large loaf of dark bread or a short ride on a steam train.

One silver shilling is about fifty dollars, enough to have a delicious beef soup at a restaurant or buy a box of cigarettes of decent quality.

One gold pound is worth about a thousand yuan. If you spend it wisely, it can cover a month's accommodation and some food expenses.

......

After staring at the strange ripples on the river for a while, Morgan looked away with a serious expression.

The next moment, he spat out the end of his cigar and roared in a thick East End accent, "Stop! We're wrapping up early today. Line up for your paychecks!"

The workers, as if granted a pardon, swarmed toward the wooden table where their wages were being paid.

However, desperate pleas soon came from the very front of the line.

"A voucher? Mr. Morgan, I've been starving all week. The bread at Brother's Store is full of sand and lime... Please give me two silver coins, or even just one, I need to buy medicine..."

vouchers?

Upon hearing this, Xilun felt a sense of unease.

This item can only be used to purchase necessities in stores under the Brotherhood; it has no consumer credit whatsoever.

Is this week's salary going to be paid in vouchers?

If he takes the voucher to a fight club, it's no different from a piece of waste paper.

"Get out if you don't want it!" Morgan kicked the pleading old worker to the ground, his expensive calfskin boots grinding hard against the man's thin, bony hand, producing a sickening crunch.

"The Brotherhood has poured countless gold pounds into driving out the infestation of the Greywater River; where would they find the funds to distribute so much cash! These vouchers are a reward from the Brotherhood! Anyone who dares to refuse them is disrespecting the Brotherhood!"

Morgan slowly lifted his right foot, took out a clean white silk handkerchief, and disgustedly wiped the coal dust and bloodstains on the toe of his boot, as if it were some kind of infectious filth.

"Not just this week, but for the next six months, our salaries will be paid in vouchers of equal value. Once we get through this difficult time, I believe our fraternity will usher in greater prosperity and flourishing."

The crowd was deathly silent.

That's the rule: in the lawless downtown area, whoever has a gun is the law.

Although Victoria had entered its prosperous era, it belonged to the wealthy, the aristocracy, and the church.

The glory of Victoria never shone upon its impoverished people.

In the ruins of the lower city, there was only a rotten order, a foul environment, greedy rich people, and the poor people they exploited, who lived in a gloomy fog.