Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 101 Mark's Evaluation, Goodbye Losas

Xilun reached out and pushed open the rickety wooden door, then stepped into the pavilion.

The interior of the pavilion was cramped and filled with a strange odor, a mixture of cheap tobacco and stale seafood.

A worn wooden table and two rattan chairs are all the furnishings here.

Xilun sat down in the wicker chair opposite the old man, his back straight, his hands naturally placed on his knees, displaying a composure that was neither humble nor ostentatious.

The old man yawned, revealing a few missing, yellowed teeth.

He stretched out his withered fingers, picked up a pinch of tobacco from the tin box on the table, and slowly stuffed it into his pipe.

"Your cultivation efficiency has truly surprised me."

The old man struck a match, and the light illuminated his sunken eye sockets.

He took a deep breath and exhaled a thick cloud of blue smoke.

"I thought that because of that unlucky lock-fixing incident, you were sent down here and would have to work as a forklifter at this run-down dock for about two years, relying on seniority to slowly get promoted."

The old man's gaze pierced through the smoke, fixed intently on Xilen's face, as if trying to see through the secrets deep within his soul.

"Or, if you do a good job, you might be transferred back to the supervisor position after a year or two. That would be extremely lucky."

Xilun remained calm, showing no emotional fluctuation despite the old man's bluntness.

He knew that in the eyes of these superiors, the struggles of the lower classes were nothing more than insignificant dust on a chessboard.

"I never expected this—" The old man shook his head, a meaningful smile curving his lips. "It's only been a few months, and you've already crossed that threshold."

The old man tapped his pipe lightly on the edge of the table.

"Now that you have been baptized and have acquired these skills, the Brotherhood will naturally not hold you back from your position. To send a baptized person to work as a mere forklifter on a fishing boat would be a desecration of power."

The old man leaned back in his chair, his voice becoming serious.

"In the fraternity, we only use terms like seniority, merit, and years of service to describe and constrain those who are mediocre in ability. Because they have no other value."

"As for those with real ability," a glint of light flashed in the old man's eyes, "even if they haven't achieved anything, they can still be promoted despite their lack of experience. Strength is the greatest qualification."

Xilun listened quietly. This was the iron-fisted law of the extraordinary world. Strip away the veil of tenderness, and what remained was only the naked law of the jungle.

The old man said, "You've been traveling on this Grey River boat for months now. You've braved wind and rain, and seen your fair share of dead people. I want to hear your opinion on our line of work. Don't give me any empty platitudes; I want the truth."

Xilun pondered for a moment.

This was not just a casual chat, but also a test of his character by this second-tier Ripper.

If the answer is too weak, it will be considered unreliable; if the answer is too arrogant, it will attract unnecessary suspicion.

After a moment, Xilun slowly raised his head and looked directly into the old man's eyes.

There's an old saying in our area: "Those who live near the mountains live off the mountains; those who live near the water live off the water."

Xilun's voice was deep and steady, without the slightest ripple.

"The Greywater River is rich in resources, including black trout, whitefin tuna, and other hidden resources in the deep water. It is these rich profits that have given us a place to use our talents."

Xilen tapped her fingers lightly on her knee.

"For ordinary people, surviving on the river is as difficult as ascending to heaven. Extraordinary people rely on their own strength to fight against the wind and waves and resist the alien species."

Ultimately, however, we are not only fighting against the monsters in the water, but also against the greedy eyes on the shore.

Power is a bargaining chip used to acquire resources, and also a sword to protect one's livelihood.

After hearing this, the old man paused slightly in the hand holding his pipe.

Then, he suddenly laughed, his hoarse laughter echoing in the small pavilion like the hooting of an owl.

"That sounds nice. You describe the bloody plunder and slaughter so confidently." The old man smiled and shook his head. "However, I like your honest character."

The old man's smile faded, and his eyes became deep and thoughtful.

"Alright, you'll stay with Mark for another two days. Help him clear out his current shipments. In the meantime, I'll go upstairs to discuss your next move."

The old man paused, seemingly considering his words.

"Or, you could go see Yuri. Yuri has been keeping an eye on your past performance. He'll have other plans for you. Going to him means more dangerous work, but the rewards will be more than you could earn in ten years working at this wretched dock."

Xilun nodded slightly, understanding the old man's meaning.

He stood up and bowed slightly in greeting.

"Thank you for your guidance."

"Go on." The old man waved his hand, picked up the tattered cloth again, and continued to wipe the rusty harpoon.

Xilun pushed open the door and stepped out of the pavilion. The cool morning breeze blew in his face, invigorating him. He knew that his journey had only just begun.

After Xilun left, he disappeared into the fog and was nowhere to be seen.

Before long, the wooden door of the pavilion was pushed open again.

Mark, dressed in coarse linen clothes and with a burly build, walked in with his head down.

"Lord Wall, you wanted to see me?" Mark stood respectfully before the table, not daring to utter a sound.

In front of this withered old man, his proud brute strength seemed like a paper toy.

The old man sighed softly, put down the harpoon in his hand, and looked up at Mark.

"I've read your previous evaluation report on Xilun," the old man said calmly. "Now, I want to hear your honest opinion. After these past few months, living and working together on the same boat, what is your overall impression of him?"

Mark stood there, his thick eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if he were carefully searching his mind for words.

He recalled Xilun's quiet composure on the ship, always able to act decisively at crucial moments; he recalled Xilun's ruthlessness in leaping into the underground cavern without regard for danger, single-handedly cutting through the bandits; he recalled Xilun's almost beast-like madness and calmness when facing the giant python.

More importantly, he recalled the generosity with which Xilun had unhesitatingly distributed those priceless treasure fish to the sailors.

After a moment, Mark took a deep breath, his expression extremely serious.

"This is a young man with great potential; his future is limitless."

Mark's voice was deep and resonant, carrying an undeniable certainty.

"He was not only tough and ruthless, but he also had some kindness in him. Unlike those high-ranking aristocratic baptists, he wouldn't treat us common folk as worthless trash to be sacrificed at any time."

Mark looked directly into Wall's eyes.

"Moreover, he worked extremely hard to achieve his goals. I've only ever seen that kind of obsession with power in those reckless ascetics."

"I think he deserves a good place to go."

Wall listened quietly to Mark's long speech.

For a rough guy like Mark, who's usually so quiet you could barely utter a word, to give such high praise is enough to prove how well that kid Xiren performed.

Wall nodded slightly, his thin lips pressed into a straight line.

"I understand. You may go now. Take him on the last two days of the waterway journey."

Mark nodded with a sigh of relief and turned to leave the pavilion.

The pavilion fell silent again, save for the old man's persistent puffs on his pipe.

The morning mist along the Greywater River always carries a faint dampness and saltiness.

Xilun walked along the slightly muddy cobblestone path, his leather boots making soft, crunching sounds as they waded through the puddles.

He had just walked out of the internal affairs building at White Crow Wharf, and the cold wind blowing from the river lifted a corner of his black trench coat.

On his way back, Xiren made a special trip to Lord Yuri's office.

As the officer who initially promoted him from the ranks of laborers, Yuri held complex significance for Siren.

Unfortunately, the heavy mahogany door was tightly closed.

Hevi was still sitting behind her desk in the outer room, with piles of paper documents beside her like a small mountain.

When the shrewd and capable female assistant saw Xilen, a hint of undisguised astonishment flashed in her eyes.

As Yuri's confidante, Hevil had an extremely keen sense of smell. She clearly sensed the qualitative change in the life magnetic field of Siren, the kind of oppressive feeling that belonged to a first-order baptized being.

"Lord Yuri is not here." Hevier stood up, her tone more respectful than ever before, even with a hint of cautious probing. "The lord went out yesterday afternoon. It seems there was some urgent meeting at headquarters, and his return date is uncertain."

Xiren simply nodded slightly, without asking any further questions. He knew that at Yuri's level, tracking people's movements was no longer something a newcomer like him, who had just crossed the threshold into the extraordinary realm, should delve into.

These past two days, he has continued to follow Wall's instructions, arriving early at the familiar fishing boat and quietly awaiting the Brotherhood's subsequent job assignments.

On the deck at the bow of the boat, Mark was leaning against the railing, his rough hands holding a cheap cigarette. He took a deep drag and then exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the hazy river.

"That giant snake from the other day was incredibly troublesome." Mark turned around, his weathered face still bearing a hint of lingering fear.

His eyes, slightly red from staring at the water for so long, were now looking at Xilun with a complex expression.

"I've been drifting on the Greywater River for so many years, always wanting to capture a mutant of that level and exchange it for a fortune on the black market. Unfortunately, I simply can't kill it."

Mark flicked his cigarette ash with his rough fingers, his voice filled with a deep sense of powerlessness, "On the contrary, that beast ate so many of us, swallowed so much flesh and blood, and its aura grew even stronger. If it weren't for you—"

Mark didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear.

That day underwater, if Xilun hadn't unleashed his terrifying Dark Claw technique, their ship would probably have become the meal of that purplish-blue giant python.

Xilun nodded silently, his gaze calmly fixed on the churning dark blue river.

He was now experiencing an unprecedented feeling of idleness.

Before that, he struggled to survive every day, fighting wits and courage with the lowly laborers and overseers at the docks for a few shillings of wages, his nerves constantly on edge.

Now that he has truly crossed that threshold and possessed the power to overturn the chessboard, those trivial matters that once bothered him suddenly became as insignificant as dust.

Fortunately, this period of emptiness did not last too long.

The next morning, just as Siron finished his usual oatmeal porridge at the Golden Rooster Inn, he was notified by a messenger dressed in a Brotherhood uniform to go to Lothar's office immediately.

Xiren returned to his room, changed into a clean but still simple linen shirt, and put on the slightly faded black trench coat over it. He carefully placed the pepper box close to his body and then left the hotel.

When he arrived at the door of the office belonging to the District Governor of Losas in the Internal Affairs Building, he saw a familiar servant.

The young man appears to be Lothas's nephew.

At that moment, when the laborer saw Xilun approaching, he subconsciously straightened his back and nervously rubbed the seams of his trousers with his hands.

The contempt that the other person once held for Xilun was gone, replaced by deep envy and even undisguised admiration.

Clearly, the news that Siron had been successfully baptized into a first-order extraordinary being had already spread within the Brotherhood's middle-level circles.

In this world where power determines everything, the baptized are the privileged living class.

Ignoring the servant's fawning smile, Xilun walked straight to the door and gently knocked.

Unexpectedly, almost the instant the knocking sounded, the door was pulled open from the inside.

Lothas opened the door himself.

The district governor, who held real power at White Crow Wharf, was all smiles, and the wrinkles around his eyes had smoothed out.

"Oh, look who's here, our esteemed Mr. Celen."

Lothas's gaze swept over Siron's cheap linen shirt, and he chuckled half-jokingly, "Such a status, yet dressed so simply. If those uninformed folks outside saw this, they'd think our Brotherhood was mistreating a new baptist."

Xilun remained calm, showing no embarrassment at the teasing, and simply replied, "If work requires it, I'll buy a suitable outfit."

"Come in, don't just stand in the doorway."

Lothas stepped aside to let Siron in, then personally closed the heavy oak door, completely shutting out the curious gazes from the corridor.

The office furnishings remained luxurious, with soft, silent wool carpets underfoot.

Lothas walked to the desk, opened a cabinet inlaid with brass gears and intricate piping, and turned back to ask, "Is there anything you'd like to drink?"

Xilun glanced at the cabinet, feeling a slight coolness emanating from it, and casually said, "Juice bar."

Lothar nodded, took a glass bottle with water droplets still condensing on its surface from the cabinet, and handed it over.

Xilun took the cold glass bottle, uncorked it, and took a sip.

The chilled, sweet and sour liquid slid down my throat, dispelling the morning's gloom.

As he drank, he couldn't help but ponder to himself. The technological advancements of the Victorian era were truly unfathomable.

Judging from the local customs, architectural style, and even people's clothing, this place is very similar to the late 19th century of my previous life, with coal smoke, horse-drawn carriages, and slums everywhere.

However, in many places, it seems that due to the intervention of extraordinary forces and mysticism, it has become more advanced and bizarre.

For example, there's this refrigerator-like freezer that's powered by some kind of miniature steam core, as well as those massive steam trains that span the continent, and the steam exoskeleton armor reported in the newspapers.

The fusion of technology and mysterious anomalies has created the unique appearance of this world.