Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 131 Humiliation, Seizing the Sword

Faced with this thunderous punch, Xiren merely tilted his head slightly.

With a piece of scallion bread still in his mouth, he suddenly reached out with his free right hand.

"Snapped!"

A dull thud echoed through the alley.

Xilun's hand precisely gripped Robert's left wrist as it hurtled towards him.

His five fingers, as hard as iron, gripped Robert's pulse firmly.

Robert felt as if his wrist was being gripped by a giant hydraulic clamp, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move it forward even a millimeter.

Immediately afterwards, he felt a power from Xilun's palm that made his soul tremble.

It was a terrifying power, as deep and unfathomable as an abyss.

It is not as sharp as the power of dawn, but rather like the tides of the deep sea, carrying a devastating weight, rising and falling wave after wave.

This is the manifestation of the "Great Ocean Whale Guiding Technique" operating at its peak within Xilun's body.

The next moment, Xilun's arm muscles suddenly bulged, and he slammed his arm forward.

"boom!"

Rosso's proud defenses crumbled under this single blow.

The overwhelming force slammed into his chest through his arm. He groaned, his feet leaving long trails in the puddles, and he stumbled back two steps before managing to regain his footing.

Robert's face instantly turned bright red, not only from the surge of blood and qi, but also from extreme humiliation.

He stared intently at Xilun, and the blue light emanating from his body shone brightly once more, even more dazzlingly than before.

He suddenly reached out and drew a gleaming short sword from its ornate scabbard at his waist.

"I won't kill you." Robert gripped his sword with both hands, the tip pointing directly at Xilun's throat, and whispered, "But I think that after leaving a few transparent holes in you and teaching you a lesson, you should have a completely different attitude towards me and the nobility."

Robert didn't think he was really inferior to Siron in any way; perhaps it was because he specialized in swordsmanship and neglected his unarmed combat skills.

Xilun didn't speak; he tilted his black umbrella slightly to block the falling rain.

His deep eyes were fixed on the short sword in Robert's hand, his brain working like a sophisticated computer, carefully observing the angle at which the other man held the sword, estimating the possible variations in the move and the trajectory of the force applied.

The next moment, Robert moved.

He pushed off with his feet and pounced like a cheetah, his short sword transforming into a blue lightning bolt as he slashed down at the head.

Instead of retreating, Xilun advanced, placing the hand holding the bread behind his back and his right hand together as a claw.

As he slightly stepped back to deflect the blade's edge, his right hand moved like a nimble snake, precisely grabbing the back of the short sword's hilt.

But Robert's swordsmanship was indeed superb, clearly the result of long-term instruction from a renowned master.

Seeing Xilun reach out, he flicked his wrist and instantly sheathed his sword.

Immediately afterwards, he used the momentum of his body to thrust forward again.

"Swish! Swish! Swish!"

Robert relentlessly thrust at Xilun with lightning speed, the blue light of his sword weaving a deadly net in the dim alley, sealing off all of Xilun's escape routes.

Xilun dodged and weaved through the dense net of swords.

He had a premonition that although his black scales provided amazing defense, he would probably struggle to block such a sharp sword thrust imbued with energy.

After all, the destructive and penetrating power of a weapon is much greater than that of bare hands and feet.

He was confident that he could stand still and withstand the punches and kicks of an extraordinary person of the same level, but even a short sword would be difficult to block once it pierced a vital spot.

Xilun took a deep breath, and the "Great Ocean Whale Guiding Technique" within his body was running wildly, his blood and qi surging into his right arm like boiling magma.

He spotted Robert's sword thrusting at him again, took a step forward, and seized the opportunity with his right hand to grab the back of the short sword.

At the same time, he no longer concealed his strength. The flesh of his five fingers on his right hand instantly retracted, and a pale, bone claw burst forth from his body. Its surface shimmered with a dark golden luster and carried a strong aura of corruption as it viciously grabbed out.

"Bang!"

A crisp clang rang out as metal clashed. Xilun's dark gold bone claws gripped the sword tightly, sparks flying.

Robert was shocked and was about to forcefully pull back his dagger.

But Celen didn't give him that chance at all. Celen suddenly leaned forward, his entire body like a cannonball, and slammed his hard shoulder into Robert's chest.

Robert had no choice but to abandon drawing his sword and try to block with the hilt.

But his strength seemed so laughable in front of Xilun, and his short sword was roughly slapped away by Xilun's shoulder.

Then, Xilun loosened his left hand from the black umbrella and clenched it into a fist.

All the strength in his body surged into his left fist at that moment, carrying a violent force capable of shattering everything, and he punched Robert hard in the stomach.

"Well"

Robert's eyes widened instantly, his eyeballs almost bulging out of their sockets.

He opened his mouth wide, but no sound came out.

The pain of being struck squarely in the stomach by a punch imbued with the power of a giant whale was simply unbearable.

His stomach felt as if it had been shredded by a meat grinder; the violent spasms instantly rendered him completely powerless to resist.

His legs went weak, and he forced himself to squat down, enduring the acid and blood welling up in his throat, his body curled up like a boiled shrimp.

Celen looked indifferently at Robert, who was squatting on the ground.

He withdrew his hands and reopened the black umbrella that had fallen halfway down.

Then, with his right hand, which had returned to normal, he picked up the scallion bread that had been bitten once more and ate it slowly, bite by bite.

He casually tossed the empty paper bag over Robert's head, and the bag slid down Robert's blond hair into the puddle.

"You should be grateful that you have a distinguished family background."

Siren looked down at Robert, his voice as cold as the Arctic wind, "Otherwise, just because you pointed your sword at me just now, I would have snapped your neck."

Xilun bent down and picked up the exquisite short sword that had fallen to the ground.

He weighed the sword in his hand, feeling its good balance and sharp edge.

"Where is the scabbard?" Xilun asked casually.

Robert clutched his stomach, enduring excruciating pain, and raised his head, his eyes filled with humiliation and resentment.

"The dagger—give it back to me—" Robert squeezed out a few words in a hoarse voice. The sword was a token given to him by his family, and he could not afford to lose it.

Xilun glanced at him, too lazy to listen to his nonsense.

He reached out and roughly pulled the jeweled scabbard from Robert's lower back.

"Clang!"

Xilun sheathed the short sword back into its sheath, making a crisp metallic scraping sound.

"This sword is nice." Xilun smiled. "Consider it compensation for getting my clothes dirty earlier."

After saying that, Xilun accepted it without hesitation and hung it on his waist.

He turned around, holding his black umbrella, wading through the puddles, and left Robert's side without looking back, disappearing into the rain and mist at the end of the alley.

Robert slumped in the mud, staring intently at Celen's departing figure.

His stomach was in so much pain that he didn't even have the strength to stand up. He could only watch helplessly as the other man swaggered away with the short sword he treasured.

Tears of humiliation mingled with the rain, sliding down his contorted face.

The cold rain relentlessly washed over the dark alleys of the foggy city.

After taking the short sword that symbolized the family's honor, Xilun's figure had completely disappeared into the depths of the gray rain.

Robert lay quietly in the filthy mud, his pupils shrunken into their sockets, his face filled with bewilderment and shock, as if his soul had been forcibly ripped from his body.

The excruciating pain in his abdomen felt like being stabbed with a knife; his internal organs nearly shifted under the force of the giant whale.

Robert, enduring the nauseating pain, struggled to his feet, his hands bracing against the oily, muddy ground.

He hastily brushed the dirt and fallen leaves off his face. His expensive silk shirt was now tattered and clung tightly to his skin, exuding an indescribable desolation.

He walked out of the alley, his face pale, his eyes filled with an indelible sense of humiliation.

Back at the manor, the magnificent iron gates looked particularly imposing in the rain.

Robert lowered his head, avoiding the gaze of the patrolling guards, and returned to his house like a lost soul.

He slammed the heavy oak door shut, threw himself onto the soft sofa, clenched his fists tightly, and gritted his teeth.

"Silon—Silon!"

He chewed on the name through gritted teeth, a low, beast-like growl emanating from his throat. But as soon as he closed his eyes, images of those cold, abyss-like eyes and that bone claw radiating a dark golden luster and exuding a terrifying, corrupting aura would appear in his mind.

The thought of going against Celen again made Robert's heart pound uncontrollably, and a fear stemming from his biological instincts coiled around his spine like a venomous snake.

He had already lost a move at the club, and this time he was completely defeated in the alley, even losing his sword.

Robert pursed his bloodless lips, his fingers trembling slightly. He had to admit that he was a little scared.

Just as he was caught in a vortex of confusion and self-doubt, steady footsteps sounded outside the door.

The butler pushed open the door, looked expressionlessly at Robert who was soaking wet, bowed slightly, and said in a flat tone, "Young Master Robert, the master requests your presence."

Robert's body stiffened abruptly, and he mechanically stood up from the sofa like a puppet on strings.

He dragged his heavy steps out of the room, up the spiral staircase covered with a scarlet carpet to the third floor, and arrived at a spacious yet oppressive room.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

A warm fireplace burned in the room, the flickering flames casting a dim and illuminating glow.

The middle-aged man sitting behind the large desk was the patriarch who controlled the entire family. He was talking quietly with his eldest son, Ross, who was standing to the side.

Upon hearing the door open, the two stopped talking simultaneously.

The middle-aged man raised his head, his sharp, hawk-like gaze instantly locking onto Robert.

Seeing his youngest son's disheveled appearance and muddy clothes, he frowned and let out a heavy snort.

"Looks like you've gotten yourself into trouble again."

The man's voice was deep and authoritative, like a mountain pressing down on Robert's heart, "When will you finally be like Ross and give me a break?"

Robert's heart skipped a beat, and he hurriedly took two steps forward, wanting to explain: "Father, please listen to me. Actually, Lord Lund had already considered taking me as his disciple. He even kept me behind for a private talk, but—but something unexpected happened—"

"Accident?"

The middle-aged man slammed his hand on the table, causing the ink bottle on it to bounce slightly. He said angrily, "I don't need to hear your weak explanations. I just need results!"

The obvious result now is that not only have you failed to become a disciple of a high-ranking knight, but you've also ended up in such a sorry state!

The man stood up, placed his hands on the table, and looked down at him, demanding, "Tell me, what exactly happened? Who is the other party?"

Robert lowered his head, not daring to look his father in the eye. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. He whispered in an extremely soft voice, "It's...it's a member of the club. His name is Celen."

"Sirlen?" The man was stunned for a moment, then became even angrier, his disappointment almost overflowing. "You mean, you were defeated by an ordinary student from the Iron Cross Fighting Club?"

"A member of a commoners' club, or even some lowlife who crawled out of the slums, beat you up like this?!"

The man's voice grew louder and louder, until it was almost a roar: "Robert, you've disappointed me terribly! You're a disgrace to the family! Get out!"

Robert stood there, stunned, staring at the man who was his father, at the look of utter disgust in the man's eyes, as if his heart had been crushed by an invisible hand.

Standing to the side, Ross wore an elegant dark red vest and stood tall and straight like a pine tree.

He tilted his head slightly and glanced at Robert out of the corner of his eye. His gaze was completely unwavering, devoid of sympathy or mockery, only displaying an extreme indifference as if the other person were invisible.

Robert didn't know how he got out of the room.

He stumbled down the stairs, rushed out of the main building, and came to the sunlit flowerbed at the back of the manor.

The rain has stopped, but the stone steps along the edge of the flower bed are covered with puddles.

Robert slumped down, burying his face in his hands and staring blankly at the ground.

Several black ants were lined up in a long queue, busily moving their home in the soil.

As Robert looked at these tiny lives, the fire of rage within him burned ever brighter, and the more he looked, the more irritating it became.

Why is it that even these lowly insects can be so orderly, while I live like a joke?

He suddenly stood up, went to the servants' room next door and brought back a pot of boiling water, which he poured onto the ant nest without hesitation.

Watching the ants struggle, curl up, and die in the boiling water, his breathing became rapid, but the pent-up anger in his chest did not dissipate in the slightest.

I'm still not satisfied.

Just then, the butler's big yellow dog wagged its tail and walked by. A hint of ferocity flashed in Robert's eyes, and he kicked the dog hard, sending it flying into the bushes with a scream.

After this almost morbid outburst, he finally let out a long breath, his chest heaving violently.