Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 137 Introduction to Kick Techniques, Robert's Strange Behavior

The Red Leaf Manor was shrouded in a light mist in the early morning, the air filled with the moist scent of earth and ivy.

Inside the semi-open-air martial arts hall, dull yet penetrating impact sounds echoed rhythmically.

boom! boom! boom!

Like a cheetah lurking in the shadows, Xilun suddenly stretched out his body, his right leg becoming a blurry afterimage as he fiercely lashed out at the soft pad specially made of tough animal hide and fine steel springs in front of him.

The heavy cushion dented violently, making a teeth-grinding sound as the leather tore, before snapping back violently under the action of the spring.

Using the force of the recoil, Xilun twisted his waist and hips strangely in mid-air, and his left leg, like a snake striking, seamlessly connected and slammed into the edge of the cushion again at an extremely tricky angle.

The air was torn apart by the sharp gust of wind from the leg, producing a piercing whistle.

He slowly pulled his legs back from the mat, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, warm sweat sliding down his firm muscles and staining his navy blue training uniform with dark patches.

Instead of immediately launching another round of kicks, Xilun closed his eyes and frantically analyzed the mystery of the two consecutive attacks in his mind.

If the opponent is also proficient in leg techniques, they will inevitably choose to block with a bent arm or raise their knee to withstand the sweeping attack.

If blocked, when the old force is exhausted and the new force has not yet been generated, how can one use the twisting of the waist to instantly change the center of gravity and transform the original horizontal sweep into a downward chop?

Or, how do you use the most concealed low kick to break the opponent's supporting leg the moment they try to counterattack?

A rational and ruthless light flickered deep within Xiren's eyes.

He moved again, this time abandoning all the fancy moves, leaving only pure destruction and slaughter.

His legs seemed to transform into two heavy battle axes, relentlessly slashing at the cushion.

The surface of the animal hide rippled violently. Although this equipment, specially designed for knight training, was of excellent quality, the internal stuffing still groaned under the relentless and violent onslaught of Siron.

The ear-piercing sounds of collisions echoed throughout the martial arts hall.

Xilun felt a dull ache in his thigh muscle fibers as they were being torn apart, but this was followed by an indescribable sense of clarity.

The blood and qi surged through the meridians of the legs, as if breaking through some invisible barrier.

Just then, a faint red data stream flickered quietly deep within Xilun's pupils.

[Berello Kick Technique: Beginner]

[Progress: 0/200]

【Characteristics: Unpredictable, fluid leg techniques, lightning-fast, devastating】

Xilun slowly exhaled a breath of stale air and stopped moving.

He looked thoughtfully at his slightly reddened legs, feeling the memories quietly rebuilding deep within his muscles.

Just to cross the threshold of entry, one needs to practice two hundred times to perfectly match the rhythm of Qi and blood.

These time requirements are demanding, but the feedback they bring is also extremely direct.

He clearly felt that when he lifted his leg to exert force, he no longer needed to consciously guide his qi and blood. His body's instincts had taken over, and the connection between moves became as natural and skillful as breathing.

It was nearly afternoon, and the sunlight outside the manor pierced through the thin mist, casting dappled shadows on the bluestone floor.

A steady sound of footsteps approached, and a butler in a tailcoat entered the training hall carrying a silver tray.

"Mr. Siren, your training today has exceeded the normal standard." The butler bowed slightly, his tone carrying a hint of respect.

"As Sir Lund intended, the basic moves and qi circulation methods of the 'Berello Kick Technique' have all been taught. In the days to come, you can still use the equipment in the manor for reinforcement training at any time."

As the butler spoke, he handed the tray to Xilun.

On the tray lay a thick booklet bound in parchment, the edges of which had a worn, yellowish tinge.

"This is a list of extraordinary materials required to practice the 'Berello Kick Technique', along with the corresponding ointment preparation method."

"The knight instructed that these materials can be found on the black market or in specialized shops frequented by extraordinary individuals; you can purchase and prepare them yourself."

Xilun picked up the rolled-up parchment, ran his fingertips along the rough paper, and nodded slightly to indicate that he understood.

He carefully put the booklet away, picked up the towel draped over the chair to wipe his sweat, put on his coat, thanked the butler, and turned to walk towards the manor gate.

Just as Xilun stepped out of the manor's wrought-iron gate and was about to leave along the tree-lined path, a black carriage bearing a noble's insignia slowly came to a stop outside.

The car door opened, and a figure stepped out of the carriage—it was Robert.

Xilun paused slightly, his gaze calmly sweeping over the other person.

Robert wore a well-tailored dark gray tuxedo with an exquisite sapphire brooch on his chest.

He stood before the manor gates, silently gazing at the hall he had once dreamed of, a hall he had even knelt and begged to enter.

However, what was extremely incongruous was that there was not a trace of excitement, longing, or resentment after being rejected on his face.

He was too calm, as calm as a stagnant pool, without any emotional ripples.

The butler stepped forward and bowed slightly, saying, "Young Master Robert, please wait a moment in the reception room. The master will be back soon."

Robert turned his head slightly to look at the butler.

A perfectly executed smile curved his lips, the curve of which seemed to have been measured with a ruler.

"Okay, thank you for your help."

His voice was gentle, polite, and even carried a kind of elegant charm that was like a spring breeze.

The arrogant young master who once looked down on everyone at the club, acted hysterically in the dark alley, and cried bitterly under Rose's feet seems to have died completely.

Robert now resembles an exquisite doll that has been reprogrammed with some kind of perfect procedure. He is flawless, yet he sends a chill down your spine.

Siren watched all this with a cold eye, without saying a word or lingering. He simply opened his bulletproof black umbrella and walked into the ever-present gloom of the London streets.

Half an hour later, Siron pushed open the door of the Iron Cross Fight Club.

The training ground on the first floor was still noisy, with trainees sweating profusely and the sounds of bodies colliding rising and falling.

He didn't linger on the first floor, but went straight up the wooden stairs to his mentor Ryan's office on the second floor.

As soon as I opened the door, a rich aroma of black tea wafted out.

Ryan was leaning back in his large leather office chair, holding a thread-bound book in his hand, yawning listlessly.

Seeing Xiren walk in, Raine put down the book he was holding and pointed to the chair opposite him: "Come and sit down."

He casually picked up the porcelain teapot on the table, poured a steaming cup of black tea, and pushed it in front of Xilun. His gaze swept over Xilun's increasingly composed and reserved physique as he said, "Why are you here at this hour? Planning to continue your basic combat training at the club?"

Xilun picked up his teacup, gently blew away the foam on the surface, shook his head and smiled, "I've already found a path that suits me better, and I have no intention of doing so."

Raine raised an eyebrow, deliberately putting on a stern face, and said, "Then what? Did you come here specifically to see this old codger?"

"Mentor, you are still very young. Few of the young students in the club can surpass you in terms of vitality."

Xilun put down his teacup, his tone carrying a genuine smile.

Looking at himself in the brass mirror on the table, Ryan stroked his neatly trimmed beard and nodded slightly, seemingly pleased. "That's somewhat true. Now, what else is there?"

"These past few days I've been receiving specialized training in leg fighting techniques from His Excellency Lund. As per the rules, I need to pay the corresponding fees to the club," Siren said, pulling a few banknotes from his pocket.

Renn waved his hand, gesturing for him to place the money on the table, and said, "Lord Lund is often generous with his guidance to those he values, and a high-ranking knight of his caliber is certainly not short of money. You only need to pay fifteen pounds for venue and record management fees."

Silen nodded slightly and placed the fifteen pounds neatly on the table.

This price is practically a steal, like it's free, for someone to personally guide a third-order aberrant individual.

Ryan put away the money, picked up his teacup, took a sip, and his eyes suddenly became somewhat profound.

He looked at Siron, then suddenly lowered his voice and asked, "Have you seen Robert recently?"

The scene he had just witnessed at the entrance of Red Leaf Manor flashed through Xilun's mind, and he shook his head calmly. "We haven't officially interacted. What's wrong?"

Ryan frowned, his fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of the glass, his tone tinged with an inexplicable doubt: "I didn't see Robert at the club for the past few days, and there was no news from his family either. It wasn't until last night that I saw him in the equipment room on the second floor."

Ryan paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully: "Robert—seems to have become a little strange."

I can't quite describe that feeling. You know, he used to always look at people with his chin held high, exuding an arrogance and rage unique to aristocrats, and rarely gave us commoners a second glance.

But last night, he actually greeted me first, and with genuine politeness. He even helped a janitor who had accidentally fallen to pick up his towel.

Ryan shook his head and said with a wry smile, "That politeness was too perfect, so perfect that it was impossible to dislike it. But deep down, I just feel like something's not quite right."

Xilun's eyes narrowed slightly, and he tapped his fingers lightly on the table twice. He said calmly, "That's surprising. I fought him once in the alley before, and he was defeated badly. If that defeat really made him realize his own limitations and curb his arrogance, then it would be a good thing for his family."

Ryan sighed, ceasing to dwell on Robert's question, and turned to Siren: "What are your plans next?"

"His Excellency Lund taught me the 'Berello Kick Technique.' I plan to stop taking on those tedious tasks for the next two months and focus solely on practicing."

From mastering breathing techniques to integrating them into hand-to-hand combat, I will strive to make up for my weaknesses.

Xilun's gaze was filled with absolute calmness and confidence.

He knew very well that Robert was no match for him now. Even if Robert had undergone some strange change, he did not believe that two months would be enough for Robert to bridge that chasm of strength.

But in the world of the extraordinary, underestimating the enemy often means death; he must hone his skills to the extreme.

Ryan nodded with satisfaction: "If you need anything, just let me know."

If you're experiencing difficulties in your spiritual practice, I think my old experiences can offer you some inspiration.

"That's for sure." Xilun stood up, gave a slight bow, and left the office.

After leaving the club, Xiren did not go straight back to the hotel, but instead turned and headed towards several famous and bustling streets in the lower city.

Hidden in the shadowy corners of these streets are some secluded shops that cater specifically to the extraordinary.

Although these places are shady, they have extremely strict rules.

After all, if a transaction between extraordinary individuals goes wrong, it often results in bloody slaughter.

If they cause a big problem in a noisy market, the Scotland Yard hounds won't let it go.

Xilun navigated the alleys with ease, visiting three shops that reeked of pungent medicinal odors.

With the remaining funds he had, he carefully selected and purchased the Thunderwood juice needed for the "Berello Kick Technique" and the deep-sea minerals consumed daily by the "Great Sea Whale Guidance Technique".

Just as he was carrying the brown paper bag full of materials and preparing to leave the dead end where the last shop was located, an extremely subtle sense of unease suddenly crept up his spine.

It was the feeling of being stared at by a cold, viscous gaze, as if a venomous snake was coiled in the shadows, flicking its tongue and examining his neck.

Xilun's steps froze instantly, his internal energy circulating within a tenth of a second, and his right hand silently pressed against the handle of the Resentful Revolver at his waist.

He turned around abruptly, his sharp gaze sweeping across every dark corner of the alley, every closed window, and every garbage can piled high with clutter, like a razor blade.

However, there was nothing there.

Apart from a few startled crows and a few stray cats rummaging for food, the alley was deserted.

Xilun frowned.

He paused, looked at the shop owner, and asked in a deep voice, "Sir, did you feel any kind of gaze just now? Or did you see anyone lingering nearby?"

The man looked up in surprise; they were the only two people in this secluded place.

He swallowed hard and shook his head repeatedly, saying, "No—I didn't feel that way. I didn't see anything."

Xilun nodded silently, his brows furrowing, but he said nothing and turned to leave.

Xilun returned to the bustling street carrying his things, and the feeling of being spied on vanished instantly, like morning dew under the scorching sun.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the source of that feeling, but he knew that in this city filled with the bizarre and the insane, his intuition was never unfounded.

It seemed as if a pair of eyes were watching him intently from a great distance.