Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Dock area, warehouses and dormitories.

There was no one inside.

The air was filled with the familiar smells of sweat and mildew.

Siren closed the door and bolted it shut.

He walked to the rickety table and lit a candle that was only a finger's length long.

The candlelight flickered, casting his shadow on the mottled wall, making him look like a twisted monster.

Xilun sat down, took out the handwritten book from his pocket, and placed it on the table.

But he didn't open it.

His gaze fell on his right hand.

That strange feeling came back again.

Ever since he crushed that mutated black snake, the back of his right hand had been itching.

It's not an itch on the surface of the skin, but an itch that seeps from the bones and deep into the flesh, as if something is growing and spreading under the skin.

Xilun stretched out his left hand and scratched it a few times.

My skin turned red, but the itching didn't subside at all. Instead, it became more intense from scratching, accompanied by a stinging pain.

"call……"

Xilun took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

He closed his eyes, and his consciousness sank.

next second.

That familiar, cold panel, emitting a faint red glow, appeared on his retina.

Name: Xilun

Age: 18

[Skills: Heavy lifting (Expert), Iron Wall Breathing Technique (Beginner).]

The data hasn't changed much.

Apart from a slight increase in the progress of the breathing technique, everything is normal.

But Xilun's gaze was fixed on the bottom of the panel.

There, in the previously blank "Talent" section, a line of small, blood-red characters is now slowly moving, as if they were alive.

[Talent: Black Scale Texture]

[Source: Mutant Garuda Serpent.]

[Effect (Passive): Your skin will gain a tough, black scale-like texture, forming a layer of black keratin that is difficult to see with the naked eye, greatly increasing your resistance to cuts from sharp weapons and blows from blunt weapons.]

Hunting... plundering...

Xilun's heart clenched as he looked at the words.

Is this the second function of the crimson panel, besides "liver experience"?

Killing monsters drops skills?

Moreover, it involves directly plundering the opponent's biological characteristics and converting them into one's own passive talents?

The most troublesome thing about that snake was its scales, which even an iron bar couldn't break.

Now, this defensive capability belongs to him?

Xilun subconsciously raised his right hand and brought it close to the candlelight to observe carefully.

He hadn't noticed it before, but now, by the dim light of the fire, he finally discovered the anomaly.

Beneath the skin of the back of his hand, a faint, black, net-like pattern was faintly visible.

The lines were extremely fine, like some kind of ancient totem, or the edge of snake scales, deeply embedded in the texture of his skin.

If you don't look closely, you'll only notice that the skin is slightly darker and rougher.

With a thought, Xilun tried to circulate the faint energy within his body and channel it into his right hand.

hum.

As the energy surged in, the black net-like pattern instantly became clear.

The skin, which was originally soft, tightened in an instant, revealing a cold, hard metallic sheen.

That feeling...

It's like wearing an invisible iron glove.

Xilun's eyes flickered as he looked around before his gaze fell on the blunt knife on the corner of the table, which was used to cut black bread.

He picked up the knife.

He tentatively, cautiously, with his eyes wide open, stared intently at the blade, and slashed it across the back of his hand.

Nourishes—

A sickening scraping sound rang out.

There was no blood splattering, and no flesh being torn apart.

The blunt blade slid across the back of my hand as if it were cutting into a piece of hard old cowhide, leaving only a shallow white mark.

Then increase the pressure and slowly deepen the white mark.

Only when he went all out, gripping the blunt knife tightly in his arm and hacking down with all his might, did a little blood finally appear.

Xilun put down the knife and rubbed the white mark with his fingers.

The white mark disappeared.

The skin was almost undamaged; only a trace of blood proved the existence of the blade.

"So hard."

Xilun murmured to himself, the light in his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

......

The candle flame flickered in the murky air, bursting into a tiny spark.

Xiren sat at the wooden table with one leg malfunctioning, his fingers pressing down on the yellowed, rough pages of the book, his brow furrowed.

This book, "Basic Grammar of Classical Literature," was much more obscure than he had imagined.

The text above is not the official language of Victoria, but an older and more complex language family, full of inverted sentences and obscure declensions. Each word is like a precise component, which must fit perfectly into the sentence; the slightest error will completely change the meaning of the entire sentence.

"A variant of the ancient shamanic language family..."

Xilun murmured softly, his fingertips tracing lines of characters that looked like tadpoles.

The barriers of linguistics cannot be broken down by brute force; they require a great deal of memorization, recitation, and honing one's sense of language.

Kanavi is right. Mysticism is the superstructure of this world, and classical literature is the ticket to it.

If you can't understand those ancient texts, even if you get your hands on a high-level breathing technique, you'll only end up crippled.

A series of noisy footsteps and vulgar curses echoed down the corridor.

Those were the workers returning from the night shift.

"Bang."

The dormitory door was violently pushed open, and a mixture of sweat, athlete's foot, cheap tobacco, and moldy wood wafted in instantly, almost extinguishing the faint candlelight on the table.

Xilun instinctively protected the candle, without turning around, and continued staring at the book.

Several men covered in mud walked in. Some threw their coal-dust-covered coats on the ground, while others plopped down on the edge of the bed and let out a heavy sigh.

The atmosphere was somewhat awkward.

The originally noisy crowd unconsciously lowered their voices when they saw the figure in the corner studying diligently by candlelight.

But this is not reverence.

"Hey, our 'fighter' is still practicing?"

A burly worker, untying his leg wraps, said sarcastically, "Is he planning to take the college entrance exam, or is he planning to give a speech in the Senate?"

A few scattered chuckles rose from the surroundings.

"Don't say that. He paid ten pounds for tuition." Another man, who was as thin as a monkey, chimed in, his tone full of sour jealousy. "Ten pounds... If I had that money, I would definitely go back to the countryside, buy two acres of land, and marry a big-butt woman. Who would go to a place like that to suffer?"

"Exactly, I don't believe in that nonsense."

The burly man spat a glob of phlegm on the ground. "People like us are born to carry heavy loads. Learning that breathing technique? That's a pastime for noblemen. Look at old Harry, didn't he go back then? And now? He's just like us, rolling around in the mud for a few pennies."

"I think it will take at most eight weeks."

"Eight weeks? I bet he'll be back in four weeks begging Morgan for a job."

Malicious speculation, blatant jealousy, and the dark psychology of trying to drag everyone back into the mire fermented in the cramped dormitory.

They cannot tolerate anyone around them trying to climb up.

If Xilun fails and becomes a laughing stock, they will feel relieved and might even offer a few insincere words of comfort; but if Xilun is really trying and might even succeed, it will sting their already numb self-esteem.