Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 152 Distortion, Introduction to the Spiritual Rope

Xilun suddenly opened his eyes, stood up from the chair, and strode towards the storage room in the corner of the room.

Pushing open the wooden door, a smell mixed with rust, herbs, and a faint stench of blood wafted out.

He squatted down in front of a locked tin box against the wall, took out a key from his pocket, and opened the box with a "click".

His recent spoils and spare supplies were neatly arranged inside.

Xilun reached into the box and took out two dark red objects from the bottom.

Those were two magic ropes.

He had personally peeled it off from Huma's gradually cooling corpse.

Xilun took the two ropes under the gaslight and examined them carefully.

The surface of the rope is not smooth, but covered with fine, vein-like textures.

The color is a dark red, like dried blood, and it feels cool to the touch with an unpleasantly slippery feel.

He gripped both ends of one of the ropes with both hands and slowly applied force.

The "Great Ocean Whale Guiding Technique" within his body surged into operation, his blood and qi coursing through his veins like mercury syrup. Faint black scale patterns appeared on Xilun's hands, his "Coiled Dragon Body" talent was fully activated, and the muscles in his arms bulged like steel cables.

He suddenly pulled it to both sides.

The terrifying force, enough to tear an adult water buffalo apart, was poured onto this seemingly slender rope.

However, the rope only made a very faint "snap" sound, and a dim red light flashed across its surface, showing no sign of breaking at all.

Xilun loosened his grip, watching the rope quickly return to its original state, a glint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

It is said that Huma remained at the beginner scholar level for a full twelve years.

For twelve years, she did not delve into other fancy spells, but instead poured all her energy, potions, and effort into the two spiritual ropes she cultivated.

This is no longer an ordinary material, but a weapon that has been repeatedly tempered, soaked, and nurtured for countless days and nights.

The physical strength of these two ropes themselves must have reached an incredibly terrifying level.

Xilun was very satisfied.

With the rope's strength, it would be more than enough to bind him even after he had activated the "coiled dragon" technique.

If he could unexpectedly restrain the enemy's weapon or legs during battle, even for just a second, it would be enough for him to tear the opponent's throat apart with his bone claws.

He took the two heavy trophies and sat back down at his desk.

He placed the magic rope beside him and continued reading.

The book contains a lengthy two-page record on how to activate the spiritual rope.

Short-term boosts are self-evident; for example, in Daisy's case, mixing a potion only requires any rope.

However, if it is to be cultivated over a long period of time and used as a major technique, it will be quite troublesome.

The first step is to find wiregrass that is over a hundred years old.

The second step is to brew a magic potion using seven ingredients, including the venom of the black-bellied snake and deep-sea fluorescent algae.

The third step, on the night of the full moon, is to soak the vines in a magic potion and continuously chant a spiritual incantation for seventy-two hours.

The fourth step is the long-term nurturing and strengthening of one's mental energy.

Xilun's gaze was sharp as a knife; he glanced at them all and skipped over them.

These steps, which seem incredibly difficult for beginners, are meaningless to him.

He already possessed a ready-made product, one that was highly spiritual and had been enhanced to its fullest extent. He didn't need to experience the tedium of starting from scratch; he only needed to steal the fruits of someone else's twelve years of work.

The next step, and the final step, is to take control.

Xilun's gaze was fixed on the obscure incantation and energy circulation diagram at the bottom of the book.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Saint Laurent, at Red Leaf Manor.

This manor, a symbol of aristocratic glory and luxury, now appeared exceptionally desolate in the cold autumn rain.

Deep within the manor, in a tightly sealed basement, there were no lights and it was pitch black.

Only heavy, hoarse breathing, like that of a dying wild beast, echoed in the darkness.

Robert huddled on the cold, damp stone floor, his hands gripping the cracks in the ground so tightly that his fingernails were twisted, broken, and bleeding, but he seemed oblivious to the pain.

His body is undergoing unimaginable torment.

Beneath the thin silk shirt, strange contours bulged on his skin.

They were thin, black lines, like self-aware parasites, wriggling and spreading wildly between the skin and blood vessels.

Each movement was accompanied by excruciating pain as muscle fibers were forcibly torn and bones were gradually crushed.

"Uh..."

Robert let out a suppressed scream, his body arching violently like a boiled shrimp.

His eyes were bloodshot and his eyeballs were almost bulging out of their sockets.

distortion.

Ever since that night in the garden when she was trampled underfoot and humiliated by her older brother Ross, and heard those eerie, soul-piercing words in a state of extreme jealousy and despair, this terrible distortion began.

He knew he was falling, becoming some kind of indescribable monster.

But he didn't stop, nor did he ask anyone for help.

Because amidst the endless pain, he felt an unprecedented, terrifying, and immense power awakening within him.

That power surpassed the "Dawn Breathing Technique," surpassed the family's heritage, and even gave him the illusion that it could easily tear Ross apart.

"Silon————"

Robert squeezed the name out of his throat, his voice hoarse as if two rusty iron pieces were rubbing against each other.

In the darkness, he seemed to see that commoner again.

He saw Xilun's perpetually calm and indifferent gaze, as if looking down on ants from a high place; he saw Xilun's arrogance as he effortlessly defeated him in the dark alley and took away his family's short sword.

That was the source of all his humiliation!

It was Xilun who stole Lord Lund's favor, it was Xilun who made him lose face in front of his father, it was Xilun who made him the laughingstock of the entire family!

Robert was not born an incorrigible villain.

He had shed countless tears in the dead of night while looking at his mother's belongings. He pursued perfection like a madman and practiced swordsmanship desperately, all in order to win back even a sliver of respect for his deceased mother in this cold family.

He has pride to protect and beliefs to fight for.

But all of this was mercilessly crushed by that uncouth commoner.

"I will take it back—I will take back everything that belongs to me, with interest!"

Robert slammed his fist on the stone slab, and blood splattered everywhere.

Thin black lines spread upwards along his neck and climbed onto his left cheek, forming a bizarre and ferocious totem.

He was breathing heavily, a sickly and crazed smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

"Just you wait, Siron."

When your proud strength crumbles before me, I will make you taste the humiliation of being utterly worthless.

In the dark basement, only those scarlet eyes flickered with an inextinguishable flame of resentment.

Golden Rooster Hotel, Room 106.

Siren was completely unaware of what was happening at his suburban estate.

All his attention was now completely focused on the parchment in front of him and the dark red magic rope.

To control the spiritual rope, two conditions must be met simultaneously: a special circulation of energy and the chanting of incantations composed of esoteric texts.

Xilun closed his eyes and began to construct the circulation route of his energy in his mind.

This was an experience unlike anything he had ever fought before.

The operation of the "Great Sea Whale Guiding Technique" emphasizes large-scale movements, like a flood bursting its banks and rampaging through the wide meridians, aiming for an instantaneous and devastating burst.

Now, he needs to forcefully compress and divert this raging flood, compelling it to enter those rarely used, delicate, hidden meridians.

It's like asking a blacksmith who's used to wielding a giant hammer to thread an extremely tiny hole with a needle.

Xilun's brows furrowed deeply.

He carefully mobilized a wisp of energy from his dantian, guiding it slowly upwards.

"hiss"

When force is forced into an unfamiliar, narrow meridian, a sharp, needle-like pain instantly spreads throughout the body.

Xilun's body trembled slightly, and that wisp of strength immediately lost control and dissipated into his muscles.

Failed.

Xilun was not discouraged at all. He opened his eyes, took a deep breath to calm the restless blood in his body, and closed his eyes again.

Once, twice, ten times.

After experiencing dozens of excruciating pains that felt like his meridians were being torn apart, he finally managed to stumble and stagger his remaining strength along the strange route described in the book to the fingertips of his right hand.

A cold, numb sensation came from my fingertips, as if it were no longer my own flesh and blood.

"The first step is complete."

Xilun said silently to himself.

Next comes the more difficult second step: chanting.

Mystical incantations are not ordinary language; they require the speaker to vibrate their mental energy at a specific frequency while uttering the words, thereby causing a resonance with the surrounding spiritual energy.

Xilun opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the dark red rope on the table.

He opened his mouth, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"Kasamora"

A low, obscure syllable, as if a fingernail were scraping glass, was uttered with difficulty from his mouth.

Each syllable he uttered caused a noticeable drain on his mental energy, and a dull throbbing pain shot through his brain.

A full three seconds passed.

As the last syllable fell, Xilun suddenly stretched out his right hand.

The icy energy, specially transformed from his fingertips, surged forth like a burst dam, precisely covering the magic rope on the table.

A miracle happened.

The dark red rope, which had been lifeless, suddenly flashed with a faint, eerie light.

Then, under Xilun's gaze, the rope seemed to be infused with some kind of rigid life force, slowly and inch by inch, climbing up from the table.

It resembled a snake that had just awakened from a long hibernation and was still in a semi-frozen state, clumsily twisting its body in mid-air and slowly wriggling.

Xilun squinted, carefully examining the rope suspended in mid-air.

He tried to use his mental power to give instructions, making the rope thrust forward.

The rope received the instruction, but its response was extremely slow.

It wobbled forward a bit, moving so slowly that even an ordinary old man could easily dodge it, and it hovered only a dozen centimeters above the tabletop.

"Too slow."

Xilun shook his head and cut off the supply of energy.

The magic rope, having lost its support, fell limply back onto the wooden table with a "thud".

Compared to the terrifying effect of Huma's ability to use a rope to cross several meters and tightly bind the enemy with a mere thought, his current control is laughably crude.

In actual combat, that three-second incantation time would be enough for a veteran powerhouse like Sislow to cut off his head ten times over.

But this did not discourage Xiren; on the contrary, his eyes burned with an even more intense light.

Because he proved one thing: the road is passable.

Once you get the basics down, the rest is just a matter of practice. And what Xilun has in abundance in this world is patience for tedious repetition.

Xilun picked up the now-cold black tea on the table and drank it all in one gulp. The bitter tea stimulated his nerves, keeping him absolutely alert.

He stood up, stretched his stiff neck, and then sat down again.

"Again."

The energy flowed along that twisted meridian again, and the stinging sensation persisted, but Xilun didn't even flinch.

"Kasa—Mora—"

The syllables sounded again.

The rope climbed up, wriggled, and fell.

Xilun remained expressionless and continued to repeat himself.

Time slipped away quietly in the room. The night outside the window gradually faded, and the darkness before dawn was the deepest.

Fifty times, one hundred times, two hundred times.

Xilun's throat had become hoarse and dry, and every swallow felt like swallowing sandpaper.

His forehead was covered with fine beads of sweat, and the exhaustion of his mental energy made his temples throb.

But he has no intention of stopping.

Through countless failures and repetitions, his body is developing a kind of muscle memory.

As the resistance to the flow of energy into unfamiliar meridians decreases, the tingling sensation gradually becomes numb.

More importantly, he found the rhythm for chanting.

Those obscure syllables were no longer a rigid patchwork, but began to have a strange sense of rhythm.

When the first rays of dawn pierced through the thick clouds and shone through the window onto the desk.

Xilun suddenly opened his eyes.

The force arrived instantly.

"Casamora!"

A series of rapid, low shouts echoed in the room.

Two seconds!

The chanting lasted only two seconds.

The dark red magic rope on the table sprang up instantly, like an enraged venomous snake, leaving a sharp afterimage in mid-air.

It deftly tied a knot in mid-air, then lashed out with a powerful whooshing sound as it struck the back of the solid wood chair beside it.

"Snapped!"

Wood chips flew everywhere, leaving a clearly visible white mark on the hard oak chair back.

With a slight flick of his finger, Xilun caused the rope to quickly retract, coiling back around his wrist like a docile pet.

Although it still falls short of Humar's instant cast, the two-second casting time is barely enough to qualify it as a viable trump card in actual combat.

Suddenly, a faint flash appeared on Xilun's retina.

The familiar pale red data stream cascaded out like a waterfall, condensing into clear text in mid-air:

【Skill: Spiritual Rope (Beginner)】

[Progress: 0/100]

【Characteristics: Two-second chanting time, basic control of the magic rope, easy to wield, medium to low strength.】

Looking at the data panel in front of him, Xilun's nerves, which had been tense all night, finally relaxed.

He exhaled a long breath of foul air, which smelled of blood, and raised the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

From this day forward, in addition to firearms and hand-to-hand combat, he finally possessed his first extraordinary means belonging to the realm of mysticism.

This seemingly insignificant rope may become a deadly fang that turns the tide of battle in future life-or-death struggles.