Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 164 Opponent Marshall, Slim Chance of Victory

The city at dusk is always accompanied by a persistent gray-white mist, and the smell of coal smoke mixed with the earthy smell after the rain permeates the narrow streets.

Xilun held up the black bulletproof umbrella, his leather boots making a dull, rhythmic sound as they stepped on the puddle-filled stone pavement.

He had just walked out of the Vanguard Cup's secondary arena, still carrying the lingering scent of frost, a memento left to him by Philip on the ring.

The atmosphere on the way back to the hotel was completely different from yesterday.

Yesterday, he was pointed at and gossiped about by a group of people, burdened with the infamy of "murdering his senior by despicable means," and was as disgusting as a stray dog ​​that crawled out of the slums.

However, today, after he defeated the favorite to win the championship, Fili, who possessed ice-cold energy, those malicious whispers disappeared.

Instead, there was awe, amazement, and even some enthusiastic cheers.

"Well done, Siron!"

"The Iron Cross's dark horse will tear that Marshall apart!"

Several slightly drunkards were waving bottles on the roadside and shouting at Xilun.

Xilun simply lowered the brim of his umbrella slightly and walked through the crowd expressionlessly.

He knew these spectators at the bottom all too well; they didn't care about the truth. The reason rumors could spread was largely because they believed that Celen couldn't beat Robert.

Coupled with the discriminatory label inherent in his slum background, many people have preconceived notions that he is a sinister and treacherous person.

But this time, he proved with his real punches and claw strikes that his strength far surpassed Robert's.

After all, Robert is at most only slightly stronger than Reggie, while Philip is a true powerhouse who has touched the threshold of the first-tier extreme realm.

Rejesty:

'

""

Even so, Celta Vigo fought to the very end and made it to the final.

Pushing open the hotel's heavy wooden door, a wave of heat from the first-floor restaurant, mixed with the smell of grilled meat and cheap beer, hit me.

The once bustling restaurant fell into a brief silence the moment Xilun stepped inside.

Many people stopped what they were doing and looked at the tall, slender, and aloof young man with an almost reverent gaze.

Ignoring the stares, Xilun walked straight to his usual spot in the corner, sat down, and ordered a three-person serving of thick-cut steak and a large cup of warm black tea from the owner.

He chewed the tough beef slowly and rhythmically, while his mind raced.

The opponent in the final will undoubtedly be Marshall.

Logically speaking, battles are always affected by condition, environment, and even luck; otherwise, there would be no such thing as an "upset."

Xiren themselves were the biggest upset.

But he knew very well that trying to win against Marshall by luck was simply wishful thinking.

Before long, the hotel restaurant was bustling with noise again, and everyone was talking about the afternoon's semi-final.

"Marshall is still ridiculously strong—" A burly man at the next table took a big gulp of wine and said with lingering fear, "His Bear Fighting Technique can almost be described as the ultimate in overcoming skill with brute force.

You didn't see it, that guy in the semifinals who was known for his soft power, his movements were as slippery as an eel.

"And then what happened?" someone asked.

"The result? In just four rounds, Marshall managed to tear through that guy's defenses!"

He dominated for nine rounds, cornering his opponent.

The match ended after fifteen rounds.

The burly man swallowed hard, his eyes filled with awe. "He didn't care about any fancy moves. He just used his powerful physique and immense strength to relentlessly suppress his opponent, punching him one after another like a pile driver, and then easily defeated him."

The knife that was cutting the steak paused slightly.

Fifteen rounds.

He had observed that fighter known for his soft power; his defense was extremely tight. Even if Philip were to face him, it would probably take dozens of rounds to find an opening.

But Marshall used the most savage method to completely crush his opponent's skills.

After finishing the last piece of beef, Xilun wiped his mouth, got up, and returned to his room, number 106.

Close the door to completely shut out the noise from the outside world.

Xilun removed his chilly coat, revealing his bare upper body, exposed by years of practicing the "Great Sea Whale Guiding Technique."

The muscles appear unusually firm and have hard, cold lines.

Beneath the skin and flesh, faint black dragon patterns lurk with each breath.

He sat cross-legged in the center of the empty training room, pondering Marshall.

Known as the "humanoid aliens," the Platinum Club members have now entered the finals with an undisputed crushing victory.

Xilun pondered to himself that his overall strength was probably on par with Philip's.

This victory was only achieved through a combination of poor intelligence and a last-minute burst of energy from the claws.

Facing Marshall, who is stronger than Philip and has a more restrained style, the odds of winning are conservatively estimated at only 30-70.

He closed his eyes and began to imagine Marshall launching an attack on him.

Heavy footsteps, a massive body like a raging bear, and a powerful punch carrying ferocious force came crashing down.

Xiren mentally tried to block with the Dorok Dark Claw Technique, but found that the opponent's strength was like a tsunami, continuous and unstoppable, and his defense was instantly torn apart; he tried to use the Berero Kick Technique to create distance, but Marshall's ability to withstand blows was extremely terrifying, and he endured the kicks to close the distance and strangle him.

The more they simulated it, the more Xilun frowned, and a fine layer of cold sweat even seeped out of his back.

tricky.

This is an unprecedentedly difficult situation.

No matter how he tried to deduce the solution, he couldn't imagine how to defeat the monster.

He is not incapable of facing failure. He has struggled his way up from the slums to where he is today, suffering countless defeats and humiliations.

But he had to do his best, otherwise that feeling of powerlessness would always make him uneasy.

It feels terrible to lose a chance to win because of your own cowardice or lack of preparation.

Xilun took a cold shower and lay on the narrow single bed, tossing and turning.

Occasionally, the sound of carriage wheels rolling over puddles could be heard outside the window. He kept thinking about how to break the deadlock until one hour late at night, when he was extremely exhausted and suddenly fell asleep.

The next morning, the gray fog had not yet dissipated.

Xilun opened his eyes precisely on time, his gaze clear yet cold.

He rolled out of bed and, instead of engaging in his usual high-intensity morning exercise, changed into a clean navy blue suit.

He finally made up his mind to seek advice from Lord Lund.

After walking across half the city, Siren arrived at the luxury hotel where Lund was staying.

The streets here are clean, and even the smell of coal smoke in the air has faded considerably.

Having found the room number, Xilun raised his hand and steadily knocked three times on the heavy solid wood door with his knuckles.

A rustling sound came from inside, and a moment later, the door was opened.

Lund was wearing a large nightgown with the chest open, revealing strong muscles covered in thick chest hair.

He yawned as he looked at Xilun with his bloodshot but still sharp as an eagle's eyes.

"My little Sirius."

Lund rubbed his messy hair, his voice thick with morning grumpiness, "Do you know how impolite it is to knock on the door of a knight who has a habit of staying up late so early?"

Xiren bowed slightly, his expression calm and serious: "I apologize, Your Excellency. But I have some important matters to discuss with you, concerning the finals in six days."

Lund seemed to have anticipated his arrival, and a hint of admiration flashed in his eyes.

He stepped aside and waved his hand, saying, "Come in, find a place to sit down."

Xilun walked into the room and sat down on a leather sofa by the window, his back ramrod straight.

Lund didn't pay him any attention. Instead, he walked to the altar, picked up a toothbrush and a glass of water, and began to rinse his mouth.

The sound of rushing water echoed in the quiet room. Xilun waited patiently, his eyes not wandering, showing excellent self-control.

After Lund finished washing up and casually wiped his face with a towel, he walked over and sat down on the sofa opposite Xilun.

With his legs crossed, an invisible sense of oppression, belonging to a third-order aberrant individual, naturally emanated from him.

"What do you want to say?" Lund took a cigar from the table, but did not light it; he simply held it to his nose and sniffed it.

Siren quickly considered his words before speaking, "Sir Knight, I hope to learn something from you."

You should know that I will be facing Marshall in six days. Although the odds of winning are slim, I really don't want to give up.

If there's anything you can teach me, I would be extremely grateful.

Lund toyed with the cigar in his hand, his deep gaze sweeping over Siren's face for a moment.

"Well then, before that, I'd like to confirm one thing."

Lund's voice lowered, carrying a hint of scrutiny.

Xilun leaned forward slightly, listening attentively.

Lund stared into his eyes and said, word by word, "Why should I teach you? Give me an explanation."

Siren was slightly taken aback. He thought Lund would talk about compensation directly or refuse outright, but he didn't expect such a direct and to-the-point question.

He paused for a moment, met Lund's gaze, and said frankly, "First of all, this is my personal request, and I do not expect Your Excellency to agree."

If I had to give a reason, I would like to win a tournament championship in the name of the Iron Cross Club.

Even if it's just a small tournament like the Vanguard Cup, which is only for first-tier extraordinary fighters, winning the unarmed combat championship still boosts the club's reputation.

Lund nodded slightly, his expression remaining largely unchanged: "Let's talk about it some more."

Siren continued, "I have learned a great deal from you, whether it is the Bellero kick technique or your guidance on the philosophy of combat."

I hope to continue striving and becoming stronger. Perhaps one day in the future, I can help Lord Lund overcome even the smallest obstacle.

He spoke very sincerely.

In this cruel world of extraordinary beings, gratitude and self-interest are often intertwined.

He knew his current commitments were insignificant, but he had to demonstrate his value and potential.

"Let's talk about it some more." Lund remained noncommittal, only pausing his cigar-playing.

Xilun took a deep breath, his eyes becoming extremely sharp: "If there is any other reason—then, as a student personally taught by Lord Lund, I do not want to tarnish Lord Knight's reputation because of my failure."

I can lose, but I absolutely cannot be helplessly crushed in the ring.

Upon hearing this, a smile finally appeared on Lund's cold, hard face.

"Only when I see that kind of reckless drive in the eyes of young people do I realize, in a daze, that perhaps I really am getting old."

Lund tossed the cigar back onto the table, leaned back on the sofa, and spoke with a hint of wistfulness.

"I have experienced this situation several times: facing opponents far superior to me, knowing it was impossible but still trying, and ultimately still suffering a regrettable defeat."

Xilun was taken aback, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.

In his view, Lund, the third-order aberration, was already a high-ranking figure.

He couldn't help but ask, "With your strength, is defeat the only option? Is there no possibility of the weak defeating the strong?"

"The weak defeat the strong?" Lund sneered as if he had heard a joke. "Think carefully, what exactly is the true meaning of the weak defeating the strong?"

Your victory over Philippe was seen as a major upset by the public. Do you consider that an underdog victory?

Xiren thought for a moment, recalling every detail of his fight with Philip in the ring, and suddenly realized something.

"Sir, so you went to watch my semi-final match against Philip?"

Lund was slightly taken aback, seemingly not expecting that Xilun's focus was on this.

He coughed lightly to cover up his embarrassment and explained, "I was just passing by, so I went in."

I was originally planning to go to the main stadium to watch Marshall's game, but it turned out to be your game, so I figured I'd check it out to see if you'd embarrassed me.

Xilun was incredibly perceptive; he immediately made a mental calculation.

Marshall's match is at 3 PM, while his match against Philip is at 10 AM.

If Lund was going to see Marshall, there was absolutely no need for him to pass by the secondary stadium several hours in advance.

Clearly, this stubborn tutor came specifically to see him.

Siren didn't expose him, but simply went along with Lund's words, saying, "You mean, my match with Philip wasn't a case of the weak defeating the strong?"

"Indeed." Lund's smile faded, and his expression turned serious. "The so-called victory of the weak over the strong is often just a matter of paper strength in the eyes of laymen."

However, in life-or-death battles or high-level competitions, theoretical strength means nothing.

The atmosphere in the room became heavy and focused.

Lund leaned forward slightly, like an old lion about to teach hunting skills, his eyes fixed intently on Xilun.

"Take your match against Philip, for example."

Lund held up a thick finger. "You have at least three absolute advantages."

First, he knows you have a strong physical body, but he doesn't know why your physical body is so ridiculously strong.

He thought he could paralyze you with his frost power, but he didn't know that the resistance beneath your skin was enough to withstand his elemental erosion.

Xilun nodded silently. The talent of coiling dragons was indeed one of his greatest trump cards.

"Secondly," Lund held up his second finger, "his fighting style is very simple, just that same set of eight blizzard strikes, it's the same routine over and over again."

However, you have many skills, from the basic freehand techniques of the Iron Cross to the Dorok Dark Claw Technique, and then to the Bellero Kick Technique that I taught you.

He can't predict the strength or weakness of your moves; in other words, he's in the open, and you're in the shadows.