Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The air in the training room on the second floor was somewhat stuffy.

A dozen or so people gathered in the rest area. Whether they were rich kids in silk shirts or poor students in tattered clothes, they were all huddled together, whispering among themselves.

The atmosphere was restless, like an ant colony before a storm.

Xiren placed the cloth bag containing the old books in the corner and casually asked Kanavi beside him, "What happened?"

Canavie, who was craning his neck to look inside, shrugged upon hearing this: "I don't know either, it seems like everyone's talking about some kind of match."

Daisy, who was sitting in the front row, heard the noise.

The daughter of the history professor at Saint Laurent University turned around.

Today she was wearing a light blue training outfit, her long hair tied into a neat ponytail, revealing her fair and slender neck.

She glanced at Xilun, her gaze lingering for a moment on his calloused hands. They were hands that had torn apart the mutated Xuan Snake.

Daisy stood up, holding the hem of her skirt, and walked up to Celen. Her voice was cold: "They are discussing the junior knight fighting tournament that ended yesterday."

"Knights' Fighting Tournament?" Siren frowned slightly.

Several people who hadn't heard clearly before also came over and pricked up their ears.

Daisy nodded slightly and explained, "This is an official tournament for young Tier 1 Extraordinary Individuals—also known as 'Baptists.' There are eight registered fighting clubs in the entire Lower City, and Iron Cross is one of them."

She paused here, her gaze sweeping over the slightly worn equipment around her, her tone becoming somewhat subtle.

"Iron Cross Club has the lowest fees among the eight, but the quality of its students... is also widely considered the worst. If we include this year, we've been at the bottom of the fight competition for five consecutive years."

A commotion arose in the crowd.

"So what if we're last?" Czech muttered from the side. "We're here to learn skills anyway."

"It's not that simple." Daisy shook her head. "In Victoria, opening a club that imparts extraordinary knowledge requires paying a hefty 'knowledge tax' to the church. If you win a prize in the knightly wrestling tournament, proving that the club's teaching is effective, you can not only gain fame but also receive a tax exemption from the church."

"On the contrary..." She glanced at the closed door of the instructors' office, "If we come in last place every year, not only will our reputation be ruined, but we'll also have to pay a heavy punitive tax. I heard that the club's board of directors is almost unable to afford it."

Xilun understood.

This is not just a match, but a life-or-death situation for this club.

"What exactly is that competition about?" Xilun asked, getting straight to the point.

"Unrestricted combat." Daisy looked into Siren's eyes. "The participants are all promising young extraordinary individuals who have completed the 'Holy Baptism.' If they perform exceptionally well and are selected by the nobles in the stands, they can receive family sponsorship or even become reserve officers in the nobles' private armies."

A meteoric rise.

These four words instantly resonated in the minds of all the impoverished students.

In a world where people are burned like coal ash, this is one of the few opportunities to change one's social class.

Daisy's gaze swept past the crowd and landed on the figure by the window, wiping a rapier alone.

That's Robert.

The seventh son of the House of Ocelli.

"Robert came for this reason," Daisy said in a low voice. "He is the Baron's seventh son and has no right to inherit the title. He came here firstly to visit his mentor, Ryan, who is on good terms with the family, and secondly to defeat his brother Ross in this competition and prove his worth."

Xilun followed her gaze.

Robert was wiping the blade of his sword with a clean white deerskin, his expression focused and indifferent, as if the surrounding noise had nothing to do with him.

That innate sense of superiority was like an invisible wall, separating him from others.

"Da, da, da."

The steady, powerful sound of leather shoes echoed from the corridor.

The previously noisy training room fell silent instantly, like a duck being choked. Everyone hurriedly scattered and returned to their respective positions.

The door was pushed open.

Renn walked in.

Today he was wearing a black double-breasted trench coat with the collar turned up, covering half of his chin.

Those hawk-like eyes were bloodshot, clearly indicating that he hadn't slept well last night.

A low-pressure atmosphere enveloped the entire area.

Raine walked to the front of the podium, but instead of starting his speech as usual, he did not begin immediately.

He took off his leather gloves and threw them heavily on the table with a loud "thud".

Everyone's heart skipped a beat.

"Week 2."

Ryan's voice was hoarse, with a metallic quality. "The main course this week is martial arts. But let me be clear, if you don't develop strength, all you'll learn is empty show."

He paced back and forth on the platform like an agitated lion.

He was watching the game yesterday.

A newcomer from the neighboring "Silver Hand" club, baptized only six months ago, has already broken the ribs of a veteran Iron Cross member. That veteran member was a promising talent he had been carefully nurturing for a year.

Fiasco.

They lost three games in a row.

The feeling of being ridiculed by his peers and treated coldly by tax officials gnawed at his self-esteem like a venomous snake.

He needs a genius, even just a promising talent, to help him turn things around in next year's competition.

Renn stopped in his tracks, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a sharp blade.

"Robert."

"Here." Robert put down his rapier and stood ramrod straight.

Renn's expression softened slightly.

This was the only card he had. He trained his strength for three days, mastered the feeling of qi for three months, and was just one step away from baptism.

Hopefully, Robert will bring him some surprises this time next year.

"Everyone else, practice your breathing techniques. I need to check your progress," Raine coldly ordered.

"yes!"

The dozen or so trainees immediately took their stances.

Xiren stood in the corner of the last row.

He took a deep breath, spread his feet apart, and gripped the ground with his toes.

"Iron Wall Breathing Method".

As the breathing rhythm adjusts, the chest cavity begins to rise and fall rhythmically.

At this moment, the heat within his body, nourished by the mutated snake meat and honed through several days of arduous training, was slowly flowing along the great dragon of his spine.

Unlike the others who were red-faced and had bulging veins, Xilun's movements looked unremarkable, yet possessed a certain harmonious charm.

With his hands behind his back, Ryan began his inspection from the first row.

"You're breathing too fast! Are you trying to explode your lungs?"

"Your back! Your back is sagging! Haven't you eaten?"

"Garbage! It's all garbage!"

The more Ryan looked at it, the angrier he became.

This batch of newcomers, after five days of training plus two days of rest—a whole week—not even produced a decent one. Most couldn't even find their breathing rhythm, let alone sense their energy.

His heart sank little by little.

Is Iron Cross really going to go under?

He walked to the last row, his steps heavy.

His gaze casually swept across the corner.

That's where Xilun is located.

Renn gave him a quick look, but after a few breaths, his eyes suddenly narrowed.

Xilun stood in the shadows, his shoulders naturally slumped, but his back was like a fully drawn bow.

With each inhale, the muscles in his back would bulge slightly, as if something was wriggling under his skin.

That's a sign of abundant energy!

Raine's pupils suddenly contracted.

He stopped and stared intently at Xiren.