Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 173 Finn's Current Situation, Reply

After a night of deep sleep, although the tearing sensation from the "breathing" method still lingered, the powerful recovery ability of "coiled dragon" had already repaired most of the damaged muscle fibers.

He could clearly feel that his power seemed to have solidified a bit more.

Still half asleep, Xilun threw off the covers, her bare feet touching the cold floor, and walked into the cramped bathroom to brush her teeth.

The cool tap water splashed on my face instantly dispelled the last trace of drowsiness.

He looked at his pale yet well-defined face in the mirror, his eyes gradually becoming clear and sharp.

After washing up, Xilun reached out and touched his empty stomach. The cramps in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything with any substantial calories since yesterday afternoon.

He put on a gray turtleneck sweater, slipped on his faded coat, and pushed open the door to go out.

The lobby was still somewhat dim. Mori was sitting behind the counter, holding a rag and idly wiping the table, which wasn't actually that dirty.

Seeing Xiren come out, Mori stopped what he was doing and looked up at the gloomy sky outside the door, which seemed to be dripping with water.

"Little Xilun, there's a heavy downpour today, take an umbrella when you go out."

Morrie kindly reminded him, recalling the strangely accurate fortune-telling he had received last night.

Xilun glanced outside. Although the street was overcast, there was no sign of rain. The air was filled with the muggy and humid atmosphere that was typical of the period before a downpour.

He shook his head and said, "No need, I'll just buy breakfast and be back in five minutes. It's at the bakery on the corner."

After saying that, he pushed open the hotel door and strode into the somewhat dull street.

The streets of the working-class district in Saint Laurent always appear somewhat crowded and chaotic.

The roadside drainage ditch emitted the distinctive odor of sewers, and several stray dogs rummaged for food in the garbage heap.

Xiren quickened his pace. He could feel the humidity in the air rising at an alarming rate. The thick, dark clouds were like a huge black lead plate, pressing down on the city and making it almost impossible to breathe.

He arrived at the bakery on the street corner, which exuded a rich aroma of butter, and pushed open the glass door with a brass bell hanging on it.

The warm fragrance instantly enveloped him.

"Four rye breads, and two servings of smoked meat."

Xilun said to the proprietress behind the counter, who was wearing a white apron.

The proprietress quickly packed the bread and smoked meat in brown paper and handed it to Xilun.

Just as Xilun took the paper bag and was about to turn and leave, he suddenly heard a rapid "tick-tock" sound outside.

The sound was initially sparse, like someone scattering beans on a bluestone slab.

But just a few seconds later, the ticking sound became a continuous, deafening roar.

Xilun suddenly pushed the door open, startling him so much that he quickly clutched the brown paper bag containing breakfast to his chest.

Outside, the rain was pouring down like a broken string of beads, splashing white droplets on the ground.

"Damn, is Uncle Morrie's mouth blessed today?"

Xilun cursed under his breath, immediately turned up the collar of his coat, and ran quickly towards the Golden Rooster Hotel through the rain.

Soon, the rain intensified, and a torrential downpour began.

The gale, mixed with icy rain, lashed at Xilun's face like knives.

Pedestrians on the street screamed and searched for shelter from the rain. The once noisy street instantly became empty, with only the sound of rain washing everything away.

With his superhuman agility, Xilun darted through the rain.

When he rushed to the eaves of the Golden Rooster Hotel, his coat was already half-soaked.

As he shook the rain off himself, he habitually glanced at the old wooden mailbox belonging to Room 106 hanging by the door.

Through the crack in the mailbox lid, he saw two letters lying quietly inside.

Xilen grabbed the letter from the mailbox, covered it with his hand, and hurried back to the hotel lobby. Morrie, seeing his drenched state, laughed gleefully: "I told you, today wasn't a good day to go out."

Siren shrugged helplessly, ignoring Mori's teasing, and went straight back to his room.

Taking off his slightly damp coat and hanging it on the back of his chair, Xiren placed breakfast on his desk, then sat down and carefully examined the two letters in his hands.

He opened the first envelope.

The envelope was made of cheap, rough paper and had no signature, but the sealing wax stamp bore a hidden cross-swords symbol—the Brotherhood's internal emblem.

Xilun unfolded the letter, which bore Lord Yuri's sharp, cleaving handwriting.

The letter was brief, informing him to go to the Brotherhood headquarters in a couple of days, as there had been new developments regarding Fane.

Xilun frowned slightly as he looked at the words on the letter.

He glanced at the clock on the wall; there were still a few days until the agreed-upon date.

Finn, the sailor friend who once lent him money in the slums, was tricked by members of the New Righteous Society and signed a ten-year deep-sea whaling contract.

Siren knew very well what a harpooner's job was.

In the turbulent depths of the ocean, facing sea monsters as large as mountains, the lives of ordinary people are more fragile than paper.

The New Righteous Society controlled the ocean-going docks; they were like bloodsucking leeches, draining every last drop of blood from every worker.

He slowly folded the letter, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

Although he had always tried his best to avoid getting involved in those pointless gang fights, he couldn't ignore what was going on with Finn.

Xiren pressed Yuri's letter under the ink bottle and turned his gaze to the second letter on the table.

The envelope of this letter was noticeably more exquisite, with a pale yellow parchment that exuded a faint lavender scent, and the sealing wax stamp was a blooming rose.

Without even looking at the signature, Xilun could guess who sent it.

He carefully opened the envelope and took out the letter inside, which was filled with neat handwriting.

The other letter was from Daisy.

The words on the letter seemed to carry the unique vitality of that girl, as if one could see her biting a quill pen while frowning in thought.

The letter stated that, according to his mentor Desura, Lord Lund took you to the Vanguard Cup unarmed combat competition held in a neighboring city.

She kept asking questions in the letter: How did it go? Did you encounter a formidable opponent? Were you injured? Did you win or lose in the end?

The text is filled with curiosity, and even ends with a large question mark.

As he looked at the letter, Xiren picked up a loaf of rye bread from the table and took a big bite.

Chewing on the coarse wheat bran, mixed with the salty aroma of smoked meat, greatly satisfied the emptiness in my stomach.

While eating breakfast, Xilun was mentally planning what to write in his reply.

He didn't intend to boast about his championship victory in the letter; that wasn't in his nature.

He simply wanted to let her know he was safe and sound, and also to inquire about Susie's knowledge of the occult.

Meanwhile, at the ocean pier, more than ten kilometers away from the Golden Rooster Hotel.

The gale-force winds whipped up torrential rain, lashing the gray sea like countless whips.

Huge waves crashed heavily against the breakwater, shattering into a sky full of white foam.

On the dock, a huge whaling ship was rocking violently with the waves.

The hull was covered in barnacles and dried, dark red bloodstains, emitting a nauseating stench.

Balk of the New Righteous Society was standing on the wooden pier.

He wore a heavy black waterproof trench coat, letting the cold rain stream down his scarred face.

He wore a black eyepatch over his left eye, while his remaining right eye gleamed with a cruel and ruthless light, like that of a hungry wolf.

"Boss, those laborers who tried to escape have been caught."

A subordinate, soaked to the bone and shivering from the cold, ran over and loudly reported to the leader, his voice sounding somewhat erratic in the strong wind.

Balk gave him a cold glance and strode toward several large wooden crates piled to the side.

Behind those wooden crates, three ragged, emaciated men were huddled in the mud, trembling in despair.

"Run away?" Balk's voice was low and hoarse, like two rusty pieces of iron rubbing against each other. "You signed the contract, received the resettlement fee, and now you want to back out?"

"Lord Balk, please spare us! That ship—that ship wasn't going whaling at all, it was going to its death!"

One of the men suddenly lunged forward, grabbed Balk's boots tightly, and burst into loud sobs.

Without a word, Balk raised his foot and kicked the man hard in the chest.

With a dull crack of bone breaking, the man screamed and flew backward, crashing heavily into the muddy water, coughing up mouthfuls of blood.

"Sending yourself to your death? In this damned world, who isn't sending themselves to their death!"

Balk abruptly drew his short-barreled musket from his waist, pointing the dark muzzle at the laborers on the ground, and roared, "Do you think the money of the New Righteousness Society is so easy to take? If I don't send you onto the ship, the gang won't make any profit; without profit, our hundreds of brothers in the slums will go hungry, and will be devoured in the streets by those wolves of the Brotherhood and the Iron Fist!"

Balk has his own ambitions; he must be as ruthless as a rock in order to protect his territory in this dog-eat-dog world.

Anyone who tries to break the rules or harm the gang's interests must be crushed without mercy.

"Throw them into the hold and chain them up. Set sail first thing tomorrow morning!"

Balk put away his musket and coldly gave the order.

The men immediately pounced on them like wolves, dragging the desperate laborers toward the whaling ship.

In the hold of the whaling ship, Finn leaned against the damp planks, listening to the screams coming from outside, his eyes filled with deep despair.

He clutched a tattered piece of cloth tightly in his hand, his only solace on this hellish ship.

The torrential rain outside the window continued to rage, the rainwater meandering down the glass, blurring the outside world.

After finishing breakfast, Xilun cleaned the table.

The torrential rain outside the window gradually subsided, leaving only the water dripping from the eaves onto the bluestone slabs.

Xilun exhaled a breath of stale air, crumpled the paper bag he had just finished eating into a ball, and threw it into the wastebasket.

He sat back down at his desk, his gaze falling on Daisy's vibrant letter. He tapped his fingertips lightly on the table, pondering for a moment.

He uncapped his pen, dipped it in ink, and wrote a reply on the clean parchment.

"Everything is fine. The Pioneer Cup journey is more interesting than I expected."

I participated in a small competition, unarmed combat, and encountered some good opponents. I was lucky enough to win the championship.

As for the injury, don't worry, I've fully recovered.

As he wrote this, Xiren paused, recalling the thick, black magic book and the arduous process of practicing the spiritual rope all night long.

He continued, "In addition, I recently bought a basic magic book on the black market."

The occult knowledge above is very profound, and I don't understand much of it. The operating logic of many of the rituals still confuses me.

Having studied with Master Deshura for so long, do you have any methods to quickly improve your occult skills or analyze spells? Looking forward to your reply.

After writing the last line, Xilun gently blew on the ink on the paper.

He watched the black letters shimmer in the dim light until the ink was completely dry, then folded them neatly, stuffed them into an envelope, sealed it with wax, and prepared to mail it when he left home.

He raised his wrist and glanced at the slightly worn mechanical watch.

The clock has already struck nine.

Xilun stood up, walked to the door, and picked up the long-handled black umbrella.

Although the rain had stopped, the sky remained terribly gloomy, and no one could say for sure when it would start pouring down again.

Pushing open the hotel door, the air on the street was filled with the unique smell of earth and the sour stench of sewers after the rain.

Xilun stepped through the puddles and walked straight towards the wealthy area.

He stopped in his tracks as he passed a tastefully decorated shop on the street corner.

This is a shop that specializes in selling high-end imported goods, with exquisite porcelain and spices displayed in the window.

Xilun pushed open the door and went inside, the copper bell on the door ringing crisply.

"Welcome, sir. How can I help you?"

The boss, sporting a neatly trimmed beard, approached. His gaze swept over Xilun's faded coat, and although a hint of disdain flashed in his eyes, he maintained a professional smile.

What are some suitable gifts for elders?

"Sirlen asked directly, glancing at the shelves."

The shop owner rubbed his hands together and asked, "May I ask how old this gentleman is? What are his hobbies?"

Xilun pondered for a moment about the resolute face of Knight Lund, and said calmly, "He's probably a little over ten years older than me."

The man was visibly taken aback. He sized up Xilun, looking at the young man who was not yet twenty, and muttered to himself:

His elders are only around thirty years old? What kind of elders are they?

However, the boss was in business after all, and quickly concealed his surprise. After thinking for a moment, he said, "If someone is not very old, it is obviously inappropriate to give them those old-fashioned antiques."

How about we send a tin of fine tea? We just received a batch of black tea from the Eastern Empire; it has a rich aroma and is very beneficial for restoring energy and blood. Many extraordinary individuals enjoy it.

After a moment's thought, Xilun nodded: "This one will do. Wrap it up."

After paying, Xilun carried the exquisite little tin can out of the shop.