Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

As soon as he finished speaking, the seventeen stones that were suspended in mid-air began to rotate irregularly and naturally under the pull of Lund's strength.

"Bang!"

Without warning, a rock located in Xilun's blind spot struck him like lightning.

Xilun felt a gust of wind coming from behind, but with his hands holding the heavy spear, he had no chance to turn around and see.

He could only grit his teeth and, relying on the chilling sense of danger that made the hairs on his back stand on end, suddenly thrust his gun backward in a blind stab.

"Crack!"

Just as he struck the rock, before he could even retract his gun, two more rocks came from extremely tricky angles on his left and right sides, slamming into his thighs and shoulders.

"Slap! Slap!"

Xilun groaned and almost fell to his knees.

Lund's cold voice rang out: "Again!"

Xilun spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, his eyes turning as fierce as a lone wolf.

He forced himself to concentrate intensely and closed his eyes.

The "Far-Aware Listening" talent is fully activated!

He abandoned his sight and began to use his hearing to perceive the movement of air and the howling of the wind within a three-meter radius around him.

Amidst this raging barrage of flying stones, he began the brutal and arduous training to construct his absolute domain.

……

Meanwhile, in the lower city of Saint Laurent, at the secret stronghold of the New Righteous Society.

The dimly lit room was filled with the mixed smell of cheap tobacco and strong liquor.

A man in a black trench coat pushed open the door and entered. He strode to the large oak table in the center of the room, handed a letter stamped with sealing wax to the old man sitting behind the table, and said in a low voice:

"Boss, this is a letter for you."

The old man had gray hair, but his eyes were as sinister as a vulture's.

He nodded slightly, and as he reached out to take it, he casually asked, "How's business at the Greywater River lately?"

The man frowned, a hint of annoyance in his voice:

"Boss, this batch of smuggled goods has come in smoothly."

But this can't last forever. Those bastards from the Brotherhood are getting stricter and stricter lately, and our shipping is in turmoil, with obstacles everywhere.

Besides, we've never gotten along, and the guy in charge of the docks on the Brotherhood's side is a tough bastard who doesn't know how to cooperate and won't listen to either soft or hard tactics.

The old man nodded slightly, but did not reply. Instead, he slowly opened the letter with a letter opener.

A middle-aged man standing to the side was idly pondering something.

His name was Erro. ​​It's been a few months since then. His nephew, who was involved with the Razorfen Downs, died a horrific death, his head smashed open in the street.

As his uncle, he always thought about when he could find an opportunity to take revenge and twist off his enemy's head to use as a wine jug.

Suddenly, the old man put down the letter in his hand, raised his head, and said in a hoarse voice, "Ero."

The middle-aged man, Erro, immediately looked up, a hint of doubt in his eyes.

The old man looked at him and slowly said:

"I remember, your good-for-nothing brother died at the hands of a young man a few months ago, right?"

Erro was taken aback, a suppressed ferocity flashing in his eyes for a moment, and he said in a deep voice:

"Yes, that's true, boss. Why did you suddenly ask about it today?"

The old man leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the table, a meaningful, cold smile playing on his lips.

"I happen to have a perfect opportunity for you to avenge your brother. Do you want to give it a try?"

Erro didn't speak immediately, but his bloodshot eyes widened instantly, his breathing became heavy, and his eyes were filled with a bloodthirsty desire.

Seeing his reaction, the old man smiled, waved his hand, and said:

"Don't rush to agree. Do you remember that young man's name?"

The middle-aged man, Erro, gritted his teeth and said, "Of course I remember! I'd recognize him even if he were ashes! His name is Xilun!"

The old man sighed, a hint of inexplicable apprehension in his voice:

"This person has made remarkable progress recently."

He had just been baptized three months ago, and not long after, he went to participate in the Vanguard Cup unarmed combat competition, and surprisingly won the championship.

At this point, the old man seemed to choke on the smoke, coughed twice, took out a large cigar from the drawer, lit it, and took a deep drag.

Ero pursed his lips dismissively and sneered, saying:

"Boss, in the end, he was just a nobody who won a small competition."

Moreover, the competition was only unarmed combat, and weapons were not allowed.

"If I were really given a weapon and to engage in a chaotic street fight, killing a mere brat who's only been baptized three months ago would be a piece of cake."

The old man exhaled a puff of smoke, looked at Erro's confident expression, and laughed:

"Since you have this confidence, that's good."

He took a simple map from the drawer, drew a circle on it with a red pen, and pushed it in front of Erro, his voice turning icy cold:

"Go and wait in this place tonight. According to reliable sources, that guy named Xilun will definitely pass through this alley tonight."

"Kill him, bring him back to me with his head, or if you fail, you won't be coming back."

Erro paused, looking down at the instructions on the map.

This is an extremely remote dead-end alley, with only a few small shops nearby that have long since closed, and hardly anyone walks around here.

He frowned, not understanding why Xilun would definitely pass through here tonight.

But he didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he nodded vigorously, his eyes flashing with murderous intent, and said, "I know."

He then gave a cruel smile, touched the cold, heavy revolver at his waist and the thick-backed machete on his back, and said:

"Maybe I can catch him off guard, shoot him in the head from the shadows, and take him out without even having to draw my knife."

The old man smiled too, but his smile seemed somewhat eerie.

He lowered his head, waved his hand, and said, "Alright, go and get ready."

After Erro left the room with a murderous aura, the old man finally unfolded the envelope that he had placed on the table.

On that pristine white letter, the signature was clearly written: Lund.

The contents of the envelope were extremely brief, just a few words, yet they exuded a chilling arrogance:

"Give Ero a chance to have a head-on, no-holds-barred battle with Siron in that alley tonight."

Regardless of who wins or loses, who lives or dies, this feud between me and the New Righteousness Society is now completely over. I will not interfere further.

The old man looked at the letter thoughtfully, puffing on his cigar one puff after another, lost in quiet contemplation.

"Lund, Lund..." the old man muttered to himself, "Do you really think that, based on just three months of training, you, a disciple I've only recently taken in, can defeat this battle-hardened warrior under my command?"

Ero is thirty-seven years old this year.

Although he has mediocre talent on the path to the extraordinary and has little hope of breaking through to the second tier in this lifetime, he has been baptized for a full nine years!

Nine years is enough time for even a pig to develop extremely deep internal strength.

His physical strength far surpasses that of ordinary people. Although there are not many high-level cultivation resources in the New Righteous Society, he is only a hair's breadth away from the ultimate level of the first rank.

Moreover, Erro had honed his skills through street fights, and his knife and weapon techniques were definitely top-notch in the Lower City.

The old man simply couldn't understand how a young man who had only been baptized three months ago, no matter how talented or how strong his foundation was, could possibly defeat Erro.

Even the so-called unarmed combat championship title is nothing but a joke that can be easily punctured in the face of a real life-or-death battle.

The old man secretly pondered that if Marshall, who possessed absolute vision, were to come in person, there might still be a chance.

During the match, Celen only managed to win by exploiting a loophole in the rules and forcibly knocking Marshall off the ring.

In a street fight to the death without rules or restrictions, the old man firmly believed that Siron would be no match for Marshall, much less for Erro.

……

On the other side of the city, behind the Red Leaf Manor.

Xiren's eyes were tightly closed, and the muscles in his face twitched slightly from extreme concentration.

He has pushed his "Far-Ahead Listening" talent to its limit.

In his mind, a gray and white picture constructed from sound formed.

The distant sound of flowing water and the subtle airflow generated by the seventeen stones suspending and rubbing together were all crystal clear.

Lund sat on the shore, his eyes indifferent, but a slight thought stirred within him.

"boom!"

Without warning, three stones, carrying terrifying kinetic energy, crashed down on Xilun from three completely different blind spots.

Xilun still didn't open his eyes, but the spear in his hand moved.

The spear, like a venomous dragon awakening, moved with fluid grace, without any superfluous movements, thrusting out with extreme lightness.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!"

The spear tip struck the three stones with extreme precision at their weakest points, separating them instantly and retracting immediately.

Immediately afterwards, another shot was thrust out with extreme speed.

In the blink of an eye, within just four or five breaths, Xilun's spear turned into a blurry afterimage.

In an instant, he unleashed seventeen consecutive thrusts!

"Bang bang bang..."

He pierced and shattered all seventeen stones that were being hurled at him from all sides, turning them into dust.

Only when the last stone landed did Xilun slowly open his eyes.

He looked at the unshaken spear in his hand, feeling the smooth flow of energy within his body, and thoughtfully exhaled a breath of white air, saying in a low voice, "It's done."

Within three meters, the absolute territory that the spear could reach was beginning to take shape.

Lund watched this scene with a look of extreme satisfaction in his eyes, but he remained outwardly calm.

He nodded slightly, stood up from the rock, and instructed, "You practiced well today. Go back and rest early."

Xilun nodded slightly, unbuttoned his soaked training clothes, revealing his muscular upper body covered in bruises and swelling.

Lund suddenly pointed to his wrists and ankles and asked:

"How does it feel to wear these four metal rings all the time?"

Xilun stretched his shoulders, feeling the heaviness he was gradually getting used to, and replied thoughtfully:

"It's alright, my body has gradually adapted to this pressure, and I no longer have difficulty even walking like I did at the beginning."

Lund nodded and continued, "Your 'Great Sea Whale Guidance Technique' is almost at the third level, isn't it?"

Xilun closed his eyes, sensing the viscous, almost tangible blood and qi within his body. A line of data flashed across his retina:

[Skill: Ocean Giant Whale Breathing Technique (Level 2)]

[Progress: 975/1000]

He opened his eyes, nodded, and said, "It's almost there; we just need one more opportunity."

Lund then said, "Your basic marksmanship and perception skills are almost perfected."

Let's finish this early today so you can relax your tense nerves.

Tomorrow, I will formally teach you the killing moves of the "Natan Heavy Armor Gun Technique."

At this point, Lund suddenly changed the subject, his tone carrying a hint of bloodthirsty humor:

"Back when we practiced shooting in the underground black market, we didn't have this much safe training."

To graduate, one must personally hunt down a different species of the same level in the wilderness, or kill an extraordinary individual of the same rank in the arena. Only after experiencing true life-or-death trials and witnessing bloodshed can one be considered to have graduated.

He patted Xilun on the shoulder and said meaningfully:

"Let's go, I'll personally see you off today."

Xilun was taken aback, somewhat confused, but still nodded.

The two left the manor side by side and headed towards the lower town.

Xilun held the heavy iron spear in his hand. Although his limbs were bound with extremely heavy iron rings, he could now move freely and his steps were steady and powerful.

He walked slowly, and Lund casually remarked beside him:

"These past few days you've made sure you never let go of your gun. Whether you're walking or eating, always have it in your hand to develop a feel for it."

As they spoke, the two arrived at the entrance of a secluded alley on the edge of the lower city.

There are two shops with dim yellow lights on the street corner in the distance. If you walk a little further ahead, you will enter the bustling main street.

Lund suddenly stopped, pointed to the dark, deep alley, and said to Xilun:

"Go inside, go to that shop over there, and buy me a pack of cigarettes."

Xilun paused, looked at the spear in his hand, and said hesitantly:

"Teacher, shall I leave this gun with you for now?"

Although the ordinary people of Saint Laurent City are aware of the existence of extraordinary individuals, it's still quite conspicuous for me to walk around carrying an iron spear that's over two meters long.

Lund shook his head, his tone leaving no room for argument:

"It's fine to take it with you; we'll be right back after we buy it."

Xilun gave Lund a deep look, as if he had sensed something, but he didn't ask any questions and just nodded silently.

He carried the spear in one hand, turned around, and walked into the dark, damp alleyway where there were no streetlights.

The alley was filled with the sour smell of rotting garbage and the musty smell of something that had never seen the sun.

Xilun walked thoughtfully, his mind wandering as he considered the marksmanship techniques he would learn the next day.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, his body tensing instantly.

His ears twitched very slightly. The "Far-Ahead Listening" talent was passively triggered at that moment.

In the deep shadows of the alley, a faint, yet violent and murderous voice, like a cold, venomous snake, quietly seeped into his mind.

It was the sound of muscles flexing and fibers rubbing together, the sound of deliberately suppressed heavy breathing, and... the metallic scraping sound of a sharp blade being slowly drawn from its sheath.