Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Inside the Silver Hand's rest area, several figures with profound presence sat on luxurious leather sofas.

When the huge mechanical flip card above the arena stopped at "Overall Value: 15", a burst of undisguised sneer immediately rang out in the area.

Several students in silver uniforms whispered among themselves, their eyes sweeping over the lone young man in black walking off the stage in the distance as if watching a play.

Xiu Kuo held the emerald green longsword, head bowed, and remained silent.

His face, as resolute as a rock, held no mockery, only focused concentration on the upcoming match.

Suddenly, he noticed an unusual movement in the airflow beside him.

Turning my head, I saw Ang Lee leaning back in his chair, a cold and sarcastic smile playing on his lips.

This noble genius, who had just measured his comprehensive nineteen extreme realm data, was now staring intently at Xilun in the distance with the same look he would give a rat in a sewer.

"This person is the same Celen who was talking to Daisy in the hallway yesterday."

Ang Lee's voice was soft, yet it carried an unyielding chill.

Xiu Kuo nodded slightly but did not reply.

He knew that Ang Lee's possessiveness toward Daisy stemmed from the arrogance of blood-related marriages between nobles.

"Fine, very well indeed." Li An sneered, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the sofa armrest.

"Is that all the ability you have? A total score of fifteen? This lowly peasant who crawled out of a run-down club actually dares to dream of getting involved with Daisy from the Viscount family?"

His voice gradually lowered, his face was so cold it seemed like frost could be scraped off, and an undisguised murderous intent even emerged in his dark brown eyes.

The murderous aura instantly silenced the jovial students around them.

But soon, Ang Lee took a deep breath and suppressed his violent impulse.

He regained his aloof and calm demeanor, and straightened the silver tassels on his cuffs.

"Such an opponent is not worth even a second of my attention."

Xiu Kuo, you don't need to investigate his background anymore.

Ang Lee immediately sat up straight, slowly closed his eyes, as if looking at Xilun would dirty his eyes. "He doesn't even deserve to stand in front of me."

On the other side, in a corner of the Iron Cross Fight Club.

Fester stood up abruptly, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked, his face flushed red.

He listened to the jeers and whistles that surged from the stands like a tsunami, his chest heaving violently.

"These viewers are going too far!"

Fester gritted his teeth, his voice filled with deep displeasure and frustration:

"It was just a test of the overall value. Machines aren't absolute truths. Why are they mocking you like this?"

How many of those who stand high above and point fingers dare to actually step into the ring and fight?

Xiren walked back to his seat and casually tossed the number three number plate onto the table.

He picked up a towel and dried his hands, then calmly patted Fester's broad shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Fester."

Xilun's voice was completely calm, as if the mocking laughter was just a breeze brushing past his ear. "This is normal."

People tend to use their own understanding to judge what they believe to be correct.

Fester abruptly turned his head, looked at Xilen's expressionless face, and couldn't help but shout:

"Don't you feel unhappy? If it were me, I would definitely rush up to the stands, grab someone and question them!"

Are they really that much better than us? They just sit there arrogantly, treating us like monkeys!

Xiren pulled up a chair, sat down, crossed his legs, and stared at the ring, which was already scorching hot from the sun.

"But even so, it's all in vain."

Xilun's tone was tinged with an almost cruel rationality: "Impulse and rage only prove your incompetence."

Rushing in to question them will only be futile, drawing more ridicule and potentially disqualifying you for breaking the rules.

He turned his head, and there was no anger in his dark eyes, only a deathly coldness.

"Fester, all you need to do is be yourself."

As long as the people I care about trust me, I feel that's enough.

As long as you can continuously demonstrate astonishing and terrifying absolute power on this stage, people will naturally shut up, and people will naturally appreciate you, respect you, and worship you.

Fester was stunned. He looked at Siron and felt that after experiencing that shipwreck, his brother seemed to have locked away an extremely terrifying beast deep in his soul.

"Who is the person you care about?" Fester couldn't help but ask softly.

Xilun was slightly taken aback.

The image of that tall figure giving his lifeboat to his lover in the icy sea flashed through his mind, as did Lord Yuri's unfathomable face and Mentor Lund's stern gaze.

After a moment, he shook his head, said nothing, and simply turned his gaze back to the arena, falling into silence.

He didn't know what to say; all his emotions had been crushed, leaving him feeling empty and unsure how to respond.

Above, the first match has already begun.

The Iron Hammer Club faces off against a freelance warrior recommended by a nobleman.

Xilun looked closely and saw that the burly man carrying a long sword who walked onto the stage was none other than Philip, whom he had met once before at the Vanguard Cup.

"What a coincidence," Xilun murmured softly.

The long knife in Philip's hand gleamed with an icy, snow-like luster, and its blade was extremely wide.

Xiren remembered that Philip's overall score was sixteen, the same as Marshall's, with strength and physique both at eight.

However, in unarmed combat, Felix clearly did not yet possess such strength.

Looks like you've made quite a bit of progress!

Following Xilun's gaze, Fester said, "What a coincidence."

I noticed that many clubs in this competition were using either knives or guns, with only a few using swords; otherwise, it was quite strange.

Professor Lund, sitting in the front, suddenly spoke, his voice steady:

"Although the weapons are incredibly diverse, the vast majority of them are quite obscure."

Firstly, there are few extraordinary texts on these unusual weapons, making it difficult to find suitable fighting techniques for systematic training; secondly, there are very few teachers who can teach these unorthodox weapons.

The only popular weapons that have survived the fierce battles and the test of time are the sword and the gun.

These two weapons are most capable of unleashing the destructive power of force.

Xilun nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping across the stage.

Philip held a knife, while the noble warrior opposite him wielded a silver spear.

Without exchanging any unnecessary words, the two clashed the moment their blood and qi erupted.

The fighting techniques were constantly being displayed on the ring, and the sparks from the clashing weapons and the muffled explosions were overwhelming.

The noble warrior's spear technique was extremely flashy, his spear thrusting like a dragon, creating countless silver spear flowers; while Philip's knife technique was simple and unadorned, each strike powerful and heavy, aimed straight at vital points.

This level of combat is an extremely rare and top-tier showdown even in the gang warfare of the downtown area.

The 32 contestants participated in 16 matches, each one a battle of flesh and steel between geniuses.

Fifteen minutes later, despite having his left arm pierced by a spear, Philip knocked out his opponent with the back of his sword, securing a hard-fought victory and advancing to the round of 16.

Immediately afterwards, the second match began.

The person who came up was extremely strange-looking. Xilun's gaze sharpened.

Lund, standing nearby, explained at the opportune moment: "This is the Blackthorn Club."

Their school of thought is accustomed to using many unusual weapons.

For example, their number one seed, Klay Thompson, has an overall rating of 19 and a physique comparable to the highest level. She wields two bronze hammers weighing 800 pounds each, which are extremely difficult for ordinary people to even lift, let alone swing.

Xiren stared intently, and realized that the person on the stage was not Klei, but Korns, the third seed of Blackthorn.

Cohens's outfit was practically a mobile mini-fortress.

He was clad in heavy armor covered in thorns and spikes, with only a pair of cold eyes visible through his mask.

His abdomen, waist, legs, and head were all tightly wrapped in thick armor that shimmered with a dark blue luster.

Instead of holding conventional weapons, he had forged a pair of sharp deep-sea metal claws directly into the armor on his forearms.

"Clearly, his tactics are very clear."

Lund commented, "Relying on heavy armor to withstand the opponent's attacks, then engaging in close combat, using the hooks on the arms to tear apart the opponent's physical defenses."

Cohens' opponent was a swordsman with an overall rating of seventeen.

The two were physically similar, but the swordsman was clearly encountering this strange weapon that wrapped itself like an iron turtle for the first time, and for a moment he was at a loss as to where to start.

The swordsman hesitated for a moment, then gripped his longsword tightly and tentatively slashed forward.

"Bang!"

Sparks flew everywhere.

The fierce sword strike, imbued with first-tier power, struck Koens's breastplate, yet only produced a dull thud.

Cohens' body trembled slightly, but there wasn't even a white mark left on his armor, indicating that he wasn't seriously injured.

A cruel smile flashed in Cohens' eyes beneath his mask.

He swayed, ignoring the swordsman's still-held sword, and immediately took a step forward, crashing into the other's arms like a wild bear.

"Snapped!"

The heavy fist with the hook slammed into the swordsman's stomach, sending him staggering back several steps, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Moments later, the battle completely turned into a one-sided affair.

With the armor providing formidable defense, Cohens completely abandoned dodging and continued to approach like a runaway steam train.

His claws swung wildly, tearing the swordsman's flesh and drawing blood with the slightest glancing blow.

"Bang!"

After struggling for half an hour, the swordsman finally succumbed to blood loss and exhaustion, and was smashed off the stage by Coens with a heavy hammer blow, sword and all.

The cold voice of Vice-Director Beren rang out: "Coens, you win."

Lund nodded slightly, a hint of seriousness flashing in his eyes:

"This weapon and fighting style are extremely difficult to counter. Without suitable armor-piercing methods or overwhelming power, at the level of a combined value of seventeen, I'm afraid no one can defeat Koens."

"Next, prepare for the third match." Lund turned to look at Xiren.

Xilun stood up, casually picked up the heavy long spear disguised as a black umbrella, and prepared to walk towards the contestants' tunnel.

Fester took the opportunity to sidle up to Lund and whispered:

"President, what exactly is Senior Xilun's true strength right now?"

Lund pondered for a moment, and the image of Xilun holding a gun under the waterfall behind Red Leaf Manor and the ruthless killing of Erro in that rainy night flashed through his mind.

"His physical abilities as demonstrated in actual combat are definitely more than the fifteen measured by the instruments."

Lund lowered his voice, "It's probably around 17 in overall value, 8 in strength, and at least 9 in physique."

His combat experience, his sense of crisis, and his terrifying combat instincts far surpassed those of ordinary people.

Lund stroked his chin thoughtfully: "Add to that the 'invincible with one shot' absolute domain direction that I taught him..."

"Being against some competitors with an overall rating of 18 shouldn't be a problem."

Fester's eyes lit up as he looked at Coens, who was swaggering down from the stage, and said:

"So that means that if they were to face off, Coens wouldn't stand a chance against Senior Siren at all?"

Lund shook his head: "It's hard to say, Koens' defense is too extreme. However, Xiren's chances of winning are definitely higher."

Just then, Belang's majestic voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, rang out from above the arena.

"Match Three! Iron Cross Fight Club, Siren vs. Platinum Club, Marshall!"

Upon hearing this name, Xilun paused slightly in his steps as he walked through the passageway.

He murmured the name to himself, a cold glint in his eyes.

What a coincidence, I ran into Marshall here again.

Last time at the Vanguard Cup, although I defeated Marshall, it was in hand-to-hand combat, and I took advantage of his impatience and flustered state, so there was a lot of cheating involved.

In terms of raw strength, I was indeed no match for Marshall, who had an overall rating of sixteen.

But this time...

Xilun's heart was completely calm, like a stagnant pool, without even a ripple.

His fingers tightened slightly around the umbrella handle, feeling the coldness and weight of the military-grade alloy inside.

He had no doubt that he could crush his opponent as easily as crushing an ant.

When Xiren appeared at the edge of the ring, the audience in the stands erupted in another round of heated discussion.

"Look, that bottom-ranked student with an overall score of 15 has come up!"

"His opponent is Marshall! That guy from the Platinum Club, who's at the bottom of the team, but at least has an overall rating of sixteen."

"Marshall's physique is at least a level nine! I bet if the two of them clashed, Marshall could crush that kid named Siron!"

Siren turned a deaf ear to the commotion.

He lightly pressed his thumb on the hidden mechanism in the umbrella handle.

A crisp click of the mechanism.

The black umbrella surface instantly contracted, and the internal alloy gun barrel suddenly sprang out and engaged under the action of springs and air pressure.

In the blink of an eye, a heavy spear, two meters and four inches long, with a smooth, pale silver sheen, appeared in his hand.

The spears were cold, reflecting the scorching sunlight and stinging the eyes of the audience in the front row.

Xilun, carrying a gun in one hand, slowly walked onto the arena.

Twenty meters away, a familiar figure was striding closer.

Marshall's face was fierce, and his eyes revealed undisguised ruthlessness, even a deep hatred.

If he hadn't lost to the unknown Silen in the Vanguard Cup, why would Marshall have been subjected to such merciless ridicule and mockery from Rose at the Platinum Club?

Since fate has given him the chance to take revenge in the first round, he will definitely not let it go!