Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Marshall gritted his teeth and clenched his fists tightly.

Xilun calmly observed the other person's attire.

Marshall wore a pair of dark gray iron fist gloves that covered his five fingers, seemingly made of some kind of highly flexible soft metal.

He was covered in a half-body suit of hard armor, which protected vital areas such as his chest and abdomen.

Clearly, he followed the same path as Cohens before him—using his physical strength and heavy armor to close the distance, and then engaging in close-quarters combat.

However, Cohens was all about defense, his entire body was covered up like a hedgehog; while Marshall simply wore a layer of heavy armor to cover his vital areas, relying mainly on his gauntlets to launch highly destructive close-range attacks.

Xilun held the gun in one hand, the tip pointing diagonally at the ground, and stood there quietly, like a lifeless sculpture.

Watching this scene from below the stage, Fester frowned and said, "Marshall and Coens seem to be of the same ilk. Senior Siren is in trouble now."

Whispers rippled through the audience: "Marshall is really lucky. His overall score is sixteen, which is basically the bottom of the top thirty-two, and yet he drew someone even worse, like Xiren, in the first round."

"Yeah, it's like he got away with it all, and got a direct pass to the round of 16."

"I estimate that Marshall will only need ten moves at most to take down this Siren, leaving him unable to even get up!"

Xilun withdrew his gaze, blocking out all the noise.

A cold, emotionless voice rang in my ears: "The match begins!"

The moment the words left his mouth, a muffled "bang" rang out!

The stone slab beneath Marshall's feet cracked instantly. He stomped his legs off the ground with a mighty leap, like a raging rhinoceros, charging madly toward Xilun with unstoppable momentum.

"Sirlen! You're unlucky to have run into me!"

As Marshall charged, he roared like a wild beast, "I'll smash every bone in your body this time!"

After saying this with a cold laugh, he kept his eyes fixed on Xilun's movements as he approached, wary of the spear thrust.

However, to his surprise and even a hint of delight, the other party stood still, without moving an inch.

The tip of the spear didn't even lift an inch.

"Are you scared out of your wits? This is a great opportunity!" Marshall was overjoyed.

What he needs most is to be close.

After all, the advantages of a long spear are too obvious.

First, it's sharp; second, it's long.

Once the distance is created, his short-range boxing gloves will put him at a significant disadvantage.

In the blink of an eye, the two were less than three meters apart.

Marshall's right arm muscles bulged high, blood and energy flowed into his gauntlet, and with a whistling sound as he tore through the air, he slammed his fist hard toward Siren's face.

At that very moment, a cold, sinister glint flashed deep within Xilun's eyes.

"Distant Listening," activated!

In that instant, the sound of the wind, the noise of the audience, Marshall's heavy breathing, even the subtle sound of his muscle fibers taut and stretched...

Everything was transformed into the most precise data and entered Xilun's ears.

In his perception, Marshall's movements were as slow as rusty gears.

Xilun's mind was as calm as still water, without the slightest ripple.

He suddenly exerted force with his right hand holding the gun, pouring the immense power of the "Great Sea Whale Guiding Technique"—as deep as an abyss—into the military-grade alloy gun body without reservation.

One spear thrust!

"boom!"

The air seemed to become slightly stagnant for a moment.

Immediately afterwards, a gust of wind swept out from the gun, and the terrifying air pressure even caused Xiren's black trench coat to be blown backwards onto his skin, making a loud rustling sound.

This shot had no fancy techniques, only pure, extreme speed and ruthlessness!

Marshall's eyes widened, and his pupils contracted sharply.

He didn't even see the trajectory of the spear tip; he only felt a silver lightning bolt instantly cross three meters and head straight for his chest.

There's nowhere to hide!

Faced with a life-or-death crisis, Marshall could only forcefully twist his body, cross his arms, and use his heavily armored forearms to block the fatal blow.

"Snapped!"

A sickening metallic crack echoed throughout the venue.

The immense force of the impact caused Marshall's body to tremble violently.

The extremely compressed force flowed unimpeded through his heavy armor into his muscles and bones, causing his internal organs to churn violently. A mouthful of blood instantly surged into his throat, making him feel extremely uncomfortable.

But Siren's attack has only just begun.

The moment the spear pierced the heavy armor, Xilun flicked his wrist, using the recoil to send the spear tracing a perfect semicircle in mid-air.

"Water Flow Cut Off - Sweep Away!"

The heavy alloy spear, accompanied by a piercing whistling sound, swung fiercely from the side and slammed down!

"Snapped!"

Marshall was about to use his backward movement to deflect the force when his actions were abruptly interrupted by the violent shot.

The gun barrel lashed at his waist, the immense force of which sent him flying off the ground.

Marshall was forced to lose his balance in mid-air, and his body rolled awkwardly across the rough stone ground.

He endured the excruciating pain and tried to steady himself by bracing himself with his hands on the ground.

"boom!"

In their line of sight, the heavy gun, like the Grim Reaper's scythe, swept across once more.

Xilun's eyes were so cold and devoid of any human emotion.

After the spear swept across, he gripped the shaft with both hands, suddenly exerted force with his waist, combining all his strength and gravity into one, and then slammed it down heavily!

The gun, like a giant steel python, slammed into Marshall's back, which he had just straightened up.

"Crack!"

Faintly, the sound of bones cracking could be heard.

Marshall's face turned ashen instantly, his eyes rolled back, and he spat a mouthful of blood onto the ring.

He was like a crushed toad, stuck to the ground, unable to move at all.

He collapsed there in pain, his whole body convulsing and trembling from the intense agony.

The entire venue was deathly silent.

With a blank expression, Xilun flicked his wrist and retracted the spear.

The spear tip pointed diagonally at the ground, and a drop of blood slowly slid down the silver blade, dripping into the dust.

Bérard's emotionless voice rang out abruptly in the deathly silent stadium, striking everyone's heart like a heavy hammer:

"Marshall collapsed and was unable to get up for ten seconds."

"Silen wins."

Xiren didn't linger on the ring. He turned around slowly, picked up the pale silver spear, and went back up the steps to the Iron Cross rest area.

His steps were as steady as if he had just taken a walk, and even his breathing rhythm was perfectly normal.

On the ring, Marshall curled up like a boiled shrimp for a while before finally managing to stand up with the help of medical staff.

He clutched his aching back and staggered back to the Platinum Club area.

As soon as he approached, he was greeted not with comfort, but with a gaze as cold as bone.

Ross, the ace of the Platinum Club and an extreme genius with an overall score of 10, merely glanced at him coldly.

There was no anger in his eyes, only extreme indifference as if he were looking at trash.

Ross then looked away, as if looking at him for even a second would dirty his eyes.

The teacher in charge, his face ashen, reprimanded him mercilessly:

"What's wrong with you?! You actually lost to someone with a bottom-tier overall score of 15!"

That was so careless! It's a complete disgrace to the Platinum Club!

Marshall opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

What could he say? That he wasn't careless at all? That the opponent's power was like that of a monster in human skin?

Marshall couldn't quite put his finger on that eerie feeling.

All he knew was that, when facing Xilun, no matter how he moved or how he defended, it was as if the other party had seen through him completely, and he couldn't dodge Xilun's gun attacks at all.

Moreover, the violent and concentrated power that erupted from the Xilun Spear was absolutely, absolutely not something that someone with a comprehensive value of fifteen could possess!

That force was like a devastating tsunami, completely and utterly suppressing him!

Marshall could only sit to the side, head down, looking sullen.

He lost two matches to Xilun, one unarmed and one with weapons, and even began to have deep doubts about his extraordinary path.

At the same time, a deafening roar finally erupted from the dead silence in the audience.

The club members and spectators, who were originally looking forward to watching Xilun get unilaterally beaten, were now looking at each other in disbelief.

"Xiren actually won?!"

"And won so decisively? In three moves? Or two?"

"What's going on? Xilun's overall rating is only fifteen, so how did he beat Marshall, whose physique is nine? This doesn't make sense!"

The crowd discussed the matter animatedly, racking their brains to find a reasonable explanation for this unusual scene.

"Could it be... that when Xilun's first shot hit Marshall, it was just a lucky coincidence that he struck an opening in Marshall's attack?" someone tentatively speculated.

"Is it really such a coincidence?"

"But it seems that's the only way to explain it! You can't say that someone with an overall score of 15 actually outperformed someone with a score of 16, can you?"

"It's just that Marshall was incredibly unlucky; he lost to someone who finished last in the tournament because of one mistake!"

The audience nodded in agreement, as if only by attributing everything to "luck" and "flaws" could they maintain their unshakeable sense of hierarchy.

The rest area of ​​the Silver Hand.

Xiu Kuo watched Xi Lun's departing figure, a hint of solemnity flashing in his resolute eyes.

His fingers tightened slightly around the cyan longsword, and he said in a low voice:

"It seems we underestimated him."

His control over weapons and his grasp of timing were extremely precise.

Ang Lee sat on the sofa, idly trimming his nails.

Hearing Xiu Kuo's words, he didn't even raise his head, but just gave a calm, cold laugh.

"So what?" Li An's tone was arrogant and condescending. "You're making such a fuss over just defeating a slightly stronger wild dog?"

His rudimentary marksmanship was, in my opinion, nothing special.

Before absolute strength and bloodline, any skill is futile.

Xiu Kuo did not refute, he just gave Li An a deep look and fell silent again.

He knew that Ang Lee's pride wouldn't allow him to look at a commoner from the bottom of society, but in Xiu Kuo's intuition, that Xi Lun was definitely not as simple as he seemed on the surface.

……

The first day of the professional competition featured a total of sixteen matches, which continued throughout the morning.

While enjoying the brutal combat, the audience also constantly compared the strengths of the various geniuses.

Among them, the player with the highest popularity and the loudest calls to win the championship is undoubtedly Derrick Rose of the Platinum Club.

The top three contenders are generally considered to be Ross, Ang Lee, and Corley from Blackthorne.

Among them, Ang Lee and Colley are undoubtedly the favorites in this competition.

Everyone is speculating about who will be second and who will be third.

This is almost a done deal; the only point of contention is which of the two has the better trump card.

And who will be unlucky enough to face Rose, this monster, before the finals?

Siren sat in his chair, his gaze calmly sweeping over each match in the ring.

In Game 14, it was finally Rose's turn to play.

His opponent was a player from a small, low-ranked club, with a combined score of sixteen.

The man climbed onto the ring with trepidation, his legs trembling uncontrollably.

Facing Ross, who exuded a terrifying aura like a demon god, he could barely speak, his eyes filled with fear of death.

Rose remained expressionless, not even glancing at his opponent.

He walked unhurriedly to the center of the arena, his right hand slowly resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist.

The deputy curator, Beren, had barely finished speaking when he announced, "The competition begins."

The contestant forced out a smile that looked worse than a grimace, opened his mouth, and was about to shout, "I give up."

However, the moment he opened his mouth...

"Clang—"

A crisp clang of a knife echoed throughout the arena.

Everyone felt a blinding white light flash before their eyes.

Ross had already drawn his sword, then sheathed it.

The entire movement was fluid and fast, exceeding the limits of human visual perception.

The man's body stiffened abruptly, and the word "surrender" was abruptly cut off.

He lowered his head blankly, staring at his abdomen.

A horrific, deep wound, revealing bone, had somehow appeared across his abdomen. Blood gushed out like a burst dam, instantly staining the stone slabs of the arena red.

Ross didn't even glance at him, simply turning away calmly and leaving behind a cold utterance: "Get out of here."

The man's eyes widened, and he collapsed to the ground, whereupon he was carried away by the other terrified club members.

In the Iron Cross rest area, Fester couldn't help but shrink back, his eyes filled with horror:

"That was a vicious strike! He could have easily forced the person off the stage!"

A senior student next to him swallowed hard and said in a trembling voice, "Ross is establishing his authority. He's telling everyone that if they don't admit defeat beforehand when they meet him, this is what will happen to them."

The audience had a love-hate relationship with Rose's absolute dominance.

Meanwhile, the trainees from other clubs couldn't help but think to themselves that if they were to draw Rose in the future, they should just admit defeat, otherwise they would only suffer fatal injuries.

This is incredibly powerful.

All sixteen matches concluded by noon.

The remaining sixteen people successfully advanced to the round of 16 on the second day.

As the audience dispersed and discussed the situation, they suddenly remembered Xilun, and someone said with schadenfreude:

"That guy named Xilun was lucky enough to make it into the first round."

However, he'll suffer in tomorrow's round of 16 match.

"Yes, almost all the contestants who made it to the top 16 had an overall score of 17 or higher."

He's bound to lose to anyone; there's absolutely no chance of him exploiting a mistake like Marshall did.