Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The spectators in the stands were stunned once again.

Everyone's expression froze on their faces.

That guy who came in last place in the test actually won again!

Moreover, this time it wasn't due to luck or finding a weakness.

He defeated Coens, who was practically an iron turtle, with pure, head-on strength!

"Coens has a Strength of 8 and a Physique of 9!"

Someone muttered to themselves, "This kid only had a physique score of seven in the test, yet he managed to overpower Cohens in a head-on confrontation? How is that possible?!"

"This result is simply unbelievable!"

The match at Silen was absolutely abnormal.

A guy who could be considered the worst in terms of physical ability in the history of junior knight fighting competitions actually fought his way through the rounds and made it into the top eight!

This is nothing short of a miracle, or rather, a monster!

The atmosphere in the rest area of ​​the Iron Cross Fight Club was completely different from the deathly silence throughout the venue.

President Renn sprang up from his chair, pumped his fist, and let out a long sigh of relief.

"Great! Great! It's good that we've made it to the quarterfinals!"

His weathered face was filled with barely concealed ecstasy.

Reaching the quarterfinals means that Iron Cross Club will receive a significant reduction in the knowledge tax it needs to pay this year, which is a lifesaver for a club that has been on the verge of bankruptcy.

"This is already an honor worthy of being celebrated!"

Renn rubbed his hands excitedly, then looked at Siren, who was walking off the ring with his gun, with a complicated expression.

He was also somewhat shocked.

Raine hadn't personally coached Xiren for a long time, and he never expected that this young man, who had once diligently practiced the basics in the basement, would have undergone such a complete transformation in strength.

"This child's performance has truly broadened my horizons."

Renn turned to look at Lund, his tone tinged with awe, "Lord Lund, what kind of monster have you raised?"

Lund simply smiled slightly and didn't say anything, but the pride in his eyes was impossible to hide.

In stark contrast to the celebrations at the Iron Cross Club, the Silver Hand Club was on the other side.

"Snapped!"

A crisp sound.

Ang Lee's face turned ashen. He smashed the exquisite teacup in his hand on the ground, splashing scalding tea everywhere.

His once handsome face was now slightly distorted with anger.

Now West Ham is gaining more and more attention, and the entire stadium is talking about this "miracle of finishing last".

This made Ang Lee, who had previously made bold statements and regarded Xilun as a rat in the gutter, feel as if he had been slapped hard across the face, and he couldn't bear it.

Seeing this, Xiu Kuo frowned slightly and whispered his advice:

"Young Master, there's no need to get angry over him."

His achievements stopped there.

Tomorrow is the quarterfinals, he can't possibly win anymore.

Ang Lee took a few deep breaths, forcibly suppressing the violence in his heart, and his expression gradually returned to that aloof calm.

"You're right." Li An stared coldly at Xi Lun's retreating figure, a cruel smile curving his lips. "I actually hope he continues to have this stroke of luck and wins. Ideally, he'd be drawn into my hand in the semifinals."

He slowly clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white:

"So that I can destroy him, bit by bit, in front of everyone!"

A moment later, Li An stood up and said to Xiu Kuo in a chilling tone:

"Come on, let's go back and practice together."

To deal with that freak Ross, I need to practice the final move of the "Soul Shattering Blade" even more thoroughly.

As for that stray dog, it probably wouldn't even be worthy of encountering me.

In a corner of the Platinum Club, Marshall watched as Cohens was carried away, and a strange feeling suddenly arose in his heart.

Seeing the ferocious power that Xiren displayed in the ring, Marshall's extremely frustrated heart, which had been filled with consecutive losses, strangely felt a little better.

"Even a tough guy like Coens lost so badly, I'm not that bad after all," Marshall comforted himself inwardly.

Deep down, he even harbored a strange, absurd hope—he wished that Xilun could keep winning, and keep winning forever.

If Sierra manages to pull off a major upset and win the championship, then Marshall can confidently tell everyone:

"Actually, I'm quite strong in terms of skill; I was just unlucky and ran into the champion in the first round!"

Although reason told him that this was absolutely impossible, and that Ross was an insurmountable obstacle.

But this doesn't stop him from using this kind of "Ah spirit" to lick his wounds.

……

Day 3 of the Junior Knight Fighting Tournament.

After a day of rest and reflection, the attention given to this event by the entire Lower City's extraordinary community reached its peak.

The competition has officially entered the brutal quarterfinals.

At this moment, the eight people who could appear on the stage of the Da Yu Dojo were all geniuses among geniuses, cultivated by various clubs with all their resources.

Their strength and physique are basically at a level of nine or even higher, and those with a comprehensive value of less than eighteen have almost disappeared from this stage.

Among the eight people who exuded a terrifying aura like ferocious beasts, Xilun's figure, dressed in a simple black trench coat and holding a black umbrella, seemed so out of place.

However, today, the eyes of the tens of thousands of spectators in the stands were mostly focused on this out-of-place young man.

Xilun, a character who seems like a freak.

With a composite score of 15, he achieved an incredible two consecutive jumps, and even defeated Cohens, who had a composite score of 17, in a head-to-head match yesterday.

Everyone is wondering how long this miracle can last.

As fate would have it, the first match of the third day was Siren's.

Standing on the high platform, Deputy Director B. Braun's voice, like a resounding bell, echoed throughout the venue:

"The quarterfinals, Round 1!"

"Iron Cross Fighting Club, Siren! vs. Silver Hand Club, Xiu Kuo!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the audience erupted in discussion.

"It's Xiu Kuo! The fifth-place finisher in the previous Silver Hand tournament!"

"The miracle of Xilun is now completely over."

Even if he's incredibly powerful, there should be a limit, right? Xiu Kuo is a top-tier expert with an overall score of eighteen!

"Yes, both Strength and Physique are at level nine!"

"What can Xiren use to fight? He can fight Marshall, who's one level above him, and Cohen, who's two levels above him, but how could he possibly fight Xiu Kuo, who's three levels above him?"

"His strength and physique were several times greater than his, and his martial arts skills were honed through countless trials."

"There's no way Silen could lose this match even if they wanted to!"

The preparation area for the Silver Hand.

Xiu Kuo stood up and straightened his silver samurai uniform.

He picked up the emerald green longsword and prepared to walk towards the passage.

"Shukuo".

A deep and authoritative voice called out to him.

Lee Lei, the president of the Silver Hand Club and Lee Ang's father, was standing behind him at some point.

Li Lei looked at his most composed disciple and said earnestly:

"Don't underestimate your opponent. That Xiren, getting to this point is no accident."

Xiu Kuo turned around, bowed respectfully, and said in a deep voice, "Teacher, rest assured, I know, I will not underestimate my opponent."

Li Lei nodded, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his eyes:

"With your strength, you can easily defeat this opponent."

But we must not be careless and must secure the victory firmly.

The glory of the Silver Hand must not be lost.

Li An, standing nearby with his arms crossed and a face full of indifference and disdain, interjected:

"What a pity, why didn't I draw this Xilun together with him in the lottery? Otherwise, I could have taken care of this piece of trash with one strike, instead of having to trouble Senior Brother Xiu Kuo."

Xiu Kuo ignored Li An's complaints, took a deep breath, turned around and strode towards the ring.

He carries not only the weight of his own victory or defeat, but also the dignity of the entire Silver Hand club.

On the ring, the sunlight was still blinding.

Xiu Kuo was the first to walk onto the stage. He stood still and slowly drew his weapon.

It was a uniquely shaped cyan longsword.

The sword was emerald green, as if it were forged from some kind of top-grade jade, and it exuded a chilling sword aura.

The hilt of the sword is shaped like sections of bamboo, clearly indicating that it is an exceptional relic in excellent condition.

Xiu Kuo held the sword in one hand, the tip pointing diagonally at the ground, his posture as deep and imposing as a mountain.

He looked at Xilen, who was walking slowly towards him, and spoke in a deep, powerful voice:

"Silver Hand Club, Xiu Kuo, please enlighten me."

This was a sign of respect for the extraordinary; he showed no contempt for Xiren because of his low overall score.

Xilun nodded slightly, pressed the umbrella handle mechanism with his thumb, and with a "click," the black umbrella instantly transformed into a 2.4-meter-long heavy alloy spear.

He held the large gun in one hand, the barrel reflecting a cold, silvery light in the sunlight.

"Iron Cross Fight Club, Siren".

The two stood twenty meters apart in the center of the ring.

The wind seemed to stop flowing at that moment.

Xiu Kuo's eyes instantly became incredibly sharp. His blood and qi surged like a river, and his terrifying aura of a combined value of eighteen was released without reservation, causing the surrounding air to emit a slight popping sound.

Meanwhile, Xilun remained as calm as ever.

He stood there like a rock that had been eroded over millions of years on the beach, unmoved by the other party's fierce aura.

The noise from the stands gradually subsided, and everyone held their breath, staring intently at the ring.

There is a gap between the two of them that spans three levels!

Facing Xilun, a seemingly weak opponent with an overall rating of only 15, Xiu Kuo did not show the slightest arrogance or contempt.

He stood on one side of the ring, his posture upright and his demeanor courteous.

Just like the weapon he held in his hand, a gentleman's weapon, a sword.

This was a weapon rarely used within the elite circles of the Victorian era.

The slashing of a knife is more ferocious, the penetration of a spear is more deadly, while the lightness and double-edgedness of a sword often seem somewhat inadequate when facing those tough-skinned aliens or those heavily armored extraordinary beings.

But in Xiu Kuo's hands, the emerald green longsword seemed to perfectly match his entire being, exuding a unique aura of restraint and sharpness.

On the high platform, Vice Master Belang's gaze swept over the two, then he calmly announced, "The first match of the quarterfinals begins."

His aged yet powerful voice echoed throughout the enormous venue before slowly fading away.

However, neither of the two on the stage moved.

The stands, which were originally noisy and bustling with shouts and betting noises, have now fallen eerily quiet.

The tens of thousands of spectators seemed to be gripped by some invisible force, without even a whisper of sound.

Although the two players on stage were three levels apart on paper, surprisingly, the audience today did not launch a barrage of sarcastic remarks against Xilun as they had in the previous two days.

They seemed to have finally realized that something was wrong with the young man in black from the Iron Cross Club.

Or rather, something just doesn't feel right.

Let's start with attitude.

This person always seemed very calm.

Whether it was facing Marshall, who was clamoring to break his bones, or Coens, who was as tough as an iron turtle, or today he was facing Xiu Kuo, the top expert who ranked fifth in the previous competition.

Whether in the heat of battle or resting offstage, Xiren's expression remained indifferent, silent, and even exuded a chilling stillness.

Just like his fighting style, he always maintains his own rhythm, unhurried and calm, like a precise and ruthless killing machine.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons why he has always been able to successfully challenge opponents of higher levels.

At this moment, facing Xiu Kuo's terrifying aura, which had a comprehensive value of eighteen and was as tangible as a physical force, Xi Lun remained calm and composed.

He stood still, holding the heavy alloy spear in one hand, his aura as deep and calm as the ocean.

The audience's mindset has subtly shifted without them even realizing it.

They originally just wanted to see a lowly ant being crushed by geniuses, but now, they even began to secretly hope that they could see a more dramatic outcome.

For example, Xilun defeated Xiukuo.

Although reason tells them that this is almost impossible.

Xiu Kuo was fifth in the previous competition. His failure last year was simply because he encountered the monster-like champion, Rose, earlier than anyone else.

On the arena, Xiu Kuo slowly gripped the hilt of his sword, about to raise his hand to strike a pose.

"May I ask a question?"

Suddenly, Xilun spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears in the deathly silent arena.

Xiu Kuo paused for a moment, then nodded, his expression gentle and calm, with a hint of humility as he said, "Okay."

Xilun tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling on the cyan longsword in Xiu Kuo's hand, and asked:

Why did you choose a sword as your weapon?

As far as I know, in life-or-death battles among extraordinary individuals, this weapon's power is neither as substantial as a sword, nor as domineering as a spear, is it?

Xiu Kuo pondered for a moment, but was not annoyed by being asked such a question during the match.

He looked at the sword in his hand, a hint of reminiscence in his eyes, and said:

"I've been used to practicing swordsmanship for a long time, and once I got used to it, I didn't plan to change it. It's quite convenient to use."

Xilun raised an eyebrow slightly, somewhat surprised: "Is it that simple?"

Xiu Kuo smiled, a smile that carried a unique clarity that belonged only to him:

"Many people have asked me this question, and in the process, I have also had some other thoughts."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the fanatical faces in the stands and the steel buildings in the distance, and said thoughtfully:

"I hope that, as a knight, I can avoid using violence as much as possible to prevent disputes and conflicts."

Xiu Kuo's voice became somewhat low, as if he was beginning to express his innermost thoughts:

"Victoria was not a peaceful, natural, and benevolent empire."

This place is filled with exploitation, oppression, and endless struggle.

But I think it's my responsibility to build it and to change it.

Even so, I absolutely do not wish to see ordinary people at the bottom of society harmed.

He slowly raised his longsword, its blade reflecting a warm luster in the sunlight.

"I want the sword to be my ceremonial weapon, not my murder weapon."

I hope it will bring peace and resolve conflicts, rather than just create killing and bloodshed.

After hearing these words, Xilun remained silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

"Perhaps."