Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Then, he reached into the corpse's pocket.

His movements were as practiced as those of a seasoned pickpocket who had been doing it for ten years.

It's a survival instinct ingrained in our bones—once you kill a monster, you have to loot its corpse.

The first gunman had several silver shillings on him.

Poor wretch.

Xilun frowned and turned to the second man, who was wearing a trench coat and carrying a knife.

My fingers touched a hard little cloth bag.

When I took it out, in the dim light of the car headlights, I could see a gleaming gold coin lying quietly inside.

Gold Pounds!

This is a gold pound coin with Queen Victoria's portrait!

Xilun's hand trembled slightly.

These two probably just finished a "deal" or received funding.

"That bullet wasn't for nothing."

Xilun muttered something under his breath and quickly stuffed the money pouch into his inner lining.

Then he put away the pistol and the short knife in the other man's hand.

He glanced around the car again but didn't find anything valuable or portable.

The faint sound of police whistles could be heard in the distance.

The gunshots just now must have alerted the nearby patrol officers.

The car definitely won't move.

We cannot stay here for long.

Xilun glanced at the two corpses one last time, like a black ghost, and quickly disappeared into the darkness deep in the alley.

……

Twenty minutes later.

Xilun returned to an abandoned drainpipe not far from the dormitory area.

It's dry and secluded here, frequented only by rats.

Only after confirming that there was no tail behind him did he plop down on the ground and completely relax.

Only then did the excruciating pain in my shoulder surge up like a tidal wave.

"hiss……"

Xilun gasped, a layer of cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

He gritted his teeth, unbuttoned his shirt, and exposed his left shoulder.

His originally pale skin was now covered with a large purplish-black bruise, with a charred bullet hole in the center.

But strangely, the wound didn't bleed much.

Xilun moved closer and observed carefully by the moonlight filtering in from the drain.

Beneath the skin around the wound, a fine, black, net-like pattern was faintly visible.

It's like having a layer of snake scales growing under the skin.

That's the [Black Scale Pattern].

The talent comes from the mutated Garuda Serpent.

Although the lead bullet pierced the skin, it was mostly protected by this incredibly tough "black scale," and the bone was not damaged.

"Such tough skin."

A hint of relief flashed in Xilun's eyes.

If it were an ordinary person, such a shot would likely leave their arm severely damaged, requiring at least six months of recovery.

But for him, it was only a superficial wound.

Even if you only steal the talent of a low-level alien species, you can still save your life in the face of firearms.

Xilun took a deep breath and pulled out the boning knife he had just seized from his pocket.

He wiped the blade on his clothes.

No anesthetic, no alcohol.

He bit his collar, gripped the knife in his right hand, and aimed the tip at the bullet hole in his shoulder.

"Hmm!"

A muffled groan exploded in his throat.

The knife tip sliced ​​through the flesh, and the sound of metal scraping against bone and flesh was particularly jarring in the silent pipe.

Xilun's muscles were taut, veins bulged on his neck, and sweat poured down like rain.

But his hand holding the knife was frighteningly steady.

"bite."

A soft sound.

A deformed lead bullet was picked out, fell to the ground, and rolled twice.

Xilun was panting heavily, looking as if he had just been pulled out of the water.

He stared at the blood-stained bullet on the ground, his eyes gradually turning cold and hard.

The Black Death Cult!

This debt has been recorded.

He tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his clothes and haphazardly wrapped it around the wound.

The black scale texture not only provides defense, but also seems to give wounds a strong ability to contract and stop bleeding.

The bleeding stopped quickly.

Xilun picked up the gold pound and the pepper box pistol from the ground and weighed them in his hands.

He carefully hid it inside his clothes and walked towards the dormitory area.

Back in the dormitory, Xilun ate two pieces of rye bread and drank a large glass of cold water early in the morning before going to bed.

……

The next morning.

When Xilun woke up, the light coming in from the window was a bit too bright.

It's snowing outside.

The snow in Saint Laurent is always the color of coal ash. It falls to the ground white and sparkling, but turns into black mud after melting.

Xilun sat up in bed and stretched his left shoulder.

There is some soreness, but it no longer affects my activities.

He glanced down and saw that the wound had already formed a thin scab; the speed of recovery was almost inhuman.

He picked up the coat he had worn the night before.

There was a charred bullet hole on the left shoulder.

Xilun frowned, feeling a pang of heartache.

He only had two sets of clothes that he could wear out, and this shot tore a hole in them.

"I need to find a way to secure a stable income."

Xiren sighed and put the clothes on to cover the bandages underneath.

Although I had a pound and a dozen shillings in my hand, I was still studying and hadn't found a job yet, so I couldn't bear to use them to buy clothes.

After a quick wash, Xilun braved the cold wind and went out.

Iron Cross Fight Club.

The second floor.

Xilun arrived very early today, even earlier than the cleaning staff.

He pursed his lips and went straight to the door of his mentor Ryan's personal office.

He planned to stop sparring and practice breathing techniques instead.

My shoulder is injured these past two days, so it's not suitable for intense combat. If the wound reopens, it would be hard to explain.

"Knock knock knock".

Xilun knocked on the heavy oak door.

"Come in."

A deep, resonant voice came from inside.

Xilun pushed open the door and went in.

Ryan was sitting behind his desk reading a newspaper, with a steaming cup of black tea on the table.

"Mentor Raine."

Sylvanas mustered his courage, bowed slightly, and said, "I would like to request that I give up the combat sports for the next two days."

Raine put down her newspaper, raised her eyelids, and glanced at him: "Reason?"

"On my way back to the dorm yesterday, it was too dark and I accidentally tripped and fell, injuring my hand."

Xilun lied without batting an eye, "I think I'll practice breathing techniques for the next couple of days."

Renn stared at Xilen for a few seconds, said nothing, and simply nodded slightly.

"Can!"

Just then, the office door was pushed open again.

A cold wind blew in, accompanied by the stiff creaking of the door hinges.

A man in a dark navy blue belted uniform stepped across the threshold, his leather boots still covered in mud, and the white pewter buttons on his belt gleaming under the gaslight.

The man was around thirty years old, and the shackles around his waist jingled with each step.

"It seems I've unfortunately interrupted a touching lesson between teacher and student, haven't I?"

The man had a smile that seemed polite but was actually amusement on his lips. He showed no awareness of being a guest and casually pulled out an oak chair and sat down.

Without even lifting an eyelid, Renn waved his hand lightly at Siren: "This is none of your business, you may leave."

Xilun lowered his head, gave a soft reply, and prepared to leave.

"Please wait, child, perhaps you can listen to this as well."

The voice rang out again, unhurried yet carrying an undeniable, sticky quality, like the forked tongue of a venomous snake.

Xilun's steps faltered in place.