Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

He finally managed to shout, his voice already hoarse.

Xilun said unhurriedly:

"No rush."

He glanced at the man's hands.

"There are still ten fingers left, let's do it one by one."

His tone was as flat as if he were recounting today's accounts.

"Don't even think about trying to hide anything from me," Celen added. "You don't have the chance to commit suicide."

The man clenched his teeth tightly.

His cheeks bulged out, his gums were bitten raw, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

He held on for about twenty seconds.

Then, it felt like my spine had been removed, and I went limp.

"It's Lord Iman's... Lord Iman's order..."

Xilun thought for a moment.

The second iron fist, Iman.

The second strongest under Grossa, the leader of the Shattered Bone Gang, and the leader of the twelve brothers, who has been baptized to the extreme realm.

"Go on."

The man recounted the events in fits and starts.

Upon learning of the Brotherhood's rise, Iman immediately relayed the information to Grossa, who was far away in the Wolf Plains.

Grossa sent word back, ordering Iman to lead the remaining forces of the Bonebreaker Gang, stabilize the situation, and wait for his return before swallowing them up in one fell swoop.

But the plans couldn't keep up with the changes.

In the last two days, Iman's scouts discovered that the Brotherhood's governor, Siron, had gone out and had not returned for an extended period.

Iman did not wait for Grossa.

He issued an ultimatum to the Brotherhood—surrender or face the massacre of all ordinary workers at the Brotherhood's processing plant.

"And then?" Siren's voice was flat.

"Just...just over an hour ago,"

The man was panting heavily. "Lord Iman has led all his men to surround the Brothers Factory. He ordered all ordinary workers to evacuate the battlefield, and the remaining extraordinary ones... those who do not surrender will be killed without mercy."

"In other words, all the extraordinary members of the Brotherhood are now gathered in the processing plant."

The man nodded.

"Lord Iman sent me to the Evergreen Lake outpost to scout out if there are any personnel stationed there. If not, I'll loot the remaining supplies and take them with me."

Xilun remained silent for a moment.

The timeline quickly connected in his mind.

Iman, the second-in-command of the Bonebreakers, reported the Brotherhood's intelligence to their leader, Grossa.

Grossa sent a message ordering them to hold their troops in place until he returned in person to launch a general offensive. However, Iman discovered that Siron was not present and decisively decided to strike while the enemy was weakened.

They used the lives of factory workers as leverage to force the Brotherhood's extraordinary members to comply.

The Brotherhood was forced to gather all its strength to defend the processing plant to the death.

The Broken Bone Gang poured out in all their forces, forming an encirclement.

The standoff began an hour ago.

Xilun slowly exhaled.

Fortunately, I made it back in time.

Even a day or a few hours later, it will be too late.

His gaze returned to the man.

"Well said," he said calmly. "I'll give you a quick death."

The palm fell.

It landed cleanly and decisively on the man's crown.

The man's body stiffened, and his eyes widened.

Then, as if all life force had been drained from him, he collapsed silently.

died.

Xilun stood up and walked towards the makeshift garage at the back of the stronghold.

There was an old steam car parked in the garage, probably used by the stationed team members when they went to buy supplies.

The hood was covered in dust, and the tires were a bit flat, but at least it could still be driven.

Xilun opened the car door, got in, and rubbed his hands together.

He looked at the steering wheel and remained silent for two seconds.

"I don't have a driver's license."

He muttered something to himself.

But we can't worry about that right now.

The engine was roughly started, emitting a violent, coughing roar.

Xilun floored the accelerator, and the car, like a startled ox, trembled as it rushed out of the garage door.

The tires rolled over the muddy ground, splashing up large amounts of dirty water.

The car was traveling at an extremely high speed, and the body bounced violently in the rain, nearly crashing into abandoned wooden crates on the roadside several times. Xilun gripped the steering wheel tightly, his expression serious.

His mind was racing.

Iman.

Baptism is the ultimate state.

Ironthorn Armor, a rare byproduct of ascetic practices, can condense a carapace-like structure resembling iron spikes on the body's surface, which can withstand bullet penetration for a short period of time.

The twelve brothers were all extraordinary beings at the level of baptism.

Including the surrounding gang members, there were about fifty people in total.

On the Brotherhood's side—Kuso led about twenty or thirty men, but only five were baptized.

On paper, there is no chance of winning.

However, he wasn't included in the accounts.

The car sped through the rainy night, its headlights piercing the darkness and illuminating the muddy road ahead.

In the distance, flickering lights could be seen.

It was gunfire.

Xilun's eyes narrowed slightly.

in time.

The perimeter of the Brothers' processing plant.

The rain shows no sign of stopping.

Iman stared at the iron-clad fortress from afar, his face grim.

The factory's exterior walls had been altered; most of the windows were welded shut with steel plates, leaving only a few firing ports, from which gun barrels occasionally gleamed.

How many people are needed?

"Fifty people, all of them have arrived."

"How many guns?"

"More than a hundred guns, ample ammunition."

Iman nodded.

He was in his forties, with a robust but not bulky build, and a face with sharp, chiseled features.

He has very high brow bones, deep-set eyes, and a gloomy gaze.

He was wearing a dark brown leather long shirt with the collar tied tightly, and carrying a huge iron ruler in his left hand.

It was no ordinary iron ruler, but a specially made extraordinary weapon, entirely black with fine crack-like patterns on its surface, looking as if it had been forged from some ancient mineral vein.

How many people are inside?

"About twenty or thirty people, including five extraordinary individuals who have reached the baptism level. None at the extreme level."

Iman remained silent for a moment.

He turned to look behind him.

Twelve people stood in the rain.

They were of different ages and dressed differently, but their auras were the same—gloomy, refined, and full of hidden killing intent.

They are the core combat force personally selected and trained by Grossa, the leader of the Shattered Bones Gang. Each of them is an extraordinary individual at the Baptism level, and three of them are already close to the threshold of the ultimate realm.

Twelve brothers.

This reputation has been used in the North District for five years, and no one has ever dared to underestimate it.

"I'll be at the front for a bit," Iman said calmly. "They'll focus fire on me, but that's fine. My Iron Thorn Armor can hold off bullets for a while. You guys flank from both sides, take the firing ports, and you'll be trapped like turtles in a jar."

He paused, then said, "Don't harm the ordinary workers. Lord Grossa instructed that these people can be used later. Only kill the extraordinary ones who refuse to surrender."

Someone responded in a low voice from behind.

Iman turned his head and re-examined the iron fortress.

He doesn't like doing that.

To be honest, he didn't have much personal resentment towards the newly emerging Brotherhood.

In his view, the deaths of Ymir and Lortis were more a consequence of their own actions.

Ymirs was killed when she tried to steal from others, and Lothis overestimated his abilities while acting on orders; the blame cannot be entirely placed on Siren.

But Grossa's orders cannot be disobeyed.

The rules in the North District are very simple.

The Broken Bone Gang calls the shots.

Any force that tries to grow under the nose of the Shattered Bones Gang will be crushed.

This is not just Grossa's will, but the survival rules that have been accumulated on this land for decades.

Iman's loyalty extends beyond just Grossa.

He is loyal to this set of rules.

"Let's do it."

With a deep command from Iman, the team of fifty men began to advance toward the processing plant.

Gunshots rang out first.

A dense barrage of bullets poured out from both flanks, striking the steel plates of the factory's exterior walls and sending sparks flying.

The guards inside the factory immediately returned fire, their firing ports spewing out a series of orange-red flashes, bullets tracing fiery arcs through the rain.

Iman walked at the front.

His pace was not fast, but exceptionally steady.

The bullets hit him and bounced off, revealing the dull metallic sheen of his gray-black iron thorn armor under the rain.

Each lead bullet leaves a faint white dot on the armor surface after impact, and is then ejected.

It is not complete immunity.

Iman could feel the impact of each bullet, as if he were being hammered all over his body.

Iron thorn armor can block penetration, but it cannot stop shock.

If this continues for too long, internal organs will eventually develop problems.

Therefore, he needs to act quickly.

"push!"

The men on both flanks began to close in.

Inside the processing plant.

Kusso crouched behind a half-collapsed concrete wall, holding a heavy double-barreled shotgun in his hand.

His face was covered in sweat and dust, and his lips were pale from nervousness.

"Shoot him! Focus your attacks on the one walking in front!"

Several guns simultaneously turned and unleashed a barrage of fire at Iman.

Bullets rained down on Iman's chest and face, but they all bounced off. He kept moving forward.

Kusso had been aiming for a long time.

boom.

The recoil of the shotgun pushed his shoulder back half a foot.

The lead bullet whistled through the air and landed precisely between the creases of Iman's left breastplate.

For a moment, Iman did pause.

The lead bullet tore through a thin layer of armor and embedded itself in the skin.

But that's about it.

The bullet got stuck in the gap between the armor and the skin, unable to go any further.

Iman glanced down at his chest, his expression unchanged, and continued walking forward.

When Kusso saw this, his heart sank.

He looked around and saw that the other baptists didn't look much better.

Tension, fear, and despair—these emotions spread among people like a plague.

"Now that the Governor is not here," someone whispered, "I'm afraid it will be difficult to defend against..."

"Or, why don't we just surrender? Iman said he wouldn't kill ordinary people—"

"Shut up!"

Kusso turned his head sharply and growled in a low voice.

His eyes were bloodshot.

"The governor is away, and this place has collapsed? Huh? He's been gone for a few days, and you've all given up?"

No one dared to speak.

Kusso took a deep breath, his voice low but unusually resolute.

"Prepare for today. Await the Governor's return."

silence.

A long silence.

Then, the young man closest to him silently put the bullet back into the chamber.

Gunshots rang out again.

But everyone knows this is just a delaying tactic.

Iman's iron-thorn armor was constantly weakened by bullets as they advanced, but their ammunition was also being consumed rapidly.

Once the ammunition runs out, Iman only needs one person to take down all the extraordinary beings in this factory.

Time passed by, second by second.

Iman's advance line has already crossed the second obstacle on the perimeter of the factory area.

In five minutes, he will reach the blind spot directly below the firing port.

By then, gunfire will be useless against him, and the encirclement on both flanks will be completed simultaneously.

Kusso's hands were trembling.

It's not because of fear.

It's because of anger.

Angry at one's own incompetence.

At that moment, Iman suddenly stopped.

He raised his hand.

Everyone behind him stopped firing at the same time.

Kusso was taken aback.

What happened? Why did the enemy retreat?

He peeked out and saw the Shattered Bone Gang members retreating. It wasn't a rout, but an organized withdrawal.

"Let's find out!"

A moment later, someone poked their head out of the side observation window and reported to the leader:

"It looks like... a car has broken in from outside."

One car?

Kusso frowned.

Who would drive in at this time?

The perimeter of the processing plant.

Iman's expression was serious.

During his advance, he caught a sound that didn't belong to the battlefield—

The roar of engines rapidly approached from afar.

"What's wrong?"

The messenger behind him came running up, panting.

"Someone broke in from behind."

Iman frowned.

He had already ordered three lines of guard to be set up around the perimeter and posted no-entry notices along the way.

Anyone who approaches will be warned and driven away; anyone who forcibly enters will be killed, regardless of whether they are a civilian or otherwise.

The battlefield where extraordinary individuals clash is not a place for ordinary people to set foot on.

"Just shoot him," Iman waved his hand impatiently. "What's the need to inform me?"

The person who made the notification did not move.

He stood there, his expression extremely complex.

There was fear, bewilderment, and a sense of shock as if one had witnessed something impossible.

"...Can't be beaten to death."

Iman paused in his movements.

"What?"

The person giving the report swallowed hard, his voice trembling.

He raised his hand and pointed shakily in the distance behind him.

The gunfire continued there.

It wasn't sporadic firing—it was a continuous barrage of concentrated fire.

More than a dozen rifles fired at the same time, the barrage so dense it could almost weave a net in the air.

But the gunfire just wouldn't stop.

Because the goal is still being pursued.

"They're practically indestructible."

next moment……

boom!

A muffled impact came from afar.

Someone was thrown into the air.

Iman's gaze suddenly turned to the back.

In the rain, a figure was approaching.

Black clothes, youthful face.

Holding a black umbrella in one hand, he walked at a leisurely pace.

The surrounding Bonebreaker gang members fired desperately, but the bullets hit the umbrella's surface and were deflected by an invisible membrane of air.

It's like a pebble thrown into water; it only creates ripples but can't penetrate.

Occasionally, stray bullets would whiz around the umbrella and hit him—his shoulder, arm, and even cheek.

Useless.

The lead bullet embedded less than half an inch into the skin before being forcibly squeezed out by some terrifying muscle force, falling to the ground with a clattering sound.

When Iman saw this scene, he finally understood the meaning behind the expression on the informant's face.

Can't be beaten to death.

They're really indestructible.

If Iman's iron thorn armor only offered "bare resistance," bullets, though unable to penetrate the armor, would still cause internal injuries from the impact.

Then this young man in front of me is completely impervious to bullets.

For him, bullets weren't even a massage.

Iman's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

The young man would occasionally raise his revolver and fire two shots.

Two members of the Shattered Bone Gang fell to the ground.

He glanced down at his umbrella.

A bullet had pierced a hole in the umbrella, its edges charred black, and rainwater dripped in through the hole, landing on his shoulder.

He sighed softly, as if regretting a good umbrella.

Then he put the umbrella away.

A hail of bullets rained down on him without the umbrella providing any cover, striking his forehead, brow bone, eyelids, ears, Adam's apple, and collarbone.

These are vulnerable areas that are fatal to ordinary people.

One lead bullet after another embedded itself into the pneumatic membrane, stopping less than a millimeter from the skin's surface before being bounced away.

Ding!

Ding!

Ding Ding Ding!

The crisp metallic clanging sounds blended together in the rain, sounding like someone striking an iron bell.

Iman's lips moved slightly.

He saw the young man's face.

Just as the intelligence described: young, sharp, and cold.

Westren!

The Brotherhood Governor isn't unable to return; he's already back.