Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

"Ceasefire."

Iman spoke in a deep voice.

The gunfire gradually subsided.

Smoke and rain mingled together, filling the air, and a pungent, bitter smell seeped into everyone's nostrils.

At this moment, a gap had been torn in the fifty-man team of the Shattered Bone Gang.

More than ten bodies lay on the ground, and several wounded people were being dragged away.

The man in black didn't speed up, dodge, or make any unnecessary movements; he simply walked over.

The clothes had quite a few bullet holes.

The black trench coat was riddled with bullet holes, revealing a shirt underneath that was also full of bullet holes and a muscular forearm.

It slightly affected her demeanor.

But that's about it.

Siren stopped thirty paces away from Iman.

His footsteps were extremely even in the rain, each step perfectly measured in terms of spacing, force, and frequency, like a machine of the highest precision.

He watched Iman from afar.

"You are Iman."

It's not a question.

Iman took a deep breath.

He held the iron ruler in front of him and slowly took half a step back.

The twelve brothers on the left and right sides spontaneously gathered around, forming a semi-circular defensive formation.

No one spoke, no one whispered; they had followed Iman in battle for many years, and this tacit understanding was ingrained in their bones.

Iman dusted himself off.

He let out a sigh of relief.

He tried his best to keep his tone steady.

"You must be Xilun."

He said.

"Only you possess such strength and audacity. To kill two of my Shattered Bone Gang's iron fists, you are truly daring."

Xilun raised his head slightly.

Rainwater slid down his chin and dripped onto his collarbone.

"Yomis is blackmailing me, trying to take away the resources I've worked so hard to obtain. Fine, I'll kill her."

His tone was indifferent.

"As for Rhodes—since you've decided to have him kill Dawson and disrupt the alliance between the Brotherhood and the Iron Fist, then you should be prepared to go to war with our Brotherhood."

Iman narrowed his eyes.

He was certainly aware of both of these matters.

Ymir, driven by insatiable greed, attempted to intercept the Brotherhood's convoy of wagons, only to be killed in the process.

Rhodes was ordered to assassinate Dawson, the leader of the Iron Fist Gang, but after the mission was accomplished, he was hunted down and silenced by Siron.

Ultimately, both of these incidents were started by the Shattered Bone Gang.

But in this world, those who strike first often don't need a reason.

Those who need a reason are those who lack the strength to fight back.

"But President Xilun," Iman said slowly, his voice low, "you need to know—what you say and what you do depends on your strength."

He took a step forward.

"You are certainly much stronger than us, and you truly deserve to be called a newly promoted knight."

However, as long as one hasn't advanced to the second-tier extraordinary level, there's a world of difference between them and Lord Grossa.

Iman's gaze turned cold.

"Let alone killing Dawson a few days ago, even if I wanted your cultivation method, if you resisted, you would only face certain death."

These words were spoken very bluntly.

In other words, you are strong, but not strong enough for the Shattered Bone Gang to be afraid to make a move.

Grossa is a second-tier extraordinary being, you are not yet.

As long as this chasm exists, you will always be the prey.

Upon hearing this, Xilun's lips curved slightly into a smile.

"Since the Bonebreaker Gang has always operated this way," he said, "there's no need for negotiation."

"I'm just doing to you the same way you've done to me."

He tapped the ground with the umbrella handle.

"Let's forget about a ceasefire and see who comes out on top in the end."

Iman's face suddenly darkened.

"joke."

He took half a step forward, his iron ruler pointing diagonally, the massive weapon drawing an arc in the rain.

"We were both baptized once, so even if there are differences between us, they are quite limited."

Do you really think that I, with my twelve brothers, can't kill you?

Xilun said calmly:

"There's no need to say so much. Just let your men open fire."

"Only by comparing can we know who is stronger and who is weaker."

Iman snorted coldly.

"What exactly are you trying to say? There's no need for us to fight to the death."

Siren crossed his arms and held his head high.

Rainwater streamed down his forehead, across his eyelids, nose, and mouth, but he didn't even blink.

Those deep black eyes looked down at Iman, filled with indifference steeped in blood and slaughter.

"What I mean is..."

"You are the challengers."

"You're not in a position to negotiate with me."

There was a moment of silence when those words were spoken.

The sound of the rain seemed to be suppressed by this overwhelming force.

Iman felt a throbbing in his temples.

"Where is Grossa?" Siren asked. "Bring him out."

Iman's face stiffened.

He couldn't let Grossa out because Grossa wasn't there at all.

But he couldn't admit it directly.

Once the fact that the gang leader is not present is exposed, the Shattered Bone Gang's deterrent power will be instantly reduced by more than half.

"Lord Grossa will be back soon," Iman replied in a muffled voice.

"What? Are you planning to go up against him? Even if you have some powerful backers, they can't kill you, but you won't get away with it either."

Xilun nodded slightly.

That's exactly what I meant.

His voice was completely calm.

"Let Grossa speak to me. You are not worthy."

Iman's expression turned completely cold.

Unworthy.

These two words were like a rusty knife, dullly scraping his face.

He fought in the Shattered Bone Gang for over a decade, climbing step by step from the lowest-ranking thug to the position of the second most ruthless, and his life was no less than anyone else's.

Of the twelve brothers, most were personally trained by him; they were all desperate criminals who had survived countless battles.

Not worthy?

On what grounds?

You think you can't be killed?

Does being able to survive a beating mean you can kill someone?

Iman was well aware that the greatest benefit of the Weakness Technique was to defense.

Xilun's physique was indeed far superior to that of ordinary people, but in his view, this approach of simply piling on defense would eventually come at the cost of attack power and reaction speed.

No matter how strong the defense, if thirteen baptized people surround and fight each other, they will always find a weakness.

Moreover, Grossa is about to return.

Just hold on, there's no need to rush.

There's no need to risk your life.

But if we don't fight this battle, what will become of the Broken Bone Gang's reputation?

Where is Iman's dignity?

Just as he hesitated, someone behind him whispered:

"Lord Iman, why don't we join forces and kill him now? Without a leader, the Brotherhood will naturally crumble on its own."

Iman did not answer immediately.

He was weighing his options.

Are we really going to take action?

If they can't kill them immediately, the Brotherhood members in the factory will seize the opportunity to launch a counterattack, creating a coordinated attack from within and without.

Even if we eventually take over the processing plant, it will be a Pyrrhic victory.

Grossa's order was to "wait," to wait for him to return and launch a final assault.

Iman didn't want a Pyrrhic victory.

It was a complete victory.

but……

Iman looked into Siron's eyes.

There was no fear, no tension, and not even a hint of fighting spirit in those eyes.

It's like watching a group of ants.

That gaze ignited an uncontrollable rage within Iman, welling up from the very marrow of his bones.

He stepped forward.

"Lord Grossa is very busy, so I will relay all his messages."

His voice trailed off.

"If you really want to see him, then let me test your skills and see if it's necessary for Lord Grossa to take action personally."

Xilun looked at him.

"You want to test my skills?"

Iman glanced at the twelve brothers around him.

There was murderous intent in everyone's eyes.

A strong, undisguised killing intent.

"Naturally, it's me," Iman said, "along with the twelve brothers of the Shattered Bones Gang. We share a common enemy and stand together through thick and thin."

Xilun's gaze slowly swept over the thirteen people in front of him.

All of these are levels of baptism.

There is only one extreme realm: Iman.

The strongest of the remaining twelve was only close to the threshold of the extreme realm, still some distance from truly entering the extreme realm.

He nodded slightly.

"If you insist on going your own way, I won't stop you."

He paused.

"But there's something I want to say upfront."

Iman frowned.

Xilun raised his head high.

Rain streamed down his face, but his gaze seemed so intense it could evaporate all moisture.

"My restraint in not going on a killing spree was out of reverence for life and extraordinary mercy."

His voice wasn't loud.

But amidst this curtain of rain, it reached everyone's ears clearly.

"If we ignore this kindness—"

"They deserve to suffer equal cruelty."

His words were chilling, showing no mercy whatsoever.

His right hand slowly touched his waist, his fingertips brushing against a soft, faintly metallic gold thread.

The gold thread wrapped around his waist looked almost like part of his belt if you didn't look closely.

Iman and his brothers exchanged glances.

Someone chuckled softly.

"That's insane... The greatest boost from the Weakness Technique is to defense; his physique might not have the corresponding reaction and strength—"

"And what about his weapon? Barehanded?"

"Just engage in close combat and wear him down."

As Iman listened to these whispers, he gradually calmed down.

They're right.

No matter how strong the defense is, it will only result in taking more hits.

As long as you wear down your opponent's stamina in a prolonged fight, dragging the fight out until they are completely exhausted...

"war!"

Iman stepped forward and spoke.

He took out the huge iron ruler and held it horizontally in front of him with both hands.

Grayish-black iron thorn armor emerged from beneath his skin, covering his arms and chest, emitting a soft, metallic scraping sound.

The remaining twelve men drew their weapons.

There were knives, swords, hammers, and daggers.

Thirteen auras spread out simultaneously, like thirteen venomous snakes intertwined, forming a suffocating encirclement in the rain.

then……

The Xilun before me has changed.

It's not a slow change, it's...

break out!

Like a volcano that has been silent for thousands of years, tearing open the earth's crust in an instant.

A terrifying power surged forth from his body, beyond what a baptized person should possess, nor beyond what someone in the extreme realm should have.

The power was so immense that it was beyond comprehension, as if an ancient beast was hiding inside his body, and now it had finally opened its eyes.

Momentum, killing intent, and strength—all three reached their peak at the same time.

storm!

A visible airflow storm formed around his body.

The rainwater was distorted, the mud was churned up, and the gravel on the ground began to crack under that terrifying sense of oppression.

Iman felt his iron thorn armor humming.

fear!

The carapace seemed to sense something that instilled its instinctive fear, and it began to resonate uncontrollably.

What made his pupils shrink even more was the thing that suddenly appeared on Xilun's body.

A gun.

A huge gun.

It is entirely golden and over nine feet long.

It appeared out of nowhere, as if it had grown out of thin air.

The gun barrel, as if cast in gold, emitted a dazzling light that was almost blinding in the hazy rain.

It stood out especially against the black clothes.

It was as if a sun had suddenly risen in the dark night.

Xilun's pupils had changed color at some point; a wisp of crimson-gold killing intent overflowed from their originally deep black.

His face contorted in that instant, a ferocity that was completely out of character for his age appearing on his young features.

It resembles a dragon.

The dragon, bound by chains for far too long, finally broke free of its shackles.

next moment--

With a single step, the ground collapsed.

The black figure vanished from the spot, transforming into a black lightning bolt that stretched across the night sky in everyone's sight.

Immediately afterwards, a hurricane-like shockwave swept in from the front, carrying a terrifying and suffocating killing intent and oppressive force, aiming to tear apart the protective auras of the thirteen people in front of it.

Iman, who was facing all of this head-on, broke out in goosebumps all over his body.

He finally realized the magnitude of the being he was facing.

This is not the extreme.

This is not the first-order baptism he knew.

This is--

"Block it!!"

With a roar, Iman held the giant ruler horizontally in front of him, and the iron thorn armor on his arms burst open, forming a gray-black shield.

The two fastest-reacting brothers rushed in from the left and right, their weapons poised at the ends of Iman's iron ruler, forming a triangular defensive line.

Then the golden gun fell to the ground.

Slowly.

Extremely slow.

In Iman's subjective perception, the shot fell very slowly.

He could see every flowing golden pattern on the tip of the gun, and he could see the trajectory of rainwater gathering and being bounced off the surface of the gun.

But his body couldn't keep up.

His giant ruler was already set up, and his arms were already taut.

His Iron Thorn Armor was already at maximum power.

Then--

The tip of the gun touched the surface of the iron ruler.

It wasn't a collision, it was crushing!

The giant ruler began to deform the moment it made contact.

The straight iron body dented downwards, and the cracks on its surface expanded rapidly, emitting a piercing metallic scream.

Iman's arms were subjected to terrifying pressure far exceeding his limits, his bones cracking beneath his armor, and muscle fibers snapping one by one.

His feet sank into the mud.

One inch.

Two inches.

Three inches.

The cracks on the iron ruler were increasing.

The depression is getting deeper and deeper.

An extremely painful expression appeared on Iman's face.

At that moment, he understood something completely.

This person's attack power is just as terrifying as his defense.

Even more terrifying.

Does the Art of Weakness only enhance defense?

Nonsense.

This is clearly a monster without any weaknesses.

"ah--"

The brother on the left let out a scream.

As Xilun crushed the giant ruler with his gun, he suddenly swept the gun horizontally.

The golden spear shaft, like a dragon's tail, swept past from the side and struck the waists of the two men on either side.

Two muffled thuds.

Two figures were thrown out, not falling, but flying away.

They tumbled through the air for more than ten meters like two rag dolls, then crashed onto the gravel ground in the distance, bouncing twice before coming to a stop.

They couldn't even stand up.

"roll."

Xilun gave a low shout.

The gunfire continued.

The first sweeping thrust, like a dragon emerging from the sea, had just been withdrawn when the second move came: the spear tip rose from below, like a viper spitting its tongue, precisely deflecting the long sword thrusting from the right.

Ding.

The long sword was deflected.

The knife-wielder's hands were dislocated in an instant. Before he could even scream, the gun barrel swung down, striking his ribs and sending him flying out of the fighting circle.

Then, with a twist of the gun, it deflected the giant ruler.

A shot was fired.

It went straight for Iman's chest.

Iman had never seen such a sharp spear, nor had he ever faced such fierce killing intent.