Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The aura emanating from the spearhead was not the immature strength one would expect from a baptized person, but rather a pure violence honed through countless killings, profound and unparalleled.

He kept backing away.

The hand gripping the giant ruler attempted to resist.

The iron thorn armor crumbled piece by piece wherever the spear tip passed, like autumn leaves swept away by the wind.

Iman's heart sank, but it was all in vain.

boom--

People approached from both sides.

The four brothers rushed toward Siron from different angles at the same time, attempting to stop the golden spear with the strength and weapons of the baptized.

Swords and blades surged in from the left, right, top, and bottom, forming an impenetrable killing formation.

Xiren didn't even look back.

He simply raised the gun slightly by half an inch.

Then, sweeping across.

One shot.

Only one shot.

The force concentrated on the surface of the gun barrel, forming an arc of white light.

A white light flashed past the four men's weapons, knocking their swords and blades away one by one. Then, the weight and speed of the spear shaft itself caught up with the four men's bodies.

Trying to stop a chariot with one's own arms is futile.

The four figures scattered and flew out in the white light, like duckweed being smashed by a giant wave.

Iman finally came to terms with the truth.

His giant ruler was split apart by the spear tip again, his left hand was deformed by the weight of the spear, his right hand could no longer hold the weapon, and most of his iron thorn armor was broken.

He was powerless to resist!

Then the spearhead came.

The golden spear tip resembled a fallen star.

Iman watched helplessly as it surged into his chest.

At that moment, time seemed to stretch out.

He saw the spear tip tear through the last fragments of the iron thorn armor.

I saw the tip of the gun pierce my skin.

I saw the tip of the gun disappear into the gap between the sternum and the breastbone.

I saw the spear tip emerge from behind, accompanied by a cloud of crimson blood mist.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something.

But all that came up in my throat was blood.

The next moment, the gun tip was pulled out.

Decisive and efficient, without the slightest hesitation.

Xilun stared at him calmly and indifferently.

Rainwater slid down his brow bone and flowed over his cold eyes.

He stood there in front of Iman, his head slightly bowed, as if waiting.

Waiting for someone to die.

Iman collapsed.

His knees hit the ground first, then his hands, and finally his cheeks.

The cold mud splashed on his face, mixed with his own blood.

Life is slipping away rapidly.

His vision began to blur.

In that last, chaotic vision, he saw Xilun's tall figure.

Black clothes, a golden spear, rain falling from the sky.

It felt as if I were facing an ancient god.

"retreat……"

He used his last bit of strength to squeeze out those two words.

But the sound was too soft.

Like a fallen leaf in the wind.

No one can hear it anymore.

From the moment the battle was declared, no one was spared.

Only death can atone for this contempt, and fresh blood can be used to elicit pity.

Suddenly, the rain intensified.

Large raindrops pounded down, making a crackling sound as they hit the ground.

As Xilun sheathed his gun, the heavy rain washed away all the blood from its surface, leaving the golden blade gleaming with a cold, pure luster in the rain.

But it was too late for others to appreciate it.

The remaining members of the twelve brothers, those who are still standing.

The moment he saw Iman fall to the ground, the last glimmer of fighting spirit in his eyes was extinguished like a candle flame blown out by the wind.

fear.

Pure fear, devoid of any other emotion.

A fear that surged from the depths of one's bones.

Some people turned and ran.

Some people tried to raise their weapons, but their hands were shaking so badly they couldn't even hold them.

Someone knelt down and opened their mouth to beg for mercy.

But it's too late.

Xilun swept the attack with a single shot.

The golden gun barrel, like a bolt of lightning before dawn, sliced ​​across the chests and abdomens of the two baptized men.

Before they could even utter a sound, their bodies were thrown to the ground by that terrifying force, their bones shattered, their flesh torn, and they died.

Then comes the third one.

the fourth.

the fifth.

He faced no further obstacles.

They went on a killing spree.

In the rain, the black figure, like a messenger of death, moved among a dozen terrified figures fleeing in terror.

Each strike of the golden spear took a life. There were no superfluous movements, no fancy moves.

Every shot was the simplest, most direct, and most lethal strike.

Even if they wanted to run away, they would only sadly discover that they couldn't catch up with the person in front of them, no matter how fast they were.

He was moving too fast.

It wasn't an explosive sprint, but a steady, unhurried pace, almost like taking a walk.

But it was this speed that allowed them to easily catch up with everyone who was desperately fleeing.

And his own defenses were not even enough to stop the man in front of him from firing a shot.

The tip of the golden spear possessed terrifying penetrating power; any protective energy at the level of a Baptist was as thin as paper before it.

A little over a minute.

Just over a minute.

The curtain has fallen on everything.

Xilun stopped moving.

He looked up; in the pouring rain, there was no one around, only utter desolation.

The fifty-man team began to crumble the moment Iman fell.

Those unbaptized ordinary members of the gang had long since disappeared without a trace, even losing their shoes.

The twelve brothers lay on the muddy ground, never to rise again.

He was the only one who slowly holstered his gun.

He was surrounded by corpses.

Rainwater washed away the blood on the ground, forming a winding red stream that branched, merged, and branched again at his feet.

Xilun touched the ground with the tip of his gun.

The tip of the gun touched a pool of blood next to a corpse.

The blood seemed to have a will of its own, slowly climbing upwards along the tip of the spear.

Blood meandered up the gleaming gold gun barrel, climbing all the way to the palm of Siren's hand holding the gun.

Then it seeped into his body through his skin.

Xilun closed his eyes slightly.

A dark red mark slowly appeared between his brows.

This is not the first one.

The first blood seal had already been perfected in the Great Snow Mountain, transforming into a jet-black, perfect seal.

This is the second one.

The immature marks, which have only recently been formed, are still in their infancy; the outlines are not yet clear enough, and the colors are not yet deep enough.

But at that moment, the blood of more than a dozen baptists rushed in.

The bloodstain began to transform.

The dark red background gradually deepened, first turning into a bright red like blood, and then a dark red like solidified rust.

Finally, about one-fifth of the area slowly transformed into a jet-black sheen.

Deep, rich, and exuding a faint aura of destruction.

Xilun opened his eyes.

He retracted the bloodstain from his brow, took out a tattered cloth, and carefully wiped the golden spear clean.

The gun was so shiny that every drop of blood remaining on it was particularly glaring.

It took a long time to wipe.

Then he put the gun away; the gleaming gold barrel transformed into a soft golden thread, wrapping around his waist and disappearing beneath his trench coat.

At this moment, the factory gates finally opened.

With a creak, the heavy iron door was pushed open from the inside.

Kusso was the first to come out.

He was still holding the double-barreled shotgun in his hand, the muzzle still emitting the lingering smell of gunpowder.

But his gaze was no longer focused on the weapon in his hand.

He saw the scene outside.

Corpses littered the ground, pools of blood diluted by the rain, shattered weapons, and crushed bullet casings...

as well as--

The person standing right in the middle of all of this.

Wearing a black trench coat, riddled with bullet holes, his young face devoid of any superfluous expression.

Rain dripped from his hair.

He stood there quietly, his back to the factory gate, as if waiting for someone.

Or, it's as if we've been waiting for a long time.

Kusso opened his mouth.

His chin trembled slightly uncontrollably.

Shocked! Horrified!

That brief mental blank after witnessing something beyond our comprehension.

Behind them, even more people poured out of the factory.

More than twenty people crowded at the entrance, craning their necks to look outside.

Quiet, utterly quiet.

Only the sound of rain.

Then--

Snapped!

A clap of applause—it was Kuso who clapped.

He didn't know why he was clapping.

But at that moment, he felt that this was the only way to express the emotions in his heart.

"The Governor is mighty!"

His voice carried through the rain, not loud, but clear.

There was a silence of two or three seconds.

Then--

Like a dam bursting.

Cheers erupted from the factory gate.

"Your Excellency the Governor!!"

"The Governor is mighty!!!"

"Silon!! Siren!! Siren!!"

More than twenty people shouted the same name in the pouring rain, their voices hoarse, as if they had survived a catastrophe.

Some people laughed, some cried, and some threw their hats into the air.

Xilun turned his head.

He looked at the faces contorted with excitement.

Those faces that were struggling in despair just over an hour ago.

He didn't laugh.

They didn't say anything particularly inspiring.

He simply nodded slightly.

Then he turned around and looked at the distant horizon obscured by the rain.

Xilun looked away and turned up the collar of his bullet-riddled trench coat.

"Kuso".

"arrive!"

"Get the factory sorted out. Inventory the ammunition, tally the personnel, and compile a list of casualties. Give me the details within an hour."

"yes!"

"besides."

Xilun paused.

"Send a telegram to the housekeeper saying I'm back. Tell him to heat up the water in the house."

He paused for a moment.

"I want to take a shower."

……

When Xilun returned from there, the factory was still cheering and celebrating.

He didn't linger, only instructing Kuso to clean up the mess before turning and leaving the devastated battlefield.

The black sedan was already waiting at the fork in the road outside Changqing Lake.

The butler stood by the car door, holding a black umbrella. When he saw Xilun's figure emerge from the rain, he went to greet him.

"Your Excellency."

Xilun nodded slightly and bent down to sit in the back seat.

The moment the car door closed, the sound of the downpour subsided considerably, leaving only the dull thud of raindrops hitting the roof and the low rumble of the steam engine.

The butler got into the driver's seat, started the car, and the black body slowly drove along the muddy road.

There were no lights in the carriage.

Xilun leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and remained silent.

The bullet holes in the trench coat were still there, and rainwater seeped in along the edges of the holes, leaving dark watermarks on the seat.

The butler glanced at the rearview mirror but didn't ask any further questions.

The car drove through two alleys, turned onto a quiet tree-lined avenue, and finally stopped in front of the mansion.

The butler got out of the car, went around to the back, and opened the car door.

When Xilun got out of the car, he paused for a moment.

The brief dizziness from suddenly relaxing from a state of extreme tension is like a bowstring stretched to its limit being suddenly released, leaving the bow still trembling.

"I'll go arrange for someone to boil water," the butler said, handing over an umbrella.

Xilun took the umbrella, but didn't open it; he tucked it under his arm.

"Are we going to practice martial arts again tonight?" the butler asked.

"Need not."

Xilun shook his head, his voice a little hoarse.

"Take a shower and rest for a while."

He stepped up the steps, pushed open the gate, and entered the house.

The butler watched his figure disappear at the end of the corridor before turning around to arrange for hot water.

……

The mansion was very quiet.

This quiet is different from the desolation of the battlefield; it is a warm silence, carrying the unique dry smell of wooden furniture and the smoky aroma of unburnt charcoal ash in the fireplace.

Xilun walked down the corridor and pushed open the bedroom door.

There were no lights on inside, only the faint moonlight filtering in from the window, which was cut into blurry fragments by the rain.

He stood by the window, silent for a moment.

Then I started taking off my clothes.

The trench coat fell down first, landing heavily on the floor with a thud, soaked with rain and blood.

Then there are the combat suits inside.

The fabric slipped off his shoulders, revealing a long and muscular torso.

The moonlight fell on his skin, highlighting its distinct lines and texture as if carved by a knife and axe.

But it was not a flawless body.

Scattered bullet holes marked his skin, some of which had congealed into faint scars, while others still bore a faint dark red tinge—the marks left from enduring the rifle fire tonight.

However, the injury is healing rapidly.

His talent for molting like a cicada never disappointed him.

Xilun practices the Great Thunder Breathing Method.

His breathing became extremely slow and long, and with each exhale, a very low hum came from deep within his chest, like distant thunder echoing in the valley.

The thunderous sound reverberated throughout the internal organs.

The internal organs damaged by the shockwaves of bullets began to slowly repair themselves under Lei Yin's guidance. The stagnant blood was pushed into the kidney meridian for metabolism, while fresh blood and qi were replenished along the meridians.

He felt his body recovering.

Like a sophisticated machine, it self-calibrates with each operation.

……

Hot water has been delivered.

The housekeeper personally carried the bath tub into the adjacent bathroom. The water in the tub was steaming, and in addition to the clear water, some white flower petals were floating on it.

It's a medicinal flower unique to the northern region. It has no name, but locals only know that it has a light fragrance and can soothe muscles and bones when soaked in hot water.

Xilun walked into the bathroom and slowly sank into the hot water.

The water rose over his chest, over his collarbone, and finally only his neck and above remained above water.

White petals swirled gently on the water's surface, the rising steam blurring his face.

He closed his eyes.

These past few days, from the South District to the North District, from Changqing Lake to the factory, Iman, the Twelve Brothers, the hail of bullets—everything felt like it had been soaked in hot water, finally slowly peeling away from my taut nerves.

exhausted.

A genuine, unmasked weariness.

It's not physical, but mental.

He would never show this kind of exhaustion in front of anyone, but at this moment, alone in the hot water, he allowed himself to take off that mask of indifference that was almost cruel.

Even if it's just for a moment.