Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The sound was very soft.

But every word felt like a block of ice, hitting Xilun's eardrums.

Xilun's face turned red as Qili gripped his throat, and he clenched his teeth.

But his eyes were not closed.

There was no fear, no panic, not even anger in those eyes.

Only calculations.

Calm, precise, machine-like calculations.

next moment.

boom.

Xilun's power suddenly erupted.

With the Giant Whale Guiding Technique activated to its limit, the immense blood and qi of the fifth level of perfection surged from his dantian into his limbs and bones like a flood bursting its banks, instantly breaking through the restraints Grossa had placed on his throat.

Xilun suddenly broke free.

He did not back down.

Instead, he moved closer to Grossa.

Zero distance.

Grossa's pupils contracted slightly.

He clearly hadn't expected that a first-tier extraordinary individual could break free from his forceful chokehold so easily, and he certainly hadn't expected that the opponent, in the next instant after breaking free, would choose not to create distance, but to launch a close-quarters attack.

The fist is coming.

Xiren channeled all his strength into his right arm, pushing the Giant Whale Guiding Technique to its limit, and punched Grossa in the chest.

Grossa's reaction was also quick.

He was, after all, a second-tier extraordinary being. Even though he was old and frail, his instincts, honed through years of battles, remained.

He raised his hand to block.

But it was too rushed.

He only used about half his strength.

Xilun unleashed his full power.

boom!

The moment their fists and palms collided, a dull thud resounded in the air.

Xilun brought his five fingers together, and the instant they made contact, his fist transformed into a claw.

The bone claws embedded themselves in the skin of Grossa's palm.

Claw breath erupts.

Grossa's aura suddenly trembled, like a boulder being thrown into a calm lake.

He staggered back two steps.

Then--

Xilun gave him no chance to catch his breath.

His body pressed close to Grossa's retreating steps, always keeping the distance within half an arm's length.

The right fist had already been retracted, and the left fist followed immediately with a punch.

Target: Abdomen.

boom!

The punch landed squarely on Grossa's stomach.

Grossa's center of gravity shifted abruptly, and he retreated again, leaving two deep friction marks on the floor beneath his feet.

Even the body of a second-tier extraordinary being cannot completely ignore the full-force output of a first-tier peak extraordinary being.

He stumbled back three or four steps before finally stopping.

Grossa lowered his head.

In the moonlight, he saw a clear bloodstain on his chest from being smashed.

Fist and claw marks.

Five fingertips dug into the skin, leaving dents from which fresh blood slowly seeped.

He raised his head.

And Xilun stood proudly before them.

His throat was bruised and purple from being choked, but his eyes were brighter than ever.

Xilun turned his head and spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm.

then……

He smiled.

That wasn't a mocking laugh, nor was it a manic laugh.

It was a smile of extreme confidence, composure, as if it only appeared after one had seen through everything.

That smile made Grossa very uneasy.

Just like this young man in front of me, in those few short seconds of exchange, he had already made a crucial judgment.

Xilun was finally relieved.

He had imagined this moment countless times in his mind.

Using familiar second-tier extraordinary individuals like Rein and Yuri as references, he repeatedly estimated Grossa's possible strength level.

His deduction concluded that if Grossa's strength reached the average level of a normal second-tier extraordinary being, he feared that his chances of survival were slim.

To be able to escape unscathed is a victory.

But now, he's made the right bet.

Grossa's strength is only barely enough to cross the threshold of a second-tier extraordinary being.

He was in his seventies or eighties. He had fought too many battles in his youth, had scarce resources, and suffered from overwork, which caused his hidden injuries to flare up.

His breathing is not smooth enough, and his physical explosive power is not as good as when he was young.

An old soldier, half-buried in the ground.

From those two punches, Xiren had clearly felt the body's response: the frequency of bone vibrations, the speed of muscle contraction, and the efficiency of blood and qi circulation...

All the data points to the same conclusion.

The Grossa before him was not much different from himself.

Xilun grinned and spat out the remaining blood and foam from his mouth.

"turn out to be."

"It's a paper tiger."

Grossa felt uneasy.

This unease did not stem from the pain. Although the fist and claw mark on his chest was bleeding, it was merely a superficial wound to a second-tier extraordinary individual, not even a real injury.

The unease came from the other person's eyes.

That kind of confident, unhurried look in one's eyes, as if one has seen through one's true nature.

It was as if, in the eyes of this young man, he was no longer a second-tier powerhouse who needed to be looked up to, but an opponent who could be calculated, measured, and defeated.

This enraged Grossa.

"Something that looks like a reptile!"

His voice was forced out from deep in his throat, hoarse and fierce.

"Did you think you could see the true strength of a Ripper just by sneaking in and gaining a slight advantage?"

His eyes were bloodshot and bright red.

That was more than just anger.

That was the shame and anger of a dying man whose last layer of pretense had been exposed.

He is indeed old, he is indeed riddled with hidden injuries, and he is indeed not as good as he was when he was young.

He could admit these facts himself, but he would never allow a first-rank young man to say them for him.

Grossa suddenly erupted.

His figure transformed into a gray afterimage in the moonlight, lunging towards Xilun.

Extremely fast.

It was faster than the previous leap over the treetops.

This is the speed a second-tier extraordinary being should have when they get serious.

Xilun thought to himself, "That suits me perfectly."

He practiced the ascetic method of forging bones and iron armor.

His body's energy surged outwards, condensing into a dense layer of iron armor on his skin.

Although it's only expert-level, this armor is enough to withstand the full force of a first-tier extreme realm attack, and it can also provide a considerable buffer against attacks from second-tier extraordinary beings.

boom!

The two figures collided violently.

The air was compressed, producing a sharp popping sound.

The desks and chairs in the study trembled in the gust of wind, the ink bottle tipped over, and the pages of the book were blown around with a whooshing sound.

The moment we parted.

Xilun took two steps back, his arms in a defensive stance. His tiger's mouth was slightly numb, but his bones were intact, and only a faint red mark remained on his skin.

The Iron Armor Asceticism successfully buffered most of the impact.

And Grossa.

He clutched his right arm in pain.

That was the arm he used to strike Xilen.

At the instant the two collided, he clearly felt that there was something incredibly hard on the surface of the other's body.

It's like iron, no, harder than iron.

His arm slammed into the wall, and it felt like punching a city wall; his own joints were jolted and numb.

Xilun sneered.

"Old man."

His voice echoed in the study.

"You've even forgotten how to kill someone?"

"With this little strength, you think you can kill me?"

Grossa roared:

"What skills do I need to kill you!"

He threw another punch.

This time he used even more force than before, his fist wreathed in dark red energy, the refined aura unique to second-tier extraordinary individuals, several times more concentrated than the blood and qi membrane of a first-tier individual.

Xilun turned to the side.

He didn't confront it head-on.

Instead, the instant Grossa's fist grazed his face, he ducked down and slipped into the crook of Grossa's arm.

Zero distance, hand-to-hand combat.

Siren's left hand gripped Grossa's elbow, his fingers tightened, and his thumb pressed precisely on the intersection of the ulna and radius, one of the most vulnerable stress points in the upper arm.

Grossa winced in pain and instinctively pulled his arm back.

Right in this gap.

Xiren raised his right elbow high and then slammed it down.

The elbow struck Grossa's chin.

boom!

A dull thud of flesh striking flesh.

Grossa's head snapped back from the elbow strike, a spray of blood gushing from his mouth. A yellowed tooth traced an arc in the moonlight before splattering to the ground.

He took two steps back.

He licked the empty space in his mouth with the tip of his tongue, and the salty, fishy taste of blood spread out.

Then he was provoked into a ferocious state.

A ferocity that has nothing to do with age, ingrained in one's very bones.

Grossa has seen more bloodshed in his life than Xiren has eaten meals. In his youth, he climbed his way up from the bottom of gangs, fighting his way up piece by piece, stepping over the corpses of countless people.

His body began to recover under the influence of anger.

Those reflexes that have become dulled with age are reawakened by the stimulus of a life-or-death crisis.

The movements became more and more skillful.

The speed of the punches increased, the angles changed, and the landing point of each punch began to coincide with a certain fighting rhythm: muscle memory honed over decades of combat.

The two fought in the study.

Fists and feet clashed, and strength collided.

The house shook inexplicably.

An oil painting hanging on the wall fell down with a thud, its frame shattering.

The bookshelf was hit by a gust of wind and collapsed with a crash, scattering books all over the ground.

The table was hit by Grossa's back, breaking three of its four legs, and the tabletop tilted and slid towards the corner of the wall.

The chair broke.

The vase broke.

The glass in the window frame shattered from the shockwave as the two passed by, the shards gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

Xilun threw a punch.

Grossa blocked with his forearm, the impact making his knuckles crack.

Then he punched him back.

The punch landed squarely on Xilun's ribs.

Bang.

The Iron Armor Asceticism cushioned most of the force, but the remaining shock still penetrated deep into the muscles, causing Siron's breath to catch in his throat.

Xilun did not back down.

He traded blows, simultaneously slamming his left fist into Grossa's ribs on the same side.

Grossa groaned and swayed slightly.

Xilun was calculating rapidly in his mind.

In a trade of injuries, the opponent's physique is mediocre, old and frail, and their recovery ability is far inferior to one's own.

Replacing them might not be a good solution.

"You old geezer."

He shouted, throwing punch after punch, his tone tinged with inexplicable anger.

"You broke so much of my furniture!"

Grossa was so angry at his absurd words that her face turned ashen, but her body instinctively chose to take a step back and create distance.

Then he drew his weapon.

From the waist.

It was a curved, blood-stained blade.

The blade is dark red, as if it were forged from blood, with fine serrated lines along the edge, exuding an unsettling, chilling aura.

Second-tier extraordinary relic.

The moment Grossa drew his weapon, the course of the battle changed dramatically.

Hand-to-hand combat has turned into a duel of weapons.

The side with weapons has an overwhelming advantage over the side without weapons.

Grossa knew this all too well.

He was about to seize this opportunity, having a weapon while his opponent did not, to close in and slash down with his blade.

However, he suddenly caught a strange sight out of the corner of his eye.

Xilun's waist.

That seemingly ordinary black belt.

The moment Xilun's fingers touched it, it suddenly transformed into a beam of brilliant golden light.

The gold thread stretched, straightened, and solidified in the air.

It transformed into a spear over nine feet long.

It was entirely golden, with a smooth, mirror-like surface, and the tip was so sharp that it emitted a faint hum even when it was merely in the air.

Golden spear.

Grossa was taken aback.

He never expected that the opponent's weapon would be in this form, disguised as a belt, transforming into a large spear when needed, and retracting into golden thread when not needed.

What kind of tactic is this?

What kind of material could make a weapon to achieve this level of capability?

He was stunned for less than half a second.

But half a second is enough.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up and a brilliant golden light filled his vision.

A golden spear came hurtling towards him.

Grossa instinctively raised his hand and used his Blood Blade to block.

boom!

The sound of metal clashing was deafening.

Grossa's arms sank half a foot under the immense force, and the Blood Blade emitted a groan of unbearable strain, with several visible cracks spreading from the base of the blade.

His tiger's mouth was cracked from the shock.

Fresh blood seeped from between his fingers.

Followed by.

Xilun raised his hand again.

This time it wasn't just a simple shot.

His left palm was facing up.

A jet-black bloodstain appeared in the palm of his hand, hovering above the gun.

The black mark exuded a scarlet blood aura; it was the ultimate weapon condensed from the bloodline talent of the Earth Blood Bat Dragon, the first blood mark after its cultivation was perfected.

The bloodstain hovered above the golden spear, as if a certain resonance had formed between them.

Then, Xilun slammed it down hard.

Bloodstains on the gun body.

The two forces combined to create a suffocating pressure.

Grossa raised his blood-stained blade to block.

boom!

This time, he felt like he was blocking not a gun, but a small mountain.

That pure, crushing weight traveled from the Blood Blade to his arms, from his arms to his shoulders, and from his shoulders to his legs.

His feet left two long friction marks on the floor, and he took four or five steps back before coming to a stop.

Grossa's expression changed.

He coughed twice, looked down at his hands, and saw that the web between his thumb and forefinger was completely torn open, with blood dripping down the hilt of the blood-stained blade.

Then he looked up at the dark bloodstain floating in the air.

"What kind of tactic is this?"

For the first time, his voice carried genuine fear.

It wasn't an act.

It comes from the bottom of my heart.

The young man in front of me.

His strength is extraordinary, as demonstrated in the hand-to-hand combat just now.

But his methods go far beyond that.

The belt transforms into a spear, and the palm forms a seal.

Every move he made was unexpected, and every action caught him off guard.

Grossa began to have thoughts of giving up.

He is not an impulsive person.

The reason someone can rise to the position of gang leader in the North District is never due to brute force, but rather to their shrewd and experienced judgment in assessing the situation.

He quickly weighed the pros and cons.

Can we kill them or not?

It's possible to kill them, but the cost could be very high.

Not worth it?

His gaze darted back and forth between the blood-stained mark and the golden spear, and he narrowed his eyes.

Suddenly, he spoke.

"Your physique, strength, and skills are all extraordinary."

His tone became calmer.

It was no longer the rage it had just displayed.

Rather, it is a kind of rationality unique to seasoned veterans, a ability to quickly calm down in the midst of battle.

"But I'm very curious."

"How is your martial arts training going?"

His gaze was sharp as a knife, fixed intently on Xilun.

"If the level of combat escalates again... can you really keep up?"

He did not wait for Xilun's reply.

Grossa unleashed his Blood Blade.

A dark red light suddenly shone on the blade, as if blood was flowing on its surface.

That was not a simple infusion of energy.

It is a martial art.

Second-tier combat techniques.

Grossa gave a low shout:

"Blood Cloud Roar!"

He slashed out with his blade.

A burst of blood dance followed closely, the dark red blade light transforming into a surging cloud of blood mist, slashing towards them.

This attack was unlike any of the previous ones.

It is no longer a simple output of power, but a high-level technique that condenses power, speed, angle, and energy into a single blade.

Xilun's expression remained unchanged.

He held his spear horizontally to block.

boom!

The sound of metal clashing was sharper and more piercing than before.

But this time, Xilun took two steps back.

I lack the strength.

This move weakened him by three points.

It's not a difference in physique, nor a difference in strength.

It's not a difference in fighting techniques.

Grossa's fighting skills have reached the master level, or even higher.

Decades of combat experience, meticulous control over power, and precise grasp of the rhythm of battle—these are things that talent alone cannot compensate for.