Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

puff!

Grossa suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Bright red blood splattered on the back of his hand, appearing particularly glaring in the dim morning light.

He staggered along the gravel path on the outskirts of the North District, each step tearing the deep, bone-revealing wound on his back a little more.

The pain was not just physical, but a deeper burning sensation that spread outwards from deep within the spine.

Soul-Suppressing Nails!

That damn nail.

Grossa's teeth were clenched so tightly they were grinding together, and the veins on his forehead bulged like earthworms.

He took two steps and then looked back, afraid that the figure of the young man in white would emerge from the darkness.

No.

Behind me, all was empty except for the mournful sound of the wind whistling through the bare branches.

But Grossa dared not stop; he knew all too well the look in a hunter's eyes.

The look Xilun gave him was not one of anger or hatred, but rather a calm, almost indifferent, scrutiny.

It's like watching prey that's already been shot with an arrow; there's no need to chase it, just wait for it to bleed to its last drop.

Grossa gritted his teeth and ran forward as fast as he could.

The Soul-Suppressing Nail was embedded in his back.

The nail was short, about three inches long, but it was driven into an extremely tricky spot, fitting perfectly into the gap between the left scapula and the spine.

With each step he took, the nail trembled slightly with the contraction of his muscles, like a string being plucked by the wind. Each tremor disrupted his blood circulation for a moment.

He could sense that some strange power was attached to the nail.

It was slowly and steadily eroding the cohesion of his inner strength.

It's as if someone has inserted a stirring rod into his meridians, and with each rotation, it disperses the energy that has just been condensed.

Grossa ran for about twenty minutes.

Finally, he saw the black steam truck parked on the side of the road.

That was his pre-arranged escape route.

Before coming to the North District, he had hidden cars and supplies on the outskirts.

It wasn't that he anticipated losing, but rather that this seasoned veteran, who had lived for over seventy years, never left himself with no way out.

He climbed onto the truck bed, slammed the iron gate shut, and collapsed in the darkness.

The engine started, and the carriage shook.

The truck drove along the rugged dirt road toward the Broken Bone Gang's stronghold.

Grossa lay in the carriage, panting heavily.

Every breath he took aggravated the wound on his back, causing the veins in his forehead to throb with pain.

He reached behind him.

My fingers touched the cold end of the nail.

"hiss."

The mere touch sent a shiver down his spine.

The force on the nail seemed to sense his approach and suddenly released an even stronger disturbance, causing the strength he had managed to stabilize within him to dissipate by three-tenths.

Grossa's brow furrowed into a tight knot.

It cannot be left; it must be removed.

He took a deep breath, using his remaining strength to protect his heart, and then suddenly reached his right hand back, his five fingers gripping the nail's end tightly.

Pull hard!

"what!"

A muffled roar echoed through the carriage.

The Soul-Suppressing Nail was forcibly pulled out, accompanied by a spray of hot blood and bits of flesh.

The intense pain caused Grossa's vision to go white for a moment, and she convulsed for a few seconds before she recovered.

He looked down at the small, bright gold nail in his hand, stained with his own blood, and was about to throw it away when he suddenly paused.

A brilliant gold color!

There wasn't a single rust mark or flaw on the entire piece.

He stared intently at it; even in the dim light of the carriage, the surface of the nail still faintly shimmered with a metallic sheen.

Grossa had lived for over seventy years and had seen many good things; he realized this almost instinctively.

This is a treasure.

"Hmm..."

Grossa's lips curled into a bitter smile.

If someone pokes you with a nail using their precious item, you should actually be grateful that they didn't ask for the nail back.

He carefully put the Soul-Suppressing Nail into his pocket, then tore off a piece of his clothes and pressed it haphazardly onto the wound on his back that was still bleeding.

The carriage swayed for about half an hour.

The truck finally stopped.

Grossa tumbled out of the truck bed and staggered into the gates of the Bonebreaker's stronghold.

The brothers guarding the gate were all startled when they saw their gang leader covered in blood.

When someone tried to help him up, Grossa waved them away and walked into his bedroom without a word, his face grim.

boom.

The heavy oak door closed behind him.

"go out!"

He gave a low shout to the guards at the door.

"Everyone out. Bring the medicine in, and then stay at least ten feet away from my door."

The guards dared not ask any more questions and hurried to prepare the medicine.

A few moments later, a dozen bottles of healing potions and three boxes of blood pills were brought into the room, and the door was closed again from the outside.

Grossa no longer has to suppress her emotions.

"Ho, ah!"

A painful scream echoed from behind the tightly closed door.

He curled up on the bed, his hands gripping the blankets tightly, his knuckles white from the force.

The wound on his back did not improve after the Soul-Suppressing Nail was removed; instead, it seemed as if an even larger gash had been torn open.

During the time that nail remained inside his body, it had already disrupted the meridians around the wound.

Although the nail has been pulled out, the shattered meridians will not heal on their own.

Grossa closed his eyes and quickly began to calculate.

The injuries are very serious.

Although the wound in his abdomen, pierced by that golden spear, had been temporarily sealed with his strength, the damage to his internal organs would not heal without at least three days of recuperation.

The hole in his chest where the blood needle had pierced was even more troublesome; the substance had a strange corrosive quality and was slowly eroding the surrounding flesh.

In addition, there's the wound on his back that was ripped apart by the Soul-Suppressing Nail.

Three serious injuries combined.

Grossa's expression was as gloomy as a winter night in the North.

Three to five days.

It will take at least three to five days of continuous healing to return to peak condition.

Do not!

I'm afraid it's more than that.

The nail had damaged his meridians more severely than he had anticipated. Complete repair might take seven days or even longer.

Grossa unscrewed the first bottle of medicine and tilted his head back to gulp it down.

The bitter medicine slid down his throat into his stomach, turning into a warm current that slowly enveloped his damaged internal organs.

He picked up the second bottle.

The third bottle.

He also popped two blood pills into his mouth.

The rich blood energy surged within his body, mingling with the medicinal power, and began to repair the broken meridians and torn muscles.

Grossa sat cross-legged on the bed, closing his eyes and practicing his internal energy.

Even while he was healing, his mind was constantly working.

Weston.

That damn young man.

Grossa's brow twitched involuntarily.

He had to admit that he had underestimated his opponent.

No, it's not an underestimation.

They completely misjudged the situation.

That twenty-year-old youth, with the cultivation of the first-level extreme realm, was actually able to fight him, a second-level extraordinary cultivator, to a standstill, and even forced him to retreat in the end.

Although he was old and frail, and riddled with hidden injuries, his strength was only 60-70% of his peak.

But that's still second-order.

The chasm between the first and second orders is the insurmountable barrier between the baptized and the torn apart.

This gap cannot be easily bridged by talent or methods.

But Xilun did it.

Grossa thought of the gleaming golden spear, the jet-black bloodstain, and the thunderous power that had numbed his arms.

That's not something a Tier 1 should have.

But what Grossa feared even more was something else.

Xilun has a regeneration potion.

That's an essential item for advancing to the second tier.

With Xilun's talent and foundation, he already had the conditions to break through.

Grossa guessed that the reason for the delay in taking the medication might be that some aspects were not yet perfected, or that they were waiting for a foolproof opportunity.

But now, Grossa's heart sank.

Now that he has escaped with serious injuries, the Shattered Bone Gang is leaderless, and Iman and his twelve brothers have all been killed.

The biggest threat to Xiren has been temporarily eliminated.

If he chooses to take the medication at this time to achieve a breakthrough...

Grossa's breathing quickened.

Will not.

He comforted himself.

Breaking through to the second stage requires time, an absolutely safe environment, and adjustment to the optimal state.

Xilun fought a fierce battle with himself last night, and he couldn't possibly be without injuries. He'll need at least a day or two to recover before considering a breakthrough.

And he himself was also seriously injured.

But after all, he is a second-tier extraordinary being, and his foundation is undeniable. As long as he focuses on healing, he can recover at least 70-80% of his combat strength within three days.

By then, even if Xilun breaks through to the second tier, he will only be a novice Ripper who has just stepped into the threshold.

With decades of accumulated fighting experience and second-tier skills, he was more than capable of crushing a novice young man.

Grossa closed his eyes tightly, clearing his mind of all distractions.

Heal the wounds first.

We'll talk about the rest once things have recovered.

The medicine slowly circulates within the body, gradually repairing the damaged meridians.

Grossa entered a semi-meditative state, his consciousness blurring its boundaries, leaving only the most core trace of alertness guarding his heart.

time flies.

The sky outside the window changed from pitch black to deep blue, and then from deep blue to grayish-white.

Dawn has arrived.

Grossa's ears twitched.

There was some noise coming from outside.

The footsteps were chaotic, not the rhythm of a normal patrol.

Grossa frowned, but did not open his eyes.

Perhaps it's a shift change, or maybe someone is practicing. The brothers of the Shattered Bone Gang must have been feeling uneasy these past few days, so some restlessness is understandable.

He continued to recover from his injuries.

A while later, gunshots rang out.

boom!

Grossa's brow furrowed even more.

Something's not right; this isn't the sound of a drill.

The gunfire was rapid and intense, interspersed with shouts and running sounds.

Grossa finally opened her eyes.

He opened his mouth and called out, "What's going on outside?"

The sound wasn't loud, but with the power of a second-tier extraordinary being, it was enough to penetrate the oak door and reach the ears of the guards outside.

no respond.

Grossa waited a few seconds.

Still nothing; it was eerily quiet.

His pupils suddenly contracted.

Where are the left and right bodyguards?

He had clearly instructed two baptized brothers to stand guard ten feet outside the gate, ready to be dispatched at any time.

Now, even they are gone?

Grossa suddenly stood up from the bed, and the wound on her back reopened due to the violent movement, with blood seeping into her inner clothes.

He reached for the dagger on the bedside table.

Just then.

Crack!

The latch was pried open from the outside.

Then, the door slowly opened.

The midday sun poured in from outside the door, bright as a knife, splitting the dim bedroom in two, one of light and the other of darkness.

Grossa instinctively reached out to cover her eyes.

It's too bright.

He squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden influx of light.

In the blurry vision, a figure appeared at the doorway.

The figure stood against the light, making it impossible to see its face.

But Grossa could make out the outline.

Tall and slender. Upright and graceful. Dressed in white.

A seemingly ordinary gold ribbon was tied around his waist.

The figure slowly stepped forward, emerging from the pillar of light, its face gradually becoming clearer.

A young face.

A composed expression.

His expression was completely calm and undisturbed.

Weston.

The moment Grossa saw that face, his heart skipped a beat.

He instinctively stepped back.

Her feet tripped on the edge of the bed, causing her to stumble and barely regain her balance.

But his hand had unconsciously tightened its grip on the dagger.

The knuckles are turning white.

Siren stopped five steps away from Grossa.

His gaze fell calmly on Grossa, as if he were looking at someone who had already been sentenced to death.

"Grossa".

Xilun spoke.

The voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

You lost.

Three words.

Light and airy.

But to Grossa, it sounded like three heavy blows.

His expression changed repeatedly.

From initial fear, to disbelief, to struggle, to despair.

Finally, it settled into a deathly silence.

He heard it.

It was completely quiet outside.

There were no more gunshots, no more shouts.

It was as quiet as a tomb.

The Shattered Bone Gang is gone.

Everything is gone.

Grossa's lips trembled slightly.

Then he noticed something.

His gaze was fixed intently on Xilun.

wrong.

Something has changed.

Grossa's pupils suddenly dilated.

"You...your aura..."

His voice was so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable.

Last night, when we fought, although Xilun was powerful, his aura was ultimately at the first-tier extreme level—rich and powerful, but with a rough feeling of not yet having transformed.

And now.

The young man standing in front of him had his aura perfectly contained, controlled with ease, without the slightest leakage.

But it is precisely this restraint that is most unsettling.

Those are characteristics that only appear after a transformation.

Tearing apart the old body to welcome new life.

Second order.

The Ripper.

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

He broke through overnight.

Overnight.

So terrifying.

Grossa suddenly laughed.

The laughter was dry, like sandpaper rubbing against a rough wooden board.

"Any last words?" Xilun asked calmly.

Grossa lowered his head.

The bedroom was quiet.

Sunlight shone on the floor, on Grossa's blood-stained clothes, and on his gray hair.

A moment later.

Grossa suddenly raised his head.

His face was contorted into a ferocious expression, and his eyes blazed with the ferocity of a trapped beast.

"So what if I die!"

He roared.

"What's there to say!"

He grabbed the dagger from beside the bed with his right hand, and with the last of his strength, stabbed it into Xilun's chest.

That thrust used up all his strength.

Swift and decisive.

however.

boom.

Xilun raised his hand.

He simply raised his hand.

With a gentle clench of his five fingers, he grasped the dagger Grossa had thrust at him, along with his entire wrist, in his palm.

Grossa felt as if her wrists were being gripped by an iron clamp.

then.

Kick out.

Grossa's body flew backward like a kite with a broken string, his back slamming heavily against the wall before sliding down it.

His mouth opened.

Blood gushed from his throat, trickled down his chin, and dripped onto his own clothes.

He wanted to stand up again.

But my body no longer obeyed my commands.

Grossa's gaze gradually became unfocused.

The light gradually disappeared from his pupils.

Finally, his head drooped limply.

My chest stopped rising and falling.

died.

Let me explain.

The content was duplicated due to improper operation and has been corrected.

Please refresh the page, and you should be able to see it.

I am very sorry that personal reasons have ruined everyone's reading experience.

……

Let's chat for a bit!

In my launch message, I talked about things outside the book. Today, I'll talk about things inside the book.

Xiren was a character I put a lot of effort into, at least that's what I thought at the time.

He lacked love yet rejected it, felt inferior yet considered himself extraordinary, hated class yet retained his conscience, was closed off and apathetic yet basked in glamour.

His mother was vain and cynical, while his father was indifferent, cold-blooded, and noble.

His friends gradually drifted away from him, and he and the other students gradually separated.

But that's just the kind of person Xiren is: lonely, detached, calmly indifferent, and confident.

Even though he may face various hardships, that is what Wang is like.

So, what is the price of becoming king?

What is the undefeated triple crown that His Highness is welcoming? What kind of hardships must the winner of the Millennium World Championship endure?

It all started on a snowy night twenty years ago when little Xilun was abandoned in the snow. His mother, who lived outside the Duke's mansion, found him and tried to bring him back to the family to bask in glory.

Those who try to warm the heir to the scepter with innocence are destined to have their hearts pierced by the poison of power, and after swallowing the blood of their beloved, they will regain power wearing a robe sewn with lies.