Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Upon hearing this, many people subconsciously looked up.

Xilun looked at him calmly: "What proposal do you have, sir? Please speak frankly."

The young man smiled slightly, as if he had been waiting for these words.

"I think it would be better to do this: most of those present today are cultivators from extraordinary paths. They usually have their own territories and important matters to attend to, so it's rare for them to gather together."

Instead of just sitting there idly, why not have a friendly exchange? It would not only be fun, but also allow the Governor to see the skills of his own men more clearly.

Perhaps it will also give some young people a chance to shine and pave the way for their future.

He paused, but his smile remained unchanged.

"Wouldn't it be better to stop here and avoid hurting feelings?"

Although the young man spoke as "this humble one," his arrogant aura swept out like a storm.

Second-order extraordinary.

Everyone in the room paled and gasped in shock.

They whispered in surprise to each other, wondering which of the armed insurgents' secret prodigies this young man was.

Immediately afterwards, several other forces followed suit.

"That's a good idea."

"Yes, a banquet combined with friendly competition is a refined pastime."

"With so many like-minded people here today, it's certainly a good thing for us to learn from each other."

They spoke casually, but everyone knew that proposing a sparring match at this time was definitely not just something done out of boredom or for fun.

Xiren's gaze swept across Leiner's face, then over Lansk.

Reiner kept his eyes half-closed, as if he hadn't heard.

Lansk simply held his glass, looking down at the slightly swirling liquid inside, his expression calm, and made no attempt to stop him.

Clearly, the young man's actions did not cross their bottom line.

Clearly, the young man's actions constituted tacit approval.

What does that mean...?

Xilun seemed to be deep in thought.

He didn't think that at such a sensitive juncture, the armed insurgents would propose a friendly exchange simply for the sake of excitement.

This is clearly an attempt to probe the Brotherhood's true intentions, or even to establish authority by undermining the Brotherhood's reputation.

Xilun's mind raced with thoughts, but his expression remained unchanged; he simply smiled and said:

"Since everyone is so interested, I naturally wouldn't want to spoil the fun. So let's do it your way—a friendly spar is fine, but stop when you've made your point. No one should intentionally hurt anyone, and no one should bully the weak."

As he spoke, his gaze swept over the crowd.

"Is anyone willing to go first?"

For a moment, the courtyard fell silent.

Whoever takes the lead first is the one who reveals their stance.

Logically speaking, although the Brotherhood is a young force, Siron has a terrifying record of killing Grossa, and no one present is willing to be the first to stick their neck out and invite trouble.

However, it was the armed insurgents who took the lead in speaking out.

This is clearly a deliberate attempt to suppress the Brotherhood.

The shrewd individuals from various factions quickly exchanged glances, weighing the issue of choosing sides in their minds.

If the Brotherhood is humiliated on its home turf today, its newly established prestige will surely crumble.

The atmosphere in the courtyard became subtle because of the young man's suggestion.

The air was filled with a faint smell of gas and the lingering aroma of alcohol, but it couldn't mask the subtle sense of impending doom.

The crowd looked at each other, none of them rushing to be the first to go on stage.

In the silence, Engel, who was sitting in the front row on the left, was the first to stand up.

As the vice-leader of the Iron Fist Gang, he knew very well that although the Iron Fist Gang maintained its independence on the surface, it had long since submitted to the Brotherhood and become a vassal of Westren.

The master was in a precarious position, and he, as the subordinate, had to make his stance clear.

Engel took off his coat, revealing muscles as hard as granite.

He took a deep breath, his blood surging slightly within him, and proclaimed loudly, "I am Engel. Which brother would like to step forward and experience my fighting skills?"

As soon as he finished speaking, a young man in a white training uniform got up and walked out.

"White Clouds, Secret Martial Arts, Sammy."

After bowing to each other, the two exchanged no further words.

Engel's punches are fierce and powerful, his footwork is extremely heavy, and his moves are standard street fighting style. His elbows, knees, shoulders and fists are connected in a straight line, creating a strong sense of pressure when close to the opponent.

Sammi was different. His steps were unpredictable, his arms stretched out like clouds, and his fists and palms opened and closed with great force. He was clearly not the kind of person who was all show and no substance.

boom!

The two fists collided, and the shockwave made the candlelight on the table flicker.

Engel was forced back half a step, and his expression immediately turned serious.

This kid's got some serious strength.

Sammi, having gained the upper hand, rushed forward in three steps, his fists pounding towards Engel's chest and abdomen like hammers.

Engel blocked several attacks, his arms going numb from the impact, but he gritted his teeth and didn't back down. Instead, he took advantage of the moment when his opponent took a breath, suddenly lowered his shoulder, and charged forward like a bull.

Boom!

Sami was knocked off balance.

Engel's eyes flashed with a sharp light, and his right elbow, which had been held back for a long time, suddenly rose and slammed hard into the other man's chest.

"Get down!"

Sami groaned, his face turned pale, and he staggered back several steps before his legs gave way and he knelt on the ground.

"Thank you for your concession."

Engel was panting heavily, grinning, with veins bulging on his forehead.

A round of applause and cheers immediately erupted in the courtyard.

Kusso breathed a sigh of relief and muttered under his breath, "That idiot, at least he didn't embarrass the Brotherhood."

Before Engel could catch his breath, another person stood up on the other side. He was thin and had a cold look in his eyes.

"Nanlin Lane, Wuze, seeking your guidance."

This person is extremely fast and specifically targets insidious locations such as joints and under the ribs.

Eng had just had a fierce fight with Sami, and his strength was greatly depleted. He could only hold on for a dozen breaths before being kicked in the shoulder by Sami's series of kicks. His entire arm went numb, and he was finally swept to the ground, where he could only retreat while cursing.

"Damn it, this bastard always attacks me when I'm short of breath."

Kusuo ignored him, but several people from the surrounding factions laughed, which livened up the atmosphere.

Next, they would have one match after another.

Some people win beautifully, while others lose miserably.

Some people are just showing off, while others are clearly trying to probe the opponent's true intentions, forcing them to reveal their hand with every move.

Xilun sat at the top, his fingers resting on the armrests of the chair. His gaze would sometimes fall on people, and sometimes sweep over the few second-tier figures who hadn't moved. He became more and more certain in his heart.

This so-called entertainment was indeed not a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Xilun sat in the main seat, resting his chin on one hand, his eyes calm and indifferent.

This kind of battle between first-tier extraordinary beings was as fraught with flaws as a children's fight to him, now that he was a second-tier Ripper. He didn't take it seriously at all.

What he cared about was the true purpose of the armed insurgent party.

If the fight continues, besides Engel and Kusso, only Hughes remains as a force to be reckoned with on the Brotherhood's side.

However, none of them had reached the pinnacle. Xilun silently calculated that if they were to face the top geniuses of those major powers, they would undoubtedly be defeated.

At that time, as the host, I would lose face if my subordinates were swept out of the game early on.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over Reiner and Lansk once more.

The two remained indifferent, as if the intense battle before them was meaningless.

Are they testing my strength, or do they want to see what I have up my sleeve?

Xiren sneered inwardly. Perhaps the other party knew that he had been to the Tusor family, or even guessed that he had obtained some top-level breathing techniques. That's why they wanted to force him to participate under the guise of a sparring match.

To assess the true extent of their own combat capabilities and whether they pose a substantial threat to the armed insurgent party.

Engel had already taken a turn, and Kusso had also tried his hand at the Brotherhood. He barely managed to win by half a move thanks to his experience, but was quickly forced back by the other person.

Later on, the core disciples of each family gradually began to take the lead on the field.

Half an hour later, several of the wooden planks in the field had been cracked by the trampling.

The smells of sweat, alcohol, ointment, the swishing of leather boots, and shouts mingled together, giving the otherwise respectable banquet a wild, almost underground arena-like atmosphere.

When it was Hughes's turn, many people in the courtyard looked up.

Among the younger generation of the Brotherhood, Hughes is already considered quite good. He has a strong physique, sharp punches, and fast leg techniques.

His opponent was a tall, thin man from the street racing gang, with his neck bare and his hands wrapped in black cloth; his attacks were exceptionally cunning.

The two fought back and forth for a while.

Hughes punched his opponent in the collarbone, and the opponent retaliated with a knee strike to Hughes's abdomen. The muffled thuds echoed, making the surrounding people gasp.

Just as the two were locked in a stalemate, a deep voice suddenly came from the side.

"That's about enough."

The person speaking was at least two meters tall, with frighteningly broad shoulders and back; when he stood up, he looked like a moving wall.

The man had a face full of fleshy muscles, prominent brow bones, and several thick black cloth bands wrapped around his bare arms. The muscles under his skin twitched slightly as if they were alive. Just by standing there, a faint smell of blood permeated the air.

He stepped out from the crowd, and the wooden planks creaked as he did so.

"Black Ink Arena, Gat."

He glanced down at the two people in the arena, his expression impatient.

"You two, come at me together."

Both of them were stunned.

Hughes frowned at first, then said coldly, "What do you mean?"

Gart grinned, revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth, his eyes fixed on two prey.

"What I mean is, you two are fighting too slowly, it's driving me crazy. Let's all attack together, it'll save time."

Before he finished speaking, he pushed off with his foot and pounced forward.

boom!

He swung his fist horizontally, and the racer hurriedly raised his arms to block. The next moment, there was a crisp cracking sound, and he was sent flying like a broken sack, crashing into an empty chair and lying on the ground for a long time, unable to get up.

Hughes's expression changed, and he raised his leg to kick Gart in the side.

But Garth didn't even bother to dodge, taking the kick head-on. He twisted his waist and swung his elbow at Hughes's shoulder and neck.

Hughes crossed his arms to block, but was still forced back several steps by the brute force, his chest heaving.

"Too light!"

Garth laughed loudly, lunged forward again, and his fists slammed down like iron hammers.

Hughes gritted his teeth and endured the pain. He had just blocked the third punch when he was hit in the abdomen with a knee strike. His whole body arched instantly, and then Gart slapped him in the chest. He staggered back seven or eight steps, felt a sweet taste in his throat, and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Kusso abruptly stood up: "Hughes!"

Xilun raised his hand, his voice not loud, but it immediately silenced everyone.

"Take him downstairs and let him rest first."

Hughes wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his face pale. He wanted to say something more, but in the end he just lowered his head and was helped down by the Brotherhood members.

The courtyard was quiet for a moment.

Garth stood in the middle of the field, stretched his neck, his bones cracking, and exhaled a breath of hot air, like a beast that had just warmed up.

An elderly man with gray hair and dark circles under his eyes chuckled and said from the left, "Old man, you've really taken on a good disciple."

Upon hearing this, Black Disa, the owner of the Black Ink Martial Arts Arena, raised his chin, his face revealing undisguised smugness.

"My disciple's talent is so-so; he relies mainly on hard work. Those two moves just now didn't even utilize half of his full potential."

"Not even half used yet?"

"If he goes all out, wouldn't he be able to hold his own against a second-tier opponent?"

"Old black devil, you've really struck gold this time."

Suddenly, whispers filled the air around them.

If it were to go all out, wouldn't it be able to withstand two or three moves from even a newly ascended second-tier extraordinary individual?

Although it was only two or three moves, it was enough for him to dominate the North District.

After all, the gap between a first-order Baptist and a second-order Ripper is as insurmountable as an insurmountable chasm.

Garth listened to these comments and was clearly pleased, becoming increasingly smug.

He turned around, his gaze sweeping across each face like a knife.

Is anyone else here?

Nobody moved.

He waited two more breaths, then suddenly let out a sneer.

"Didn't they all claim to be experts from various regions? How come when it comes to actually fighting, they've all become mute?"

That's already quite a blunt statement.

Many members of the fraternity looked grim, yet none of them fared well.

In the first tier, no one really wanted to go up and take the beating. As for the second tier, it would seem too bullying to go down and suppress him.

When no one answered, Gart's smile deepened, and his eyes revealed a naked contempt.

"Looks good but is useless."

"If I had known it would turn out like this, I would have preferred to spend more time practicing on the wooden stakes in the training ground."

He stood in the center, like a nail roughly driven into the field, and for a moment, even the wind in the courtyard seemed to grow colder.

Xiren, who was sitting at the head of the table, finally slowly raised his eyes.

After Gart finished speaking, the courtyard remained silent for several breaths.

The lamplight flickered, the wine rippled, and even those who had previously chimed in with the idea of ​​exchanging skills for entertainment fell silent.

Everyone could see that Garth was not just trying to win; he was stepping on others and using the Brotherhood banquet to establish his own reputation.

To be more precise, they used the fraternity as a stepping stone.

Xilun remained seated, eyes narrowed, coldly analyzing the situation in his mind.

This person is incredibly arrogant; he must have been spoiled rotten by Black Disa.

He has a penchant for violence, an extraordinary background, and is being used as a pawn without even realizing it.

Gart stood there for a while, seeing that no one dared to come up and challenge him. After all, no one at the first level was his match, and the second-level experts respected their status and disdained to attack him.

Kusso's face was pale, his hands were pressed on his knees, and his knuckles were white.

Engel had just lost his second match and was already seething with anger. Now, he was even more determined to rush out and fight another match.

Even though he was reckless, he knew that if he went up now, he would most likely just get another beating.

Xilun simply watched, his gaze indifferent.

He is not afraid of people being arrogant.

What is most easily broken in this world is often the sharpness of someone who thinks they are invincible.

A moment later, the young man from the armed insurgent party finally stood up again, as if the timing was perfect.

The map was unrolled, and the dagger was revealed.