Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

As the morning light rises from the sea, it filters through the branches of the old elm trees in the backyard of the manor, casting dappled shadows on the bluestone floor of the training shed.

Xilun, shirtless, gripped the nine-foot training wooden gun and took a deep breath.

The Great Thunder Breathing Technique resounded in the chest cavity, and blood and qi surged into the limbs and bones like a tide. The muscle fibers swelled slightly under the skin, emitting visible heat.

He stepped forward and drew his gun.

The gun whistled through the air, leaving a muffled sound.

Natan's heavy gun technique emphasizes the word "heavy"—heavy body, heavy gun, heavy mind. Every strike must concentrate all the strength of the body into the tip of the gun, like a hammer striking an anvil, without holding back any force.

Thrust, pick, sweep, smash.

The four techniques cycle repeatedly, with each strike being half a fraction faster and half a fraction heavier than the last.

Xilun frowned slightly. He could feel the fit between the gun and his hand increasing, and the feeling that "the gun is an extension of the arm" became clearer and clearer.

But something was always missing—like a thin sheet of paper separating him from the realm of true masters.

He stopped what he was doing, held the wooden spear upright at his side, and closed his eyes to feel the flow of energy within his body.

The icy breath flowed slowly along the meridians, like a cold, dark river, gradually suppressing the heat generated by the Great Thunder Sound Breathing Technique.

Two completely different auras formed a wonderful balance within him—heat and cold, hardness and softness, explosion and sedimentation.

This balance is the source of what Lund calls "breath density".

Xilun opened his eyes and raised his gun again.

This time, he deliberately slowed down, focusing his attention on every inch of the trajectory of the gun tip as it cut through the air.

The reverberation chamber vibrated gently deep in his throat, allowing him to "hear" the subtle sound waves produced by the friction between the gun barrel and the air—an extremely faint hum that an ordinary person would never be able to detect.

When the trajectory of the gun tip is perfect, the buzzing sound becomes even and continuous.

When the force is applied incorrectly, the humming sound will be broken or produce noise.

Using this unique feedback method, Xiren repeatedly corrected his shooting motion.

Sweat slid down his forehead, dripped down his chin onto the bluestone ground, and was quickly dried by the morning breeze.

He didn't know how long he had been practicing.

The wooden spear broke with a crisp snapping sound after a full-force thrust—the shaft snapped in half, the front half flying out and embedding itself in a wooden pillar of the training shed. The vibration from the tail sent a jolt through his palm, making his tiger's mouth tingle slightly.

"..."

Xilun looked at the remaining half of the wooden gun in his hand, remained silent for a moment, and then placed it next to the gun rack.

This is the third one to break this morning.

He walked to the bucket in the corner of the shed, scooped up a ladle of cold water and poured it over his head.

The cool water flowed down my shoulder blades and across my back, taking away the heat from the surface of my skin, but it couldn't take away the faint soreness deep in my bones.

That was a normal reaction from his muscles and bones after enduring excessive training. The Bone Forging Iron Armor asceticism gave him recovery abilities far beyond those of ordinary people, but even so, several consecutive days of high-intensity shooting practice still caused his body to protest.

Xilun wiped the water droplets from his face and took the fourth training wooden gun from the gun rack.

He gripped the gun, feeling the friction between his palm and the wood grain, and then assumed the starting stance again.

-

The windows in the second-floor corridor were half-open, and the sea breeze, carrying a salty and damp scent, blew in, stirring the edges of the curtains.

Lund stood by the window, his right hand on the window frame, his gaze fixed on the tireless figure in the training shed downstairs.

His left arm was wrapped in black bandages, extending from his shoulder to his wrist, with dark lines faintly visible beneath the bandages.

Those were traces left by the lingering effects of pollution. Although their activity was suppressed by the whiteness of Xilun, there was still a long way to go before they were completely eliminated.

Lund's face was still pale, his cheekbones were more prominent than before his injury, and his eye sockets were sunken.

But those eyes remained sharp, like two sharpened iron nails, giving the illusion of being pierced when they stared at something.

At that moment, those eyes were fixed intently on every shot Xilun fired.

"That's impressive."

Sarah's voice came from behind him. She had somehow appeared beside Lund, holding a steaming cup of black tea, and was also looking out the window.

Lund didn't turn around, but nodded slightly.

"He's almost at the master level," he said.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, clearly somewhat surprised by the assessment.

Although she was not an expert in combat sports, she had spent many years working at the ocean pier and had seen many extraordinary people, so she naturally understood the weight of the words "master level".

"The hierarchy of extraordinary combat techniques: beginner, proficient, expert, master."

Lund's tone was calm, as if stating a perfectly ordinary fact, "Among them, the Master level is already the pinnacle of ordinary skills. Even the extraordinary level skills are close to perfection when practiced to the Master level. It's just that they lack a bit of extraordinary inspiration and cannot exert effects beyond their limits."

He paused, his gaze following the tip of Xilun's spear.

"My disciple's talent in combat is truly remarkable."

Lund's lips curled up slightly, a rare and somewhat proud smile.

"Spearmanship is a skill that takes years to master, unlike hand-to-hand combat which can be learned quickly. It takes even a genius three to five years of hard work to go from beginner to expert in spearmanship. But he has been practicing spearmanship for less than a year... and his spearmanship has already reached the level of a master."

Sarah placed her teacup on the windowsill, crossed her arms, and carefully observed the young man downstairs, who was covered in sweat.

"And he is extremely hardworking," she said, "otherwise he would not have achieved this."

This is not a compliment.

Sarah stayed at the manor for three days, and every morning before dawn she could hear the sound of gunfire coming from the training shed.

By the time she gets up, washes up, and walks to the window, Xilun has often already been practicing for more than an hour.

At night, she would occasionally pass by the guest room and smell the scent of the "Purifying Incense"—meaning that after exhausting his physical strength during the day, the young man still needed to cultivate his spirit at night.

This level of self-discipline was extremely rare among the extraordinary young people she had ever met.

Sarah turned her head to look at Lund's profile.

"Your disciple comes from a poor background, but has now achieved some success. In the Northern District, he would probably be considered a very prominent figure."

Her tone held a hint of curiosity, "But you still don't slack off at all... What's your goal? Why are you so persistent in your cultivation?"

Lund fell silent.

Outside the window, Xilun broke another wooden gun.

He expressionlessly placed the broken gun aside, took a new one from the gun rack, and continued practicing.

That almost obsessive repetition is reminiscent of the never-ending steam-powered machinery in a factory.

"There is indeed an obsession."

Lund finally spoke, his voice very soft.

"However, I do not know, nor do I intend to know."

Sarah glanced at him but didn't ask any further questions.

She knew Lund; this man had his own principles regarding the mentor-student relationship—he would impart all his knowledge and stand in front of others in times of crisis, but he would never force the other person to reveal their innermost thoughts.

It was an almost obsessive respect.

The two stood by the window for a while, watching Xilun begin a new round of practice.

This time, his gunshot speed was noticeably faster than before, and the sound of the gun tip cutting through the air was sharper.

"I still have things to attend to," Sarah said, turning her gaze away and picking up her teacup. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

Lund nodded slightly, without trying to stop him.

Sarah stopped abruptly at the end of the corridor and glanced back at Lund, who was still standing by the window.

The morning light shone in from behind him, outlining his thin profile with a golden edge. His left arm, wrapped in black bandages, hung down at his side like some kind of silent medal.

She opened her mouth, but ultimately said nothing, and turned to leave.

-

Day two.

As usual, Xilun got up before dawn and completed a full set of morning exercises—first, he used the Great Thunder Breathing Method to mobilize his qi and blood, then he used the Mysterious Yin Breathing Method to calm his inner breath, and finally he used the Moon Memory Meditation Method to sort out his spirit.

It takes about half an hour to cycle through all three sets of exercises.

Lund came downstairs when he returned to the main house from the backyard.

The master and apprentice met at the top of the stairs. Lund glanced at him and nodded slightly.

"Go to the dining table."

Those two simple words made Xilun's lips curl up almost imperceptibly.

The teacher is in better condition than yesterday—at least she can go downstairs by herself and no longer needs Saiwei's help.

Although his face was still pale and his steps were much slower than usual, the composure that belonged to a third-tier extraordinary person was gradually returning.

In the restaurant, the butler, Savile, had already prepared breakfast.

Crispy rye bread, fried eggs, a few slices of smoked meat, and a pot of strong black tea.

Simple yet substantial, this is Lund's consistent style—no fancy presentation, but never skimping on the food.

The three sat around one end of a long table, quietly eating breakfast.

Savi stood to the side, refilling Lund's teacup with hot water every now and then, his eyes filled with undisguised worry.

The old butler, who had served Lund for many years, looked noticeably haggard in the past few days, his dark circles even more pronounced than Lund's own.

Xilun lowered his head to drink his tea, his peripheral vision glancing at Lund's right hand holding the bread—his knuckles were steady, without trembling.

Good sign.

After breakfast, Lund wiped his mouth with a napkin and turned his gaze toward Xilun.

"Change into your training clothes," he said. "Practice shooting."

Xilun put down his teacup and nodded.

Sarah came down the stairs, dressed in a sharp dark coat, clearly ready to leave.

Hearing Lund's words, she paused, turned her head, and said, "Let me see too."

Lund did not object.

The three arrived at the training shed.

The morning light had fully spread out, illuminating the entire backyard.

There were four intact wooden guns left on the gun rack in the training shed, and seven or eight broken gun barrels were piled up next to them—all of which were Xilun's "spoils of war" in the past few days.

Lund walked to the gun rack, picked up a wooden gun with his right hand, weighed it in his hand, and then turned to face Xilun.

A slight smile played on his lips.

"You're improving very quickly," Lund said. "Perhaps you'll surpass me someday."

Xilun took the other wooden gun, held it in his hand, and calmly replied, "Perhaps."

Lund paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.

The laughter echoed in the training shed, startling a few gray sparrows perched on the eaves.

Sarah leaned against the doorframe, a slight smile curving her lips—she hadn't heard Lund laugh like that in a long time.

"You seem very confident," Lund said, his smile fading and his gaze becoming more serious. "Very good. Extraordinary individuals should have the confidence to face anything without fear."

He looked into Xilun's eyes.

Those young eyes were calm as still water, but something was burning silently deep within them.

Lund had seen the eyes of many extraordinary young people—some filled with ambition, some with fear, and some with emptiness and numbness.

But West London is different.

It was a suppressed, extremely restrained... obsession.

Lund suddenly spoke up: "Your practice of martial arts is as diligent as ever, which is quite unusual."

Xilun blinked.

"Do you have some kind of goal?" Lund looked directly at him, his tone calm but serious.

There was a moment of silence in the training shed.

Sarah paused slightly in her teacup, her gaze shifting between the master and apprentice.

Xilun did not answer immediately. He looked down at the wooden gun in his hand, his thumb unconsciously tracing the patterns on the gun.

"Why do you ask that, teacher?"

"I just hope," Lund said, holding the wooden gun upright at his side, his tone softening, "that you can talk to me. Maybe I can help you."

The air in the training shed seemed to freeze for a moment.

Xilun stood silently in place, holding the wooden gun.

Morning light filtered through the gaps in the roof, casting a bright spot on his bare shoulders and clearly illuminating the muscular lines that had sculpted him through rigorous training.

He thought about it.

"I originally intended to do it myself," Siren raised his head and met Lund's gaze, "but it wouldn't hurt to talk to you, teacher."

Lund nodded slightly, rested the wooden gun on the gun rack, and gestured for Xilun to continue.

Sarah stood quietly by the door frame, neither making a sound nor leaving.

“A friend of mine,” Celen said, “is named Finn.”

He pronounced the name in a very calm tone, as if he were talking about something from a long time ago.

But Lund noticed that his knuckles tightened slightly as he gripped the gun.

"Died in a whale collision."

Lund's brow twitched.

The whale struck the ship—a maritime disaster that shocked the world more than half a year ago.

An ocean-going cargo ship was struck by an unidentified sea monster in a coastal waterway. The ship broke apart and sank, with fewer than 30 out of the more than 100 people on board surviving.

The official investigation report characterized it as a "rare marine mammal attack," but various different versions of the story circulate among the public.

"One of the people involved was someone I despise."

Siren's voice remained calm, but the word "hatred" carried a chilling weight when he uttered it.

"His name is Balk. He works at the ocean pier."

Lund glanced at Sarah.

Sarah shook her head, her brow furrowing slightly. "I'm not familiar with Balk, and he's not under my jurisdiction."

She paused, seemingly searching her memory for the name.

The ocean terminal is a vast system, with each region and shipping route having its own division of power. Although she has considerable influence in the seven ports, the ocean terminal is a much more complex and complex entity.

"but--"

Sarah put down her teacup, crossed her arms over her chest, and a meaningful smile appeared on her lips.

"If you want to kill him, you can let me know."

Xilun looked at her.

"I had my own people take his place." Sarah smiled, a smile with a hint of shrewdness typical of a businesswoman. "It was an unexpected bonus."