Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The alley is very long, about two hundred meters.

There is a T-junction in the middle; turning left leads to the old dock, while turning right leads to a dead end.

When Xilun reached the T-junction, he stopped.

It wasn't because he saw anything.

It was because he heard it.

About thirty paces ahead, there are two people.

Their breathing was light and steady, deliberately suppressed, but in the echo chamber's perception, the rhythm of their trained, extraordinary breaths was as clear as a torch in the night.

About twenty paces behind them, there was another person.

The same breathing rhythm, the same deliberate suppression.

Surrounded on three sides.

Xilun's lips twitched slightly.

It wasn't fear, it wasn't tension.

It was a faint smile, almost a sigh of helplessness.

He lifted the iron spear from the ground, and the water dripping from the butt of the spear made a crisp sound in the quiet alley.

"Now that you're here," Xilun's voice wasn't loud, but it carried far in the narrow alley, "don't hide."

It's still raining.

Two figures slowly emerged from the shadows ahead.

A man as muscular as a bear, with old scars on his bald head gleaming a dark red in the rain—Gregor.

A slender, tall man with half-closed, snake-like eyes and a playful smile on his lips—Maurice.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

Xiren didn't turn around, but he knew who it was.

Herbert Hawke's voice came from behind, somewhat muffled by the sound of rain, yet still clearly audible:

"Governor of Weston, it's been a long time."

Xilun slowly turned around, making sure his side faced both the front and back directions at the same time.

He glanced at Herbert, then at Greg and Morris ahead.

"The Hawke family," he said, his tone as flat as if he were talking about the weather. "I thought we'd learned our lesson last time."

Herbert took a few steps closer and stopped about fifteen steps from Siren.

He wore a dark, waterproof cloak, the hood covering half his face, but his grey eyes shone brightly in the shadows.

"Last time was last time," Herbert said. "Today is today."

His gaze fell on the iron spear in Xilun's hand, and he narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I have a question for you, Governor of Weston."

"ask."

"A snow-capped mountain wonderland." Herbert's voice lowered slightly. "What exactly did you obtain?"

Xilun looked at him, his expression unchanged.

Then he calmly shook his head.

"I didn't get anything."

Herbert paused for a moment.

Xilun countered, "Do you really think that so many people went to the Snow Mountain Wonderland and gained nothing, while I alone gained nothing?"

This question made Herbert frown slightly.

He really wasn't sure.

There are many different opinions about the Snow Mountain Wonderland. Some say there is nothing inside, while others say someone has received a legacy there, but there has never been any conclusive evidence pointing to any one person.

Xilun's rise has indeed been astonishing—but does that necessarily mean he gained something in the snowy mountains?

Perhaps he is simply gifted.

Maybe he was just lucky.

Maybe……

"Enough said." Greg's voice came from ahead, interrupting Herbert's hesitation. "This man's rise has been so rapid; he must have had some kind of opportunity. Capture him, and we'll know everything."

Herbert looked away and nodded.

Greg is right.

Speculation is pointless; the answer lies in the person right in front of you.

As Xilun watched the three of them gradually tighten their encirclement, he suddenly spoke:

"Aren't you afraid of offending Lund and the Brotherhood?"

Herbert gave a cold laugh.

"No one will know that it was our Hawke family who did this."

He paused, a cold glint flashing in his gray eyes.

"It's like—no one will know that you were the one who actually killed Ross."

Raindrops slid down Xilun's hair.

He smiled.

"I did not kill Ross."

Herbert did not speak again.

His right hand emerged from under his cloak and grasped the weapon at his waist.

Greg and Morris moved at the same time.

Greg was the first to strike.

He sprang up like a brown bear that had been lying in wait for a long time, splashing water everywhere he stepped on it.

His weapon was a broadsword, a heavy blade with nails embedded in its back—this kind of knife was not for cutting, but for smashing.

The speed of a second-tier extraordinary being was particularly terrifying in this narrow alley.

He covered the 15-step distance in less than a second.

At the same time, Morris cut in from the side, holding two slender daggers with a dark blue sheen on the blades—they were poisoned.

His route was cunning, specifically targeting Greg's side and rear, clearly aiming to find a fatal opening while Greg drew his attention.

Herbert didn't rush forward from behind.

He drew a military knife, a standard Imperial standard, but the hilt was wrapped in a layer of dark red leather—some extraordinary material that could enhance the wielder's reaction speed.

The three worked together seamlessly, with two in front and one behind, excelling in both offense and defense.

This was not a spur-of-the-moment ambush, but a hunting formation that had been repeatedly planned and rehearsed.

Faced with all this, Xiren's reaction was simple.

He switched the iron spear from his right hand to his left, and reached inside his trench coat with his right hand to pull out a short gun.

boom.

Gunshots rang out in the alley, their echoes bouncing back and forth between the walls on either side.

The shot wasn't aimed at anyone—the bullet grazed Greg's ear and embedded itself in the wall behind him.

But the purpose of this shot was never to kill.

Gregor's body instinctively paused—even a fraction of a second of hesitation was enough for a clash between second-tier extraordinary beings.

Xilun completed the turn in a fraction of a second.

The iron spear swept across.

The seven-foot-long gun drew an arc through the narrow alley, its butt carrying forty pounds of weight and the full power of a second-tier extraordinary being, lashing fiercely towards Morris's side.

Morris reacted with lightning speed—his body leaned back, almost sliding across the ground, as the iron spear swept past less than three inches above his nose, creating a sharp gust of wind.

But Siren's gunfire didn't stop.

The sweeping force suddenly changed direction at the end, the butt of the gun sank, and the tip of the gun rose, aiming straight for Greg's throat.

Greg raised his knife to parry.

clang!

The sound of metal clashing was sharp and piercing, and sparks flashed by in the rain.

Gregor blocked the spearhead with his broadsword, but the force transmitted through the blade made his hand go numb, and he involuntarily took half a step back.

weight!

too heavy!

This is not the kind of power a young person who has only been in the second stage for half a year should have!

Greg's pupils contracted slightly, but he didn't have time to think further.

Xilun's marksmanship was like a continuous downpour, one shot after another, thrusting, parrying, sweeping, and smashing, the four techniques cycling in and out, each shot steady and powerful, each shot precisely timed to coincide with his breathing intervals.

This is Natan's heavy gunnery.

Standard military marksmanship, without fancy techniques or dazzling moves—only the most basic, honed killing skills.

The problem is that the marksmanship that Siren used was completely different from the "standard military marksmanship" that Greg remembered.

Every shot landed perfectly, no more, no less, just enough to suppress Greg's counterattack route.

Each shot was precisely controlled, without wasting a single ounce of energy, yet it forced Greg to fight with all his might.

The transitions between each shot were as smooth as breathing, leaving no gaps to exploit.

This is--

Master level.

Greg's heart sank.

"Master-level marksmanship!" he growled. "Watch out!"

Morris sprang up from the ground, his two daggers flashing like snakes, stabbing from Xiren's side and rear.

His target was Siron's ribcage—the most difficult position for a gunman to defend.

Xilun did not turn back.

He suddenly stepped back with his left foot, turned his body slightly to the side, and thrust the butt of his iron spear backward.

This seemingly casual strike was actually extremely precise – the butt of the gun struck the back of Morris's right-hand dagger with pinpoint accuracy, deflecting the force of the thrust towards the wall beside him.

The dagger pierced the brick wall, sparks flying everywhere.

Morris's pupils contracted sharply.

He didn't see it!

Xilun didn't even turn around, yet he accurately predicted the attack route and timing!

This is not something the eyes can do.

This is—a kind of perception ability.

"He has sensory abilities!" Morris quickly took three steps back and whispered a reminder.

Herbert heard this from behind, and his gray eyes narrowed slightly.

Perception... This wasn't mentioned in the information provided by Orin.

He gripped his military knife tightly, but still did not rush forward rashly.

He is waiting.

Wait until Greg and Morris wear down Siron's stamina, and then wait for the opponent to reveal an opening.

However, what happened next completely ruined his plans.

Greg charged forward again, this time not trying to meet the attack head-on, but instead using his broadsword to slash horizontally, attempting to force Siren to retreat and create an opportunity for Morris to attack from the side.

Xilun did not retreat.

He took a deep breath.

Within his body, the Great Thunder Sound Breathing Technique suddenly began to operate.

A heavy, dull aura surged from his chest, like distant thunder.

This energy flowed through his meridians and throughout his body, making every muscle feel as if it had been infused with some kind of primal, savage power.

The iron spear suddenly felt as light as a feather in his hands.

smash!

The gun fell from above with an unstoppable force, slamming heavily into Greg's broadsword.

This time, Greg couldn't stop him.

Crack!

A crisp snapping sound rang out in the rain.

Greg's prized broadsword—the weapon that had been with him for twelve years and had slain countless enemies—was broken in two.

The broken blade spun and sank into the wall, Greg's hand split open, and blood mixed with rainwater flowed down his wrist.

He stared in disbelief at the remains of the knife, now only the hilt, in his hand.

"This gun—"

He didn't finish his sentence.

Because Xilun's second shot has already arrived.

The gun barrel pierced Greg's left shoulder, moving so fast that its trajectory was almost invisible.

Greg desperately dodged to the side, but he was a fraction of a second too slow—the tip of the gun grazed his shoulder, tearing open a deep, bone-revealing wound.

At the same time, Xilun reached inside his trench coat with his left hand and pulled something out.

A dark red mark, about the size of a fingernail, glowed faintly at his fingertip.

bloodstain.

Xilun flicked out the bloodstain.

The tiny mark traced an eerie arc in the air before silently disappearing into Greg's right shoulder.

"Ho—!"

Greg grunted, his right shoulder suddenly feeling heavy, as if something had bitten him from the inside.

He looked down and saw something wriggling under the skin of his shoulder, and a burning pain spread from deep within the wound.

"What is this—" Greg's expression changed drastically. "This thing can actually break through the defenses of a second-tier Extraordinary?!"

Morris's expression also changed.

They were all second-tier extraordinary beings, their bodies having been tempered by superhuman power, their flesh and bones far surpassing those of ordinary people.

Ordinary hidden weapons and poisons posed almost no threat to them—but this blood seal seemed to ignore their defenses, acting directly deep within their flesh and blood.

"Don't panic!" Herbert's voice came from behind. "His trump cards can't be unlimited! Keep betting!"

Greg gritted his teeth, drew a spare short blade from his waist with his left hand, and lunged forward again despite the excruciating pain in his right shoulder.

Morris also moved at the same time. This time, instead of flanking from the side, he launched a pincer attack directly from the front, cooperating with Greg.

The two men, one on the left and one on the right, clashed and flashed, creating an impenetrable web.

Xiren's breathing rhythm changed.

The breath of the Great Thunder Breathing Technique surged from the chest cavity, but this time, it was no longer just about increasing power.

The muffled thunderous sound resonated through Xilun's throat, chest, and abdomen, forming an invisible shockwave.

Tiger and Leopard Thunder Sound!

Greg and Morris simultaneously felt an invisible pressure emanating from Siron, as if an unseen drum were suddenly pounding next to their eardrums.

Both of them froze for a moment.

In that instant, Xilun's iron spear thrust out.

A layer of pale blue frost condensed on the tip of the spear—it was the chilling breath of the Profound Yin Breathing Technique, compressed into the small space of the spearhead.

The shot did not strike anyone in a vital area.

It stabbed at Maurice's left leg.

The spear tip pierced the muscle on the outside of the thigh, less than an inch deep—but a chilling breath seeped into the body through the wound, like a cold snake, traveling upwards along the blood vessels.

Morris's face turned deathly pale instantly.

He felt as if his internal organs had been thrown into an ice cellar, and a bone-chilling cold spread from within, causing his muscles to stiffen and his movements to become sluggish.

"This is..." Morris's teeth began to chatter, "What kind of breathing technique is this...?"

Herbert finally moved.

He couldn't wait any longer.

If they wait any longer, Greg and Maurice will be defeated one by one.

With his saber drawn, Herbert lunged at Siron from behind, aiming straight for the back of his neck.

He was not as fast or as strong as Greg, but his swordsmanship was precise and ruthless—every strike was aimed at the most fatal spot.

Xilun turned sideways, his iron spear blocking.

clang!

The saber struck the gun, and Herbert's arm went numb from the impact.

He finally felt the power of Xilun up close.

That power wasn't tyrannical or brutal, but rather steady and profound, like a mountain pressing down on you.

You know you can't push it, but it can run you over at any time.

"Hawk," Siren's voice rang out in the rain, calmer than a battle cry, "You should have stayed behind."

Herbert's pupils contracted.

Suddenly, Xilun's left hand shot out, fingers spread, palm facing Herbert's chest.

An extremely cold aura emanated from that palm—not the chilling breath that clung to the tip of the spear before, but something more condensed and pure.

Mysterious Yin Condenses the Meridians.