Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

On the same night, at the old shipyard about four miles east of the North District.

The abandoned shipyard reeked of a mixture of rust and sea salt, a musty smell. The massive keel skeleton, resembling the ribs of some ancient behemoth, cast distorted shadows in the dim light of the oil lamps.

The Iron Anchor Regiment is here.

The foreman's office on the second floor of the dock had been simply renovated—the windows were boarded up with thick wooden planks, two alert sentries stood at the door, and a map of the North District, almost identical to the one in Xilun's hand, was spread out on the table.

Victor Brown sat behind the table.

He was forty-one years old and had an old scar on his face that ran from his left eyebrow to his jaw, a souvenir from seventeen years ago in the jungles of the southern continent colony.

A bullet passed under his left scapula, and half of the bullet is still embedded there—the medic said that removing it would be dangerous, so it's better to leave it there.

He just left it there.

Seventeen years of mercenary service taught Victor one thing: living is more important than anything else, but living a miserable life is worse than being dead.

So when the war between the Empire and the Federation caused the mercenary market in the Southern Continent to collapse completely, he did not return to his hometown to farm like others, but instead brought his ten most elite men to the Northern District.

smuggling.

The word was a crime in Victorian high society, but on the docks of the North End, it was just another business.

"Has Black Sail not replied yet?"

Victor didn't look up; his gaze remained fixed on the location of the Brotherhood's South Warehouse on the map.

Standing beside him was a tall, thin man named John, the second-in-command of the Anchor Regiment, a first-tier Extraordinary, whose face was as pale as someone who had never seen the sun.

"No," John's voice was hoarse. "Biglen went to the Moon Lake trade fair this afternoon, saying he was going to purchase a batch of field materials. He should have been back before dark."

Moon Lake.

Victor repeated the word, his brow furrowing.

He didn't like Moon Lake.

It's a mixed bag, with too many rules and spies everywhere.

Biglen insisted on going himself, saying that only he could distinguish the authenticity of the field materials. Victor tried to stop him once but failed, so he had no choice but to let him go.

"Wait a little longer."

Victor leaned back in his chair, rubbing the end of the scar with his thumb—a habitual gesture when he was thinking.

"If there's still no news by tomorrow morning, send someone to check on his lodgings at the dock."

John nodded.

The silence lasted for a few seconds.

Victor suddenly spoke up: "What do you think of that Golden Knight?"

John paused for a moment, then carefully considered his words.

"Very strong. He entered the second tier half a year ago, and three months later, he single-handedly killed three members of the Hawke family in Klein Alley. Moreover, it is said that he was not even seriously injured, but only slightly injured. This growth rate... is abnormal."

"There are many abnormal things," Victor said calmly.

"There was a guy in the Southern Continent who could tear open a crocodile's mouth with his bare hands in his first year of first-level cultivation. Later, he was hit in the head by a stray bullet and died just like an ordinary person."

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out through the gaps in the wooden planks.

Outside the dock was a dark bay, with a distant lighthouse flashing every ten seconds, like a giant lazily blinking.

"No matter how strong you are, you're still just a person."

Victor turned around, his gaze cold.

"His marksmanship is superb, his breathing technique is amazing, and he's even rumored to possess some kind of life-sustaining magic. But these are all skills for direct confrontation. We won't engage him in a direct fight."

He walked back to the table and emphasized the map several times with his finger.

"The fraternity has a branch in the south, an east, and Wellington Street. These three locations are arranged in a triangle."

The fastest route from his residence to the nearest South Warehouse goes through Old Bridge Street in the dock area, while the route from the residence to the East Warehouse must take Riverside Road.

Victor drew circles on the two routes with a pencil.

"No matter which one he goes to rescue, he will have to pass through the place we have chosen."

John looked at the two circles and slowly nodded.

"What about the space?"

"We'll have to wait for Biglen to say that about the field—" Victor stopped abruptly halfway through his sentence.

He looked up and fixed his gaze on John's face.

"You just said that Biglen took a few people to Moon Lake?"

"Four," John recalled, "Old Liu, the bearded man, short-haired Arnold, and a local informant he called in at the last minute."

Victor remained silent.

He sat back down in his chair, his thumb rubbing the scar again.

This action lasted for a long time.

"Have Monica from Deepwater come over tomorrow."

"Now?"

"First thing tomorrow morning." Victor's voice was very soft, but each word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth. "If there's no news from Biglen by noon tomorrow, this matter can't wait any longer."

John opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he said nothing and turned to leave the office.

Victor sat alone in the dim light.

He took a neatly folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and unfolded it.

That was the last letter his wife had sent three months ago. The handwriting was crooked because she had only attended a private school for two years, and many of the words were copied from other people's letters.

"...most of the family's debts have been paid off, and Robert's tuition has also been paid."

My neighbor said prices might go up again this winter, so I sliced ​​the potatoes I had stored up into thin slices and dried them. That should last me another two months... Take care of yourself out there, and don't get into any fights...

Victor folded the letter and put it back in his pocket.

Don't get into fights.

His lips twitched slightly, it was hard to tell whether it was a bitter smile or self-mockery.

After fighting for seventeen years and killing countless people, he crawled out of the mud of the southern continent and finally saved enough money to move his wife and children out of the slums. But when the empire's war broke out, prices tripled and the money he had saved couldn't even last through one winter.

So he came to the North District.

Smuggling weapons, medicines, and rare materials—these things were incredibly profitable during wartime.

If he works for another two years, he will be able to save enough money to buy a piece of land, build a small farm, and ensure that his wife and Robert will never have to worry about whether they have enough potatoes to eat in the winter.

But the Brotherhood blocked the way.

To be precise, it was that young man named Xilun.

Victor does not hate Siron.

He even admired the other party somewhat—in just six months, he had grown from a newcomer into a "Golden Knight" who attracted the attention of the entire North District. This ability and courage were enough to make him a company commander in a mercenary camp.

But while you may appreciate it, if it blocks your way, it blocks your way.

In Victor's world, there are no personal grudges, only conflicts of interest.

There has never been only one way to resolve conflicts of interest.

He blew out the oil lamp and closed his eyes in the darkness.

……

The next morning.

Xilun meditated under the waterfall on the back mountain.

The icy water cascaded down from a height of over ten meters, hitting his bare shoulders and splashing up a large cloud of white mist.

A faint blue-white frost pattern appeared on his skin, an external manifestation of the Xuan Yin Breathing Technique in operation.

He drank a bottle of Yin Spirit Source Water half an hour ago.

The moment the dark blue liquid slid down his throat into his stomach, a bone-chilling cold spread from his dantian to his limbs and bones, as if a million ice needles were piercing his meridians at the same time.

Xilun gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, and used his mind to guide the violent cold breath, compressing and purifying it inch by inch.

pain.

Each purification process is accompanied by indescribable pain, as if someone were pulling out his bones one by one, soaking them in ice water, and then stuffing them back in.

But Xilun has grown accustomed to this pain.

Compared to the mental pressure exerted by the remains of the eight-armed deity statue beneath the Seventh Wharf, the physical pain was nothing more than a minor disturbance.

Half an hour later, the purification of the cold breath was completed.

Xilun exhaled a puff of white air and stood up. The water from the waterfall slid down his shoulders, and as it passed over his palm, a section of the water suddenly froze, turning into a half-foot-long icicle that reflected a cool, clear light in the sunlight.

He grasped the ice pick and gently pinched it between his fingers.

The icicle shattered, turning into tiny ice shards that drifted in the wind.

[Skill: Proficient in Xuan Yin Breathing Technique]

[Progress: 689/1000]

The progress of the Xuan Yin Breathing Technique has taken another step forward.

Although the next major breakthrough is still a long way off, the accumulation of each day is making his cold breath more refined and pure.

After drying himself off and changing into his training clothes, Xilun carried his iron spear to the open space behind the mountain.

The gun gleamed with a dark, iron-gray luster in the sunlight, and its forty-pound weight felt weightless in his hands.

He assumed a horse stance and took a deep breath.

The Great Thunder Breathing Method is initiated.

A deep rumble of thunder echoed within his chest, and breath surged into his limbs and bones like a tidal wave, causing his muscle fibers to tremble slightly under the force of the internal vibration.

prick.

The iron spear shot out, its tip whistling sharply as it tore through the air.

The line of intention originates from the dantian (lower abdomen), ascends along the spine, passes through the shoulders, arms, and wrists, and finally runs through the shaft of the spear, reaching the tip—

hum!

The gun emitted a low, resonant thud.

Connected.

Without pausing, Xilun immediately followed with picking, sweeping, and smashing.

The four movements unfolded in a smooth and flowing manner, with each movement demonstrating a unified intention.

In his hands, the iron spear sometimes moved like a dragon emerging from the sea, and sometimes like Mount Tai pressing down, its calmness revealing an unstoppable sharpness.

95%.

This is his current mental penetration rate in Natan heavy gunnery.

It has already stabilized at the master level.

But Xilun knew that this was not enough. Lund had said in his letter that 95% was just the beginning of mastery. A true master should be able to execute ten moves in ten attempts, leaving no room for error.

Moreover, there's also the Crimson Star Spear.

He adjusted his breathing, guiding both the Great Thunder Sound and the Profound Yin Qi to his palms simultaneously, and began to attempt to gather them together.

Two completely different forces converged in the palm of his hand, like two rivers with very different personalities being forced into the same narrow channel.

Heat and cold, hardness and softness, explosion and stillness—they collide, rub against each other, and repel each other in a tiny space, yet constantly compromise and merge under the guidance of Xilun's ideas.

Forty percent.

Currently, he can only compress 40% of his energy to the tip of his spear.

Even with only 40% of that power, the force released is enough to create a crater half a foot deep in the ground.

Xilun stood with his gun at rest, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the dry earth.

Just then, footsteps sounded behind me.

It's Rhodes.

"My lord, a message has come from Rena."

Xilun turned around and saw that the old butler's expression was somewhat solemn.

"explain."

"Our people keeping watch near the South Warehouse reported that two unfamiliar faces loitered in the alley opposite the South Warehouse for most of last night, before leaving before dawn. Also, someone saw a dark figure on the roof of the East Warehouse, but it had already disappeared by the time they got there."

Xilun remained silent for a moment.

"Did you keep up?"

"The two from Nancang followed them. They eventually entered an old hotel in the dock area, but the registered name was fake."

Dongcang didn't keep up, but Rena said that according to the eyewitnesses, the person was very agile and might be a first-tier extraordinary being.

Xilun narrowed his eyes slightly.

"It's started," he thought to himself.

The smuggling gang is already scouting the area.

"Don't alert them," Xilun said calmly.

"Keep an eye on them and record when they appear, their routes, and where they stop."

In addition, starting today, the patrol routes for the South and East warehouses will be completely changed, and the shift change times will be adjusted randomly to prevent them from figuring out a pattern.

"clear."

Rhodes turned to leave, but was stopped by Xilun.

"etc."

"Is there anything else you need, sir?"

Xilun pondered for a moment.

"Find a reliable person to deliver the letter I asked you to prepare yesterday."

"Where to send it?"

"Armed Insurgent Party." Xiren's tone was indifferent, but something was swirling deep in his eyes. "Once you arrive, take out the badge, and someone will take you there. Just give the letter to the person you meet."

Rhodes didn't ask about the contents of the letter, nodded, and turned to leave.

Xilun gripped his iron spear again and continued practicing.

But his mind was no longer entirely on the gun.

At the last gathering of extraordinary individuals, a member of the armed insurgent party gave him a badge, saying that he could use it to contact them if needed in the future.

At the time, Xiren simply put the badge away and didn't rush to use it.

But now, the situation is different.

Two smuggling gangs joined forces, along with several Tier 2 Extraordinary Individuals, plus the field's defenses and musketeers—

It's not that he can't beat them.

With his current strength, he is absolutely confident that he can face two second-tier extraordinary individuals head-on.

However, if the enemy has prepared the area in advance, set up traps, and has a musketeer squad providing support—

Then it's not a question of whether we can win or not, but whether it's worth taking the risk.

Lund's words echoed in my ears.

"Don't bravely face unknown dangers alone."

Xilun rested his chin on his hand, his iron spear leaning against his shoulder.

Go to the Tusol family? They'll help, but at the cost of a deeper bond.

Oin was still watching him from the shadows; every additional layer of contact meant another layer of leverage against him.

Looking for an armed insurgent?

Xilun recalled the words of the clerk: "You can't be crooked."

The armed insurgents' position was clear: they did not want him to side with any noble family.

His current cooperative relationship with the Tusol family is seen by them as operating in a gray area.

But precisely because of this, this is a good opportunity to make our stance clear.

—My cooperation with Tusol was limited to resource exchange; I did not align myself with them.

—I am willing to establish the same deep ties with the armed insurgent party.

This is my sincerity.

Xilun gripped the gun barrel tightly.

Row.

That's settled.