Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 392 From Encirclement to Counter-Encirclement

The signal traveled south along rooftops, alleyways, and through hidden sentries under streetlights.

Three minutes later, at the intersection of Laoqiao Street and Hebin Road in the middle section.

Victor received the signal.

"They're here."

John said in a low voice.

Victor took the unlit cigar out of his mouth and put it in his pocket.

"direction?"

"Coming from the north, we took the main road of Laoqiao Street."

"speed?"

"Not fast, just normal walking. I wasn't running."

Victor frowned slightly.

Nancang was just attacked, and this person isn't running away?

Normal walking?

He suppressed the slight sense of unease in his heart.

"Old Bate, is the arena ready?"

Old Bate, hidden in the shadows, replied, "It can be activated at any time. Just give me the signal after he enters the middle stage."

Victor nodded.

"Monica, Chester, you're on the right wing. Come out when I say it's time to act."

"Received." Monica's indifferent voice came from the dark alley on the right.

Victor took a deep breath.

Then he saw that figure.

Weston.

Emerging from the shadows at the north end of Laoqiao Street, a man in a dark trench coat walked with unhurried steps.

Raindrops fell on his shoulders, wetting the fabric of his trench coat, but he seemed completely unconcerned.

Victor's lips twitched slightly.

They arrived as expected.

and--

There was indeed only one person.

He secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

Although the events at Moon Lake proved that Xiren's direct combat strength was extremely formidable, no matter how strong an individual is, they are no match for the combined firepower of four Tier 2 fighters, a sealed-off area, and fourteen rifles.

It's impossible for them to leave alive.

Victor slowly gripped the military knife at his waist.

A murderous intent slowly rose in his chest.

Then--

He saw a second figure.

A person emerged silently from the shadows about thirty meters behind Xilun.

Then comes the third one.

the fourth.

……

Victor's pupils suddenly contracted.

One.

two.

Three.

Four.

Five, six, seven—

There were twelve people in total, in a loose battle formation, following behind Xilun, and steadily advancing along Old Bridge Street.

They were dressed in dark clothes, moved very lightly, and no one spoke or carried a lamp.

The only sound was the rain hitting them.

Victor's breath hitched for a second.

John saw it too.

His voice changed tone.

"Boss... why did he bring so many people?"

Victor did not answer.

His gaze was fixed on the twelve people, trying to discern their presence in the darkness and rain.

Then he felt it.

Of those twelve people—

There were three people, their presence heavy, like iron weight pressing on one's chest.

It is not first order.

It is definitely not first-order.

That deep, restrained aura, like an undercurrent slowly flowing beneath the surface of the body—

It is a second-order extraordinary being.

Victor's pupils contracted sharply.

Three second-order?

In addition to Westren itself—

Four second-order extraordinary beings?

"Boss!" John's voice was visibly tense. "They have Tier 2—at least three!"

Victor gritted his teeth.

His gaze lingered on Xilun for two seconds, then quickly swept over the three figures with deep auras.

Calm down, calm down.

He said to himself.

We also have four second-order rank 2s—plus Grant's, we have one more. No, Grant is first-order, so he doesn't count.

Four against four.

In terms of numbers? They have twelve men, and on our side—fourteen musketeers, and the remaining Tier 1 melee fighters… minus the twenty Grant took with him…

John seemed to read his thoughts and said urgently:

"Boss, could there be a problem with Grant? The attack on the South Warehouse has been going on for twenty minutes now; there should be a signal coming back by now—"

Victor's heart sank.

No signal.

Twenty minutes have passed, and Grant hasn't sent back any signal.

What does this mean?

Were they all wiped out? Or were communications cut off?

he does not know.

But he knew one thing—

Tonight's situation has begun to deviate from the planned trajectory.

However, Victor did not back down.

He can't retreat.

If you withdraw, you'll lose everything.

The anchor is gone.

His brothers are gone.

My daughter's tuition is gone.

"Proceed as planned." His voice was forced out through clenched teeth, low and firm. "Old Bate—activate the field immediately after they enter the middle section."

"Boss—" John wanted to say something more.

"I said proceed according to plan!" Victor growled.

He drew his military knife.

Rainwater slid down the blade, gathered at the tip into a droplet, and fell silently into the puddles on the ground.

"We still have the arena. We still have the musketeers. We still have extraordinary items."

He watched the figure getting closer and closer.

"No matter how strong he is—he's only a second-tier cultivator."

Xilun's footsteps echoed in the rain.

step.

Another step.

Middle section of Laoqiao Street.

The warehouse was flanked by high walls, with no windows and no lights.

There was only endless rain.

He walked in.

Victor's lips were pressed into a tight line.

"activation."

Old Bate placed his hand on a metal base inlaid with dark red crystals.

The field has been activated.

A pale blue light curtain, almost invisible to the naked eye, rose simultaneously from six nodes embedded in the ground, connecting in just three seconds to form a closed elliptical barrier, completely sealing off an area 80 meters long and 60 meters wide in the middle of Laoqiao Street.

A dry, rusty smell filled the air.

The air pressure in the area suddenly dropped, and everyone felt a slight stinging sensation in their eardrums.

Victor felt the unique pressure that came with the activation of the field—his breath became viscous, his movements became heavy, as if he were soaking in an invisible pool of glue.

But this oppression is two-way—everyone in the field will be affected.

However, they had more people, they were familiar with the area, and they were prepared.

"Fire!"

Fourteen rifles fired simultaneously from the rooftops of the warehouses on both sides.

The flames burst forth in the rainy night, like fourteen fleeting orange-red flowers.

A dense hail of bullets rained down on the twelve figures in the center of the field.

Then--

Victor witnessed the most unbelievable moment of his life.

The twelve people did not disperse.

He did not lie down.

There was no panicked movement.

The bearded man at the back of the group—Karl—pulled a palm-sized metal box from under his cloak and pressed a switch.

An extremely sharp buzzing sound exploded from the metal box.

The sound didn't act on the ears—it directly impacted the structure of the field itself.

In an instant.

Victor felt the ground beneath his feet suddenly tremble.

The pale blue light barrier sealing off the area flickered violently twice—

Then, it was like a thin sheet of ice being hit by a stone—

It cracked.

The light curtain did not completely disappear, but its color changed from pale blue to deathly white, its brightness decreased by at least half, and its surface was covered with dense, spiderweb-like cracks.

The sticky, oppressive feeling suddenly lessened.

"The field—" Old Bate screamed in terror from the shadows. "The field has been interfered with! Its stability has decreased—decreased by 70%! No, it's still decreasing!"

Victor's face turned pale instantly.

at the same time.

The first volley of bullets fired from those fourteen rifles—

It was blocked.

The woman in the old military uniform—Daphne—draws a narrow longsword from her waist at the last moment before the bullet arrives.

Her figure shot out through the rain, so fast that Victor could barely keep up with it.

A layer of cold, gray vortex condensed on the sword.

She drew a semicircle in mid-air at an angle that is impossible for a human to achieve—

The cyclone unfolded like a round shield, protecting the twelve people behind it.

The bullets struck the cyclone, making a crisp clanging sound like nails being driven into an iron plate—then they bounced off and flew crookedly into the walls on either side.

Not a single one penetrated.

Victor was stunned.

That...that woman's scent—

wrong.

That was more than just the aura of a second-tier extraordinary being.

That profound, condensed power, almost solidified, was stronger than any second-tier power he had ever seen.

This is--

Second-tier peak.

An existence that is only one step away from the third tier.

"How is this possible..." John exclaimed.

Then they witnessed an even more despairing scene.

Even after the field was disrupted, Xilun, who was at the forefront, did not stop.

He didn't even speed up.

He maintained his unhurried pace, passing through the distorted and fragmented light curtain of the field, as if passing through a thin curtain of water.

The trench coat billowed behind him.

He raised his hand and took the golden spear that was wrapped around his waist.

The spear felt weightless in his hands; the butt of the spear lightly touched the ground, splashing up a spray of water.

Then--

He stood still.

Stand in the very center of Old Bridge Street, facing the direction of Victor.

Rainwater slid down his brow bone, flowing across his calm, almost indifferent face.

"You've been preparing for this for a long time."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was crystal clear in the rain.

"Field of influence, muskets, extraordinary items, four Tier 2 items—"

He tilted his head slightly.

"What else? Take it all out."

Victor's hand holding the knife was trembling.

It's not because of fear.

It's because of anger.

He was furious that his meticulously planned murder plot was nothing but a joke in the face of this young man.

"Monica! Chester!"

He roared.

"Let's do it!"

Two figures shot out simultaneously from the dark alleys on either side.

Monica held a crescent-shaped silver dagger, its blade covered in intricate runes—it was an extraordinary artifact.

Chester's hands were empty, but dark red petrified patterns appeared on the surface of his arms. His muscles swelled, his knuckles were thick, and he exuded a powerful aura that no first-tier extraordinary person could produce.

The two pounced on Xilun at the same time—

One on the left, one on the right, one with a knife, one with a fist, their coordination was perfect.

This was a tactic they had rehearsed countless times beforehand.

Monica's extraordinary dagger can cut through the protective aura of a second-tier extraordinary being, while Chester's petrifying punch is responsible for taking the opponent's counterattack head-on.

One attack, one defense, a perfect combination.

Faced with the pincer attack from two second-tier opponents, Xilun's movements were extremely concise.

He did not back down.

He didn't even raise his gun.

He was just—

He let out a breath.

The breath surged from his chest, carrying an extremely heavy, almost tangible shock.

Tiger and Leopard Thunder Sound.

An invisible shockwave spread outward from Xilun as the center.

Monica and Chester both felt their hearts skip a beat.

Only one shot.

But this one shot caused their bodies to freeze for less than 0.3 seconds during the high-speed sprint.

enough.

In those 0.3 seconds, Xilun dodged to the side, and his iron spear shot out like a python—

The tip of the gun was precisely aimed at the front of Chester's right fist.

A dull, loud bang.

Suddenly, ripple-like cracks appeared on Chester's petrified fist—the power of the Great Thunderclap had penetrated his petrified shell and was directly impacting his bones and meridians.

At the same time, a dark, icy aura, so cold it distorted the air, condensed in the palm of Xilun's left hand.

Mysterious Yin Condenses the Meridians.

His left hand shot out like lightning, his five fingers gripping the blade of Monica's runic dagger—

A chilling aura instantly spread along the blade to Monica's wrist, arm, and shoulder—

"ah--!"

Monica screamed in agony. She could feel the chill freezing her blood vessels, solidifying her breath, and suppressing the extraordinary power within her—a chill that wasn't a temperature chill, but a penetrating cold that seemed to freeze her very soul.

She wanted to throw away the dagger, but her fingers were frozen stiff by the cold air, and her joints could not bend.

Xilun let go.

Monica staggered back seven or eight steps, her right arm hanging down, covered with a layer of light gray frost—her sleeve was frozen from her fingertips to her shoulder.

Chester wasn't much better off.

A large section of the petrified layer on his right fist had been shattered by the internal shock, revealing the purplish-blue skin beneath. The fist was trembling slightly, clearly indicating that it had lost most of its fighting ability.

The two people looked at each other.

They both saw the same word in each other's eyes.

afraid.

That instinctive fear when facing a higher-dimensional existence.

Victor stood a dozen meters away, watching all of this.

The entire process takes no more than four seconds.

The combined attack of two second-tier extraordinary beings was thwarted by one person—

With a gun, with a palm strike—

Easily defeated.

A rusty taste filled his mouth.

That was blood from biting her lip.

John, standing behind him, was speechless.

The musketeers stopped firing—not because they had run out of ammunition, but because they had seen their bullets blocked by a woman with a sword, and had completely lost the courage to continue.

Victor slowly tightened his grip on the military knife.

He remembered a saying.

That was something an old soldier had told him when he was in the army.

"If you encounter an enemy on the battlefield that makes your instinct to run—don't run."

"Because you can't escape."

"Only by facing them head-on can we have a chance of survival."

Victor gripped the knife and took a step forward.

But at that moment—

His gaze went over Xiren's shoulder and onto the scene further away.

The man named Heinz—a member of the armed insurgents—was leading eight soldiers dressed in dark clothing, rapidly encircling the rooftops of the warehouses on both sides.

Their goal—

He was a musketeer.

Meanwhile, the gray-cloaked, bearded man, Karl, continued to operate his metal interference device, causing the residual light curtain in the field to shatter amidst a buzzing sound, like a glass wall collapsing.

Old Bate frantically pounded on the metal base in the shadows, trying to stabilize the area.

But it didn't work.

The field is now defunct in name only.

The prop was blocked.

The musketeers are being wiped out.

The two second-tier extraordinary beings were crippled in one round.

Victor stood in the rain, gripping his military knife, looking at the young man before him.

He suddenly laughed.

The laughter was soft, mostly drowned out by the sound of rain.

But in that smile—

There was no mockery, no madness.

There was only one kind of utter, pure despair.