Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Day 40.

Lund's letter has arrived.

Rhodes placed the letter next to Siron's plate during breakfast.

Lund's handwriting on the envelope was as neat and strong as ever, as if it had been carved with a knife.

Xilun opened the letter while eating his toast.

The letter was very short.

"The dark line on my left arm is stable and has not spread. The Iron Cross Club has started recruiting new members again; the first batch consists of fourteen people, all young workers from the nearby neighborhood."

"Wolf has replied. The Ironblood Society has a routine meeting next month, and he has agreed to let you sit in. I will arrange for someone to inform you of the location and time separately."

"Don't relax your spear technique. Don't rush to focus on the Crimson Star Spear. Building a solid foundation is more important than anything else."

"Eat well, sleep well, and avoid trouble."

The last line of text was noticeably larger than the preceding text, as if Lund had added it specifically after finishing the previous lines.

After reading the letter, Xilun folded it and put it in his shirt pocket.

Iron-Blooded Society.

Lund had mentioned this name before—a closed society composed of retired officers and senior extraordinary individuals, with extremely high entry requirements; its president, Wolf Weber, was a retired extraordinary powerhouse.

Being able to listen in on this kind of circle means that he will have access to an information network at a higher level than that of the North District.

Xilun swallowed the last bite of toast and took a sip of black tea.

"Rhodes," he called out.

The housekeeper immediately poked his head out from the kitchen doorway.

"Tell Kusso that today's sparring session is canceled; I'm going on a long trip."

"Yes, sir. Would you like a carriage prepared?"

"No need, I can walk by myself."

Xilun flipped through the calendar in his study.

Today is Wednesday.

Lund's letter did not specify the exact time of the gathering, but the phrase "another person will be notified" suggests that news should come soon.

He returned to the training shed and spent the morning practicing Natan heavy rifle techniques.

The completion rate has stabilized at 97%.

This figure is already at an upper-middle level within the master level, but it is still far from the limit of the master level, although the rate of progress has obviously slowed down.

This is normal.

Once any martial art has reached the master level, the time required to increase proficiency by even one percent is several times longer than before.

Xilun was not in a hurry.

Lund is right, the basics are more important than anything else.

Natan Heavy Armored Gun Technique is the foundation of all gun techniques, a basic skill that unifies the gun, body, and breath.

Only by solidifying this foundation can the Crimson Star Spear truly unleash its full power.

He holstered his gun and took a deep breath.

restart.

prick.

pick.

sweep.

Smash.

He has repeated these four simple moves thousands of times, but each time he can find new room for adjustment in the details.

The distance between the tip of the gun and the ground was half an inch.

The angle at which the waist and hips exert force was off by two degrees.

The line of intention makes a very slight pause when it passes through the shoulder joint.

These details, which most people would never notice, were captured and corrected by him with the help of the reverberation chamber.

Around noon, a stranger arrived at the Brotherhood's residence.

Rod stopped him at the door and, as was customary, inquired about his purpose.

The man who arrived was in his thirties, wearing a faded old military uniform with a brass gear badge pinned to his left breast.

“My name is Herman,” he said to Rhodes. “Mr. Lund asked me to inform Mr. Celen that the Ironblood Society meeting is scheduled for this Saturday at 3 p.m. at No. 12 St. Helen Square in the South District, on the second basement level.”

He took a cardboard sign out of his pocket and handed it to him.

"This is a temporary pass, and it can only be used once."

Rhodes took the card and relayed the message to Xiren.

Xilen looked at the cardboard card.

The card had no text on it, only an image embossed in the center—a broken sword crossed over a shield.

The symbol of the Ironblood Society.

……

Saturday.

Two o'clock in the afternoon.

Xiren changed into a clean dark shirt and black trousers, with a well-tailored gray coat over them.

He had a short gun tucked behind his waist, a Soul-Suppressing Nail hidden in his sleeve, and a bloodstain on the inside of his left wrist.

Not many, but enough to deal with emergencies.

Once seated in the carriage, Sirren instructed the driver to take Wellington Street towards the South End.

After the carriage left the northern district, the street scene changed rapidly.

Although the North District was chaotic, at least the docks and warehouses were still maintaining basic operations.

However, the South District—

The word "dilapidated" is not enough to describe the scene along the way.

Nearly half of the shops on both sides of the street had their roller shutters down, with signs posted on the doors saying "Temporarily Closed" or "Relocated".

Several flagstones on the sidewalk were warped, revealing the black soil underneath.

A third of the streetlights were broken, and several others hung crookedly on the lampposts, as if they might fall down at any moment.

There were very few pedestrians.

Occasionally, you can see a few ragged homeless people huddled against the wall at the street corner, their bodies wrapped in old newspapers and dirty rags.

The air was filled with an indescribable, putrid smell, as if something had rotted underground.

Xilun frowned.

The last time I came to the South District was a few months ago. Although it wasn't very prosperous then, at least there were pedestrians and vendors hawking their wares on the streets.

now--

As the carriage passed an intersection, Siron saw a scene through the window that caught his attention.

At the southwest corner of the intersection, a long queue stood in front of a dilapidated pharmacy.

The people in the group had pale faces and sunken eyes, and many of them covered their mouths and noses with scarves or rags.

A middle-aged man in a white coat stood at the entrance of the pharmacy, holding up a wooden sign that read—

"Fever reducers are sold out, and disinfectant is limited to two bottles per purchase."

plague.

Xiren recalled a detail mentioned in Rena's report—there seemed to be signs of an unexplained disease spreading in the South District.

He didn't stop the car, but he kept the scene in his mind.

The carriage continued south.

Twenty minutes later, it stopped near St. Helens Square.

Xilun got out of the car and looked around at his surroundings.

St. Helen Square is one of the few decent places in the South District. In the center of the square stands an old bronze sculpture, surrounded by several neatly trimmed plane trees.

Number 12 is a three-story gray stone building that looks like an ordinary chamber of commerce office.

A middle-aged man in a trench coat stood at the entrance on the first floor, his face expressionless.

Xilun stepped forward, took the cardboard card out of his pocket, and handed it to him.

The middle-aged man took the card, glanced at it, and then looked at Xilun.

"Second basement level, turn left and go all the way to the end."

He stepped aside to let the door open.

Xilun went into the building.

The lobby on the first floor was empty, with only a few dusty desks and an iron door leading to the ground floor.

The iron gate was open.

The staircase was narrow, the lighting was dim, and the walls were covered with old tiles.

We went down two floors.

At the end of the corridor was a heavy oak door, without any markings on it.

Xilun pushed open the door and went in.

It was much bigger inside than he had imagined.

An underground hall that could hold at least fifty people had a high dome and iron gas lamp holders hanging on the four walls, illuminating the entire space.

In the center of the hall, there were more than a dozen long tables, with chairs arranged in an irregular semicircle.

There are already more than twenty people here.

Xilun glanced at it.

These people ranged in age from thirty to sixty, and most of them wore simple but clean clothes. Many of them bore the marks of the old army—straight backs, neatly trimmed hair, and subconsciously vigilant eyes.

Among them, the aura of several people caught Xilun's attention.

At least four second-order extraordinary beings.

In the deepest part of the hall, on a high-backed chair, sat a man who looked to be around fifty years old, with gray hair, a burly build, and wearing an old-fashioned officer's long coat.

His aura was as steady as a mountain.

Third order, at least!

no doubt.

Xilun knew that was the president—Wolf Weber.

Lund was also there.

He sat in the second seat to Wolf's right, wearing an old black jacket, his left arm still in a sling across his chest.

Seeing Xiren walk in, Lund nodded slightly.

The movement was small, but enough to draw the attention of those around him—this young man was brought by Lund.

"Sit down," Lund mouthed the two words silently.

Xiren found a seat near the edge and sat down.

He didn't initiate conversations with anyone; he simply observed his surroundings quietly.

The atmosphere in the hall was not somber; on the contrary, it carried a relaxed feeling unique to veterans of the battlefield.

Some people were chatting in hushed tones, some were flipping through documents in their hands, and some were wiping their weapons.

A middle-aged man with a thick beard glanced at Xilun, his gaze scrutinizing but not hostile.

He nodded to Xilun as a greeting.

Xilun returned a similarly brief nod.

It's exactly three o'clock.

Wolf stood up from the high-backed chair.

He was at least six feet two inches tall, and when he stood up, he stood out prominently in the entire hall.

"Everyone's here," he said in a deep, powerful voice. It wasn't loud, but every word was clearly audible to everyone present.

"Let's begin."

The party officially began.

The first step is information exchange.

A tall, thin man wearing a monocle stood up, unfolded a handwritten report, and began to report on the recent activities of extraordinary individuals in various districts.

"The Crimson Academy lost another stronghold last week. Moran, the captain of the Third Reserve Team, was wounded during the retreat and is currently missing."

"The Whisper Choir has significantly reduced its activities in the North District, but it has strengthened its presence in the East District, adding at least two new secret chambers last month."

"The Colt family remains unchanged."

"Over in Tusol—"

The tall, thin man paused and glanced in the direction of Xilun.

"Their third elder recently submitted a plan for the integration of the northern district. The specific details are unknown, but judging from external sources, their ambitions are considerable."

Xilun remained unfazed.

Reina had already told him this news beforehand.

However, this was confirmed again through the Ironblood Society's intelligence channels, indicating that the Tusol family's movements have attracted wider attention.

"And the Black Death Cult," another voice chimed in.

The speaker was a burly man with a face full of scars, sitting on the left side of the hall, with a shocking old scar on one of his arms.

"Recently, there have been reports that the Black Death cult has begun to make a comeback."

The hall fell silent for a moment.

"Are you sure?" Wolf's voice came from the direction of the high-backed chair.

"I'm not 100% sure," the big guy said, scratching his head.

"But the plague in the South District came too strangely. In less than three weeks, the number of infections quadrupled, and the mortality rate was abnormally high. The hospitals have started to suppress the news."

"There's one more thing," a younger man next to him added, "When I was staking out the South District, I noticed that the number of homeless people is decreasing."

"reduce?"

"Yes, they've disappeared. Street corners, underpasses, the back doors of churches—those places where homeless people usually gather—have become noticeably emptier in the last month. They didn't move away; they vanished into thin air."

Xilun thought of the people he had seen earlier, their mouths and noses covered, queuing to buy medicine when the carriage passed by.

Reconnect with the missing homeless man—

A possibility popped into his mind.

The Black Death Cult.

He recognized the name, and he had been harmed by this heretic before.

In the Tusol family's archives, he came across several old books about the history of the Southern Continent.

The Black Death was a heretical sect from the Old Order era that centered on plague and death. It is said that their doctrine held that death was the only way to purify the world, and that plague was a divine baptism.

If they really make a comeback—

The disappearance of homeless people is not an accident.

They are the best test subjects.

No one will notice their disappearance, and no one will investigate.

Xilun's gaze darkened slightly.

The ensuing exchange lasted for nearly an hour.

Some people have mentioned that the smog in the northern district seems to be getting worse, especially near the pier, where nighttime visibility has decreased by at least 30% compared to a month ago.

"It's like something is brewing," the speaker used a vivid metaphor, "like dark clouds looming over the city."

Some have also mentioned that the Imperial military has recently been requisitioning large quantities of extraordinary items and body-tempering drugs from the civilian population, causing prices to skyrocket in the market.

"The tranquilizing dew that used to cost three gold pounds now costs five," an old man in an old military uniform said indignantly.

After the information exchange is completed, the next step is the trading of extraordinary items.

Some people took out a dagger imbued with a faint but extraordinary power, some took out several bottles of homemade healing potions, and some took out materials stripped from demons.

The transaction method is very simple—if both parties like each other, they talk; if they can't reach an agreement, then they don't.

There is no forced buying or selling, and no middlemen taking a cut.

Xilun observed for a while with great interest.

He found that although the scale of the trade here was not large, the quality of the goods was generally better than that at the Moon Lake Trade Fair.

After all, the participants are all extraordinary individuals with considerable strength, so the items they bring out are naturally not bad.

But he himself had nothing to exchange.

Cultivation resources are for personal consumption and cannot be exchanged. Weapons and items are also essential items that one carries with them.

He was just about to sit quietly and watch the rest of the segment when suddenly someone walked up to him.

"Are you Xilun?"

The man who arrived was a man in his thirties, with short brown hair, a thin face, and wearing an old dark blue coat.

His aura fluctuated between the peak of the first rank and the early stage of the second rank.

Xilun glanced at him.

"Yes."

"My name is David," the man said, then hesitated for a moment, "Link David."