Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

"Sir, the forensic doctor's preliminary assessment is that the deceased died from a broken cervical vertebra caused by bare hands. The method was extremely professional, resulting in a fatal blow."

A police officer, holding a notebook, is reporting to a man standing inside the police cordon.

Sheriff?

Xilun subconsciously looked at the man in the middle and vaguely felt that he looked familiar.

The man seemed to notice the gaze and turned around.

The police uniform was dark blue with gleaming epaulets, and a baton and handcuffs hung at the waist.

It was Seren.

Seren instinctively turned her head, and their eyes met in the air.

Ciarán paused for a moment, then asked, "It's you again?"

He strode over, and the surrounding police officers quickly made way for him.

After scrutinizing Xilun for a while, his gaze shifted downwards and landed on the bronze badge gleaming coldly on Xilun's collar.

Immediately, a smile appeared on his lips.

"Looks like you're working for that Yuri guy."

Xilun remained calm and nodded slightly.

"Just trying to make a living."

He glanced at the hearse. "What's that?"

"A reckless hoodlum."

Ciarán shrugged nonchalantly. "Rats die in the gutter every day."

Silen nodded slightly and said, "I have to go to class now, Sheriff."

After saying that, he turned to leave.

"Wait a moment."

Seren called out to him.

Xilun stopped and turned to the side.

Seren took a business card out of his jacket pocket, held it between two fingers, and handed it over.

The business card was made of cardboard with bold black lettering printed on it.

Now that you've started working, let's get to know each other formally.

Seren looked into Celen's eyes, his tone becoming more formal.

"Seren, Metropolitan Police Department Field Sergeant, Lower City, Dock District, Saint Laurent City."

Xilun was slightly taken aback; it turned out to be a field police chief.

In the dock area, the sheriff was already a formidable figure in the downtown area, in charge of eight to ten officers.

The field sergeant is responsible for leading patrols, taking in prisoners, and collecting bail payments.

Xilun reached out and took the business card.

"Silon".

"I know your name is Xilun."

Seren smiled and pointed to the address on the business card.

"My office address is listed above. If you encounter any problems in the dock area that you can't handle, you can write to me."

Xilun put the business card into his inner pocket and nodded.

"Thank you, Sheriff."

Seren waved his hand, picked up the brass whistle hanging around his neck, and blew it loudly.

"Beep—!"

A sharp whistle pierced the sky.

"Back to base! Don't let this pile of rotten flesh block the way!"

The officers got to work, dispersing the crowd and moving the bodies.

Xilun took one last look at the assassin who had died in the snowstorm the previous night, then turned and left.

His back was straight, his steps were steady, and his footsteps made a "crunching" sound on the snow.

The wind and snow continue!

......

Iron Cross Fighting Club, second floor.

Xilun pushed open the heavy oak door, and a cold wind blew in through the cracks, dissipating some of the heat inside.

He hung his woolen coat, speckled with a few snowflakes, on the hanger. Inside was a faded linen shirt, the brand-new brass badge on the collar gleaming coldly under the gaslight.

The training room was already bustling with activity.

"Why are you so late?"

Fester was wrapping his wristband when he saw Siren come in and casually asked.

His bare upper body was muscular and sweat dripped down his back, clearly indicating that he had been warming up for a long time.

"I found a job on the way."

Xilun walked to the corner and started changing his shoes, his tone as indifferent as if he were talking about what he had for breakfast.

Fester paused, but didn't seem to care much.

"Porter? Or help out in the kitchen? Things are getting busy at the docks lately..."

"Supervisor".

Siren spoke in a tone as if he'd just bought breakfast on the way, "Greywater River Wharf, the Brotherhood's overseer."

Fester's hand, which was wrapping around the tiger's mouth, suddenly froze.

He slowly turned his head, his neck cracking, and his previously nonchalant eyes widened in shock.

"you……"

Fester froze, opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word for a long time.

"Everyone, assemble!"

A deep, thunderous voice boomed at the entrance to the training room.

Mentor Ryan has arrived.

He was wearing his signature black turtleneck sweater, over which he wore a dark gray vest. His muscles stretched the clothes so much that he looked like a bear standing upright.

The once noisy training room fell silent instantly.

The trainees, like startled quails, quickly dropped their equipment and lined up in two rows in the center of the field.

Ryan strode heavily to the front of the group, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over everyone present like a hawk's.

No one dared to meet his gaze.

"Six weeks ago, some of you became my students, learning breathing techniques and martial arts from me."

His voice echoed in the empty room, carrying an undeniable air of authority.

"Now, stand up straight and let me see what you have accomplished."

Splash!

More than a dozen veteran students stepped forward in unison, heads held high and chests out.

Xilun stood at the end of the line and calmly took a step forward.

With his hands behind his back, Ryan paced slowly in front of the line, each step seeming to tread on the heartbeats of the crowd.

"If you haven't developed any strength through breathing techniques yet, sit down."

Ryan's voice suddenly turned cold, "Don't get in my way."

The faces of the students who had been so confident instantly turned red, then pale.

They exchanged a glance, and finally, under Ryan's cold gaze, they deflated like punctured balloons and slumped back to their seats in the back row.

The line shortened.

"Those who haven't reached a proficient level in combat techniques, please sit down."

Raine spoke again, his tone even harsher, "Knowing only breathing techniques is for health, but you can't even fight. Don't go out and say you're my student."

This time, even more people wavered.

Although most people have developed a sense of Qi, their combat skills are only at the beginner level, and they are still a long way from being "proficient".

It all came down in a blur.

Another large group of people sat down.

The once crowded queue now appears empty.

Only three people remained, standing alone in the center of the field.

On the far left is Kanavi, the son of a merchant, who is covered in sweat and his legs are trembling slightly.

In the middle is Daisy, the professor's daughter, still dressed in a pristine white training uniform, with a cool expression and her back ramrod straight, like a proud swan.

On the far right is Xilun.

His hands hung naturally at his sides, his breathing was long and steady, and he stood there like a silent reef, unmoved no matter how the surrounding wind and waves crashed against him.

Renn stopped and lingered his gaze on the three of them for a moment.

"State your names and progress."

Kanavi took a deep breath and shouted, "Kanavi, Iron Wall Breathing Technique, beginner level! Police Combat Technique, proficient!"

Renn nodded slightly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Daisy then spoke, her voice clear and pleasant: "Daisy, Iron Wall Breathing Technique, proficient. Police Combat Technique, proficient."

The students sitting around gasped in surprise.

As expected of a young lady with extraordinary talent, her breathing technique has already reached the proficient level.

Finally, it was Xilun's turn.

All eyes were on the young man dressed in cheap work clothes.

Xiren raised his head, met Renn's scrutinizing gaze, and spoke calmly.

"Silon".

"Iron Wall Breathing Technique, mastered."

"Police combat techniques, expert."