Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun walked along the pier.

He walked slowly.

His gaze swept over his surroundings.

The Greywater River flows wide into the sea, and mist floats along its surface. In the distance, the silhouettes of boats are intermittent in the mist, like a black cloth that has been torn apart and pieced back together.

The river water was dark in color.

It's not simply turbid.

It looked more like a mixture of coal slag, rust, and some kind of decaying substance.

Xilun paused for a moment by the pier.

Beneath the surface, a thin undercurrent swirls around the wooden stakes.

A piece of wood shavings circled halfway around the wooden stake, then suddenly seemed to be pulled by something and sank abruptly to the bottom of the water.

An old sailor nearby saw this, his expression changed slightly, and he spat into the river.

"here we go again."

Another person lowered their voice: "Keep your voice down, don't provoke that thing."

"What are you afraid of? We're still far from the inner bay."

"The Black Bay broke its moorings here the day before yesterday."

"The rope is rotten."

"You believe it?"

The two stopped arguing at this point.

That's how everyone is at the dock.

Stubborn.

But your steps will honestly keep you a little further away from the water.

Xilun withdrew his gaze and continued forward.

Rod had already found out in advance that Balk was not recruiting people at the Golden Leaf Tavern or the Old Mill Street.

Instead, it was located inside the ocean pier, in a warehouse that nominally sold used ship equipment.

The warehouse has no sign.

A rusty red iron lamp hung at the entrance.

It's dark during the day.

Even at night, only half of it is lit.

Those in the know understand that small gatherings of extraordinary individuals are occasionally held here.

Not high-end enough.

It's not safe enough either.

However, its advantage lies in the variety of information, the quality of goods, and the fact that most of the people who come are not clean.

Siren walked through two damp, narrow alleyways.

The alley was piled with broken fish baskets, empty wine bottles, and discarded cables.

There are white salt marks on the walls, eroded by the sea breeze, like patches of peeling skin.

A black cat was perched on the wooden crate, its green eyes staring at him.

Xilun walked up to the thick wooden door.

There are three old knife marks on the door.

He raised his hand and tapped it.

Two short.

One long.

pause.

Another short one.

There was a moment of silence inside the door.

A small window was opened, revealing half of a cloudy eye.

"What should I buy?"

"Buy a mast that won't break."

"How long?"

"Enough to pierce a fish."

The small window closed.

The latch was pulled open.

A man as thin as a dried fish poked his head out, looked Xilun up and down, and sniffed.

"From outside?"

"Um."

"Do you know the rules?"

"Do not ask where you come from, do not reveal your real name, and do not make a move on the premises."

The thin man stepped aside.

"Go in."

Xilun crossed the threshold.

The warehouse is much larger inside than it appears from the outside.

The sides were piled with old ship planks, anchors, tattered canvas, and rows of seemingly abandoned wooden crates, but a clearing had been cleared out in the center.

There were more than a dozen tables set up in the open space.

A diverse group of people sat around the table.

There were women wearing wide-brimmed hats, burly men with tattoos all over their faces, one-eyed old men wearing old navy cloaks, and several middle-aged men who looked like ordinary vendors but had an intimidatingly heavy presence.

An oil lamp hung on the beam, its flame dimmed by the dampness.

The air was filled with the smells of tobacco, sweat, medicine, and old blood.

Xilun walked to a corner and sat down.

He didn't rush to speak.

There was no rush to see the person.

Truly experienced people don't wear their curiosity on their sleeves as soon as they enter.

The party has already begun.

A presenter wearing a blue vest stood on a wooden crate, his voice hoarse.

"Next item: two pieces of dried gills from a deep-sea lungfish, suitable for making underwater breathing medications, starting at eight gold pounds."

"ten."

"twelve."

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen once, thirteen twice—sold."

Soon, someone took out a bronze whistle engraved with fish scale patterns, which was said to be able to temporarily scare away ordinary fish.

Someone is now selling a bottle of cloudy-colored potion, claiming that drinking it will allow you to keep your eyes open in water for half an hour.

Xilun listened and watched.

No bids were placed.

His attention was focused more on the people's hands, shoulders, feet, and breathing.

Three people in particular deserve attention.

A gray-haired woman sitting at the second table on the left.

He was around thirty years old, with an old scar on his face that ran from below his left eye to the corner of his lip. He carried two short axes at his waist, and had thick fingers with calluses on his hands.

She was no ordinary sailor.

The movements clearly show a close-quarters combat style.

The other was a tall, thin man near the door.

He was wearing a black leather jacket, his face was pale, and he had a silver chain around his neck. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief when he coughed.

Xilun smelled a faint medicinal scent on him.

It's not medicine for treating illness.

It's more like a stabilizer that suppresses some kind of imbalance in the body.

The third was a burly middle-aged man.

Bald, with a thick beard, and shoulders so broad they could almost block half a table.

His right hand remained on the table, palm down.

Whenever someone approaches, he taps the table lightly with his knuckles.

It has a good rhythm.

That's not boredom.

That's for judging distance.

Xilun lowered his eyes.

Among these people, at least three are second-order.

Balk has quite an appetite.

The auction continued for a while.

Until a wooden platter covered with a black cloth was brought out.

The host did not lift the black cloth.

Instead, he looked up at the crowd.

"The next step is not selling goods."

The warehouse gradually quieted down.

Many people seemed to already know what the real highlight of the night was.

The host lowered his voice.

"Someone is looking for a few skilled men to sail together in a boat into the inner bay of the Greywater River."

"Target: A mid-level mutant."

The moment the words "intermediate variant" were uttered, the atmosphere in the room clearly changed.

Someone frowned.

Some people revealed their greed.

Some people even picked up their glasses on the spot, using the alcohol to cover their eyes.

The host continued, "The hunt was successful. Each participant will receive three bottles of cleansing potion."

After a brief silence, a low commotion broke out in the warehouse.

"Three bottles?"

"Dust-removing potion? Really?"

"That stuff costs at least twenty gold pounds a bottle now, and you might not even be able to buy it."

"Who's making such a big move?"

The dust-clearing medicine is not a regular recovery medicine.

It can help cleanse the body of impurities and alleviate the stagnation accumulated by extraordinary individuals during cultivation, making it especially valuable for second-tier extraordinary individuals.

Currently, there are soothing techniques and breathing exercises available for Siren, but the demand is not the strongest.

However, three bottles of Cleansing Potion are still a reward that many Tier 2 adventurers can earn.

The host did not answer.

He simply took half a step back.

The warehouse side door opened.

A man stepped out.

The man wasn't particularly tall, but he was very sturdy.

His skin was tanned dark brown by the sea breeze, his short hair was plastered to his scalp, and there were several deep lines at the corners of his eyes. His right shoulder was slightly lower when he walked, as if he had suffered an old injury when he was young.

Balk.

A prominent figure at the ocean-going docks.

Secret choir undercover.

He was also a powerful figure whom Xilun had to look up to in the underground gladiatorial battles and bloody conflicts.

After six months apart, Balk had lost some weight.

But its eyes are even brighter.

That kind of brightness is not healthy.

It is the light that burns from the intertwining of anxiety, ambition, and long-suppressed desires.

Xilun sat in the corner, his expression unchanged.

His breathing was not disordered.

Balk looked around, clasped his hands in a fist and said, "Brothers, you should all recognize me, right?"

Someone chuckled.

"Everyone at the ocean liner knows Mr. Balker."

Balk laughed too.

But the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Since I recognize you, I won't beat around the bush."

He reached out and placed his hand on the wooden box.

"The Greywater River has been turbulent lately. There's a beast lurking in the inner bay that has already destroyed several boats and swallowed many people. The dockworkers make their living off the water, and this thing is blocking their way out."

A fat businessman shook his head.

"No matter how ferocious the sea creatures are, they can't come ashore. Mr. Balk's spending at such a high price doesn't seem like he's only after the profits from the docks."

This statement is very direct.

It's also very dangerous.

But most of the people who can sit here are not afraid of danger.

Balk looked at him.

His gaze turned colder.

"My brother died in the mouth of that beast."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Balk's voice was deep.

"You all know how I, Balk, conduct myself. Call me cold-blooded or greedy, I won't argue. But everyone has a few grudges they can't escape."

As he said this, he raised his hand and pointed to his chest.

That's my younger brother.

That's a very prudent statement.

It's so stable it looks real.

Xiren looked at Balk's face.

If Rod hadn't already investigated the cause of death of that "brother," he might have believed it to some extent.

Those who can gain a foothold at ocean-going docks are indeed not fools who only know how to throw punches.

Someone continued, "What is the sea monster's strength?"

"Intermediate-level mutant species."

"In the water?"

"In the water."

"Isn't that just suicide?"

Balk snorted coldly.

"If I were to send you all into the water to fight it to the death, three bottles of cleansing potion wouldn't be enough. But this time is different."

He raised his hand.

Behind the side door, someone pushed in a wooden frame.

A bronze compass sat on the wooden shelf.

The compass is engraved with wave patterns on its edge, and a blue crystal that looks like a water droplet hangs in the center.

The crystal swayed slightly.

The compass needle also deflected slightly.

Many people in the room changed their gaze.

"A beast-finding compass?"

Balk said, "We can roughly pinpoint the beast's location."

He paused.

"I've figured out its habits. It will never show itself if a third-tier extraordinary being approaches. It will also sink into deep water if there are too many people. Only second-tier individuals, with a small number of people, can have a chance to lure it out by entering its patrol area by boat."

The gray-haired woman suddenly spoke.

"Where's the boat?"

Balk looked at her.

"Iron Scale"

The crowd stirred again.

Xilun heard someone next to him gasp.

"That treasure ship at the ocean liner's dock?"

"Balk was actually able to borrow it?"

"Looks like they're really going all out."

The gray-haired woman squinted.

"The Ironscale requires multiple operators."

"That's why I invited you all here."

"The ship is equipped with hunting forks, animal-binding nets, water-pressurizing cannons, and several devices specifically designed to deal with aquatic beasts," Balk said. "Ordinary people can only activate the basics, while second-tier extraordinary individuals can unleash their full power by using their aura as a guide."

The tall, thin man coughed twice.

"How are the sea monster carcasses divided after a successful hunt?"

Balk looked at him.

"The cleaning agent is the payment."

"So, the extraordinary relic is yours?"

"It's mine."

Balk answered without hesitation.

Some people in the audience scoffed.

"It really wasn't for my brother."

Balk's face darkened.

"If you feel it's not worth it, you don't have to go."

He raised his hand and patted the wooden box.

The host lifted the black cloth.

Nine slender glass bottles were neatly arranged inside.

The liquid in the bottle was as clear as morning dew, gleaming faintly silver under the oil lamp.

Dust removal agent.

Authentic product.

Many people's breathing suddenly became heavy.

Balk said slowly, "I only need three people."

"Those who are willing to go, step forward."

The warehouse was quiet.

No one moved immediately.

Intermediate-level alien species in the water are more troublesome than second-tier enemies on land.

Moreover, this matter is clearly more than just revenge.

The first person to step forward is often the one most likely to die.

After a while, the gray-haired woman stood up.

Her voice was hoarse.

"I'll go."

Balk looked at her.

"Please introduce yourself."

"Vera."

"it is good."

The burly, bald man with a thick beard also stood up.

He grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth.

"Count me in. Just call me Hack."

The tall, thin man hesitated for a long time.

He touched the silver chain around his neck, as if he had thought of something, and finally slowly got up.

"Mason."

Balk looked at the three of them.

A hint of satisfaction appeared in his eyes.

But just then, another person stood up from the corner.

Weston.

He raised his head.

He said in a slightly low, hoarse voice, "Simon."

Balk's gaze fell on his face.

They paused for a moment.

Xilun's expression was indifferent, his eyes showing the coldness and impatience often seen in mercenaries from other places.

Balk frowned.

"I only need three people."

Xilun said, "I know about ships."

Hack scoffed.

"There are plenty of people who know about ships at the dock."

Xilun looked at him.

He didn't speak.

He simply placed his right hand lightly on the edge of the table.

哢.

A corner of the thick wooden table cracked silently.

The cracks are smooth, as if they were cleaved by a fine axe.

Hack's smile faltered for a moment.

Vera, the gray-haired woman, raised an eyebrow.

Mason's cough has lessened.

Balk stared at the crack.

A moment later, he smiled.

"Alright."

"The more people there are, the more certainty we have."

He looked at the crowd.

"Vera, Hack, Mason, Simon."

"Including me, there are five people in total."

"Go back and prepare. Meet at Pier 3 of Greywater River at dawn three days from now."

"No time limit."

The crowd gradually dispersed.

Xilun did not linger.

He followed the flow of people out of the warehouse and back into the damp, narrow alley.

It was already daylight.

The pier was even noisier than when we arrived.

Several children were chasing each other by the ditch. A dead fish floated belly-up in the sewage, and flies were circling around its eyes.

Xilun walked to the alley entrance and paused for a moment.

He turned to look at the thick door of the warehouse.

Balk's preparations were very thorough.

compass.

Treasure ship.

Dust removal agent.

Understanding the habits of the little green dragon.

And the arrangement of deliberately avoiding the third tier and only summoning the second tier.

This doesn't seem like a spur-of-the-moment decision.

It's more like he's been waiting for this sea monster for a long time.

Xilun pulled up the collar of his trench coat, covering half of his face.

He did not rush to leave the ocean pier.

Instead, they walked around two streets and entered a small riverside tavern.

There weren't many people in the tavern.

The boss is wiping the cups.

Xilun sat down by the window and ordered a cheap rye beer.

The wine was very cloudy.

It has a spicy and pungent taste.

He didn't drink; he simply looked out over the rim of the cup at the distant Greywater River.

Mist billowed across the river.

For a fleeting moment, he seemed to see a dark blue shadow flash by at the bottom of the fog.

soon.

It was so fast it felt like an illusion.

Xilun tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

Waterbending.

Intermediate variant.

Little Green Dragon.

If this thing truly possesses a similar talent—

Its value is probably much greater than what Balke has shown.

He lowered his head.

I pushed the glass of wine a little further away.

Balk wants extraordinary relics.

Perhaps it's for the money.

Perhaps it was for some kind of medicine.

Maybe--

It's for advancing to the third rank.

Thinking of this, Xilun's eyes turned slightly cold.

One Balk is troublesome enough.

If he becomes a third-order aberration.

That wouldn't be a problem.

It is a hidden danger.

It's best to deal with potential threats before they grow fangs.