Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun turned around.

The courtyard gate was pushed open a crack.

Saiwei was wearing an old black raincoat, his hair was plastered to the side of his face, and his face was as pale as if he had just recovered from a serious illness.

He was holding an oilcloth bag tightly in his hands.

His eyes reddened the moment he saw Xilun.

But he didn't cry.

He just stood in the rain, his lips trembling, and said, "You're back."

Xilun looked at him.

Where is the teacher?

These three words were spoken very softly.

So light it was almost drowned out by the sound of the rain.

Savi, however, seemed to have been struck by something, and his shoulders slumped down.

He went into the house, closed the door, and placed the oilcloth bundle on the table.

The movements are very slow.

He moved so slowly, as if every single detail was draining his last bit of strength.

"He told me not to tell you."

Saiwei lowered his head, his voice hoarse, "He said you have your own path. You've just advanced to the third tier, and you can't let him drag you into the mud."

Xilun did not speak.

Saiwei raised his hand and wiped his face, not knowing whether he was wiping away rain or tears.

"But I couldn't stop him."

He suddenly laughed, a laugh that looked more like a grimace.

"I've been with him for so many years, I know his temperament best."

He can endure anything normally—poverty, pain, being looked down upon—but once he truly understands something, no one can stop him.

Xilun sat down at the table.

"How long has it been?"

Savi's fingers trembled.

He did not answer immediately.

Xilun looked up at him.

Those eyes were very calm.

It's too quiet.

Like a frozen well, the surface of the water is still, but something unseen lies buried beneath.

Savi suddenly felt afraid.

It wasn't that he was afraid Xilun would kill him.

I'm afraid he'll say nothing, ask nothing, and just keep everything bottled up inside until it all shatters one day.

"Six days."

He finally spoke.

"He was gone for six days."

The room was deathly silent.

The sound of rain suddenly seemed very distant.

Six days.

When Xilun emerged from the snowy mountain wonderland and arrived here, heavily injured, Lund had already been gone for six days.

While he was struggling under Fowles's fists, Lund may have already reached the vagrant camp.

When he coughed up blood in the dark river, Lund may have already been discovered by the Black Death Cult.

While he was risking his life with the Red Star rifle in the snowy, cold forest, Lund was probably risking his life with the same gun technique.

Xilun lowered his eyes.

What did he leave behind?

Saiwei pushed the oilcloth bundle in front of him.

"A ship ticket, a few vials of medicine, and a letter."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

He said, "If you come back, I'll give it to you."

Xilun did not open it immediately.

He stared at the oilcloth bag for a long time.

His fingers landed on the knot, but the rope was slippery because it was wet from the rain.

I couldn't solve it the first time.

It wasn't solved the second time either.

Saiwei saw this and wanted to lend a hand.

Xilun said softly, "No need."

His voice was so calm it sounded like it was coming from a very far place.

The third time, the knot came undone.

Unfold the tarpaulin.

Inside were three pale blue potions, a ticket to the Chaotic Sea, and a letter sealed with wax.

There were no noble coats of arms on the wax seal.

There was only a crooked iron cross.

Like Lund himself carved it with a knife.

Xiren picked up the letter.

The paper was rough and the edges were a bit damp.

When he opened it, there was no more frost on his fingertips.

……

Westren:

Barring any unforeseen circumstances, this is the last thing I'll say to you.

You're younger than me, smarter than me, and more ruthless than me.

If I were to say these things to your face, I probably wouldn't be able to say them. In the end, I would just kick you and tell you to get lost.

I once told you that I survived that rainy night ten years ago.

But in reality, he had already died that day.

All that survived was an empty shell that could cough, eat, and teach people how to punch.

I hid for ten years, hated for ten years, and was afraid for ten years.

I hate my own cowardice, I hate myself for not taking one more step, for not thrusting one more shot, for not dragging those damned people into hell.

Then you came.

To be honest, I didn't like you when I first met you.

Your eyes hold so much, like a knife that could cut you at any moment.

You don't trust anyone, and you don't intend to let anyone really get close to you.

You call me teacher, but you're probably constantly weighing whether I'm worthy of your trust, whether I'll harm you, and what you can take from me after I die.

But I don't dislike young people like Siren.

Because I was like that when I was young.

Children who grow up in slums, if they don't keep their hearts hidden, will have been trampled long ago.

My father instilled in me backbone and self-respect, and my mother taught me manners and etiquette.

Later, when I taught you how to shoot, how to walk, and how to conceal your stance, I was actually trying to pass on these seemingly useless yet useful skills to you.

Every person has to have something they refuse to sell while they're alive.

Otherwise, even if you become a third or fourth tier dog, or even stand in the banquet hall of those people in the upper city, you'll still just be a more expensive dog.

What I'm about to do has nothing to do with you.

You don't need to feel guilty.

Don't think you can get revenge for me by throwing your brain away.

The Black Death cult wasn't just a bunch of madmen chanting spells in the gutter; it changed its appearance many times, appearing as charities, hospitals, pharmacists, relief camps, colonial missions...

Beneath every skin lies the same rotten flesh; some push them, some tacitly approve, some profit from the plague, and some clean up the mess from death.

I didn't find much, but it was enough to keep me awake at night.

This plague in the lower city is not simply killing people.

They are building a nest.

Using the panic, resentment, illness, and death of Saint Laurent as a breeding ground, they welcome something that should not have returned.

I feel like the paper will stink just writing that name here.

Nuerles.

The ancient source of plague.

An evil god who wields power over death, viruses, pain, and resentment.

If this city truly falls into a great plague, the slums will die first, followed by the factory district, then the docks, the military camps, the south district, the north district, and finally even the urban area will not be at peace.

The nobles thought the fire wouldn't reach their curtains, the tycoons thought their impenetrable walls could keep out illness, and the church thought that gilding their idols would ward off evil spirits—but they were all wrong.

This world is already riddled with too many holes.

With the righteous gods weak and the evil gods lurking, there is nowhere truly clean—nowhere in the land without gods, the chaotic sea, the eastern continent, or Victoria.

The existence of the Black Death Cult is tacitly approved, and I have no comrades-in-arms except for myself.

I'm just a boxer.

But a boxer can also fire a shot.

I'm not going there to wipe out the Black Death Cult.

I don't have that much ability.

Before them stood a fourth-tier extraordinary being, and under his command were thirteen third-tier servants.

Behind the scenes, it seems to be related to the New Righteousness Society.

If I were younger, upon hearing this commotion, I would probably first find a drink to drink, and then find a place to hide.

The person is still young, but the heart is old; some debts can no longer be avoided.

I will destroy their plague cocoons.

As long as that thing is destroyed, the plague will not descend as they planned.

Many more people will die in the lower city, but at least it won't become an altar for the return of evil gods.

When I made the decision, I suddenly realized that death wasn't so scary anymore.

I know you'll think I'm stupid.

A third-tier individual, bearing old wounds, goes to confront a fourth-tier individual, then thirteen third-tier individuals, and finally a cult tacitly approved by the higher-ups.

But in Siren, some things, once calculated clearly, can no longer be done.

I've calculated this countless times in my life.

Ten years ago, during that torrential rain, I realized that it was more useful for me to survive.

Later, every time I found clues about the Black Death, I knew the timing wasn't right.

Later, I saw you fight your way out of the slums, saw you survive being chased by Clement and covered in blood, saw you practicing shooting in my yard, and I suddenly realized that what I was afraid of was not death, but dying meaninglessly.

Now it makes sense.

Iron Cross Fight Club is one of the things I leave behind in this world.

I enjoy teaching young people.

It wasn't because they were obedient, but because they still had warmth in their bodies.

Nobles, churches, and tycoons—those ancient, decadent, and outdated things—always think they can stay at the top forever.

They are wrong. As long as people are willing to learn boxing, stand up straight, and grit their teeth and stand up when they are bullied, this world will not belong to them forever.

If I die, keep the club running for me.

You don't have to put my name on it, and don't portray me as some kind of hero.

All you need to do is provide those poor children with a place to learn some skills, a place to eat a hot meal, and a place to know that they weren't born to kneel. That's enough.

My mother is still in Tukor town.

He's very old and his eyesight isn't very good, but he's even more stubborn than me.

If you ever pass by there, please tell him for me that his son didn't die in the tavern, nor in bed.

Tell him I died for my ideals.

It sounds cheesy, but he'll understand.

Also, you are in danger right now.

Not in the future, but now.

You have too many secrets. The Black Death Church has its eye on you, Tusol has its eye on you, the armed insurgents want to use you, and sooner or later someone in the upper city will see you.

You're moving too fast, so fast that no one is at ease.

I bought you a ticket to the Sea of ​​Chaos.

It's not necessarily safer than Victoria; in fact, it's more chaotic, dirtier, and less disciplined.

But the path you need is there.

Your spiritual path, the storm raging within you, and your unyielding spirit should not remain trapped in the mire of the lower city.

Let's go.

Don't collect my body.

Don't try to be tough in the city.

And don't give your life to the Black Death Cult for my sake.

If I win, I'll come back and yell at you.

If I don't come back, it means the Crimson Star Spear isn't powerful enough to break through everything in the world.

The person who passed on my spear skills once said that, when spear techniques are mastered to the extreme, even a single point of sharpness can shatter everything.

I've believed it for half my life.

This time, I hope he wasn't lying to me.

Lund.

……

The letter ends here.

Xilun sat at the table, his finger hovering over the last two words.

The sound of rain continued.

But it was as if the air in the room had suddenly disappeared.

Saiwei stood to the side, wanting to speak several times, but in the end he just pushed the ticket a little closer.

"He said before he left, 'If you come back early, you can leave immediately.'"

His voice was very low.

"The arrangements at the docks have been made. A ship will depart for the Chaotic Sea in three days. The name won't be yours, and the documents are ready. You just need to board the ship to leave Saint Laurent."

Xilun did not check the ticket.

He carefully folded the letter page by page and put it back into the envelope.

The movements were slow and steady.

Looking at his profile, Saiwei suddenly felt a sense of unfamiliarity.

The young man neither cried nor got angry, nor did he ask why, nor did he shout that he wanted to save people.

He was too calm.

Calm as a dead man.

"Young Master Xilun."

Savi couldn't help but say, "Didn't you hear me? Lund told you to leave."

Where did he go?

Xilun asked.

Saiwei bit his lip.

"have no idea."

Xilun looked up.

Saiwei gripped the edge of his raincoat tightly.

"I really don't know the exact location. He didn't tell me, because he was afraid I would go looking for you, and also afraid I would follow him."

He paused for a moment, as if finally unable to hold on any longer, and said in a hoarse voice, "But I can guess."

Xilun watched him quietly.

Saiwei turned his face away.

"Wanderers' Camp".

A sudden chill settled over the room.

The water stains on the table froze silently.

Savi said urgently, "Don't go! It's not the same place you saw before. Six days, Siron, he's been gone for six days! Even if you get there now, it might be too late."

Xilun stood up.

He put the boat ticket into his pocket and carefully put away the letter.

Then he picked up the golden spear.

Savi grabbed his sleeve.

"Are you crazy?"

His voice finally snapped, "You're injured like this, you can't even stand! Lund risked his life to let you go, not to send you to your death!"

Xilun looked down at his hands.

Sevilla did not relax.

Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the rain.

"I've already watched him leave."

He choked back tears, "I can't watch you go in too, Young Master Xilun. I'm begging you, go. Only if you live will his death not have been in vain. If you really want to do something, go to the Chaotic Sea, become stronger, and come back later."

Xilun remained silent for a moment.

"after?"

He repeated it softly.

Saiwei was stunned.

Xilun smiled.

The smile was faint and empty.

"From childhood to adulthood, everyone has told me to wait until later."

He said, "My mother told me to be successful, the aristocracy told me to be humble, the fraternity told me to follow the rules, and my teacher told me to come back."

He gently pushed Savi's hand away.

"But for Savi, many people can't wait until later."

Savi's face turned deathly pale.

"Silon!"

Xilun had already reached the door.

Rain and wind blew in, causing the lamp wick on the table to sway slightly.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the rain.

Saiwei chased after him to the door.

"Silon!"

In the rain, the young man's back was slender yet straight.

He wasn't using an umbrella.

The wind made the gray cloak flutter loudly.

Saiwei leaned against the door frame, his voice almost torn apart by the torrential rain.

"You're asking for it!"

Xilun did not answer.

He walked along the southern suburban path and came to the shed where Lund parked his old cars.

It was a black sedan.

The paint was old, one headlight was yellowed and the other was slightly cracked; Lund had bought it at a low price from a bankrupt businessman.

Lund usually doesn't want to drive it, always saying that gasoline is too expensive and that one repair would be enough to feed the club kids for half a month.

Xilun opened the car door and got in.

There was also a faint smell of tobacco inside the car.

There is an old scratch on the steering wheel.

There was half a box of dry, hard biscuits tucked under the passenger seat.

Xilun glanced at it and started the engine.

The car emitted a rough, hoarse roar, like an old man being forcibly dragged awake from his sleep.

Saiwei chased after them to the outside of the courtyard, where his raincoat was blown open by the wind.

He watched the car lights come on, his face a mixture of tears and rain.

The black sedan sped into the rain.

Mud and water splashed.

The wheels rolled over the broken stone road in the southern suburbs, speeding towards the slums.

The night in Victoria was flooded by torrential rain.

The gas lamps swayed in the rain, forming dim, yellowish shadows.

Pedestrians on the street panicked and scrambled to get out of the way. A coachman cursed loudly, but then fell silent when he saw the car speeding past out of control.