Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

In the early morning in Saint Laurent, the sun was shining brightly, but the misty air was still damp and chilly.

Xilun pushed open the dilapidated wooden door, and a cold wind carrying moisture rushed towards him, like a cold file scraping his cheek.

He walked through the street without stopping, and by the time he reached the Iron Cross Fight Club, his face was red from the cold.

The first training room on the left on the second floor.

A thin young man squatted by the door, looking like a wary monkey.

He held a roster in his hand, his eyelids drooping as if he hadn't woken up yet, but when Xilun approached, his cloudy eyes opened instantly, gleaming with sharp light.

"Name." The voice was dry, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.

"Silon".

The skinny monkey lowered his head and flipped through the roster, his fingers scurrying across the pages.

"Found it."

He put a heavy checkmark next to Xilun's name, gestured with his chin towards the depths of the corridor, and said, "Go to the back and get your training clothes, then change in the bathroom. Hurry up, Mr. Renn doesn't like waiting."

Xilun nodded, said nothing more, and turned to walk towards the locker room.

The locker room was filled with a smell that was a mixture of leather, sweat, and cheap soap.

The person in charge of distributing the clothes was a one-eyed old man who casually tossed a set of black clothes to Xilun.

"Men wear black shorts, women wear white trousers. They buy new ones when they wear out, two shillings a set."

Xilun took the clothes; they were cool and smooth to the touch. They weren't the coarse linen he was used to wearing at the docks, but a cotton-linen blend with excellent breathability.

After changing his clothes, he looked at himself in the dressing mirror.

The black shorts clung tightly to his body, outlining his fairly solid muscle lines. Every muscle seemed designed to generate power, full of explosive tension.

Perhaps due to malnutrition, Xilun was fairly fit and tall, but his face had a sickly pale complexion.

The young man in the mirror had a calm gaze and a pale face.

Pushing open the door to the training room, a wave of heat hits you.

There were already about thirty people sitting in the spacious room.

Just as the one-eyed old man said, the lines are clearly drawn.

The male trainees, all dressed in black short-sleeved shirts, sat cross-legged on the left; the female trainees, wearing white tight-fitting trousers and fitted training clothes, gathered on the right.

Xilun surveyed the entire arena without making a sound.

There's a subtle sense of class in the air here.

Near the front sat several fair-skinned, arrogant young men. Although they were all wearing the same training clothes, the gold watches on their wrists and the silk lanyards around their necks clearly indicated their privileged family backgrounds.

They spoke in hushed tones, their laughter carrying a subtle air of superiority.

In the back rows and corners were lower-class strugglers like Xilun, with rough skin and swollen knuckles.

Most of them were taciturn, their eyes revealing restraint and longing.

Xilun didn't join the crowd; instead, he went straight to the last row, to the corner by the window, and sat down cross-legged.

Outside the window stands a tall plane tree, its withered yellow leaves trembling in the wind.

Just then, a commotion arose at the door.

A young man walked in.

He was probably in his early twenties, with an almost otherworldly handsome face and meticulously styled short, golden hair.

Even in that somewhat plain black training uniform, his streamlined muscles and innate confidence were still undeniable.

"It's Master Robert."

"I heard he's been practicing fencing in the South District for several years, and he came here specifically to see Mr. Ryan."

The girls in the front row whispered among themselves, their eyes fixed on the man as if drawn by a magnet.

Robert smiled and nodded to everyone, his smile warm and appropriate.

He walked straight to the center of the first row and sat down, and the people around him immediately made way for him.

In contrast, when Xilun came in, he was like a drop of water merging into the ocean; apart from the skinny guy who was in charge of taking attendance, no one gave him a second glance.

Someone as inconspicuous as him would be easily forgotten in a crowd.

……

The clock hands pointed to eight o'clock.

"Da, da, da."

The steady, powerful sound of leather shoes echoed down the corridor, each step seeming to pound on everyone's heartbeat.

The noise in the training room vanished instantly, becoming so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The door was pushed open.

A man walked in.

He looked to be in his mid-thirties, wearing a well-tailored dark gray striped suit over a crisp white shirt, with a dark red bow tie at the collar.

His hair was combed back and slicked back, revealing a face with a sharp, resolute profile.

He didn't change into his training clothes.

But this gentlemanly attire gives off an extremely dangerous and oppressive feeling.

Like a Tyrannosaurus Rex dressed in a suit—elegant, yet deadly.

He walked onto the podium, his gaze sharp as lightning, and slowly scanned the entire audience.

Those whose gaze swept over him felt their scalps tingle, as if they were being stared at by some ferocious beast.

"It seems we've made a few more new friends."

The man spoke, his voice deep and resonant, with a metallic quality.

"Let me introduce myself, I'm Ryan."

He paused slightly, a half-smile playing on his lips.

"Second-tier Extraordinary - Ripper".

boom!

Although everyone had done their research beforehand, hearing the words "second-tier extraordinary individual" still caused an uncontrollable stir among the crowd.

In this Victorian world, the extraordinary are synonymous with power and authority.

First-order baptized beings are already superhuman in the eyes of ordinary people; even if shot at close range, they are not easy to die.

The second-tier Ripper's body was already indistinguishable from steel; Morgan's percussion smoothbore pistol couldn't even allow the bullets fired to pierce the flesh of a second-tier extraordinary being.

Xilun sat in the corner, his pupils slightly contracted.

This is the power he has always dreamed of.

Raine raised his hand and pressed his palm down.

The commotion subsided instantly.

"Today's lesson will still focus on breathing techniques."

Ryan placed his hands on the podium, leaning slightly forward, like a cheetah poised to pounce.

"In Victoria, an ordinary person who wants to step through the door to the extraordinary must possess two abilities."

He held up two fingers.

"First, combat skills, that is, the ability to strike and fight, can also hone one's physique."

"Secondly, breathing techniques, methods for guiding the sensation of Qi, and refining one's Qi strength."

Ryan's voice echoed in the empty training room, every word clearly penetrating everyone's ears.

"Many people ask me, what's the difference between fighting and breathing?"

"Let me tell you, martial arts trains your skin, muscles, and bones. Even if you train to the extreme, you're still just a strong mortal. A gunshot can take your life."

"And breathing techniques..."

Renn took a deep breath, his chest bulging, and then slowly exhaled.

"It trains 'qi' (vital energy)."

"Strength is a great force that originates from flesh and blood, yet transcends flesh and blood. It descends upon Victoria from the heavens, formless and intangible, yet omnipresent."

"Only by using a special breathing frequency, combined with specific muscle rhythms, to guide this power into the body and cultivate the first wisp of Qi within the body, can you truly grasp the Qi sensation and enter the realm of breathing techniques."