Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

A light drizzle fell from the gray sky, and the chill of the early morning seeped in through his collar. Xilun tightened his coarse cloth coat, and his leather boots made a splashing sound as they stepped into the puddles.

With yesterday's establishment of authority, he no longer needed to constantly monitor the order at White Crow Wharf.

Although the woman named Hevil looked like a pretty face, she was more efficient at handling those trivial accounts and personnel allocations than ten Morgans combined.

Xilun was happy to have some free time, so he dumped all the miscellaneous tasks on her, only instructing her to check things out in the afternoon, before heading off to the Iron Cross Fight Club.

When I was a laborer, I would risk my life for a few copper coins; now that I'm a foreman, I can just talk and have plenty of people vying to do the work for me, and I even have time to hone my skills.

As I passed the entrance to a secluded alley, a crowd of people gathered in front of me.

Several police officers in black uniforms were setting up a cordon. The air around them was filled with a nauseating stench of blood, mixed with the putrid smell of sewers, which assaulted the senses.

Xilun stopped and glanced through the gaps in the crowd.

A body lay across the muddy water.

He was a homeless man, dressed in rags, but that didn't matter.

The important thing was his abdomen—where a huge gash had been cut open by a sharp blade, and it was completely empty.

The heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys all vanished without a trace.

"It's the Black Death Cult again..."

Xilun squinted, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the hard gun handle at his waist.

Recently, the frequency of these eviscerated corpses has been increasing, starting with homeless people and then moving to lone drunkards.

Although the Metropolitan Police Department has been cracking down hard, and even the field sergeant Seren leads patrols every day, these rats are like a malignant tumor growing in the shadows of the city, growing back after being cut off, becoming more and more rampant.

Xilun withdrew his gaze, lowered the brim of his hat, and quickened his pace.

It's best to mind your own business. In this world, curiosity kills faster than the plague. Although he now has some ability to protect himself, he's not arrogant enough to think he can get involved with such a bizarre cult.

……

Pushing open the door of the Iron Cross Fighting Club, a wave of heat mixed with the smell of sweat hits you.

That's the smell of burning male hormones.

Although it was morning, there were already quite a few people in the training field.

However, after yesterday's "cleansing" by Instructor Ryan, only the truly skilled veteran students remained, making the atmosphere even more somber and tense than before.

"Hey, Siron! Over here!"

Just as I changed into my training clothes, a familiar voice came over.

Fester was standing in front of the sandbag, drenched in sweat, clearly having been training for quite some time.

His hands were wrapped in thick bandages, and when he saw Xilun approaching, a hint of surprise appeared on his somewhat simple and honest face.

"Why are you so late? This isn't like you."

Fester took the towel handed to him and wiped his face, teasingly saying, "You used to practically live in the club."

"Something came up at the dock, which caused the delay."

Xilun casually offered an explanation, walked to the shelf next to him, picked up two weighted lead weights, strapped them to his legs, and began warming up. "What, didn't you go sparring with that baron today?"

"Don't even mention it."

Fester sighed, plopped down on the floor, and gave a wry smile. "That young master has been grounded for the past few days, so I've been given a break too. But it's good, it's a good opportunity to cram, the knight's assessment of me is getting stricter and stricter."

"Knight's Trial?"

Xilen paused, turned to look at him, and asked, "You've decided to participate in next year's junior knight fighting tournament?"

"Of course, this is the only way out for people like us."

A flicker of fervor flashed in Fester's eyes, followed by a hint of sadness. "But it's too difficult. I haven't even fully mastered breathing techniques yet, let alone grasped the basics of 'Bone-Crushing Fist' like you have. If I don't pass the test, I'll only be able to work as a bodyguard for a caravan or become cannon fodder on the front lines."

"Which knight tested you?" Siren asked.

He remembered that Fester had mentioned that he had been chosen by a knight and was being trained as a squire.

"Silver Lance Knight, Lord Aldous."

When Fester mentioned this name, his tone was full of awe, and he even subconsciously straightened his back. "He is a true powerhouse, a second-tier extraordinary being, a seasoned expert in the 'Tearer' pathway. Even within the entire White Oak District's Knights Order, his spear skills are among the best."

Second-tier extraordinary...

Xilun felt a slight chill run down his spine.

He hasn't even reached the threshold of a first-tier "Baptized One" yet; he has only strengthened his skin and power through breathing techniques.

"Since he's the 'Silver Lance' Knight, is he best skilled with melee weapons?"

Sylvanas cracked her knuckles and asked casually, "In this era, aren't firearms more convenient? Why do those important figures prefer swords and knives?"

This has been a question that has always puzzled him.

"gun?"

Fester scoffed, as if he'd heard a joke. "You mean those smoothbore muskets that are loaded with gunpowder and have terrible accuracy? Or those cumbersome volley guns that only the military carries?"

He pointed to the bulge at Xilun's waist, clearly having already noticed that Xilun was carrying a weapon.

"Siren, you should know that for extraordinary beings, low-level firearms are a joke."

Feist lowered his voice, his expression turning serious. "First-tier Baptists have skin like iron; as long as they're on guard, small-caliber lead bullets simply can't penetrate their muscle layers. But for second-tier 'Rippers,' their reaction speed is astonishingly fast. Within five meters, before you even pull the trigger, your head will already be gone."

Xilun nodded thoughtfully.

Indeed, he had learned this lesson firsthand when he dealt with Morgan.

Morgan was only a novice who had just scratched the surface, but he was still able to make extremely agile evasive maneuvers when faced with life-or-death situations.

If I hadn't launched the sneak attack first and used incense ash powder, the outcome would have been very uncertain.

"What about the revolver steam rifle?" Siren pressed. "I heard that kind of gun is very powerful."

"Of course."

A hint of apprehension flashed in Fester's eyes. "Large caliber, high initial velocity—that's a true weapon of mass destruction. It's said that even third-tier extraordinary beings wouldn't dare to directly confront it. But..."

He shrugged. "That thing is extremely strictly controlled. Only the Royal Guard and special law enforcement teams are qualified to be equipped with it. Even for a knight of Lord Aldous's rank, possessing it privately is a serious crime. Moreover, that thing is too bulky and extremely troublesome to maintain, making it completely unsuitable for solo combat."

At this point, Fester paused, his eyes becoming somewhat fanatical.

"But cold weapons are different."

"The power of extraordinary individuals can be conducted through special metals. A sword infused with 'Black Originium' or 'Mithril' can unleash ten times the destructive force of a bullet in the hands of an extraordinary individual!"

"Lord Aldous's silver spear, with a single thrust, can pierce through thick steel plates and kill a rat behind it. That sharpness, that sense of complete control, is simply incomparable to cold, lifeless machinery."

Fester sighed, his tone full of longing, "If I have the chance, I must minor in a cold weapon technique. Although fists and feet are convenient, their lethality is still three points less than that of swords. Only high-level techniques like 'Bone-Crushing Fist' with penetrating force can barely compete with weapons."

Xilun remained silent, but his mind was racing.

Although firearms have developed rapidly, they still have significant limitations when facing powerful individuals, until breakthroughs are made in materials science and portability.

Unless it's a widespread barrage of fire, melee weapons do have the advantage in one-on-one combat.