Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

"What? You can't bear to part with it?"

Irma smiled, drew a dagger from his waist, and tossed it in his hand. "Want me to help you?"

Just then.

Xiren, who had been sitting in the shadows, slowly stood up.

The chair made a soft creak as it scraped across the floor.

"Irmagus, right?"

Xiren's voice was as calm as a stagnant pool. He picked up the glass of rye on the table, took a sip, and the spicy liquid slid down his throat, bringing a burning sensation.

"I've been busy all day, I'm quite tired."

Siren put down his glass, looking directly at Irma. "You have some issues with Kanavi. But could you do me the honor of speaking to him for a bit, until we finish this drink?"

Irma turned his head and his gaze fell on Xiren.

His nose wrinkled, and his pupils contracted slightly, revealing a ferocious, beast-like look.

He didn't know the young man.

But this kid's eyes... are too indifferent.

That indifference wasn't feigned; it was a primal, indifferent disregard. Like…like the way those high-achieving geniuses in the club looked at ants on the ground back then.

That look instantly pierced the most sensitive nerve in Irma's heart.

"Giving you face?"

Irma laughed, a somewhat neurotic laugh. "Who do you think you are? You think you're worthy of my respect?"

He stepped forward, the dagger in his hand almost touching Xiren's nose. "Kid, you're this trash's classmate? Want to stick your neck out? Fine, you'd better get lost now, or I don't mind breaking a few more bones to make a perfect pair!"

Xilun did not retreat, nor did he even blink.

There were seven people in total.

Irma, along with his two henchmen behind him, and the four thugs at the bar.

The two henchmen had bulging waists, which meant they were probably carrying old-fashioned flintlock pistols or homemade short guns.

As for Erma...

Xiren's gaze swept over Erma's hands and posture.

There are calluses on the tiger's mouth, but those are from holding a knife. The knuckles are not thick, indicating that the boxing skills have been neglected for a long time.

His steps were unsteady and his center of gravity was unstable, clearly indicating that he had been weakened by alcohol and sex.

His breathing was rapid and disordered, showing no signs of having practiced advanced breathing techniques.

He probably reached the level of just beginning to develop a sense of qi at the club, which is what is known as "quasi-apprentice". But in the past four or five years, he has probably wasted his time and can't even unleash half of his original strength.

This kind of stuff...

Xilun shook his head inwardly.

"Let me say one more thing to Kanavi."

Ignoring Erma's threat, Siren turned sideways and moved closer to Kanavi.

He gently patted Kanavi's shoulder, leaned close to his ear, and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Cooperate with me."

Kanavi was taken aback, his body tensing.

next moment.

He felt something cold and hard slide down Xilun's cuff and into his own sleeve.

That's... a gun!

A heavy "pepperbox" pistol!

Kanavi's pupils contracted sharply, and his heart pounded.

"Walk."

"Silen commanded in a low voice."

After saying that, Xiren turned around, put his hands in his pockets, didn't even glance at Irma, and walked straight towards the bar entrance.

"That's right."

Seeing Xilun "back down" and leave, Erma's eyelids twitched, and then he let out a sneer.

He looked at Xilun's somewhat thin back, and the wariness in his eyes disappeared, replaced by an even stronger contempt.

"Looks like he's just a good-for-nothing who only knows how to put on a show."

Irma turned to Kanavi and sneered, "Next time you want to spend money on a fair-skinned, unsophisticated little boy, go find one in the slums."

The thugs in the bar burst into laughter.

Xilun paused at the bar entrance.

By this time, the few patrons in the bar had already fled in fright because of Irma and his gang's intrusion.

Besides Irma's crew, all that was left was the old bartender behind the bar who was wiping glasses with his head down.

The old man didn't dare to lift his head, wishing he could shrink under the bar, for fear of angering these menacing figures.

Xilun stood at the door.

The wind outside was cold, making his clothes flutter loudly.

He reached out and grasped the heavy oak doorknob.

"Click".

The door was closed.

Followed by.

"Click."

A crisp metallic clang rang out.

That was the sound of the door being locked from the inside.

The boisterous laughter in the bar abruptly stopped.

Irma's smile froze.

He slowly turned around and looked at the young man who should have fled in panic.

Xilun leaned against the closed door, the dim light casting a deep shadow on his profile.

He slowly unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves little by little, revealing his well-defined, powerful forearm muscles.

This is based on Xilun's experience from many fights: if you don't want your clothes to get damaged, it's better to take them off before a fight.

There's an old saying from my hometown.

Xilun raised his head, his dark eyes devoid of any emotion, indifferent and lifeless.

He looked at Irma, his expression unchanged.

"Without knowledge of propriety, one cannot stand."

......

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

The next second, tranquility was shattered by violence.

The moment Xilun's fingers gripped the edge of the heavy oak table, the muscles in his arms bulged out like tightly wound steel cables.

"rise!"

A low shout.

He lifted the solid wood table, which weighed over twenty kilograms, with one hand, and with a whistling sound, it slammed down on the group at Erma's table like a giant shield.

boom!boom!

Two gunshots rang out almost simultaneously.

Sparks flew everywhere, and wood chips flew all over the place.

Two lead bullets pierced the tabletop, but failed to penetrate the thick oak wood.

"Damn it! Kill him!"

Irma's furious roar echoed through the bar.

He clearly hadn't expected that in this Dragon Bar, which belonged to the Razor Gang's territory, someone would actually dare to make the first move.

Unless you're a Tier 1 Extraordinary, facing two muskets and a group of knife-wielding thugs is suicide.

But Siren wasn't courting death.

He came to kill someone.

The long table crashed down, pinning a henchman who couldn't react in time underneath. The cracking sound of bones breaking, mixed with screams, sent chills down everyone's spine.

In the chaos, a dark figure darted out like a cheetah.

Xilen charged toward the gun barrel, grabbed an unopened bottle of rye liquor from the table, flicked his wrist, and sent the bottle flying through the air before exploding with a "crack" in the face of a gunman.

Glass shards mixed with alcohol pierced the man's eye.

"ah--!"

The gunman screamed in agony, clutching his face, and dropped the pistol from his hand.

At the same time, Xilun rolled on the spot, avoiding a bullet fired from the other side.

The bullet struck the floor, sending up a spray of splinters.

The distance has been shortened.

ten meters.

Seven meters.

Xilun leaped up from the ground, his right leg whipping across the man's neck with a sharp whistling sound.

Click.

A sickening cracking sound of a broken neck rang out.

The man didn't even utter a sound before his body went limp like mud.

At this moment, what Xilun displayed was "expert-level" fighting skills honed through countless trials.

Cold, precise, without any unnecessary movements.

"Charge! All of you, charge! Kill him!"

As Irma watched two of his men fall instantly, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes. He retreated while drawing a gleaming silver dagger from his waist.

Those were blades infused with mithril, specifically designed to pierce skin membranes.

The remaining three thugs roared and pounced, their knives flashing wildly.

Xilun remained expressionless, his right hand sweeping across the outside of his calf, revealing the sharp, rusty dagger already in his grasp.

He stepped to the side, avoiding a machete.

The short knife was used to tease.

puff.

The sound of a sharp blade cutting into flesh was dull yet clear.

A thug clutched his bleeding throat, his eyes wide as he collapsed.

Without pausing, Xilun reached out with his left hand, precisely grabbed the other person's wrist, and twisted it forcefully.

Click.

The wrist was broken, the broken bone piercing the skin, its white surface exposed.

Just as the man was about to scream, Xilun's knee slammed heavily into his chest, forcing all the sound back into his stomach.

Just then.

boom!

A gunshot rang out, exploding at a distance that was neither too close nor too far.

Xilun suddenly stopped.

He felt as if his abdomen had been hit hard by a sledgehammer, and a burning pain instantly spread.

He got shot!