Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 80 Establishing Authority, Explaining the Key Techniques of Claw Kung Fu

In the restaurant on the first floor of the Golden Rooster Hotel, the coals in the fireplace crackled and popped.

Xilun sat in the corner with his plate, mixed the oatmeal and bacon together with his fork, and scooped a spoonful into his mouth.

The salty and savory flavor, mixed with the coarse texture of grains, slid warmly into my stomach.

Cheap and filling.

Behind the bar, the hotel owner, Morrie, was bragging to a sailor, his voice so loud that the whole floor could hear him.

Morrie was in his early forties, his face lined with wrinkles deeper than the Greywater River channel, and his eyes were cloudy yet shrewd.

His romantic tales could fill the Thames—from red-skirted girls in dockside pubs to pearl necklaces lost by upper-town ladies, each one told with vivid detail.

Whether it's true or false doesn't matter, as long as the customer likes to hear it.

Here in Morrie, a bowl of oatmeal with bacon costs only four pence.

It was Fester who told him this. That guy thought the food in the dormitory was like pig swill, so he dragged him here to try it. From then on, Xilun developed the habit of eating breakfast here.

With the plate empty, Xilun wiped his mouth, stood up, and walked out.

As he passed through the porch, his right hand unconsciously touched the cold grip of a pepper pistol on his lower back, which was pressing against his lumbar vertebrae.

Without a gun license, carrying a gun on your person is like carrying a bomb that could explode at any moment.

If you are stopped and searched by the Metropolitan Police Department's field patrols, you may be fined and imprisoned at best, or even detained for several days at worst.

We need to find a way to get one.

As Xilun pushed open the hotel door, a gust of cold wind rushed towards him.

There were few pedestrians on the street, and occasionally a few horse-drawn carriages rolled over the wet, slippery cobblestones.

Three or five gentlemen walked past from the opposite side, all wearing top hats, black tailcoats, brass-plated canes, and shiny leather shoes.

The standard attire of the upper class in Chongqing.

Polite and meticulous.

Xilun glanced at it, showing little interest.

This outfit may look good, but if something really happens, you won't be able to run away properly.

The tailcoat was pulled under the armpits, the top-collared hat blocked the view, and the cane was at most used as a stick.

He prefers to wear training clothes or tight-fitting shorts.

The cuffs are fitted so they don't get in the way, and the hem is neat so it won't trip you up.

When it comes to actually doing it, not a single inch of fabric can be a burden.

They checked the names, assigned tasks, and left the dock.

It took Celen twenty minutes to walk to the Iron Cross Fight Club.

The receptionist recognized his contracted fighter badge and nodded to let him through.

Xilun went straight up to the third floor.

At the end of the corridor was an open hall, with a parchment pasted on the door that read in ink, "Dorok Dark Claw Technique - Professor Mentor: Hughes."

Xilun pushed open the door and went in.

The hall was much more spacious than the training room. On the left side, against the wall, stood a row of waist-high wooden stakes, and on the right side, several rows of benches were arranged.

There were already about ten people sitting in the chairs, talking in hushed tones or waiting in silence.

Xilun chose a corner seat by the window.

Next to him was a young man with fair skin and deep-set features, who looked like he was of mixed race.

The other person glanced at Xilun, nodded slightly, and said nothing.

Xilun nodded in response.

After waiting for a few minutes, footsteps were heard at the door.

Everyone's eyes turned to that direction at the same time.

A young man walked in.

He had sword-like eyebrows, starry eyes, and facial features so sharp they looked as if they had been carved with a knife.

He was wearing a dark gray, tight-fitting training uniform with embroidered patterns on the cuffs and collar, and a black leather belt around his waist.

She looks to be in her mid-twenties.

He stood at the doorway, exuding an imposing aura without being angry.

Xilun frowned slightly. So young, and already a mentor?

Some people around them subconsciously started talking about it, feeling a little uneasy about their instructor, who looked to be only in his twenties.

The young man scanned everyone present, his face cold and indifferent. He spoke softly, but every word was clearly audible.

"Just call me mentor."

"Over the next eight weeks, I will teach you claw fighting techniques."

There were no pleasantries, no self-introductions, and they were even given their names on a parchment posted on the door.

Hughes.

The hall was silent for two seconds, then people began to whisper among themselves.

He ignored it, turned around and walked to the row of wooden stakes on the left, reaching out to pat the nearest one.

"This is a stump of a wire tree."

His voice was flat and straightforward.

"The Iron Wire Magnolia is a tree that grows in the tundra of the North, and its wood fibers are extremely dense. Even a first-tier extraordinary being would need to exert all their strength to destroy it easily."

As he spoke, Hughes raised his right hand, spread his fingers, and placed his palm on the surface of the wooden stake.

His hands were very fair, with distinct knuckles and long, slender fingers, like hands meant for playing the piano.

Apply a little force...

"Click!"

A thin crack appeared on the surface of the wooden stake.

The cracks started below his palm and slowly spread to both sides, like the cracks on a dried-up riverbed.

At the same time, a faint sheen appeared on the surface of Hughes's fair hands.

Dark gold!

It was as if something seeped out from under the skin, spreading along the joints and between the fingers, wrapping the entire hand like a dark gold iron glove.

next moment.

boom!

The cracks on the wooden stake suddenly widened, and the entire ironwood stump, as thick as a fist, shattered in the middle, sending wood fragments flying two steps away.

A collective gasp filled the hall.

It would be one thing if he crushed it with all his might, but Hughes only used one hand from beginning to end, and his expression didn't even change much.

It was like crushing a dry twig.

Xilun leaned back in his chair, lost in thought.

"It's the same routine as the first lesson with Instructor Ryan."

He recalled that when Raine first taught his class, he also demonstrated the power of a second-tier extraordinary being in front of all the students—releasing his strength and tearing off several meters of branches outside the window.

Show off your muscles!

Establish authority!

Every mentor has their own opening remarks, but the purpose is the same: to let the people below know what level of being is standing in front of them.

Ashes withdrew his hand, the dark golden luster faded from his fingertips, and his hands returned to their original white appearance.

"The Dark Claw Technique of Dorok originated from the battles between extraordinary beings and other species."

He turned around to face the crowd.

"In the northern and eastern wilderness, bear-like creatures are the most common high-risk targets. Their claws are extremely domineering and sharp, and even the strength defense of extraordinary individuals can only provide slight protection."

"Some exceptionally gifted individuals utilize a special way of circulating their energy, combined with external aids, to target and strengthen their hands—changing bone density, thickening the skin on their palms, and even mimicking the claw striking structure of bears."

Hughes spoke slowly, but each word was clear.

"The person who created this claw technique is named Dorok. His model is the Dark Gold Subel Bear."

Dark Gold Subel Bear!

Xilun's mind tightened slightly.

Just a few days ago, he personally killed a Dark Gold Subel Bear in the cave behind White Raven Wharf.

Before the bear died, a thin black line, as fine as a hair, rose from its corpse and burrowed into its chest.

Corruption Claws.

Hughes continued.

"Master Dorok spent twenty years refining this claw technique. Its core lies not in brute force, but in the penetration of energy along the metacarpal bones. Ordinary boxing techniques generate force from the outside in, while the hidden claw technique tears the bone outward."

"After mastering the skill, you can tear through iron armor and shatter rocks with your bare hands."

The mixed-race young man next to him leaned forward, his eyes shining.

Xilun didn't move; he lowered his head and looked at his hands.

My palms are slightly itchy.

It's not an itch on the skin, it's an itch deep within the bones.

Something seemed to be lurking deep within the finger bones, sensing the familiar aura in Hughes's words, and was stirring restlessly.

Tiny bumps are slowly emerging beneath the skin of the palm.

Meat paws.

Xilun clenched his fist.

Knuckles turned white, fingernails dug into palms.

That restless force was gently suppressed.

The palm is now flat again.

He loosened his grip, squeezed his fingers, and his knuckles made a slight clicking sound.

"The claw-type talent of the Dark Gold Subel Bear is already ingrained in my bones."

"How will my progress be in practicing this claw technique?"

Hughes walked back to the front, his hands behind his back.

"Starting from the next lesson, I will teach the basic hand shapes and power generation path of the Hidden Claw Kung Fu one by one. Just letting you know in advance."

He glanced at everyone present, his gaze icy.

"This skill is extremely difficult to learn. Among all the students in the past, no more than 30% can even get to the basics within eight weeks. Most people only learn the superficial aspects by the end, and can't even change the color of their palms."

"But what if some of you have an innate, intuitive understanding of how clawed animals exert their strength?"

Hughes paused for a moment.

"That would make the process much faster."

A sliver of grayish-white light shone through the window and landed on the back of Xilun's hand.

He lowered his eyes, and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly.

Hughes opened the parchment register and glanced at the students present.

"Based on training duration and basic skills, students are divided into pairs for sparring."

"Group one, Mogel, Seti."

The two burly trainees exchanged a glance and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Group Two —"

As he read out the names, Hughes walked down from the podium and strolled slowly along the aisle between the seats.

Group 3, Group 4.

Irving was assigned to the fourth group and paired with a burly man with red hair.

Xiren remembered this location.

The names were listed in groups, and Hughes's footsteps drew ever closer. Group 5, Group 6, Group 7, Group 8, "Group 9."

Hughes stopped.

"Silon, Faron."

Xilun raised his head slightly, and the mixed-race man with deep-set features beside him turned his face at the same time.

The two looked at each other for a moment and then nodded.

Hughes stood in front of them, closed the register, and sized up the two men for a few seconds.

"You two have only been training for eight weeks."

His tone was neither contemptuous, nor cold, nor indifferent; it seemed devoid of any emotion.

"If you are weak and inexperienced, you must control your strength when practicing combat techniques to avoid injuring yourself."

"Sparring isn't a competition; it's for getting a feel for the game."

Xilun nodded without saying anything.

Fallon responded softly, "Understood."

Hughes said no more, turned around and walked back to the front, and began to explain the first key point of Dark Claw Technique.

For the next week, Hughes taught only a portion of the material each day.

How to position your hand, where the force of the metacarpal bones originates, which meridians it passes through, and how it ultimately converges at the fingertips—every step is explained in detail and demonstrated repeatedly.

Xilun listened very attentively.

While others were practicing, he sat motionless in the corner, his eyes closed, repeatedly pondering every word that Hughes had said, and going over the entire power exertion path in his mind again and again.

He didn't rush to get started.

Because Hughes only tells a part of the story each day, and only on the last day does he string together the complete secret.

Before that, any attempt to start beforehand is just futile practice.

Fallon was more enthusiastic than him, practicing in front of the wooden stakes until late every day after class.

Xilun neither comments nor imitates.

He has his own rhythm.

Week 2.

Hughes stood in the center of the hall, with a row of Northern Ironwire stakes behind him.

"The Dorok Dark Claw Technique is divided into three levels."

He raised his right hand, palm facing up, fingers slightly bent.

"The first level is to practice the form, to channel energy into the palm and condense it into a claw shape, and to be able to use the basic hand shape and the key points of power generation freely—this is considered to have entered the door."

A thin layer of dark golden luster appeared on my palm.

"Second level, skin training."

The sheen deepened and spread across the entire arm, with hardened textures faintly visible on the skin's surface.

"With the skin and bones tempered to perfection, and claws as hard as iron, even ordinary weapons cannot leave deep wounds on the hands at this stage."

Hughes withdrew the luster from his arm, his voice becoming low and somber.

"The third level: Bone Training."

"His strength is condensed into a solid substance, and his hand bones, skin, and flesh are all covered with claw-like energy. They are thick, hard, and solid, and when he strikes, it is like a real bear's paw falling."

"even-"

He made a grasping motion in the air.

A blurry, dark golden aura entered and exited from the fingertip, swept across half the hall, and blasted a shallow crater in the opposite wall.

"It can unleash claw waves that can detach from the body and injure people."

The audience was silent.

Hughes withdrew his hand, his expression as indifferent as if he had just done something trivial.

"When you reach this level, your destructive power surpasses that of most combat techniques."

"But to be honest..."

He glanced around the room.

"Of everyone here, I don't expect more than 30% to even reach the basics of 'physical training' within eight weeks."

In the corner, Xilun's right hand rested on his knee, his knuckles slightly curling together.

Deep in his palm, that familiar warmth surged up again.

He didn't move.

Hughes's voice continued: "The explanations have been going on for a week, and you've all practiced quite a bit on your own."

"Now show the progress."

"Start with the first group, go to the wooden stakes."

Mogel was the first to stand up.

He walked up to the wooden stake, took a deep breath, and channeled his energy into his palms, bending his fingers into a claw shape, striking a very proper pose.

A claw was swung out.

A muffled thud.

The wooden stake wobbled, leaving five shallow white claw marks on its surface.

It was on a completely different level from Hughes's demonstration, but for an unbaptized student, being able to leave a mark on the stake was already quite good.

Hughes offered no comment, waving to signal the next group.

The second group went up, and their skill level was about the same.

The third group was slightly worse; the claw marks were a fraction shallower, and the hand shape fell apart the moment it hit the wooden stake, with no follow-through force.

Group 4.

Irving walked up to the wooden stake.

Xilun raised his eyes.

Irving's claw shape was more standard than the previous groups, and the rotation of his scapula when exerting force was also quite smooth.

With one swipe, five clear scratches were left on the surface of the wooden stake, with wood chips rising slightly from the edges.

It is quite satisfactory.

Hughes nodded without saying anything more.

Irving looked rather grim when he returned to his seat, probably feeling he should have performed better.

Xilun looked away.

He stopped looking at it.

Place your hands flat on your knees, close your eyes, and begin to try to circulate the complete Dark Claw Technique within your body.

This was the first time he had connected everything that Hughes had taught him over the past week, from the initial mobilization of strength, to the flow of energy between the metacarpal bones, and finally to the claw-shaped condensation at the fingertips—a complete path.

His strength flowed along the familiar meridians to his palm.

The metacarpal bones feel hot.

Then it started to itch!

A very subtle itch that seeps out from between the skin and flesh.

It wasn't just an ordinary itch; it felt more like something deep within the bones was being awakened, slowly pushing outwards.

Xilun opened his eyes and looked down at his palm.

There are no abnormalities on the skin surface.

But deep within the finger joints, the wriggling sensation became increasingly clear.

"What's wrong?"

Fallon's voice came from the side, tinged with concern.

Xilun shook his head.

"fine."