Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 90 Night Raid, Trivial Daily Life, Robert's Baptism

A stray cat arched its back on the roof beam, its raised tail swaying in the moonlight.

Xilun did not look at the cat.

He stared into the depths of the alley.

The next instant, a dark figure pounced from the front, holding a broad-bladed short knife, the blade reflecting a faint light, and slashed towards his neck.

Xilun took a step back, leaning back two paces, the blade whizzing past his chin.

fast!

This man was very confident in his knife.

Without pausing after missing his target, he let out a cold snort, reversed his blade's momentum, changing from a chop to a slash, and delivered three consecutive blows, each more ferocious than the last.

The knife skills weren't exactly exquisite, but they were fierce and decisive, like chopping wood with a woodcutter's axe, each move aimed at vital points.

Xilun is not worried.

He didn't take the blow head-on; instead, he took three steps back to avoid the attack while listening.

The man's breathing was rapid but rhythmic.

He possesses breathing techniques; he's no ordinary thug.

Seeing that his three consecutive slashes had missed, the opponent paused in his tracks.

This is the meal that Xilun has been waiting for.

He raised his hand and cut in from the side, slapping the blade with his left hand and squeezing it with his right.

Click.

The broad-bladed dagger broke in two, and the broken pieces of iron clattered and fell onto the stone floor.

Xilun kicked out, hitting him squarely in the chest.

The man groaned, flew backward, slammed his back against the wall, and slid down to sit.

He clutched his chest, gasped for breath, and gritted his teeth, shouting, "He's a tough one!"

"Attack together!"

Deep in the alley, two figures approached simultaneously.

One was short and fat, carrying an iron rod; the other was tall and thin, carrying a harpoon.

Their movements were swift and ruthless, blocking the retreat route from both the left and right.

If it were an ordinary person, they would probably have panicked by now.

Xilun remained completely unperturbed.

He slightly bent his hands, his five fingers curled into a claw shape.

On the left, a tall, thin man comes wielding a harpoon.

Siren turned sideways, braced his left paw against the fork bar, and with a quick push, pressed his body against it.

He bumped into me!

Knee hitting chin.

The dull thud of bones hitting bones.

The tall, thin man tilted his head back, and Xilun's right hand was already gripping his throat.

With all five fingers tucked in.

The tall, thin man rolled his eyes and collapsed.

The short, fat man on the right seized the opportunity to grab the stick and smash it down, the iron rod hitting Xilun on the left shoulder.

Bang!

Xilun raised his arm to block, and the iron rod bounced off.

The stick visibly bent into an arc.

The short, fat man's arm went numb, his thumb cracked from the shock, and he stood there stunned.

Xilun slowly turned his head, his right hand sliding down the iron bar to grab the short, fat man's wrist.

One pinch.

Twist it!

My wrist and the rest of my arm were twisted.

The crisp sound of bones breaking echoed through the alley.

The short, fat man screamed in agony.

Xilun grabbed his arm and swung him around, sending him crashing into the wall. His head hit the brick, and he passed out.

The swordsman who was kicked down first finally got scared. He stared incredulously at the two men who had been knocked down, and finally felt fear!

He shakily pulled a short-barreled pistol from his pocket.

The original plan was for the three of them to work together to take out the target; firing a gun would be too noisy and unnecessary.

Now-

He wanted to shoot immediately.

The gun barrel wobbled twice before the trigger was pulled.

boom!

Xilun looked up, frowned, and glanced at the short, fat man lying unconscious on the ground.

In an instant, he grabbed the unconscious, short, fat man from the ground and held him in front of him.

The bullet pierced the fat man's back, splattering a cloud of blood.

Xilun lifted the fat man forward.

boom!

Another shot.

The bullet struck the fat man again, and he was already dead.

Xilun threw the corpse at him.

The swordsman staggered backward from the impact, and before he could regain his footing, a hand had already grabbed the gun in his hand.

The iron-barreled pistol creaked in Xilun's palm, crushed into scrap metal.

The shards clattered and fell to the ground.

Xiren grabbed his chin with one hand and slammed him against the wall.

He stared coldly at the person in front of him, his eyebrows raised, his voice stern: "You've angered me!"

He pinched the other person's head with his five fingers, which glowed with a dark gold color, and gently applied force.

Five bloody gashes ran from his chin down to his cheek.

The swordsman screamed in agony as five bloody holes appeared on his face, his eyes wide open, and he breathed his last.

Before they could even beg for mercy, their faces filled with terror, they froze completely.

Xilun let go, and the body slid down the wall.

Three corpses in the alley.

The tall, thin man's throat was crushed, and he died on the spot.

The short, fat man was only unconscious, but after being used as a shield to block two shots, he died completely.

The swordsman died last.

Xilun stared blankly for a moment, then looked away and prepared to leave.

呜—

In the distance, the sound of sirens grew louder as they approached.

Xilun was startled and turned his head to look.

At the alley entrance, a black and white police car stopped, the door opened, and two uniformed police officers jumped out.

The beam of the flashlight swept across, illuminating the bloodstains and corpses scattered on the ground.

The two policemen's expressions changed, and they simultaneously drew their service pistols.

"Hey, you in front!"

"Put down your weapons immediately!"

Xilun pursed his lips.

He looked down at his hand—he was still clutching half an iron rod.

He gently placed the iron rod on the ground, straightened up, and slowly raised his hands above his head.

The blinding black and white searchlight shone directly on my face.

Xiren sat on the cold iron chair.

His wrists were fastened with heavy steel shackles, the chains scraping against the edge of the table with a harsh metallic scraping sound.

This was his first time entering the Metropolitan Police Department.

The experience was terrible.

The bright light made his eyes sting, and halos appeared around the edges of his vision. His head throbbed with pain.

Two uniformed police officers sat across the table.

The man on the left was holding a white porcelain teacup with a police emblem on it, slowly blowing away the foam on the surface of the water and slurping it down.

The one on the right has his legs crossed, and the tips of his leather shoes are tapping under the table.

He was twirling a fountain pen in his hand.

He kept muttering to himself.

"Three lives, do you know what that means?"

"How dare you, a dockworker, commit murder in the street?"

"Don't stay silent, or we'll have to write the worst-case scenario."

Xilun didn't respond.

The black and white light tube flickered again, shining on his face and causing him to furrow his brow slightly.

He has already recounted what happened.

After listening, the other party neither took notes nor responded, simply leaving him hanging.

The middle-aged police officer, who had been sitting, finally looked up, picked up his teacup, blew on it, and slowly took a sip.

"Kid, your statement is full of holes."

"Three people who practiced breathing techniques and were armed, and you took them all down by yourself?"

He put down his teacup and chuckled.

"Do you think we're fools?"

Xilun looked at him without explaining.

He couldn't be bothered to explain.

These two have been like this ever since he was brought in, one playing the good cop and the other the bad cop, but both faces show the same thing—they don't want to deal with it seriously.

I don't know if there's some real conspiracy or if it's just bureaucratic posturing.

The young officer started nagging again: "Please cooperate a little, so we can get off work earlier."

"Do you have some kind of enemy? Or do you owe someone a debt? Explain yourself clearly so we can help you."

When he uttered the word "help," Xilun almost laughed.

He lowered his head, staring at the mottled rust on the iron shackles, his head throbbing with pain from the glare of the overhead light.

These two won't let him go, at least not so easily.

The door was pushed open.

A young police officer in a gray uniform leaned halfway in, glanced around the room, and said, "Chief Seren wants to see this person."

The room was silent for two seconds.

The middle-aged police officer paused, his hand holding the teacup still.

The young police officer finally shut his mouth.

The two exchanged a glance, their eyes then falling on Xilun.

"Do you know Sheriff Ciarán?"

Xilun didn't speak, but stood up, the shackles clanging against the iron rings.

He followed the person out of the room, through a dimly lit corridor, around two corners, and stopped in front of another office.

The door was open.

The lighting inside is much softer.

Cielen sat behind his desk with a document spread out in front of him. He looked up, saw Cielen, and pointed to the chair opposite him.

"sit."

Xilun sat down.

Ciarán got up, walked over to him, bent down, took out his key, and clicked twice to unlock the shackles.

The thick iron fell off his wrist, revealing two light red marks.

Xilun flexed his wrists.

Seren leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked him up and down.

"You're quite something."

"Three men who had practiced breathing techniques and were armed were easily dealt with by you."

Xilun nodded.

Thanks.

Seren smiled and waved his hand.

"It's nothing."

He paused.

"Is there anything else?"

Xilun shook his head: "That's all. If possible, I'd like to go back as soon as possible."

"Just sign something and you can leave."

Cielen called over the clerk, Cielen signed his name, and got up to walk towards the door.

As they reached the door, Seren said something behind him.

"The Metropolitan Police Department has nothing to do with justice. Next time you commit a crime, give me a heads-up first. Don't expect them to find out the truth and clear your name."

Xilun didn't turn around, but raised his hand in response.

After he left, the smile on Cielen's face vanished.

He got up and walked at a moderate pace to the door of the interrogation room he had just been in.

The door wasn't closed.

Two police officers were tidying up the table inside; the middle-aged one was organizing the statements, while the younger one was holding a cup of red tea.

Seren pushed open the door and went in.

The two looked up and saw Cielen's expression; their movements froze simultaneously.

"Sheriff Seren—"

Seren closed the door and locked it behind her.

The air in the room instantly smelled different.

The middle-aged police officer put down his pen and forced a smile.

"Sheriff, we were just about to get that kid..."

"Shut up."

Ciarán's voice wasn't loud, but the middle-aged police officer immediately shut his mouth.

The young police officer's tea cup wobbled, spilling tea onto his uniform cuff, which he dared not wipe away.

Cielen walked to the table, placed his hands on the surface, leaned down, and scanned the two people's faces back and forth.

"I don't want to say it a second time, you two."

"That person just now was my friend."

The middle-aged police officer's Adam's apple bobbed.

Seren straightened up and gave a cold laugh.

"If I find out that you still have the same attitude when he comes next time—"

He paused, patted the middle-aged police officer on the shoulder, the force neither too light nor too heavy.

"With your courage and boldness, I think you'd be better suited to patrolling the front lines, rather than sitting here reading newspapers and drinking tea."

After saying that, he turned around, opened the door, and left without looking back.

Behind them, two people stood still, their legs trembling.

The young police officer finally lost his grip on the teacup, and it crashed to the ground and shattered.

Nobody picked it up.

As I stepped out of the Metropolitan Police Department, the night wind rushed into my collar.

Xilun stretched, his joints cracking a few times.

Back at the Golden Rooster Hotel, I washed my hands and lay on the bed staring blankly at the ceiling for a while.

I had a lot of experiences today.

My first visit to the Metropolitan Police Department wasn't a pleasant experience, but thankfully the outcome was alright.

They returned unharmed, nothing happened.

He turned over and closed his eyes.

The thought of murder no longer keeps him awake at night.

The faces of those three people left not even a shadow in my mind.

Soon, her breathing became even.

Fell asleep.

Ordinary days always pass quickly.

Everyday life, mundane details, is as trivial as ripples on a gray river, one after another, nothing special.

This is the fifth month of Siron's practice of breathing techniques.

The Dorothy Dark Claw course at Instructor Hughes's place has ended.

Instead of taking any new classes, Xilun returned to the second floor and devoted himself to practicing in Instructor Renn's training room.

Ryan allowed him to sit in on the proceedings.

Although he no longer needed to listen to anything, having a fixed place to practice was much better than staying cooped up in a hotel room.

In front of the wooden stake, Xilun punched it repeatedly with a steady rhythm and solid force.

He was used to practicing breathing techniques by releasing his energy, which also helped him gain some experience in police combat.

Occasionally, Fester would come up to spar with him.

But these sparring sessions are becoming increasingly predictable.

When Fester threw a punch, Xilen raised his hand to block it. The punch felt like hitting a metal plate, making his hand go numb.

When Xilun threw a punch, even using only the most basic police combat techniques, without any skill, his pure power was enough to overwhelm Fester.

Fester took three steps back, shook his numb arm, and looked completely puzzled.

Something's not right.

"We used to be about the same, but now your strength—how come it's increased like an inflating balloon?"

Xilun didn't explain, but handed over a towel.

"Again."

Fester gritted his teeth and charged forward again.

After three moves, he was forced to retreat once again.

This time he didn't ask any more questions. He silently wiped his sweat and went to the corner to hit the sandbag.

That morning, Xilun came out of the Bauhinia Training Ground.

After firing fifty training rounds, the progress bar for basic marksmanship moved forward a little bit.

Today we were sailing at night, and I had some free time this morning, so I practiced shooting.

He put away his shooting range membership card and headed towards the Iron Cross Fighting Club.

Pushing open the door, the atmosphere in the hall felt a little off.

Students gathered in small groups, whispering among themselves, their voices filled with barely concealed excitement.

Xilun ignored them, walked straight through the crowd, and sat down in his usual spot in the corner.

He closed his eyes, placed his hands on his knees, and began to practice the Iron Wall Breathing Technique.

Strength surged from the dantian, flowing through the limbs and bones along a familiar path, a faint bronze luster emanating from beneath the skin.

After about half an incense stick's time, he stopped to rest and opened his eyes.

A young man stood two steps away, watching the flow of energy in his arms as he practiced his skills, his lips moving slightly as he silently gestured.

Xilun glanced at him.

The young man snapped out of his daze, quickly pulled a glass bottle from behind his back, and handed it over.

The bottle is covered with water droplets; it contains chilled juice.

Xilun took it, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip.

The coolness slid down from my throat to my stomach.

"What's the matter?"

The young man rubbed his hands together, looking somewhat nervous.

"Senior, you also practice the Iron Wall Breathing Technique, right?"

"I have a few questions I'd like to ask."

Xilun, who was resting, nodded and said, "Speak."

The young man seemed to have been preparing for a long time, and asked three questions in one go.

How can I maintain a consistent flow of luck? How can I improve my sensory perception speed? How can I relieve rib pain during the middle to later stages of training?

Xilun answered them one by one.

Keep it concise; each question should be answered in no more than three sentences.

I wouldn't dare call it some profound truth, but it's certainly based on Xilun's experience, as he himself cultivated himself step by step.