The Bearded Leader personally escorted Gu Xiachen through the entire registration process required to join the mercenary corps. Gu Xiachen was officially assigned his codename within the Hell's Angels Mercenary Group: Evil Dragon.

Gu Xiachen was thoroughly satisfied as he surveyed the quarters assigned to him. The bedroom spanned over thirty square meters, complete with every necessary amenity. Outside the sleeping area, there was a small reception lounge, and to Gu Xiachen’s astonishment, the corner of the lounge housed a mini-bar stocked with hundreds of bottles of fine liquor of various kinds. Every bottle was top-shelf, and all were provided free of charge.

While Gu Xiachen underwent his physical examination at the medical center, his customized uniform was already hanging in the wardrobe. Behind the wardrobe was a hidden compartment, piled high with an assortment of weapons. Ranging from large-caliber handguns to assault rifles, and from compact serpentine daggers to heavy two-handed broadswords, the armory inside was sufficient to outfit a reinforced squad of soldiers.

After fiddling with the instruction manual shoved into his hand by the Bearded Leader, Gu Xiachen completed the residency recognition procedure. From this moment on, only Gu Xiachen could enter these quarters, and all facilities within, including the weapons in the hidden cabinet, were exclusively for his use. Should an outsider attempt an intrusion, the entire base’s defense system would be immediately triggered.

Stringing his mercenary card onto a metal chain and hanging it around his neck, Gu Xiachen rubbed his empty stomach and, following the directions provided by the personal assistant computer strapped to his wrist, headed toward the mess hall.

The mercenary card was an internal access credential issued by the Hell's Angels Mercenary Group, strictly for the use of the mercenary to whom it was issued. The card contained some of the mercenary's personal data and also functioned as a savings account linked to the Earth Federation; all mercenary earnings were deposited directly onto this card. As a Xiantian-level martial expert, Gu Xiachen received a substantial signing bonus upon joining the Hell's Angels, and one hundred thousand Federation Credits were currently resting securely in the card's account.

The dining hall occupied a vast area, capable of seating four to five thousand people simultaneously. As Gu Xiachen entered, it was lunchtime. The enormous hall was filled with hulking figures bearing vicious expressions, who enthusiastically wielded their cutlery to greedily devour the food before them. But the moment Gu Xiachen stepped through the entrance, the previous clamor died instantly; every head turned, fixing him with menacing gazes. With a chorus of clatter, many burly men simultaneously set down their knives and forks and rose from their seats.

The atmosphere in the dining hall was eerily still, but Gu Xiachen seemed entirely unfazed, walking directly to the far end of the room. He casually greeted a bald giant standing behind the counter, who was gripping a large ladle.

“Anything good to eat? I’ll take a plate!”

Gu Xiachen offered what he thought was a very amiable smile to the bald man.

The bald man stirred the contents of a large plate piled high with pork chops with the ladle in his hand. He shook his head vigorously at Gu Xiachen: “Nothing prepared for you, rookie Lieutenant!”

A tsunami-like roar of laughter erupted from the hall, and countless toughs slammed their fists against their metal tables, creating a grating, abrasive sound. A large, dark-skinned man wearing a black eye patch over his right eye bellowed at Gu Xiachen, brandishing a huge fist: “Rookie! This isn't a place for pretty boys like you—scram out of here!”

Gu Xiachen reached out and grabbed a metal plate in front of him, tossing it backward over his shoulder.

The burly Black man, who had been wildly shouting and swinging his fist, was sent flying backward by the casually thrown plate. His formerly prominent nose bridge was smashed inward, and two streams of blood sprayed high above his head, soaring more than two meters as his body hurtled backward. The dining hall descended into chaos; the seven or eight mercenaries behind the brawler were knocked over in the ensuing confusion. The hidden force imbued in the plate struck like an avalanche, leaving the joints of the seven or eight men numb. The massive group struggled on the floor for a long time, unable to move, until their companions finally came to their senses and helped them up.

Silence descended upon the dining hall once more. The mercenaries were not fools; a single casual strike from Gu Xiachen was enough to inform them that this 'pretty boy' was not someone their ordinary ranks could afford to provoke.

The bald man holding the ladle’s expression shifted. Gu Xiachen picked up a piece of pork chop, took a bite, chewed slowly for a moment, and mumbled, “Who’s in charge here?”

A clear, ringing voice cut through the crowd: “I am! I’m in charge here!”

The crowd parted, and a handsome young man dressed in a white, coarse linen robe walked out at an unhurried pace. With his hands clasped behind his back, he stood before Gu Xiachen and stated calmly, “This is the exclusive dining hall for the Third Regiment of the Hell's Angels Mercenary Group. I am the Third Regiment’s commander, so I am in charge here!”

Gu Xiachen looked at the familiar face and smiled, “Moksha?”

The young man shook his head, saying gently, “I am not Moksha; I am his elder brother, Prajñā.”

“Moksha? Prajñā?” Gu Xiachen’s smile became dazzling, “Twin brothers?”

Prajñā nodded, “Yes!”

The Bearded Leader had given Gu Xiachen a tour of the Hell's Angels base, deeply embedded beneath the Arctic ice sheet, and had provided a general overview of the seventeen main regiments under the group's command. Each main regiment maintained a standard complement of about five thousand personnel, and the commander of every main regiment was a martial expert who had broken through the Xiantian level. Furthermore, the background and origin of each main regiment commander were unique, many possessing strange powers difficult for the common world to comprehend.

“You injured my brother, Moksha. If you had managed to injure Moksha at his peak, I wouldn't trouble you,” Prajñā said, towering nearly two heads over Gu Xiachen as he looked down. “But in order to help me break through the life-wheel of the Thirteen Chakras, Moksha exhausted all his Dhyāna energy two months ago.”

Looking up at Prajñā, Gu Xiachen offered a wry smile, “But what does that have to do with me? You practiced and broke through yourselves; I didn't force him to exhaust his power!”

Prajñā laughed, and his body twisted like a great python rolling over, starting from his ankles all the way to his neck. A calming aura suddenly radiated from within him. A powerful gust of wind struck Gu Xiachen head-on, causing his body to jerk backward violently. He instinctively tensed every muscle and barely managed to stabilize himself.

Prajñā chuckled, “Little rookie, I will teach you the most fundamental rule of mercenaries: the one with the bigger fist is the boss. If I knock you down, whatever I say you did wrong, you did wrong!”

Without waiting for Gu Xiachen to reply, Prajñā’s hands shot out from behind his back like nimble snakes. He hooked his thumbs together, touched the tips of his middle fingers, and let his other fingers flare outward like an opening lotus, then roared with a deep voice, “White Lion Lotus Seal, Hold!”

As Prajñā shouted, the space around Gu Xiachen was constrained by a mystical force, as if a massive mountain had pressed down upon him. Caught completely off guard, Gu Xiachen was momentarily immobilized. Prajñā’s so-called White Lion Lotus Seal pressed lightly, yet firmly, onto Gu Xiachen’s chest. A muffled thunderous boom echoed from Gu Xiachen’s sternum as a powerful, rigid force, like a Vajra pestle, surged into his body. Gu Xiachen’s slender frame was launched into the air, rocketing backward like an arrow loosed from a bowstring.

With a dull thud, Gu Xiachen slammed against the dining hall wall in a spread-eagle posture. A three-inch-deep cross shape appeared on the wall constructed of alloy plates. Gu Xiachen opened his mouth, tasting sweetness rising in his chest. A surge of heat rushed up, and he opened his mouth to spit out a mouthful of blood.

“Damn it all!” A wave of savage energy erupted from Gu Xiachen's mind. His back muscles bunched violently, and the Immovable Gang Qi exploded outward, blasting a meter-deep crater into the dining hall wall. Gu Xiachen’s body, accompanied by a piercing whistling sound as he cut through the air, lunged toward Prajñā, who remained perfectly still. His heart rate spiked immediately to three hundred beats per minute, and surges of energy, too powerful for Gu Xiachen to control, poured forth uncontrollably. Gu Xiachen’s once-lean body suddenly appeared thicker by a full circumference.

Prajñā narrowed his eyes and smiled, his golden hair shimmering wildly, though no wind blew. His left hand moved with a rippling, watery motion through his five fingers, while his right hand clenched into a fist and thrust forward from within the left hand’s frame. He coldly roared, “Lotus Treasure Vase Seal, Break!” The air directly in front of his fist began to churn violently, and a sharp, piercing crack echoed in the atmosphere. A hazy, milky-white Vajra pestle, about a foot long, shot forth from his fist, trailing concentric milky-white ripples that washed out towards Gu Xiachen.

Gu Xiachen clawed downwards from a distance, sending dozens of white Gang streaks scattering into the air before the small Vajra pestle, weaving them into a vast net.

The Gang Qi claws and the unknown energy forming the Vajra pestle collided violently. Gu Xiachen’s heart hammered a few times, and he spat out another mouthful of blood.

Prajñā, who had always maintained a composed, dust-free demeanor with a constant smile, suddenly looked pale. He felt an irresistible, terrifying pressure crash down upon him, and streaks of impossibly sharp Qi energy coiled around his body as if determined to tear him to shreds. Prajñā groaned, and with a sound like crisp tearing silk, his coarse white robe was shredded into fragments by the unseen claw force. The naked Prajñā staggered backward violently, sinking three inches deep into the alloy floor with every step he took.

The claw force and the Vajra pestle vanished upon impact. Gu Xiachen, thrown seven or eight meters high by the recoil, slammed his feet forcefully against the ceiling of the dining hall. The immense power emanating from his toes shattered his combat boots, and his figure instantly vanished from the sight of the surrounding mercenaries. Accelerating beyond the capability of the naked eye to follow, Gu Xiachen swung his right elbow to smash directly down onto Prajñā’s crown.

Prajñā, thrown into disarray and staggering backward, instinctively sensed fatal danger descending. He snapped his head up, and twin beams of intense blue light flashed fleetingly from his dark eyes. A rush of wind sounded as the surrounding air rapidly converged, and suddenly, three layers of milky-white air barriers, each nearly a foot thick, materialized between Prajñā and Gu Xiachen.

Gu Xiachen brought his right elbow down with the full force of his body, shattering the three air barriers with a single blow.

It was like three thermobaric bombs exploding in the dining hall. As the three highly compressed air barriers disintegrated, massive shockwaves raged outward in all directions. Hundreds of mercenaries screamed, clutching their ears, tossed about like scraps of paper in a gale. The dining hall became a maelstrom of flying bodies, along with the spilled soups, steaks, lamb chops, and cutlery from thousands of plates. The mess hall was instantly thrown into pandemonium.

The right elbow descended with a terrifying roar, moments away from crushing Prajñā’s skull.

Prajñā managed to raise his long arms in time. The blue light in his eyes condensed to form two faintly rotating Buddhist Swastika seals, and his body was enveloped in a thin layer of eerie blue light, about the thickness of a finger. A roar issuing from Prajñā’s very diaphragm made the thousands of mercenaries in the hall simultaneously clutch their ears and collapse, howling in agony.

“Immovable Wisdom King Seal!” Prajñā bellowed. Small, swirling vortexes of blue light appeared simultaneously at his wrists, elbows, and shoulders. Gu Xiachen’s right elbow smashed brutally against his hands.

Two equally powerful forces violently collided, followed by a sharp detonation. Gu Xiachen’s own battle uniform shared the fate of Prajñā’s white robe, disintegrating into countless fragments fluttering away.

Gu Xiachen was flung upward over ten meters high and thrown backward in a ragged tumble for more than a hundred meters. Blood once again sprayed from his mouth.

Hot blood flowed from all seven orifices of Prajñā. He managed to raise his hands stiffly; the blue halos at his wrists, elbows, and shoulders had grown dim and lusterless. The alloy floor of the dining hall looked as if it had been savaged by a pack of wolves, peeling up in sheets. The thick layer of ice beneath the plates was now crisscrossed with countless palm-width cracks.

Gu Xiachen twisted his body in the air, narrowly avoiding the embarrassing prospect of landing headfirst, and staggered forward a couple of steps before stopping. He gazed at the bleeding Prajñā and laughed strangely, “You’re hurt worse than me!”

Prajñā remained silent for a long moment. The ghostly blue Swastika seals in his eyes spun erratically. After a long pause, the nearly collapsed Swastika seals barely managed to condense and slowly receded deep into his eyes.

He let out a dry laugh, spitting out a large mouthful of bloody foam. He reached up to wipe his chin and said with a bitter smile, “Your cultivation is clearly lower than mine, so why am I more severely injured?”

Gu Xiachen did not answer the question. He countered, “Now, whose fist is bigger?”

Prajñā shook his head, pointed at Gu Xiachen, and chuckled, “Your fist is bigger than mine, so you are right. Moksha deserved the beating he got!”

After a few coughs, Prajñā blinked cunningly and slowly straightened up, extending his right palm toward Gu Xiachen. “It’s a rule among mercenaries: if you can’t beat someone, it’s best to make them your teammate. A powerful teammate is only a benefit to the entire group!”

Spitting out a thick glob of blood, Prajñā spoke frankly, “Fate brought us together. You chose to dine in our Third Regiment’s mess hall, proving you are destined for the Third Regiment! You just joined the Hell’s Angels Mercenary Group; the Bearded Uncle hasn't assigned your final posting yet, has he? Welcome to the Third Regiment!”

Gu Xiachen looked at Prajñā, whose gaze was clear, devoid of any impurity.

Moksha walked in from the chaotic mess hall entrance and roared loudly, “Pretty boy, you battered me badly. Joining my big brother’s regiment is compensation—how about it?”

To emphasize the sincerity of his words, Moksha vigorously shook his right arm, which was heavily bandaged. Moksha’s enthusiasm was fiery, and it held no trace of insincerity.

These two brothers—the elder, Prajñā, was calm like clear spring water, while the younger, Moksha, was aggressive like a raging fire—a perfectly matched pair.

“Fine! I’ll join the Third Regiment!” Gu Xiachen extended his hand toward Prajñā. “But, about my benefits...”

Prajñā, his hand still covered in blood and plasma, grasped Gu Xiachen’s hand. He gasped, laughing, “High benefits, certainly, but we won't let you lead a team. Your strength is immense, but I must say, you truly are a rookie. This is also a mercenary rule: we never let a newly inducted rookie become a captain, or the casualties will pile up quickly.”

As they were talking, a light screen illuminated above the dining hall. The Bearded Leader roared from within, “Prajñā, you troublemaking scoundrel, get over here! There’s a job!”

Prajñā’s expression changed instantly, and he bolted out of the dining hall.

Moksha held onto Gu Xiachen’s hand, which hadn't been withdrawn yet, and laughed, “There’s one more rule: we are mercenaries who make a living by risking our lives, so when there’s work, speed is essential, or the job will be snatched by someone else!”

Gu Xiachen slapped Moksha’s arm forcefully. Moksha laughed heartily and returned the friendly slap a few times.

The mercenaries in the dining hall, who had suffered the collateral damage of the clash, shook their heads and began climbing up from the floor. Despite having taken a beating, their gaze toward Gu Xiachen was now filled with respect.

The most fundamental rule of the mercenary world—only with strength can you survive here.

This was also the rule of this world.

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