Levels

8:08 PM.

Gilan had long since discovered the oddity of this world: even in the height of midsummer, the daylight hours remained brief. By four in the afternoon, the sky would gradually dim, ushering in the night.

At this hour, it could be considered the dead of night.

In Black City, the residents of the slums might have already fallen asleep, exhausted by a day of toil as if merely staying alive took every ounce of their strength. Yet, the wealthy districts remained brightly lit; though the upper crust lacked the indulgence of alcohol and art, they still had various clubs to provide nightlife for their amusement.

Horst Third District, Apartment 13.

On the fourth-floor attic of the Record Society's secret base, two men were sparring, seemingly working off their dinner from two hours prior.

Bang! Crack!

Mr. Oystercatcher, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and thick leather gloves, was drenched in sweat as he launched an offensive against the blond young man before him.

One punch, two punches—his heavy, powerful blows couldn't even graze the hem of his opponent's clothes. Whenever he found an "opening," it was brushed aside by a light, airy palm.

His fists never once landed on target.

The two seemed to be on entirely different levels.

While parrying Mr. Oystercatcher's attacks, Gilan's gaze swept casually across the surroundings.

The attic was quite spacious, with the floor and walls reinforced and soundproofed, having been converted into a training area by Mr. Stork. At the foot of the east wall stood several wooden, iron-wrapped dummies, their surfaces padded with layers of leather stuffed with cotton.

It seems Mr. Stork is passionate about combat arts; no wonder his strength is so formidable.

Gilan mused.

Having explored together in the Black Lake film, he had long since realized that among the members of the society, Mr. Stork possessed the greatest strength, with both his marksmanship and staff techniques being exceptionally profound.

Whoosh!

Mr. Oystercatcher threw another straight punch, aiming for Gilan's face.

Let's end this; his skill is far too inferior to mine.

Gilan shook his head inwardly.

He reached out one hand and, with a swift, precise snap, gripped Mr. Oystercatcher's wrist. To the man's shock, Gilan lifted him clean off the ground and executed a shoulder throw, slamming him heavily onto the floor behind him.

Thud!!

"Ah!" Mr. Oystercatcher landed hard on his backside and let out a pained cry. "I give up, I give up!"

Gilan offered a polite smile and extended a hand.

Panting heavily, Mr. Oystercatcher took his hand and was pulled up. He rubbed his backside continuously, exclaiming in surprise:

"Mr. Snowy Owl, you're incredibly strong... I knew you had defeated Detective Granny, but now that I've actually sparred with you, I realize your skill is far beyond that of an 'Instructor'-level fighter. The pressure you put on me is even on par with Mr. Stork."

"Is Mr. Stork very strong?" Gilan asked curiously.

Mr. Oystercatcher walked over to a pedestal table, picked up a cup of black tea for a sip, wiped his sweat with a towel, and nodded at him.

"Very strong," Mr. Oystercatcher stated firmly.

As he spoke, he pointed to the weapon rack beside the dummies, where slender wooden sticks the diameter of a coin were displayed, each engraved with the pattern of a stork spreading its wings.

"Mr. Stork is an 'Emblem'-level staff master. That is a symbol of honor far higher than 'Instructor'! He is one of the few top-tier experts in the entire Great Forest Region!"

"'Instructor,' 'Emblem'..."

Gilan repeated the terms, having long been interested in the hierarchy of these fighters. He asked Mr. Oystercatcher, who, being a talkative soul, was happy to share his insights:

"These are all recognized symbols of status within the Bremen Empire. You know... back in the Middle Ages, between the fifth and seventeenth centuries of the Dawn Era, the world was shrouded in darkness and war. The nobles and knights of that time walked through the chaotic world with swords at their hips."

"But this is a civilized age now. You aren't allowed to wander the streets with a sword; the patrolling constables would haul you off to the station," Mr. Oystercatcher laughed.

"That's why upper-class men today carry walking sticks, or 'civilized canes,' to replace the 'sword' as a symbol of their status. Of course, they serve as self-defense weapons, too."

"So, staff fighting has become the most sought-after skill among the empire's elite. If a gentleman carries a cane but doesn't know how to use it, he'd be mocked as a 'Pigley' in high society."

The "Pigley" Mr. Oystercatcher referred to was equivalent to a "mottled hog," implying someone who was all show and no substance, similar to the idiom "an ape in a silk robe."

"Besides staff fighting, skills like unarmed combat, archery, and horsemanship are also the favorite sports and talents of the nobility. After all, it's a tradition spanning hundreds, if not thousands, of years... just look at how popular the 'Fengdeng Horse Racing Festival' and the 'Daffodil Fighting Tournament' have been in Black City lately."

Mr. Oystercatcher chatted away while sipping his tea.

Listening to him, Gilan gained a deeper understanding of this strange world.

No wonder there are so many fighting clubs in the wealthy districts, and why Miss Sparrow practices such exquisite archery.

He thought to himself.

Gilan then heard Mr. Oystercatcher continue:

"The Bremen Empire has a standard classification for those who have mastered these arts. I am merely a basic 'Apprentice'-level fighter. Of course, I'm confident that within ten years, I'll pass the military's assessment and earn an 'Instructor' certificate."

He spoke with a confident smile.

"Above the 'Instructor' level is the 'Emblem' level, like Mr. Stork. Fighters of this rank are one in ten thousand; even if surrounded by ten or more grown men, they could easily defeat them and escape with ease... The Empire allows these elites to design their own emblem to showcase their unique status."

"Of course, the highest honor is the 'Master' level!" Mr. Oystercatcher's eyes shone with longing. "Even across the entire Bremen Empire, you'd be hard-pressed to find a few Masters. I've only ever seen a handful of reports about them in the newspapers."

"It is said that they have practiced the art of combat to an unfathomable degree. Even in the capital, Muse City, they command the respect and courtesy they deserve within the highest circles."

Gilan listened in silence, an irrepressible surge of emotion welling up within him.

Apprentice, Instructor, Emblem, and Master... what level of strength do I actually possess now?

He pondered to himself.

When he had first crossed paths with Detective Granny, the man had mistaken him for an "Instructor"-level fighter, but the Gilan of today was no longer the same, having stepped into the second stage of the White Cross Body-Forging Technique: "Yellow Bile."

Even he himself could not gauge exactly which tier he currently occupied.

Should I find a time to spar with Mr. Stork?

The thought popped into Gilan's mind, but he quickly dismissed it.

He had only just joined the Record Society, and since Mr. Stork and Miss Sparrow knew his background, a sudden, rapid leap in his strength after only a few days would inevitably arouse suspicion and potentially invite unnecessary trouble.

No rush. Mr. Stork has already scheduled the next "Movie Day" for the day after tomorrow, and it's the "Black Lake" film reel. If we split up, I'll have plenty of opportunities to test my own strength...