Sparrow (Thanks to Alliance Leader "The Transcendent of All Heavens" for the reward)

"I really want to find someone to test this on... Mr. Oystercatcher?"

Gilan whispered, then immediately shook his head.

"He won't do; he's too weak. If I can't control my strength, what if I accidentally kick him to death?"

He pondered for a long time before finally deciding to head to the fourth-floor attic to practice. There were sturdy dummy targets there, which should allow him to test the power of his "Bone-Crushing Kick."

But before that, Gilan decided to use up his remaining 5 points of Mystic Energy.

He pulled out the palm-sized Colt Snubnose Revolver from his waist and thought to himself:

My mastery of firearms is limited to the double-barreled shotgun, but a handgun is the most practical weapon. Besides, the shotgun can be stored in my dimensional space to serve as an unexpected trump card; it's best not to use it casually... So, I should consider improving my proficiency with the handgun.

Gilan gripped the revolver's handle with his right hand and muttered in his heart:

Iridescence.

The colorful number "5" in the corner of his vision flickered and returned to "0."

Suddenly, a wealth of knowledge and techniques regarding the snubnose revolver flooded into Gilan's mind, and his body instantly grew familiar with the weapon in his hand.

He felt like a veteran gunslinger who had been handling pistols for years.

Swish.

Gilan flicked his right ring finger, and the snubnose revolver spun once in his hand.

He whipped his right arm out, aligning his eye, the rear sight, and the front sight into a single line. He aimed straight at a great tit perched on a treetop outside the window, then gave his right hand a jerk, tossing the revolver into his left hand to aim at the spherical knob on the coat rack in the corner of the room.

Swish, swish...

The revolver danced between his hands, targeting various small objects around the room: the wall calendar, the corner of the table, the doorknob, the lampshade, and the decorative vase.

Gilan was absolutely certain he could hit any small target in the room.

Click.

The revolver returned to his right hand. His thumb flicked the cylinder release, and the chamber popped out and spun.

Gilan pulled the 9mm bullets Miss Seagull had given him from his trouser pocket. His left hand moved with the nimble dexterity of a pianist, and in less than two seconds, he had loaded the six golden bullets into the cylinder before snapping it shut.

Very good.

Gilan nodded with satisfaction.

He pre-loaded the remaining bullets into two speed loaders, gathered them up, and tucked them into his pocket.

He then rose, left the room, and headed to the fourth-floor attic.

After locking the attic door tightly, he found a dummy target and stood three meters in front of it.

"Hiss... hoo..."

Gilan took a deep breath, planted his feet shoulder-width apart, and let his arms hang naturally at his sides.

His gaze remained calm as he stared at the head of the dummy target.

Suddenly, he moved—

His speed was astonishing. In the blink of an eye, he surged forward two steps, twisted his waist to the left, and bent his right leg, kicking out violently like an invincible steel spear!

His grey-black suit trouser leg left a trail of afterimages as it struck the dummy's head!

BANG!!

A deafening sound erupted.

The ten-pound head of the dummy target flew off instantly, hitting the wall like a distorted, deformed ball and leaving a dent. It then ricocheted off the ceiling in a blur of motion before crashing heavily to the floor!

Thud, thud, thud, thud!!

The echoes lingered in the attic for a long time, and Gilan's expression turned one of surprise.

Good thing I didn't find Mr. Oystercatcher... he thought to himself. If this kick landed on him, his head would probably bloom, wouldn't it?

He picked up the dummy's head from the floor and examined it.

Gilan was stunned to see that the fake head was crushed flat. The layers of cowhide wrapping had burst, cotton was spilling out, and the 0.5-centimeter steel plate inside had been torn open, exposing the solid hardwood core, which was now splintered and cracked so badly that wood shavings fell away at the slightest touch.

He carried the ruined head to the dummy target and noticed that the steel rod originally securing the head had been bent back ninety degrees—the direct result of that "Bone-Crushing Kick."

As expected of a kicking technique developed by the Vice-Captain of the "Healing Knights," the power is truly formidable...

Gilan was very satisfied with the secret technique he had mastered, but he soon frowned.

It's just that this dummy target is ruined now...

It was three-thirty in the afternoon, and the sun was already hanging low.

The twilight light spilled over Black City. In the Horst wealthy district on the hillside, high-rise buildings stood in rows, their straight shadows casting long, black diagonal lines that crisscrossed the streets.

Miss Sparrow sat alone in a rented carriage, heading toward her home.

Golden radiance flickered across her face.

She couldn't help but sigh with trepidation, whispering to herself:

"Home so late again today; I hope Father won't be angry."

Miss Sparrow almost never stayed overnight at the society's apartment, the reason being her strict upbringing; her father had always raised her to the standards of a lady.

How could an unmarried lady stay out overnight without a good reason? If word of this were to spread, the Laurie family would have nowhere to hide their faces.

Moreover, she knew very well in her heart that her father had put in effort beyond what others could imagine to go from an obscure technician to the wealthy merchant he was today, owning three factories and two shops.

Her father had always hoped to gain the recognition and respect of others.

However, the status of merchants in the Bremen Empire was not high; even with considerable wealth, they still counted for little in the eyes of the true upper crust, especially high-ranking politicians and nobles.

This had driven her father to dedicate himself to raising her into a true noble lady.

Of course, her late mother was also a reason for this... her mother's family had always looked down upon her father.

Her father held a deep-seated resentment in his heart.

When the carriage passed through the Horst Fifth District and reached a commercial street near Daffodil Square, Miss Sparrow stepped down from the carriage by the roadside.

Following the rate of 2 Melang per kilometer, she paid the coachman a fare of 1 Pfennig plus a 5 Melang tip, departing gracefully amidst the coachman's hat-tipping and joyful praise.

Not long after Miss Sparrow had walked away, she saw a couple walking toward her.

The couple was dressed in rather inexpensive clothing; the woman wore a simple dark yellow pinafore dress, her hair pinned up and tied with a linen kerchief, wearing the kind of makeup common among lower-class women, made with cheap foundation and lipstick.

Her husband was dressed in blue-black work clothes, wearing an old leather beret.

"Good day, Miss Aurora Laurie." The woman wore a fawning smile, her hands clasped together as she bowed. "It is such a pleasure to meet you."

"I am also happy to meet you both." Miss Sparrow stopped and smiled. "Did the factory finish its shift? Are you planning to go shopping, or..."

The couple before her were workers at one of their family's properties, the "Glass Glass Factory." Because the factory offered good benefits and the owner, Foz Laurie—Miss Sparrow's father—treated his workers with great kindness, they held this young lady in high regard and affection.

"Yes, Miss, we finished our shift." The man beside the woman clumsily removed his hat, smiling reservedly.

"Your father, Mr. Foz Laurie, is very good to us employees. He only requires us to work seven hours a day, yet the pay is no less than 1 Melang, and there are even occasional bonuses... My wife and I are able to finish work early like this to buy some food and make a hot dinner for the children at home."

He smiled honestly.

"Father was once an excellent worker just like you; he understands your hardships and knows what you desire in your hearts." Miss Sparrow said with a smile, stepping aside to let them pass. "Well, I won't keep you from getting home; I'm sure the children are waiting anxiously, aren't they?"

"Not at all, not at all..." The man waved his hands hurriedly.

His wife, however, seemed to notice that Miss Sparrow was in a hurry, so she quietly tugged at her husband's sleeve, and the two hurriedly bid Miss Sparrow farewell and walked away quickly.

Miss Sparrow watched the couple walk away, seemingly happy for them, and the trepidation she had felt about her father's reprimand eased significantly.

A moment later.

She arrived in front of a three-story apartment in the Horst Fifth District; this was the property of Mr. Foz Laurie, and also the home of her, Aurora Laurie.

Pushing open the iron gate of the courtyard, two maids who were watering flowers and weeding in the small garden hurriedly greeted her:

"Miss Aurora."

"Thank you for your hard work, both of you." Miss Sparrow responded with a smile.

She took small steps to the apartment porch, stood before the white oak carved double doors, took a deep breath, gently placed her hand on the doorknob, pushed, and then carefully poked her head inside.

The next second, Miss Sparrow froze.

A middle-aged man with graying hair, wearing a suit vest and a handlebar mustache, was sitting upright on the sofa, his brow furrowed on a stern face as he watched her quietly.

"Father... Miss Amoret was so hospitable, dragging me into a conversation about her pet dog, Pat, and some gardening topics, and I accidentally lost track of time. I'm sorry."

Miss Sparrow put on a sweet smile and slowly moved into the room.

Just as she was trembling with fear due to her father's gaze, she saw her father sigh, his brow filled with worry, and he patted the sofa, signaling for her to come over.

"Father?" Miss Sparrow noticed that her father was different from usual, so she hurriedly walked over and sat down. "Are you not feeling well?"

"It is not that, Aurora." Mr. Foz lowered his head, his voice low.

"It is the Louis Family. They intend to report us to the authorities, claiming that our family's factory has not complied with the Empire's 'Twelve-Hour Workday.' We will face heavy fines, and it is even possible that I could be thrown into prison..."

Thanks to "Transcender of the Heavens" for the 100,000 tip!