Martial Saint: I Have an Equipment Slot

In the third year of the Republic, the land was crumbling, the people were as insignificant as weeds, and their lives drifted like tumbleweeds.

Warlords carved up the country and fought among themselves. Western ironclads pressed up the river to force their way through the passes, lawmakers drew salaries without doing their jobs, and bandits and outlaws looted unchecked.

It was an age when gunfire clashed with ancient martial arts, and ruthless bandits danced alongside strange beasts. Amid the chaos of war, danger and death lurked everywhere.

On a pouring rainy night, in an abandoned alley in Tianjin,

Qin Chuan slowly pulled his chipped, ring-pommeled saber from the chest of a mutant beast, its dark-furred body towering over ten feet, its fangs bared and claws tearing.

"My vital essence is brimming. I can now solidify the legendary martial treasure [Mountain Ogre]."

He lowered his eyes to the faint, dark armor slowly covering his knuckles. His bones and sinews crackled like popping beans, and the rain shattered into mist before it could touch him, blasted away by the power radiating from his body.

He looked toward the ironclad warships beneath the searchlights of the foreign concessions in the distance and murmured:

"Now it should be my turn to stop eating beef, right?"