Inside the underground tiered arena, complete pandemonium erupted.
In the upper galleries, dozens of silver fox masks lay trampled underfoot.
Noble elders from the Grand Martial Academies fought each other for passage through the narrow stone escape under-road drains, abandoning their retainers and silver chests in their rush to flee the butcher who had split cold iron in a single breath.
Down on the blood-slick arena floor, Lu Chen turned his head slightly toward the girl behind him.
“Can you run?” he asked.
His voice was quiet, even, and fully undisturbed by the slaughter around them.
An Ni shook her head once, wiping soot from her frost-chilled cheek.
“My ankle tendons are cramped from the iron shackles,” she said, her voice hoarse from months of breathing coal dust. “But I can walk.”
