The healer reset Tie Kuang’s shoulder while he cursed everyone in the room.
Austin inspected his wrench. The tap had left a gray film on the jaw. He cleaned it with dry cotton and checked the teeth.
“Cheap casting,” he said. “Nobody heat-treated that iron. It shattered on impact.”
Tie heard him and opened one swollen eye. “That hammer broke eighteen fortress gates.”
“And now it is dust. Tools have limits.”
“My body is not a tool.”
“No. You treated it worse than one.”
That silenced Tie, but it did not convince him.
Kang read the casualty report aloud. Thirty-seven workers had burns or impact injuries. None had died. Senior Forge-Hand Zhao would recover. The crew had food, dry bedding, and treatment because Austin had ordered the Clear Sky stores opened to them.
Tie stared at the ceiling. “What do you want for their release?”
“They are not hostages. They can leave when the healer clears them.”
“Their wages?”
Austin looked at Kang. “Have they been paid for the march?”
Kang shook his head. “Tie froze the payroll when they refused to re-enter the Colossus.”
Tie pushed himself onto one elbow. “They disobeyed a direct order.”
“They refused to stand under a failing boiler,” Austin said. “That order was garbage.”
The old man’s face hardened again. “You expect me to praise them?”
“No. Pay them.”
Austin set out clear conditions. Every miner would receive full wages for the march, medical care, and payment for repair work at Sunset Peak. Nobody would be forced to stay. Anyone who joined the rebuilding crew would get a written rate, daily hours, rest days, and the right to stop unsafe work without losing pay.
Kang would negotiate production and sales. Tie would have no authority to seize the mine or cancel worker protections.
Tie laughed bitterly. “You defeat me and ask for a payroll ledger.”
“I am asking you to clean up what you broke. Starting with my floor. You dished out two square yards of tile with your forehead.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Kang runs the contract. You go home after treatment. The mountain stays closed to you.”
Tie looked around the workshop. His miners were listening. No one begged him to resist. No one looked eager for revenge.
He still believed he could have won with a better machine. He still disliked Austin’s calm voice and plain clothes. Defeat had not washed away two hundred years of pride.
But the wage list was real. So were the bandages on his crew.
“Bring me the terms,” he said at last. “I will read them.”
It was not worship. It was the first useful thing he had said all day.