Jiang Taixu sat up in the arena sand. His robes were torn, his nose was broken, and blood ran down his collar.
He did not kneel or ask to become a disciple. He looked at the cleared stands, the bent rails, and the guards helping the injured.
“I made that mess,” he said.
Austin kept the Root Core under one arm. “You did. The swords, the flagpoles, the roof tiles, and half the dais. Being sorry doesn’t repair any of it.”
Governor Zhao came down with Ruan and Ouyang. This time, Zhao did not offer a title or ask for a miracle.
“Jiang Taixu, you attacked a licensed public event and tried to seize a prize already awarded,” Zhao said. “The court will hear the case. Until then, you surrender your weapons and remain under guard.”
Jiang removed his last sword and placed it on the sand. “I accept.”
A blue screen appeared in Austin’s vision.
Austin read the option twice. Jiang’s cutting skill would save weeks of framing work. That did not make him safe to hire without terms.
“You still want work?” Austin asked.
“Yes. I also want to learn why my cut went wrong.”
“Then listen first. Your old manual said the pull was intentional, and you stopped checking. If a drawing, a teacher, or I tell you to make a cut that looks wrong, stop. Measure it. Ask why. Don’t cut anyway and hope reverence fixes the result.”
Jiang looked at the broken stone around him. “That is what I should have done three hundred years ago.”
Xiaoyao opened his ledger. “We can offer a six-month probation. Tie Kuang supervises the workshop hours. Ruan certifies the arena repairs. I keep the incident log.”
Tang added, “And he works with the repair crew, not above it. A famous realm doesn’t lay bricks.”
Zhao agreed to release Jiang into Sunset Peak’s custody after the local repairs were complete. The terms were practical and strict.
Jiang would repair the cracked dais, replace the southern flagpoles, and help rebuild the damaged gallery rails. He would pay the medical costs from the sale of his surrendered blades. Any remaining scrap value would go into an arena repair fund.
He would also sign a full release of every claim to the Root Core, its maps, and anything it unlocked. He could not enter a sealed vault, copy its data, or act as Sunset Peak’s representative without written permission.
At Sunset Peak, he would start as a probationary framing contractor. Tie Kuang could stop his work at any time. He would receive meals, lodging, and standard contractor pay after the repair deductions. There would be no discipleship, private title, or access to Austin’s core bench.
Jiang read every page. “The release includes Vault sites I have not seen?”
“Yes,” Austin said. “You called the Core yours before you knew what it was. That ends now.”
Jiang signed the release first, then the repair agreement. He used Xiaoyao’s blue pen instead of blood. Blood gums up the carbon-copy paper.
Ruan handed him a broom and a mason’s trowel. “The dais crew starts now.”
Jiang took them without complaint.
Austin pointed to a chalk line on an unbroken slab. “Before you cut anything, show me the measurement and tell me which side is waste. Cut on the waste side. Eat the line, and your studs come up three-thirty-seconds short.”
Jiang checked the line twice. “The right side. And if my measurement disagrees with your mark?”
“We stop and find out why.”
For the first time, Jiang did not call the answer sacred. He simply nodded and went to work.
Three days later, Ruan and Tang inspected the repairs. The new rails were solid, the replacement poles were straight, and the dais passed a load test. Mei, now walking with a splint, signed the crew’s completion sheet.
Only then did Jiang load his tools for the trip to Sunset Peak. His arena debt was settled. His six-month probation had just begun.