The crimson light in the southern sky grew brighter with every passing second.
Lin Mo set his empty teacup down on the wooden table. The jasmine tea was still warm in his chest.
Around him on Lotus-Prince Street, eight hundred warriors stood in complete stillness. Three hundred Ninth Bureau veterans in purple-gold armor gripped their thunder-sabers. Five hundred loose cultivators in gray coats held their newly forged spears.
Not one person ran. Not one person panicked.
The spirit-herb wontons Grandma Chen had cooked were still warming their bellies. The golden-carp broth had expanded their qi-seas by thirty percent. Every man and woman in the courtyard felt steady, grounded, and full of vitality.
“Six Rank 4 Peak cultivators,” Lin Shuang said. Her knuckles turned white on the hilt of her Thunder-Saber. “Mr. Lin, those are old monsters who hid away before the republic was founded. They lived through the old warlord wars.”
“Living long just means they have more bad habits,” Lin Mo said. His voice was completely calm. “And hiding underground for eighty years must have made their joints stiff.”
Commander Long Zhan stepped forward. His one arm rested lightly on his saber hilt. His eyes were cold and focused.
