Across the quiet waters of the northern irrigation canal, twelve masked shadows crawled through the damp reeds.
At the head of the sneaking line crawled Grandmaster Dan Chen himself, his soot-stained black robes pulled tight over his trembling frame.
His prized white beard was still half-burned from the volcanic explosion that had destroyed his ancestral palace that morning.
Behind Dan Chen, twelve veteran poison-masters from the Blood-Pill Syndicate dragged six heavy lead-lined barrels through the mud.
Each barrel radiated a putrid, violet haze that turned the surrounding marsh reeds into black, liquefied slime.
“Careful with those seals, you idiots,” Dan Chen hissed through his teeth, clutching a cracked bone dagger. “If a single drop of Black-Rot Acid spills on your skin, you will dissolve down to your marrow in three breaths.”
Senior Brother Lu dragged the second barrel forward, panting heavily under the crushing weight.
“Master,” Lu whispered nervously, glancing up at the distant perimeter watchtowers of Taichu Sanctuary Valley. “The rumors say Lin Mo has thirty thousand armored guards and ancient sword masters guarding every ridge. What if their array detects us?”
