The obsidian hall of the Raging-Flame Sword Sect reeked of spilled blood-wine, heavy musk, and roasting beast-flesh.
Sect Master Yan Lie sat on his raised throne of black dragon-bone, his bearded face flushed dark crimson from heavy drinking. Golden platters of roasted spirit-boar, glazed mountain pheasants, and spiced peacock were piled high across thirty long banqueting tables. Around him sat the masters, elders, and young heirs of sixteen major sects from the Three Eastern Prefectures.
Beside Yan Lie, Matriarch Bing of the Profound-Ice Sect swirled a goblet of pale frost-wine. Her frost-covered robes whispered against the black flagstones like dry snow. Her Goodness score flickered in cold, sickly crimson numbers: -39/100.
Across the banquet floor, young inner-sect disciples in embroidered silk tunics were boasting loudly, bragging about how many mortal caravans they had shaken down for toll money that week.
“Pass an eighty-point morality test?” Yan Lie roared, slamming his heavy bronze chalice onto the stone armrest with a deafening crack. “Hahaha! What kind of gutless coward scores eighty points on a virtue exam?!”
The massive hall erupted into raucous laughter. Several elders spat wine onto the flagstones in sheer amusement.
“In our Raging-Flame Sword Sect, we teach our boys how to survive in the real world!” Yan Lie continued, waving a greasy carved bone dagger in the air. “We teach them to rob their neighbors! We teach them to take what they want and kick the weak into the gutter! If a disciple is soft enough to score eighty…
