The heavy iron sledgehammers hit the basalt flagstones with a dull, echoing series of thuds that rattled the plaza.
Yan Huo stopped counting the glowing mountain of Supreme Spirit Stones, snapping his head toward the dark archway of the lower forge tunnels. His eyes narrowed with vicious, arrogant disbelief.
Four hundred soot-covered blacksmith apprentices marched out of the subterranean smoke in absolute, unbroken silence.
Their chests were bare, glistening with dark sweat and marked by decades of hot ember burns. At the front of the line walked veteran apprentice Ah Long, his massive shoulders tense and his jaw set like chiseled granite (Goodness: 88/100). Behind him walked three hundred and ninety-nine apprentices, junior bellows-pullers, and iron-casters who had spent their entire lives breathing sulfur fumes.
“What are you dogs doing out of the pits?!” Yan Huo shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Ah Long. “Get back to the magma trenches! The quarterly tribute swords for the prefecture governor are due in five days! If the furnaces go cold, I will have you all flayed alive and hung over the smoke vents!”
Ah Long walked straight up to the steps of the grand assembly hall. He stopped three feet from Yan Huo’s boots.
