Silence hung heavy over the smoke-filled courtyard of the Taichu Border Orphanage.
Daoist Hei stood frozen in the middle of the garden path, his black face veil fluttering in the night draft. His venomous curved sabre hovered uselessly in midair.
Behind him, five hundred Black-Sabre raiders held their breath, their knees shaking against their leather boots.
They had prepared to slaughter frightened elderly caretakers and defenseless children. They had rehearsed their blood-curdling battle cries. They had envisioned piles of stolen loot and panic.
Instead, three thousand seven-foot giants in lemon-yellow canvas vests were glaring down at them like an army of vengeful mountain gods.
“Xue... Xue Ba?!” Daoist Hei stammered, his voice cracking behind his veil. “Why are you here?! Why are you wearing bright yellow clothes?!”
Patriarch Xue Ba did not answer immediately.
The eight-foot patriarch slowly bent his knees. He reached down into the muddy puddle on the flagstones, picking up the wet, stained piece of pink flame-spirit fabric.
