The morning sun rose over the Central Testing Plaza of Taichu City, burning away the autumn mist.
Over fifty thousand spectators lined the marble balustrades, viewing pavilions, and surrounding rooftops. Silk merchants, wandering rogue cultivators, mortal farmers from the outer counties, and skeptical representatives from dozens of regional orthodox sects craned their necks to watch. Bright colored banners fluttered in the autumn breeze.
In the center of the vast square stood a single column of ten thousand men.
Every single warrior was at least seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, and tattooed from neck to wrist. Yet not a single spiked bone helmet or jagged cleaver was in sight.
They wore their lemon-yellow volunteer vests, washed clean and pressed flat. The silver reflective strips caught the sunlight like polished mirrors. Their heavy leather boots were free of mud. Tucked neatly under each giant’s left arm was a copy of the Taichu Civic Code bound in blue silk.
At the head of the column stood Patriarch Xue Ba.
The eight-foot patriarch stood as still as an iron statue. But beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead, soaking his freshly ironed yellow collar.
His chest badge flickered with bright amber numerals: 79.5/100.
