The collapse began not with a war horn, but with the sound of falling steel.
On the front lines of Cloud-Piercing Pass, a senior sword fighter of Heavenly Sword Manor stared down at his grand elder kowtowing in the briar ditch. The sword in the student’s hand—a finely sharpened blade of dark frost iron that had taken twenty years of sect contribution points to earn—suddenly felt entirely devoid of purpose.
His fingers opened.
CLANG.
The sword struck the granite flat stone slabs with a bright, shivering ring that carried across the mountain ridge.
If that single falling blade had cut the invisible thread holding thirty thousand minds together. Then, a total chain reaction rippled through the traditional ranks.
Beside him, another student released his handle. Then ten more. Then fifty. Within three breaths, the granite slopes of Cloud-Piercing Pass echoed with an unbroken, cascading chorus of clattering metal:
CLANG-CLATTER-CLANG!
