Night fell across the Grand Desolate Spirit Forest. But within the cavernous depths of the Floating Mountain, darkness had been banished entirely.
From the fiery underbelly where underground magma flowed in glowing orange waterfalls, to the high cedar flight decks perched along the mountain’s northern cliffs, the entire safe hall echoed with the rhythmic, ear-splitting percussion of total mobilization. There was no panic, no wailing of frightened civilians, and no desperate stockpiling of survival rations.
Word had spread from the council hall through the bustling markets of the mortal refugees, through the beast dens of the deep valleys, and up to the highest training terraces.
Heaven had demanded seventy percent of their bread.
And Lord Xiao had ordered an eight-foot wrench to take it back.
Down in the Great Vulcan Foundry, three thousand feet beneath the living quarters, everyone could feel the scent of sulfur, scorched ozone, and molten rock. Giant stone chimney pipes vented waves of blistering heat upward toward the mountain’s heat generators, while river channels of liquid magma were diverted into baked-clay channels to feed twenty huge smelting crucibles.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Tie Shan stood barefoot upon the granite forging platform, his massive bear chest bare and gleaming with sweat that sizzled into steam against his fur. His meteor-iron right arm glowed with blinding white heat, moving with rhythmic, high-pressure care as his five-hundred-jin forging hammer struck a huge bar of sky silver-steel.
