Twilight deepened into velvet indigo as the Tranquil Ripple crossed into the northern foothills, guided by a brilliant cascade of orange embers rising into the night sky.
Nestled within a natural granite tiered arena was the Central Iron Forge Guild.
For three hundred years, this rugged valley had been known as the Blood-Iron Bastion, the main armory for the northern warlord confederacies. Day and night, hundreds of forced-labor smelters had spewed choking black sulfur smoke, churning out serrated cavalry axe-spears, soul-shredding barbed crossbow bolts, and jagged headsman blades designed to inflict painful wounds. The smiths had worked in iron chains, beaten if their daily quotas of murder-iron fell short.
Tonight, the air smelled not of rotten-egg blood. But of seasoned oak charcoal, roasting chestnuts, and fragrant pine resin.
Dozens of open-air forge hearths glowed with a cheerful, steady cherry-red soft glow. Ringed around the central pavilion were more than a hundred apprentices. Young mortal men and women from valley villages, burly bear-beastman youths with soot on their snouts, and nimble-fingered badger craftsmen, all dressed in clean leather aprons and holding wooden tongs.
In the center of the flat stone slab ring stood Tie Shan, the Divine Titan Smith.
Towering nine feet tall, the bear beastman was a mountain of grizzled iron-gray fur and bulging sinew. His legendary right arm—forged from living star-iron marrow and golden titan bone by Lin Xiao during their early days in the bamboo grove—gleamed with deep, internal golden light as he leaned casually against a massive…
