As a newly commissioned shock battalion commander, Pei Jing was entitled under Great Yan martial statute to claim one Earth-grade martial scripture from the Imperial War Vault before marching north.
The vault was located within the central keep of the Cangzhou Citadel, guarded by three iron-plated portcullises and a guard post of heavy spear guards wearing black enameled breastplates.
The air inside the underground chamber was dry and heavily chilled, treated with sulfur fumes and crushed bitter pine-resin crystals to prevent silverfish from chewing the parchment. Rows of heavy hardwood book-presses stretched into the shadows, their shelves laden with leather-bound codices, folded silk albums, and blackened bamboo slips stamped with the royal dragon crest.
An elderly royal scroll-keeper with watery old eyes and fingers stained permanently with vermilion ink shuffled before Pei Jing. He held an iron ring carrying eighty brass keys.
“You have thirty minutes, Commander Pei,” the old scroll-keeper rasped, coughing into a stained sleeve. “Earth-grade section is on the third tier. Weapons forms, footwork scriptures, and defensive qi mantels. Take what you can memorize, or take the physical roll. Once your seal is stamped in the register, the vault doors seal until the next campaign.”
Pei Jing walked along the third row of hardwood shelves, his dark eyes scanning the lacquered title tags:
