Splintered pine showered across the cabbage patch as the outer gate caved inward with a deafening crash.
Thirty mine enforcers surged through the breach in rattling iron breastplates, carrying spiked clubs, jagged crowbars, and notched broadswords. Behind them walked six men in charcoal-gray silk tunics, their faces masked below the eyes. Each of the six carried a curved, single-edged saber that hummed with dark, oily Qi.
At their front stood a broad-shouldered warrior with scarred cheekbones and eyes like flint.
“I am Shadow-Captain Kross of the Nine-Cauldron Enforcement Division,” the leader barked, holding up an iron tablet bound with red silk cord. “By order of Branch Master Orson, the alchemical appointment of Kaelen Vance is declared fraudulent. Surrender the mine writ, hand over the fugitive indentured spearwoman Sera Thorne, and submit to binding chains.”
Barnaby raised his wooden ladle like a club, his lone shoulder bunching with rage. “You arrogant city bastards—break our gate and spout your fake writs? I’ll stuff that tablet down your throat!”
Sera stepped past the old man. Her Storm-Pike swept forward in a tight, gleaming curve, the iron tip coming to rest exactly one inch from Kross’s throat. Her new Iron Bone Mid aura leaked from her frame, dense as chilled steel.
