A notched black-iron greatsword sheared through the carcass of a mountain ox with a wet, splintering crunch.
Bone shards flew across the hard dirt of the slaughter pit. They struck the timber palisade like thrown gravel.
Cassian Vance tore his heavy blade free from the split ribcage. He did not pause to wipe the gore from the steel.
His chest heaved like a blacksmith’s bellows. Black steam hissed from his split pores, carrying the bitter stench of scorched sulfur and rotten marrow.
For eighteen straight hours, Cassian had swung that massive iron slab without a single second of rest.
His fingers had seized around the leather hilt. His knuckles were raw and split, leaking black, coagulated blood over the iron guard.
“Again,” Cassian rasped, his voice sounding like broken glass grinding together. “Bring another beast.”
Two cowering bandits dragged a thrashing mountain boar into the pit. They threw the ropes aside and scrambled backward in terror.
