Three hundred cultivators pressed against the brass balustrades of the Grand Martial Plaza as the midday sun reached its zenith.
Inner disciples in white silk, academy elders in embroidered grey, and merchant envoys from the Four Great Pill Houses ringed the wide terrace. The autumn air was crisp, but the atmosphere around the central ring was hot enough to scorch the throat.
In the center of the ring stood Enforcer Kael-Bran.
The seven-foot giant had cleaned the turnip greens from his armor, though several deep dents remained across his breastplate. He rested both hands on the pommel of his eight-foot serrated saber, his blood-red eyes fixed on the southern gateway.
A scorching wave of Golden Core Late Qi radiated from his body, creating shimmering heat mirages over the flagstones.
Beside the barrier ropes, Envoy Varga paced with a smirk.
“The coward is five minutes late,” Varga announced loudly to the crowd. “Under the Regent’s charter, failing to appear within three chimes forfeits the grotto to our Pill Houses.”
Disciples whispered among themselves, leaning over the carved stone balustrades. Several older students shook their heads, wondering why the inner court allowed a third-son slacker to represent the academy in a blood dispute.
