A screech of burning iron tore through the lower valley as six crimson targeting beams sliced across the pale morning sky.
The heat radiated across two miles of terraced farmland, scorching the grass and turning pine needles to gray ash.
Inside the central courtyard of White-Lotus Academy, three senior elders lost their minds.
Elder Wu, Elder Fang, and Elder Song sprinted up the winding stone stairs toward Cold-Spring Grotto, their white robes flapping frantically in the hot wind. Tears streamed down Elder Wu’s wrinkled cheeks, glistening under the red glare of the distant artillery.
“Young Master Vance!” Elder Wu wailed, throwing his entire weight against the outer bamboo gate. “The ancestral library is doomed!”
“Six Tier 4 Flame-Cannons!” Elder Fang shouted, clutching his white beard with both trembling hands. “They’ve targeted the third tier! Three thousand years of sacred commentary will turn to smoke in ten breaths!”
Elder Song dropped to his knees on the gravel porch, banging his forehead against the wooden deck until the planks rattled.
“Break your seal, Young Master!” Song begged, his voice cracking with pure terror. “Only your divine purple lightning can cross the valley in time! One strike will obliterate their artillery line! Cash out your streak and save our ancestors!”
