Down in the muddy basin beneath the northern gorge, Siege General Vorn watched his artillery engineers maneuver twenty heavy counterweight catapults into firing position.
The air around the siege battery hummed with volatile spiritual energy.
Resting in heavy iron cradles were twenty massive stone slabs, each carved from iridescent white spirit-marble and glowing with blinding crimson and gold runes.
They were authentic Dao-stele fragments, plundered by the ducal army from ancient sect ruins and ancestral mountain tombs across the northern provinces.
“General,” an artillery captain murmured, adjusting his thick leather gloves with obvious unease. “The men can barely look at the carvings without suffering violent headaches. Two sub-officers have already entered involuntary trance states just from unstrapping the tarps.”
“Then tell them to look at the mud!” General Vorn snarled, his scarred face twisting into a manic, predatory grin. “I spent five thousand Mid-Grade Spirit Stones buying secret intelligence from the Censorate’s archives.”
“Master Ash’s boy has a bizarre, pathological weakness,” Vorn continued. “Every time he traveled past an ancestral monument, he wore a thick silk blindfold. He hates enlightenment.”
Vorn drew his broadsword, resting the flat against the winch release lever.
