Ink-stained vellum flapped in the cool breeze off the underground lake as Deacon Vane sorted through the courier’s satchel.
The flat granite slab was covered in stacks of imperial paperwork.
Vane worked with meticulous care, using a bone magnifying lens and a small pot of vinegar to dissolve the blood-wax seals. Beside him sat Elder Sterling, who used a faint trace of Nascent Soul Qi to stabilize the brittle paper without scorching the edges.
“Arrest warrants for three provincial magistrates,” Vane muttered, sorting the sheets into neat piles. “Requisition orders for four hundred tons of refined salt-iron. Reassignment forms for penal legion captains.”
Commander Wu leaned against the table, glancing nervously over the imperial seals. He had spent fifteen years serving in Dravus’s vanguard, and the sight of Censorate stamps still made his jaw tighten with dread.
“Any orders regarding the auxiliary garrisons?” Wu asked quietly.
“A complete purge notice for the western regiments,” Vane answered without looking up. “Once this canyon is sealed, Dravus had orders to execute every auxiliary officer to prevent information leaks.”
Wu swallowed hard, his knuckles whitening on his sword hilt. “Then defecting was the only chance we ever had.”
