Kaelen stepped out of the bronze vault into the cool subterranean corridor.
His white linen bathrobe trailed softly over the grey pumice.
Behind him walked Deacon Vane and Old Barnaby, carrying the empty wooden ledger chests. Across the underground chamber, forty Vance guards stood at rigid attention, their eyes wide with awe as they looked at the young master.
Kaelen felt remarkably light.
His dantian purred with thirty thousand Qi units of natural recovery per hour. His meridians were wide, crystal-clear highways through which pure spiritual power flowed without the slightest friction.
His Safe Strike limit now rested at twenty-two thousand times baseline. If pushed to Overload, he could strike with forty-four thousand times his normal strength.
A truly terrifying amount of kinetic potential, Kaelen thought, checking his fingernails with mild boredom. I could probably slap a mountain into pebbles. Let us hope I never have to exert myself to that extent.
Deacon Vane walked briskly beside him, his ledger quill poised.
