Kaelen Vance reached out with two fingers and tapped the corner of the glowing blueprint.
The golden lines rippled beneath his touch, casting long amber shadows across the volcanic cavern floor.
“So Solon feeds the entire archipelago cheap Standard pills for five thousand years,” Kaelen said in a flat, tranquil voice. “Just to harvest high-sediment Saint Vessels like fat geese for an autumn roast.”
Claire Vance nodded slowly, her knuckles whitening around her leather recipe book.
“Every sect leader who ascends through the Heaven-Step Gate believes they are entering paradise,” Claire said. “In reality, their bodies are melted into medicine to prolong Solon’s life. And now that our alliance has disrupted the tribute schedule, Thorne-Crow will accelerate the timeline.”
Kaelen leaned his back against a smooth pillar of black basalt, crossing his ankles.
“The only sensible cure for an impatient butcher with an orbital furnace is to finish sleeping,” Kaelen murmured. “Running around in a panic only ruins the digestion.”
People always think war requires shouting and swinging iron, Kaelen thought. Real war is won by having enough cash in the treasury and enough hours on the tally.
