Out on the trampled grass of the northern command mound, Daoist Hei-Gu looked down his hooked nose at Duke Tieba, who was still picking thorn twigs out of his beard.
Even though Daoist Hei-Gu’s pale bone-mule had also bolted into Pei Xuan’s corral five minutes ago to eat apple mash, the thin Daoist refused to admit he had been startled by the dragon horn. He smoothed his black skull-embroidered robes and sneered coldly.
“Useless mortal warlord,” Daoist Hei-Gu hissed, his voice sounding like two dry grave-bones rubbing together. “A hundred thousand mud-legged horsemen couldn’t even break a row of clockwork iron carts, and you actually let your beasts get lured away by a bowl of horse feed. If word of this reaches Golden-Crow Capital, my master—First Immortal Advisor Daoist Rotten-Bone—will laugh until his teeth fall out.”
Duke Tieba gritted his teeth, swallowing his pride as he bowed low. “Immortal Master Hei-Gu, you are at Rank 4 Peak—Qi Gathering Stage 9, just half a step away from the legendary Foundation Establishment Realm! Those iron boxes have thick black-iron shells that mortal lances cannot pierce, and they have some kind of evil sound-treasure on top. If you crack open that lead iron box and pull Pei Xuan out alive, I will double your master’s annual tribute to twenty thousand blood-pearls and give you five hundred thousand taels of gold for your personal alchemy furnace!”
