CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
High atop the jagged, cloud-piercing summit of Mount Azure, the ancient bronze war bell rang nine times in a row.
The sound was so sharp and loud that it shook the white snow off the pine trees across all nine peaks of the Azure-Sword Sect. Flocks of spirit-cranes squawked in terror and flapped out of their nests, only to crash nose-first into a shimmering blue dome of sword-light that had just sealed off the entire mountain range from the outside world.
Inside the Grand Sword Hall on the Central Peak, Sect Master Ling Xiao stood on a high stone platform with his long white beard trembling like dry grass in a storm. He wore a ceremonial robe embroidered with ninety-nine silver flying swords, and his right hand gripped the hilt of his prized Rank 5 Peak weapon, the Sky-Splitting Sword.
Down below him knelt eight white-bearded Sword Elders and six thousand surviving Inner and Core Disciples.
Every single one of them looked pale, hungry, and sleep-deprived. Ever since their 40,000 outer disciples had walked off the job during Pei Xuan’s Great Border Job Fair two months ago—and First Elder Jian Wuchen had been captured along with 3,000 elite flying-sword masters—nobody on Mount Azure had cooked a decent meal, swept the courtyards, or mined a single basket of spirit coal.
