Two hours later, Freight Train No. 4 hissed to a stop at Green-Sprout Station, unloading a mountain of clanking scrap metal onto the gray-brick plaza.
Standing next to the pile were three hundred rogue sword cultivators from Planet Canglan who had taken the morning passenger train over to look for “high-paying monster-slaying missions” on the new jungle world.
Leading them was a tall, scarred Rank 5 Foundation Establishment swordsman named Lone-Wolf Jian Kuang, who wore a tattered white robe, a bamboo hat slung across his back, and an expression so cold it looked like everyone owed him five hundred Spirit Stones.
When Jian Kuang and his fellow rogue swordsmen saw Old Wei handing out farm recruitment flyers at the station gate, Jian Kuang sneered loudly and folded his arms across his sword hilt.
“Commander Wei, don’t joke with us!” Jian Kuang said proudly, lifting his chin at a forty-five-degree angle. “My brothers and I are wandering children of the Sword Dao! Our blades only drink the blood of monsters and cleave the clouds of heaven! Even if we starve to death in the gutter, a true swordsman will never bend his spine to pull a muddy plow like an ox!”
