Every step along the slush-slick cobblestones of North Crucible Avenue felt like driving a dull copper chisel into Lin Ke’s hip sockets.
The morning air was thick with the reek of burned coal and roasted suet, biting cold against the raw, blistered skin of his neck. His new linen tunic was clean. But beneath the rough weave, his chest and back felt like they had been wrapped in coarse sandpaper and soaked in salt water.
He leaned his left shoulder against Meng Shan’s massive arm as they walked.
Meng Shan matched his stride, moving with slow, clockwork patience, his four-hundred-pound iron slab resting across his shoulder like a dead tree trunk.
Beside them walked Shen Yue. It grabbed a small wicker basket of boiled eggs and clean water, her eyes sunken with purple rings of tiredness, her hands resting nervously on her dual-thread magic charm satchel.
The streets leading to the Great Crucible Coliseum were packed with thousands of spectators.
Rogue fighters in patched hemp coats stood beside wealthy merchants in mink-trimmed furs, all surging toward the great iron gates.
The Azure Cloud delegation passed beneath the iron-plated archway of the Coliseum plaza. Then, jeers and mocking laughter rolled across the crowd.
