The sound of brittle ribs shattering under iron boots was the only noise in the dark.
Lin Ke stood up among the mountain of dry bones. His hands scraped against chalky femurs and empty eye sockets. Beside him, Meng Shan was already hauling two dazed conscripts out of the crumpled iron cage, checking their limbs with quick, rough jerks.
“No spinal fractures,” Meng Shan muttered, his voice muffled by the lime-packed filter mask. “Two out-of-joint elbows. We can pop them back in.”
“Conserve lamp oil,” Lin Ke whispered. He pulled his four-inch iron metal pen from his belt and checking the sharp point. “Shen Yue, status.”
“Both threads working,” Shen Yue replied. She stepped out from behind a pile of crushed drakes’ skulls. Her hands were steady, three frost magic charms already hovering between her knuckles. “Two massive heat signed names eighty paces ahead. Guarding the main tunnel arch.”
Lin Ke climbed down the bone mound. That kept his boots on the older, stone-hardened skeletons that wouldn’t slide like scree.
At the bottom of the ossuary slope, the cave narrowed into a fortified underground choke point—the Cauldron Gate.
Originally an emergency blast gate built to seal the lower mines during earth-heat blowouts, the twenty-foot archway had been transformed into an altar of butchery.
