The scout’s copper looking-glass was trembling.
Across the four-mile deep gap separating the outer siege line from Mount Azure Cloud, the Great Yan forward observers had watched the golden flare erupt from the central peak.
“An elder blew up,” the young scout reported to his centurion, his breath misting in the freezing dawn. “We saw the crimson pillar. They’re sacrificing their old men to hold the wards. The Azure Cloud Sect is falling apart from within.”
Ten miles to the north, aboard the flagship Sun-Cleaving Giant beast, Sovereign Yuan Ming received the report and sneered into his wine cup.
“Desperation,” Yuan Ming declared. His voice carried down the gold-trimmed deck to thirty listening sect masters. “When the heretics begin dying to their own sky-trial fires, you know the Heavens have already passed judgment. Order Ba Lie to bring up the siege rams. We take the pass by noon.”
*
Apothecary He wasn’t sneering. He was swearing with poisonous, rhythmic care.
“Six of them?!” the old apothecary roared, kicking an empty wicker basket across the bunker floor. “You’re putting six children on that slaughter-bench at the same time?! Lin Ke, you’re not a master builder, you’re a headsman!”
