The morning sun rose higher. It cast the long, menacing shadow of the Heavenly Mandate across the entire width of the northern mountain pass.
Beneath that huge shadow, two worlds stood frozen on a dirt road.
On one side stood Marquis Zhao, clad in gleaming golden dragon-scale plate. He was surrounded by twenty armored guards and fifty sky scribes. He was backed by the raw, crushing firepower of twelve sky-dreadnoughts. On the other side stood Lin Tao and Tie Shan. Two mortals covered in rock dust, coal grease, and dried blood, their only weapons a fourteen-pound star-iron pry-bar and a four-inch land-mapper metal pen.
Yet it was Marquis Zhao whose hands were trembling with suppressed anxiety.
The Soul Formation general stared at the sixty yards of shimmering silk spread across the pear-wood table. For the first time in his military career, his overwhelming physical power was fully useless. He could draw his dragon-bone sword and slaughter every living soul in the valley, but the act of violence wouldn’t clear the ledger. It would merely trigger the automatic debt clauses, bankrupt his noble house, and freeze his fleet’s floating fuel in mid-air.
“There must be a way to clear the record,” Zhao said. His voice strained and was tight with suppressed rage. “Wu! You’re a Sixth-Rank Clerk! Find a legal loophole!”
