High above the Sixth Peak, Supreme Sword Saint Du Cang looked down upon the Precursor terrace with eyes of burning gold.
For five hundred years, he had presided over the Nine-Peak Proving Grounds. Emperors had sent their favored crown princes to kneel upon these stones. Supreme elders of the Heavenly Sword Sect had offered their old family treasures merely for thirty words of guidance from his lips. In the eyes of the Central Heavens, Du Cang was not merely a fighter. He was an immortal judge of the Heavenly Dao, a sovereign whose sword intent dictated the boundaries of mortal life and sky majesty.
Not once in five hundred years had a challenger dared to face his Sky-Severing Void Blade without offering three deep bows of respect and trembling in terror before his divine presence.
Yet down upon the cold dark rock floor, two mortal figures stood in open defiance.
One was an illiterate quarry laborer, tethered to the bedrock like an ox chained to an anvil. He held an iron pry-bar with crude, peasant stubbornness. The other was an empty-dantian cripple who wielded neither sword nor magic charm. He stood with his hands loosely at his sides. He looked up into the sky domain with the cold, assessing eyes of a tax collector inspecting a shipment of damaged grain.
