The wind howling down from the Iron Dragon Gap carried the scent of woodsmoke, roasting millet, and hot animal fat from the mortal encampment.
At the forward outpost, fifty paces behind the survey line, a dozen squad leaders from the Azure Basin had gathered behind an earthen berm. Among them was Deng, a hot-headed young hunter whose father had died in the royal silver mines. In his hands, Deng gripped a heavy star-iron throwing spear, its tip coated in crimson spirit-warding lacquer prepared by local herbalists. The shaft was carved from seasoned mountain ash, weighted with lead rivets to pierce heavy sky armor.
“Master Lin says the wall is made of rules,” Deng muttered to his comrades, his knuckles white against the ash-wood wooden handle. “A rule can’t stop cold iron thrown with mortal hatred. We crossed the rift and broke the underworld. Why do we sit in the dirt while sky gods stare down at us?”
Before Lin Tao and Tie Shan could go down from the watching knoll, Deng stepped out from behind the berm.
With a fierce, deep-throated shout of defiance, the young hunter sprinted forward ten paces and hurled the heavy spear with all the power of his seasoned hunting arm. The weapon arced through the pale evening air. It whistled as its star-iron tip streaked straight toward the shimmering golden curtain of the Nine-Dragon Barrier.
