Dawn over the Iron Dragon Gap broke with a pale, cold sun struggling through the unnatural golden glare of the Nine-Dragon Firewall.
In the forward staging trenches, Lin Tao sat on an upturned wooden crate, carefully cleaning the joints of his brass measuring tongs with a drop of fine stone oil. Beside him on a clean linen cloth lay three star-iron drift punches, two rolls of sterile bandages, a fresh earthen pot of sheep fat, and his pure-crystal land-mapper metal pen. The air was sharp, smelling of cold damp earth and the sharp metal tang of the barrier.
Tie Shan knelt nearby, step by step rubbing animal fat into the worn leather straps of his chest harness to prevent the coarse stitching from chafing against his collarbones.
“You slept two hours,” Tie Shan said, not looking up from his buckles.
“Systems stonework doesn’t pause for sleep, Tie Shan,” Lin Tao replied with a faint smile. He tested the smooth slide of his measuring tongs. “I spent the night calculating the memory wipe-out rate of Dragon Core 03. The barrier’s internal timing is more rigid than I at first estimated. Its clock cycle is bound to world-size ringing tones.”
Tie Shan grunted, pulling a strap tight until the thick ox-hide groaned under his thick fingers. “Tell me the weakness.”
