The narrow, rocky suspension bridge creaked beneath the measured tread of Ye Chen’s boots, the iron chains groaning against the granite precipice as he crossed back toward the desolate ridges of the Ruined Peak.
The roar of ten thousand voices, the metallic ring of the hollow victory bell, and the stench of burning soot faded into the distance behind him, swallowed whole by the familiar, damp sulfur fog rolling through the ravines.
As the physical heat of the combat drained from his limbs, it left no exhaustion in its wake.
Instead, a freezing, calculated stillness settled deep into the marrow of his bones.
He had stood before the highest magistrates of the mountain, presented the smoking abyssal needle with the ink of their own trade seals still legible on the cylinder, and watched se
