Sect Master Zhao Tianxiao stepped over the shattered fragments of the bone blade, his fingers closing around the carved hilt of his long crimson sword. The weapon vibrated with a dark, wet hum as he drew the blade from its scabbard, channeling the full reserves of the subterranean blood pool directly into his meridians. An apocalyptic aura of boiling red Qi surged across the white marble terrace, turning the pale stone into the color of raw rust and making the air taste of copper.
Zhao Tianxiao raised his chin, his voice booming over the trembling assembly with a forced, vibrating bravado that barely masked the frantic terror in his chest. He spoke of bloodline purity, of ancient pacts carved into mountain bedrock, and of the natural order where commoners belonged in the dirt while lords
