The yellow sulfuric fog rose another three paces up the scree slopes, bubbling against the lower shelf of the plateau and forcing more than a hundred coughing, desperate cultivators onto the narrow approach path.
They came from every corner of the dying valley, their bodies caked in soot and dried blood, their silk tunics shredded by the brambles, their lungs whistling with the caustic bite of the rising vitriol. Inner disciples from the Seven Stars Pavilion leaned against bruised rivals from the Iron Hammer Hall, while scattered northern deserters threw down their curved falchions to drag themselves across the loose volcanic shale. All eyes were locked in sheer, unadulterated desperation upon the center of the high stone shelf, where a small mountain of seventy-six rectangular silver exi
