The thick, acrid smoke rising from the gorge felt like a physical weight crushing down on Bai Ruolan's chest.
She dragged herself to the edge of the rocky ledge, the heat radiating from the molten trench below still hot enough to scorch her skin.
Her mind went entirely blank as the agonizing groans of the mutilated enforcers echoed through the narrow pass.
These weren't standard guards; they were the absolute elite of the Golden Cauldron Union's martial branch.
Men who had survived brutal territory disputes and beast tides were now reduced to broken, charred husks, begging for death in the dirt.
A cold, paralyzing dread completely seized her throat.
The realization hit her with the force of a spiritual hammer: It was never a supply line.
The Tang Clan hadn't sent an emergency shipment across provinces because they were desperate, they had sent a moving executioner's block wrapped in crimson banners.
