Zhao Yan didn't answer. He pressed on, his sword singing as it clashed against another blade. The weight of the empire was in every strike, every step he took towards the heart of the Jade House.
Deng Mi was at his back, his movements sure and swift. Wei Ling took the lead for a moment, his saber a wall of steel that forced the enemy back. But still they came—Pei Rong's men, driven by fear and the promise of victory.
The jade walls reflected the battle in a thousand fractured images. Zhao Yan caught glimpses of himself in those mirrored surfaces—blood on his face, his eyes alight with determination. A prince no longer content to watch the empire slip away.
A guard lunged at Deng Mi from the side, blade raised high. Zhao Yan moved without thinking, his sword sweeping out in a perfect arc that cut the man down before he could strike. Deng Mi grunted in thanks, his own blades cutting down another man as they pressed on.
"Almost there!"
