The air in the mountain pass, usually crisp with the scent of pine, hung heavy with tension and the smell of hot iron.
Han Suwen stood with his feet planted.
Behind him, Han Rong and Han Meiyi watched the exchange, unease growing in their eyes.
"Your reasoning is flawed," Han Suwen said, calm, though a sharp edge ran beneath it.
"Just because you cannot do your job does not mean we should stop. I suspect your sect master needs resources, so you started stealing and hoarding them."
Yue Hai, a woman whose presence matched the greatsword resting on her shoulder, let out a harsh laugh.
"You brat who still smells of milk. If you insult our sect master one more time, do not say this senior did not warn you."
She drove the tip of her greatsword into the ground, drawing a line.
"We are the ones who have guarded this mountain for generations, so you soft-handed townsfolk can play safe inside your walls while we clean up the mess from the terrace."
