The gray mountain rain tapered off into a fine silver mist that hovered over the soot-stained palisades of the Ironwood Gate, clinging to the muddy canvas canopies of the registry square.
In the center of the clearing, Korvin and his two trembling assistant clerks remained pressed against the slick gravel, their luxurious fur-lined coats soaked through with foul slush.
Hajin stood before the administrative table, his dual-colored eyes gazing down at the groveling officials with stern, unyielding judgment.
"For three years you have abused the authority of the realm, extorting travelers, starving commoners, and pocketing illegal tariffs under the protection of corrupt local lords," he spoke, his voice carrying the immovable weight of an imperial magistrate.
"My lord, please have mercy—we were merely following the direct orders of the frontier council!" Korvin whined, pressing his forehead into the mud as his teeth chattered violently in terror.
