CH745 · Rewrite
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Chapter 745: Furious Thunder

Iron Axe didn’t react the way Thuram had expected.

No flash of anger, no visible change in expression—nothing. Thuram remembered him differently: a man who had never allowed anyone to threaten the princess of Osha, not even in words. That man had been quick and dangerous and very easy to read.

This one was not.

Thuram found himself glancing at the Divine Lady instead—Drow Silvermoon, he’d assumed, though her hood still shadowed her face. She appeared equally unmoved by the threat. As if the prospect of being handed to Iron Whip clan had not reached her at all.

What are they thinking?

His hand found the God’s Stone of Retaliation in his pocket. His expression stayed fierce, though the muscles holding it had stiffened.

“I’m not coming back only for revenge,” Iron Axe said at last, unhurried. “And I never rested our hopes on you to beat the watchdogs. You didn’t have the courage for that eight years ago—I know you haven’t grown it since.”

The first half of that stung. The second half surprised him.

“Not just for revenge?”

“I intend to challenge all six clans.” Iron Axe said it plainly, word by word. “And make Osha the strongest clan in Iron Sand City.”

Thuram absorbed this.

Although the clans that occupied Iron Sand City managed it jointly, they were far from equal. The highest-ranked clan held the best position at the city’s center; anyone who wanted it had to defeat everyone above them first. For the Osha clan—starting from nothing—that meant winning six consecutive challenges against the six strongest clans in the Southernmost Region.

Only a madman would attempt that.

The rules were absolute: once a path of challenges began, it could not be interrupted. Six victories in succession, each one harder than the last, each demanding an enormous toll from the clan’s warriors. The interval required to recover from a single holy duel was typically more than six months—and the opponents would be first-class Mojin fighters. The Wildflame clan, ranked first, had held that position for decades. Resources, foundation, warriors cultivated from childhood. Against all of that, a clan with nothing.

It was impossible.

Thuram had seen many avengers: some who struck true on the first attempt, some who lost everything, some who spent years preparing and finally surrendered. The pattern was never consistent. But only the genuinely mad aimed at the whole of Iron Sand City.

There was nothing more to discuss.

“Boys!” he called out. “Take them both.”

Four clansmen were already in the room; two more stood outside the door. All carried blades and God’s Stones. Iron Axe and the woman had been disarmed at the entrance—no matter how capable the mixed-blood was, he couldn’t overcome these numbers with his bare hands.

I’ll collect a fine reward for the mixed-blood’s head, Thuram thought, and send the Divine Lady as a gift to Iron Whip. That might even earn me my watchdog position back.

Then the hooded woman stood up.

She smiled—and pulled back her hood.

Dark hair fell down her shoulders in a cascade. Her face, when it emerged from the cloth, was striking. But it was not Drow Silvermoon’s face. No woman of the Sand Nation had skin that pale, or eyes that color—golden irises that caught the firelight and held it like a struck coin.

None of Thuram’s clansmen had taken a step.

The first one who did moved toward her from the left. She stepped aside from his attack with unhurried ease, and then hit the second man in the face. The sound was wrong—too solid. Like a hammer striking a post.

The second man left the floor.

He went through the wooden wall.

He fell from the second floor.

Thuram didn’t finish forming the thought before the third clansman went through the wall after him, expelled by another blow that carried far more force than any person that size should have been able to generate.

The tavern erupted. Someone was shouting below. The fireplace guttered as cold air rushed in through the new holes in the wall.

The woman kept moving—unhurried, precise, each blow landing with the same quality of measurement. Not performance. Not fury. Simply the most direct solution to each problem as it presented itself.

Why isn’t the God’s Stone working?

He had paid significant sums of gold royals for those stones, imported from Graycastle specifically to give his men a fighting chance against Divine Ladies. Against this woman, they were entirely useless.

The fourth clansman hit the ground. He didn’t get up.

Rapid footsteps on the stairs. Many of them.

Then a blade touched Thuram’s throat.

He hadn’t seen Iron Axe move.

“Wait—” he got out, despite the line of cold metal against his skin. “Don’t come up! Any of you!”

A pause. Feet on the stairs. “Head?”

“Get back downstairs. Now.

He heard them retreat.

Iron Axe had been right, Thuram realized. About the courage. He had never been a man who could choose death over compromise—he had simply been good at not being placed in situations where the choice was obvious. When it was obvious, he compromised. He always had.

Perhaps I was never the moribund after all. Perhaps I was always the half-dead.

“Can we talk now?” Iron Axe said, almost gently.

“Even if I agreed, it wouldn’t help you.” Thuram kept his voice level. It took effort. “The watchdogs here serve Iron Whip and Bonegrinding. After tonight, after what she just did to my people—Iron Sand City will know by morning. You can’t gather a clan in that kind of time. Most of my clansmen are slaves to other clans now. Even if they were willing to return, they’d be slaughtered by warriors who’ve done nothing but train. If you don’t want to die in this oasis, leave now while you still can.”

“I never expected you to defeat the watchdogs,” Iron Axe said again.

Thuram pressed his teeth together. Then what do you want from me? You don’t need my people, you don’t need my position—why come here at all?

Unless.

Unless his gathered force wasn’t from the Southernmost Region at all.

The realization moved through him slowly, with the particular chill of something that should have been obvious.

They called on another clan. One from outside.

Two dull, distant detonations sounded through the window.

Not particularly loud. Not particularly close. And no lightning preceded them—which was wrong. Lightning came first. Always.

Iron Axe’s expression shifted for the first time.

Something that might have been satisfaction.

“Listen,” he said. “The thunder is coming.”

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