The mud along the upper mountain road turned dark in the afternoon light. Thirty-nine noble carriages remained stuck on the slope, their wheels sinking into the slush. House guards had tried to clear the road with axes, but without new iron shoes and wagon axles, the heavy oak coaches wouldn't move an inch.At the base of the ridge, three commoner smiths from the D-Class pavilion sat on wooden stools beside a portable forge. A stack of fresh iron wheel hoops rested behind them, guarded by ten outcasts holding heavy hammers.Earl Marcus stood before master smith Thomas, his face red with anger. His velvet cloak was stained with mud at the knees, the gold trim ruined."Twelve silver bars?" Marcus shouted, waving his hand at his ruined carriage wheel. "A single wheel repair costs two silver in the city! You are committing extortion against a high lord!"Thomas wiped his greasy hands on his leather apron, his face flat. "The price is twelve silver. Cash down. We don't take paper notes sig

The Central Arena was a massive circular amphitheater carved directly into the white granite of the mountain ridge. Three thousand noble students filled the tiered stone benches, their colorful silk cloaks standing out against the gray ice covering the walls. Red and gold banners of the Crimson Sun guild hung from the upper railings, snapping in the cold wind.At the top of the stadium sat the royal box. Prince Kaelen Solaria rested his elbows on the velvet railing, flanked by four gold-armored guards. Beside him, Senior Elder Veron stood with his hands folded inside his sleeves, his face unreadable as he looked down at the arena floor.The heavy iron gates on the eastern side of the ring creaked open.Forty-two commoner students marched into the sunlight in tight four-man files. They wore thick gray wool coats, iron-plated shin guards, and carried solid six-foot iron rods over their shoulders. They didn't look at the shouting noble crowd. Their boots struck the stone floor in a stead