The air in the secret underground chamber of Lin Ruoli's private residence was heavy, stagnant with the scent of plotting and the lingering, musky aftershocks of the previous night's debauchery. Alaric sat at the head of the dark jade strategy table, his fingers drumming a rhythmic, impatient tattoo on the cool stone surface. The map of the Celestial Dragon Empire spread out before him was no longer just geography; it was a menu. And he was a starving man looking at a feast.
