“The Blackthorn Conglomerate has crafted a batch of maliciously faulty weapons,” Xue Xiao said coldly. “They brought the weapons for testing, and since they were superior to the previous generation of weapons, we placed an order to arm our entire monastery in preparation for the upcoming war.
“At first, all was well. The users of the weapons, though exhausted after they used the weapons for over an hour, recovered within three. This was an acceptable tradeoff for the thirty-percent increase in combat prowess we observed. So, we continued training with them.
“It wasn’t until one month later that we realized something was dreadfully wrong. At first, it was only a few reports of insanity. Such reports aren’t uncommon in our ranks—blood arts have harsh requirements on the individual, and the weak are culled as food for the strong. But before long, the number of reports exploded. Two weeks ago, we ordered our monks to stop using the weapons and conducted an investigation. The results are recorded on this jade slip, which is accompanied by an affidavit sworn before an official of the Spirit Temple.”
Xue Xiao pushed the jade slip to Prince Shen, who touched it and frowned. “Twenty percent of your foundation-establishment members went insane? Another thirty percent had their cultivation stalled? And you didn’t notice this earlier? You didn’t move to stop it earlier?”
Cha Ming suppressed a gleeful chuckle.
“We may have been overzealous in our training,” Xue Xiao said reluctantly. “In the monasteries, it’s common for inferior fighters to fall. We thought only a small percentage of our members would succumb to this. Even ten percent would have been acceptable. But twenty percent? That’s when we stopped. It was only after we investigated that we found everyone using the weapons was so mentally unstable that they could no longer break through in their cultivations.”
Prince Shen did not seem impressed. “Do you have anything to say about this?” he asked Director Yong.
“From a contractual point of view,” Director Yong said, pushing a bundle of papers to the prince, “we’ve received full indemnity against any damage suffered while using the weapons. Which, might I add, specifically includes physical, mental, spiritual, monetary, property, or other damage.”
“We also suggested a softer rollout in our proposal,” Tian Zhi said. “Though it would have taken longer, the risks would have been mitigated. They refused. Grandmaster Pai Xiao, the designer of the weapon, also cautioned them against such a large purchase. His warnings were repeatedly rebuffed by Senior Xue.”
Cha Ming nodded in confirmation.
“Is this true?” Prince Shen said, sighing. He looked to Xue Xiao, who could barely control his anger.
“We’ve lost a great deal of our fighting force,” Xue Xiao said, red faced and red eyed, his sharp teeth practically begging for blood. “This cannot go unpunished.” He pointed a thin finger covered in intricate armor to Cha Ming. “He is responsible. He must pay a price. We will not haggle contractually, but he owes us a blood debt.”
“Abbot Xue, please calm yourself,” Prince Shen said. “I find it highly unlikely that a reputable grandmaster like Pai Xiao would purposefully damage our blood masters at such a sensitive time. Especially since you were warned by both him and the Blackthorn Conglomerate.”
“He must be punished,” Xue Xiao said stubbornly.
Prince Shen sighed again. “I’ll tell you what,” he said to Xue Xiao. “Why don’t we send Grandmaster Pai Xiao to the Shattered Lands to mine for a month. He’ll know a month of suffering for his mistake, which will deter others from doing similar things.”
“At least a year!” Xue Xiao shouted. “If he’s going to suffer, it has to be a meaningful amount of time.”
“With all due respect,” Director Yong said, “this isn’t even his fault.”
“I’d also like to add that he’s a valuable member of my core research group,” Tian Zhi said dryly. “Not having him would have a profound impact on a very important project. Which, might I add, the royal family has commissioned.”
This seemed to trouble Prince Shen, who tapped his fingers as he thought.
“Three months,” Prince Shen said. “And that’s final.”
Xue Xiao looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, but he could only voice his agreement. “Fine. The prince is wise and fair.”
“Please go on ahead,” Prince Shen said. “We’ll talk later.” The three blood masters, Xue Xiao included, stood stiffly and walked out of the meeting room, leaving only Director Yong, Tian Zhi, and the prince with Cha Ming. “I’m sorry. I had to give them something for now. You know how obstinate they can be.”
“It really wasn’t his fault,” Tian Zhi said. “I was there. I saw him tell them we should do a pilot run.”
“I know,” Prince Shen said. “But war is coming, and we must be united. Morale is important. I understand that this will lead to a slight delay on the project, but it’s a price that must be paid. As a middle-marrow-refining cultivator, Pai Xiao won’t die like many others do. It will be a boring three months, but what smith doesn’t know monotony?”
“I understand,” Cha Ming said. “I shouldn’t have introduced the product. It was imperfect. Flawed.”
“Pride in your work is an admirable trait, but responsibility for results even more so,” Prince Shen said. “We must all be united if we are to retake the North from those who stole it from us.”
“But Prince Shen,” Tian Zhi said, “you might not be aware of this, but around a third of the progress we’ve made over the past three months on the Breaker project was due to Pai Xiao’s contributions, either directly or through insights. Those three months will cost us dearly.”
The prince’s expression turned grim. “Any delays will not be accepted
