Boom!
The curtain of rain fell, its sound immense.
Outside, a tempest raged; a bonfire was lit.
Perched upon the bonfire was an iron pot simmering with lamb. A young man in black clothing sliced rib meat with a small knife, dipped it in dipping sauce, and ate. He sat cross-legged on the grassland, appearing relaxed, yet the man facing him, adorned with a forehead ornament, looked less than pleased.
In his hands, the Seventh Prince of the Turkic twirled a curved saber—an artifact from Tuyuhun, crafted of gold with seven pigeon-egg-sized gemstones inlaid in the handle, luxurious as art yet with a blade so sharp it seemed it could slice through the northern winds.
The Seventh Prince said, "Master, your strategy was brilliant; we have occupied the vast lands of the Western Regions."
"But my elder brother has suffered great losses."
The Seventh Prince barely managed to suppress the urge to curse him as a fool.
