Chen Duhuai had always thought his greatest virtue was knowing how to play it safe.
A top student in the liberal arts class, fluent in eighteen barbarian languages, a sure bet for Northern Martial Academy, and then a comfortable, respectable desk job at the General Staff Office after graduation.
Until his father, who had spent nineteen years repairing shoes, slung an old saber over his shoulder and headed toward the Northern Frontier army camp.
There went playing it safe.
He changed his application to Northern Frontier Martial Academy. His childhood friend Liu Wen thought he’d gone mad. Old Zhao next door asked if he was still going to light the coal stove, while Uncle Zhou from the library cursed as he shoved half a sack of kidney-tonic roots into his hands.
All Chen wanted was to advance from the third to the fourth stage of Kaiyuan in four months, and...
figure out whether the nightmare that had haunted him for over a decade had anything to do with the barbarian shamans.
“You’re just like your old man,” Liu Wen said.
Chen Duhuai thought that was a fair assessment.
