Knis's movement was halted by a peal of thunder. His red-faced, furious, twisted expression turned pale in an instant. His upright body hunched over, his face showing nothing but fawning caution.
Returning the shock baton to his waist, Knis and all the overseers knelt deeply toward the source of the voice, their posture even more proper and devout than that of the slaves laboring in the factory.
From beneath the overlapping shadows of the factory buildings emerged the massive figure of Smith Sander. The load-bearing steel grating designed for mortals groaned beneath his footsteps.
Knis did not even dare raise his head to see where Smith Sander had gone. He knew this was not his master, but this lord possessed enough authority to command his master.
His own master merely wore a masterpiece forged from ceramite and daemon iron, covered in spikes and interwoven black-and-yellow stripes, with heavy chains clanking as he walked.
But this lord...
Knis's body trembled. He even suspected that this crushing pressure would frighten him to death.
A lofty Warsmith. Though this slave overseer did not understand what a Warsmith truly was, he had learned from watching expressions and reading the room that killing Iron Warriors was no more effort to such people than lifting a hand.
"Raise your head, little overseer. I'm in a very good mood right now."
Smith Sander's voice reached him. Knis immediately raised his head and revealed a humble smile.
What kind of helmet was that? Red optical lenses shone with dangerous light beneath the iron faceplate. Behind it extended a sharp, bladed iron ring that radiated an unsettling aura, filling Knis with even greater fear.
Like a helpless lamb caught in the gaze of a savage wolf, all he could do was kneel there dumbly.
The overseers' terror did not