Piles of scrap metal from Inazuma's weapon-forging waste formed small hills, and the broken, weathered old shields of the Millelith were caked in thick dust. Limeng stood in the center of the wasteland, the blueprints in his hand snapping sharply in the wind.
"The framework will use scrap iron, and the foundations will be laid with old shields," he said, his voice not loud, yet easily cutting through the din of the crowd. "As for the walls—we'll use the corn stalks harvested from our own fields."
The refugees looked at one another in dismay. Someone picked up a handful of golden stalks, rubbing the dry fibers between their fingertips.
Chapter 27