Chapter 4 Eithan stood on Lindon's right, and he gave a cheery wave when he saw Lindon, his smile as bright as ever. Opposite him was Jai Daishou, the Patriarch of the Jai clan. An old man, he wore white robes with highlights of blue, and his white hair ran in a straight river down his back. Thanks to the Goldsign of the Path of the Stellar Spear, his hair was a collection of metal strands that reflected bright in the sunlight. He gripped a blue-hafted spear in his right hand, grinding its butt against the stone of the floor. He had deteriorated since Lindon had last seen him. The last time, Jai Daishou had looked like a fit man in his eighties. His back had been as straight as his spear, and his eyes were sharp. Now, his back was curved as the branch of an old tree, and his eyes were half-lidded, as though it was a strain to keep them open. He held his spear, not like he was ready to use it, but as though it was the only thing holding him up. He may have been an Underlord, but he had one foot in the underworld. Lindon had spent long hours hoping he would die before this duel—if he was gone, the Arelius family would have nothing at stake here. It would purely be a duel between Lindon and Jai Long. In that case, the Skysworn wouldn't have checked the surroundings for traps. Lindon could have cheated to his heart's content. They must have just arrived, because Eithan didn't greet his opposite until Lindon was close enough to hear. "Jai Daishou! You're in good health, it seems. Better than last I saw you." The Jai Underlord's hand shot up to his chest, clawing at the center, as though his heart were seizing up at that moment. His wrinkled face twisted in hatred, but his voice was clear as he responded. "This is a waste of my time. Without your tricks, this duel is already over. You should have had the boy's head delivered to me on a plate and saved us all a day's travel."
"I asked him about that," Eithan said. "He told me he prefers his head where it is." That was a true story. While Lindon had been practicing with Fisher Gesha, Eithan had looked up from his book and suggested that this whole thing could be resolved if they just delivered Lindon's severed head to the enemy. It would look bad for the Arelius, but losing an official duel would be worse, because there would be a public record of their shame. Lindon had politely requested to keep his head attached. There were three other people in the room, but Lindon had focused on the two Patriarchs first. Another old man stood in the center, equally distant from both Underlords. He wore the green armor of the Skysworn, but there was something on his back sticking up from his shoulders. Was he wearing a backpack? He wasn't as ancient as Jai Daishou seemed to be, but he still looked like he could be Lindon's grandfather. His build was still powerful, and he wore his green Skysworn armor more naturally than Renfei or Bai Rou, as though he had been born in it. Its plates were so scuffed and dented that the armor might well be as old as he was. His gray hair was long and matted, hanging down in tangled curtains. A large patch of his face was scarred and twisted, as though it had been burned, and he wore a large sword strapped to his back. His scratched armor, dirty hair, and scorched face didn't make him look weak to Lindon. It was the opposite, if anything. He looked like a man who belonged on a battlefield. The old man chewed on a leaf that stuck halfway out of his mouth, regarding Lindon with a weary expression. "All right, all right. On behalf of the Blackflame Empire, I witness this duel between Jai Daishou of the Jai clan and Eithan Arelius of the Arelius family. As an Underlord and Captain of the Skysworn sect, I, Naru Gwei, certify upon my word of honor that no tampering has occurred at the venue before my arrival, and I will not tolerate any further interference by outside parties during the duel itself." Every word was hammered in like a nail, as though he were reciting something while desperately wishing he could be anywhere else. "It's a joy to have you here, Gwei," Eithan said happily. "Of all the duel adjudicators in the Empire, you're still the highest-ranked, aren't you? It's honestly a pleasure, a pleasure, to have such an esteemed—"
"Eithan, one more word out of you and I will personally beat you down into the center of the mountain." Naru Gwei gnawed on his leaf as he spoke, still looking as though he'd rather be in bed. "I don't have any love for the Jai clan, but as for you, if I saw you on fire I'd hold an umbrella for you so the rain didn't put you out." "I don't feel like that's entirely warranted." Lindon's heart was already hammering as the duel loomed over him and he tried not to look at the red-masked man standing behind Jai Daishou, but his heartbeat quickened and his stomach soured when he realized that Eithan had antagonized the judge. What had he done? Would Naru Gwei interfere on Jai Long's behalf? "Wei Shi Lindon Arelius," the Skysworn Captain said, "go stand next to your Underlord and face your opposite. Wipe that smile off your face, Eithan. Heavens above, it sickens me to look at you." Lindon stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Eithan...but slid away slightly. The less he could associate himself with Eithan in the judge's mind, the better. For Eithan's part, he looked as though he were enjoying himself immensely. With no other choice, Lindon finally looked at the two people standing behind Jai Daishou. He didn't mind seeing Jai Chen. About his age, she was small and pale, with soft black hair that tumbled down past her shoulders. Her wide eyes were fixed on the judge in an expression of concern, but when she saw Lindon looking at her, she turned to him. She was dressed in powder-blue robes cut longer and looser than the traditional sacred artist's robes, and her sleeves hid her hands until she raised one in his direction. She didn't smile—she still looked worried—but at least she had acknowledged him. That was a friendly gesture, right? He hoped the Blackflame Empire didn't have a history of acknowledging enemies with the wave of a hand. He smiled tightly, the closest to a friendly expression he could manage with his stomach twisting, and nodded to her. Then, for the first time since entering, he finally looked straight at his opponent. Jai Long was already watching him. His dark eyes glistened through a gap in the strips of red cloth that wrapped his head completely. He was tall and lithe, his robes dark blue, and
he held his spear at his side. Lindon brightened when he saw that spear—it wasn't a shaft of pure white, the signature weapon of the Jai clan's ancestor. That spear could steal madra, and this one was a mundane weapon of wood and metal. Jai Long raised his own hand to Lindon, which returned concerns that perhaps this gesture was meant to show respect to an enemy. He couldn't see anything of his opponent's expression beneath the mask, but he decided to take the gesture as cordial and raised his own right hand. Naru Gwei looked from Lindon to Jai Long, ensuring their attention was on him, before he took the leaf out of his mouth and spoke. "This is a duel for pride. As such, the champions will fight to death or incapacitation. I am here to ensure that the Underlords cannot interfere, so fight without reserve. The bounds of your battle shall be confined to this room; if it seems you will breach those bounds, I will return you by force." He slid the leaf back into his lips and continued talking, but now it no longer sounded like he was quoting. "Even though this is a...Lowgold with a second, weaker core...against a Truegold, it's still a fight between two great families. It will reflect official rankings, as well as the reputation of both powers. If you can resolve your differences, do so now." He didn't sound like he had much hope for that to happen. Lindon thought back to what he'd heard from the others over the intervening months of his imprisonment. The Arelius family was dangerously under-funded since the attack of the Jai clan, but the Jai clan's reputation was at an all-time low. Some merchant organizations refused to deal with the Jai clan anymore, either because of their weakness or because of the poor form they'd shown in suddenly attacking the Arelius family's workers. Attacking them and failing was the real sin, as Lindon understood it. If Jai Daishou had succeeded in killing Eithan, and the rest of his fighters had crippled the Arelius family work force, the other Underlords of the Blackflame Empire would have considered it a clever move. On top of all that, their Underlord didn't have long to live. In this case, it would only take one pebble to start an avalanche that buried them. But it was down to Lindon to be that pebble. He gathered himself, mentally running down the four construct-weapons that he had been allowed to keep. They would be of limited use compared
to the ones he had been denied, but his plans would still work with them. He hoped. "Step to the center of the room and face your enemy," Naru Gwei said, walking over to the open side of the room. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against a column, not seeming to care about the sheer drop behind him. "Everyone else, back up. I'll be protecting the duel from you, not you from the duel." Eithan not only backed up, but sat down, propping his back against the wall and stretching his legs out in front of him, crossing one ankle over another. He looked like he was making himself comfortable at a picnic. Casting worried glances at the participants, Jai Chen followed Jai Daishou as he slowly made his way over to another end of the room. They left Jai Long and Lindon with plenty of open space around them. And nothing to watch but each other. For Lindon's part, his enemy seemed to swell and fill the entire world. It felt too soon. It had been a year, an entire year since he stood at the peak of the Transcendent Ruins. That didn't feel real. Where had the time gone? It couldn't possibly have been a year; he felt cheated. Suddenly, he felt like running to Eithan and begging out. Someone had made a mistake—he wasn't ready yet. He needed more time. "Exchange greetings," Naru Gwei commanded. Jai Long pressed his fists together, holding his spear in the crook of his elbow, and gave a shallow bow. His eyes didn't leave Lindon. Mechanically, Lindon's body returned the gesture. His mind was still floating in disbelief. Was he really here? "I have to thank you for healing my sister," Jai Long said. "You killed my brother, but you gave me my sister back. For my part, we're even." That jostled Lindon awake, and he rushed to speak. "We can walk away! I have no grudge against you." "If it were up to me, I would have called it off already. I would never fight for the Jai clan at all." He spun his spear up to grip it in both hands, lowering himself into a stance and pointing the spearhead at Lindon. "But it isn't up to me. I will be as gentle as I can." Some of Lindon's nerves retreated. If his enemy was taking it easy on him, then maybe he had a better chance than he'd imagined.
"Ready yourselves," Naru Gwei said. Lindon leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, flexing his knees, ready to run. Jai Long's fists tightened on his weapon. Madra spun through Lindon's channels even as wind spun through the open space. Whether he liked it or not, the time was here. And he was ready. "Begin," the Skysworn Underlord said, and a thunderclap tore the air between the two fighters. Lindon shot forward. I'd contend he thinks of you like a Blackflame, Yerin had told him. He'll want to hold off and block your first technique. Break through it. Lindon activated the purple bracelet wrapping his right wrist, casting his hand forward. A bright purple line shot forward like a whip, its tip bluewhite. Back in the Desolate Wilds, the Fishers had a technique they called the Snare. It used their connection madra to stick to prey, which they could then reel in with raw strength. Fisher Gesha had brought a Fisher Remnant from home, and when she and Lindon dissected it, they had found a Snare binding. When they made it into a construct, they built some modifications. Now, the technique inside the purple bracelet was called the Void Snare. Jai Long had the speed to intercept the technique, of course. He was a Truegold. He swept his spear through it, but his weapon only passed through the line of Fisher madra and was stuck. The string had no physical substance, but drew objects toward Lindon. And the tip of the whip, the shining blue-white tip, struck Jai Long in the shoulder. Inserting pure madra into an opponent's body wouldn't work exactly like the Empty Palm. That technique was designed to disrupt an enemy's body, interrupting their control over their entire spirit, and it had to land on the core. This was more of a localized pulse, like the sting of a needle compared to the stab of a sword. When the tip of the whip hit Jai Long's shoulder, it discharged its payload of pure madra. The power in his shoulder was disrupted. Not enough to prevent him from using his sacred arts, but enough to keep him from breaking the line for just a moment. A moment was enough. With all his strength, Lindon pulled.
His strength was nothing next to Jai Long's, and of course the Truegold resisted. But Lindon wasn't trying to pull his enemy to him. Quite the opposite. Lindon pulled himself forward, launching himself toward his opponent. Struck by the Void Snare, it took half a breath before Jai Long could muster his madra and blow the purple line apart with white light. By the time he managed it, breaking the technique, Lindon was already inside spear range. "A good fight is a short fight," Orthos said. "A dragon uses his full strength, whether he's fighting a Sage or a mouse." End it quickly. Lindon had already pulled the launcher from his waist: a crackling bar of living lightning that had once been the wrist-bones of a Remnant. The binding inside snapped with power; it wasn't just lightning, there was more to it, but Lindon didn't need to understand the Path of this strange Remnant to use its power. He activated the construct, and an arrow of sizzling light blasted Jai Long. Jai Long's motions blurred as he pulled his spear back, sweeping it vertically in front of himself, leaving a trail of white light on the air. That white light bloomed into a hissing serpent, which was instantly torn apart by the blast from Lindon's launcher. Lindon could feel the construct snap as he used it—he wouldn't get a second shot. That was the risk of using a construct after having it exposed for so long to let its essence dissolve. Fortunately, he didn't need a second shot. The launcher was just to keep Jai Long on the defensive; if he had used that speed to take a step backward and attack instead, he would have skewered Lindon through the gut by now. Instead, he had been prepared for an attack by Blackflame. He had been hit by unknown attacks from unexpected angles, and he was trying to treat Lindon 'gently.' He hadn't come into this fight with a willingness to kill. That didn't mean he wouldn't end up killing Lindon if he was in a position to do so, or if things went wrong, but Lindon had been counting on that moment of hesitation to cause Jai Long to decide to defend instead of attack. That was Lindon's chance of victory, and he seized it. He already had his next move ready.
Even as his right hand cast the ruined launcher construct aside, his left had already withdrawn an object from his pocket: a rounded skull the size of his fist. It was the brown of old parchment and felt greasy in his hand. A single-use, simple construct. "Warriors focus on weapons too much, you see," Gesha had taught him. "Powerful treasures, legendary swords, yes? In a duel, the winner is not the one with the strongest weapon." Lindon dropped the Nether-drain Swamp construct at Jai Long's feet. The skull cackled as it struck the ground, filled with Lindon's madra. Now free from restrictions, the Remnant skull acted according to its nature: it exploded into a technique. This technique covered the ground like brown paint in an instant, splattering on Lindon's legs, but covering Jai Long to the ankles. The paint stuck to the floor like glue, but Lindon had expected it—he tore free of the few drops that reached him. Jai Long was not only caught off his guard, but the technique had originated between his feet. He was stuck fast, at least for the instant before the paint drew itself up into a thousand grasping, scaly brown hands, grabbing his legs and pulling him down toward them. His eyes left Lindon as he jerked his head down. Now he was not only stuck, but the hands pulled at his feet, keeping him off balance, drawing his attention. "You may have noticed I don't have a Goldsign," Eithan had said. "No Remnant, you see." Jai Long's core was open. He was swinging the butt of his spear up, intending to crack Lindon in the head, but Lindon was already close enough. "I reached Gold purely through accumulated power. We can do the same for you, if you like." With just a thought, Lindon removed the veil around his Lowgold pure core. He couldn't disable Jai Long completely. His Truegold madra was too difficult for Lindon's weaker spirit to disrupt. But Lindon could buy himself an instant with a much-weaker opponent. If he were still Jade, his technique would have slid harmlessly off Jai Long's spirit. Before the butt of the spear reached him, Lindon slammed his Empty Palm into Jai Long's core.
Driven along with the motion, his pure madra slammed like a spike into the heart of Jai Long's spirit. The madra washed through his channels, disrupting the natural rhythm of his soul, choking out his techniques. Madra that could not be controlled by a pattern was useless. The spear smacked into Lindon's forehead, and his world flashed white. If Jai Long had Enforced the blow or his weapon, that could have been a lethal strike. But the Empty Palm had broken his Enforcer techniques. Lindon stumbled back, agony stabbing through his head, his eyes blinded by pain and tears. He couldn't even be sure if the effect of his Empty Palm had lasted, or if Jai Long had shaken it off immediately. He had to assume it had worked, so he focused his breathing on his core. The pain in his skull made it hard to focus, but if the Empty Palm had worked, it would only last for so long. He had to make it count. In a breath, he reeled his pure madra back to one of his cores. The one that, in his spiritual vision, shone a soft blue-white. On his next breath, he drew from his other core. Black fire ran along his madra channels. His eyes warmed as they changed color, and Lindon focused. He couldn't have put much distance between himself and Jai Long, but the Truegold must be still off-balance from the spiritual disruption. Otherwise, the fight would have ended already. Under Lindon's direction, Blackflame madra slithered like roots to every corner of his body. According to the ancient Enforcer technique, it ran into his skin, penetrated his muscles, and burned his bones. It felt like his body had begun to dissolve from the inside-out, and the heat was uncomfortable. He ignited the madra, activating the technique. The Burning Cloak sprung to life around him, the air blazing with a hazy, translucent shell of black-and-red fire. His madra would run out quickly, with the Cloak active. The Enforcer technique burned his muscles, and his Bloodforged Iron body activated to restore him. The combined effect felt as though his limbs were constantly sizzling, and both the technique and the Iron body required madra. He couldn't keep this up for long, but he didn't need to. He had an Enforcer technique, and for the moment Jai Long didn't. Under the power of the Burning Cloak, Lindon kicked off the stone. He exploded with motion, covering the distance between himself and Jai Long
in an instant. There was a long, frozen moment where Lindon's eyes and his opponent's met. Then Lindon stabbed him. This was the fourth and final construct he'd been allowed to keep. Made from only a Remnant's claw, with no binding involved, it was what she called a "dead construct." It had no abilities apart from the properties of the madra it was made of and any script you carved into it. In the case of this dagger, there was no script. Its structure wasn't solid enough to be carved, and even if it were, the pressure of a script would have torn it apart immediately. It was black as ink, the length of one of Lindon's hands, and shaped like a long fang. It felt like a waterskin full of worms, stretching in Lindon's fingers, as everything except the tip was soft and pliant. The point was sharp as a spearhead, and it pierced Jai Long's robes at the chest. With no Enforcer technique to protect him, the Truegold couldn't resist. Blood sprayed from him as his skin broke. The dagger wasn't strong enough to penetrate any deeper, but that was enough. As it tasted Jai Long's blood, the dagger squirmed eagerly in Lindon's grip, worming its way into the wound and slithering into Jai Long's bloodstream. Lindon leaped away, then let the Burning Cloak die. Jai Long grunted, but he didn't scream as Lindon had expected. Instead he stood, gripping his spear, as he fought the foreign madra inside of him. If Lindon hadn't broken his defense with the Empty Palm first, this would never have worked. The sheer power of Jai Long's spirit wouldn't have allowed the dagger inside. Now, the Path of Twisted Blood went to work. Fisher Gesha had determined that the madra was harvested primarily from life, shadow, and blood aura, but it had been twisted even further by the Path's practitioner. The Remnant from which she took the claw had been sliding inside animals' veins and twisting them from the inside out, breaking every bone in their body at once. She hadn't been able to determine why it did so. Remnants didn't feed on blood or flesh, but on madra, so killing would only be an expenditure of its energy. Nonetheless, that was what every part of its body did, even when separated from the others. This Remnant's guiding purpose was to kill.
The same was true of its claw. After a moment, Jai Long's arms both twisted backwards. It looked like he was a toy a child had decided to break. His neck slid to the right, despite his obvious effort to fight. His legs were still snared by the grasping brown hands emerging from the swamp, but the rest of his body had begun to contort. "You…fight…like…a coward…" Jai Long's words were choked out one at a time, but they emerged tinged with rage from a tightening jaw. Lindon didn't expect this weapon to actually kill Jai Long. The Remnant had been at the Highgold level, so Jai Long's madra would eventually exert control again. But he had planned for one of two things to happen: either rendering the opponent helpless would count as a win, or it would give him an opportunity. Lindon looked to Naru Gwei, but the Skysworn Captain was still watching through the filthy curtain of his matted gray hair, the burn scar around his left eye giving him a sinister cast. He chewed on a leaf and looked completely unconcerned. Not at all as though he were about to stop the match. Reluctantly, Lindon gathered black fire into a ball between his hands. The red-streaked black flame built, wild and difficult to control. It stressed his concentration and his spirit to gather, and only a few months ago he would have had to use some pure madra props to execute this technique at all. After practicing during his enforced isolation, he had improved...though a technique that required several seconds to gather would be of limited use in a fight. "Surrender," Lindon said, voice strained with the effort of controlling the dragon's breath. A white light flashed beneath Jai Long's clothes. It was fitful and weak, struggling against the intrusion of the Path of Twisted Blood, but Jai Long's head snapped straight again. He dropped his spear, but pulled both his arms back under control. The brown hands holding his ankles started to dissolve, the Nether-drain Swamp dissolving under white light. Lindon released the dragon's breath. He had no grudge against Jai Long. The man was an obstacle, and one he had to pass to continue, but not quite a true enemy. And he would hate to think that he had healed Jai Chen only to kill her brother.
He hadn't asked for this duel. But over the intervening year, one thing had become clear: he was the weaker party. He didn't have the luxury of pulling his punches. If he didn't come at Jai Long intending to kill, he couldn't win. The dragon's fire blasted toward Jai Long, not soft and billowing like a cloud, but a tight bar of almost liquid-looking red-and-black flame. It skewed right, and Lindon had an instant to hope that perhaps it would only take off Jai Long's arm, but leave him alive. Then there came a blinding flash of white. Jai Long blocked the bar of red and black with a shaft of pure white madra. The spear was almost seven feet long, smooth, and etched with a web of scripts that Lindon could only see because of their bright glow. The spearhead accounted for a foot of its length, flat and white. The Ancestor's Spear. He'd taken it from nowhere. Lindon's heart dropped. How had he gotten it back? Where had he gotten it? Lindon thought Eithan had taken it. Had his own Underlord returned it? "I think you have a decent chance of winning," Eithan had told him. "As long as Jai Long is only a Truegold." "If he's an Underlord, then surely they won't continue with the duel," Lindon had said. "It's only remotely fair in the first place because we're both technically Gold." "It's true; if Jai Long has truly reached Underlord, he will become my problem. But there is a...third option." Jai Long swept his spear through the dragon's breath, splashing tongues of Blackflame onto the stone floor and ceiling. They hissed when the stone dissolved as though under acid. "Reaching Underlord requires a Truegold to clear three distinct stages. If he has cleared the second, weaving soulfire from aura, then he will defeat you instantly. The first stage, however, is opening a space in your soul." In the same motion as he disrupted Lindon's technique, Jai Long retaliated. An arm-long snake of white madra was born, its jaws agape as it flew toward Lindon. He reactivated the Burning Cloak, cycling madra to his limbs. "If he pulls a weapon out of nowhere, he's cleared the first stage. That means he has taken half a step into the Lord realm.."
Lindon pivoted into a punch, spraying Blackflame out of the punch in a half-formed Striker technique. The force of the flame met the serpent, and the two clashed in a burst of light. But it wasn't enough to stop the Truegold attack. From the cloud of Blackflame, the serpent emerged, avoiding Lindon's fist and sliding over his hand. It burned. Lindon screamed as the snake slid over the back of his hand and up his forearm, scoring the skin and burning, slicing him like a red-hot knife. The technique's madra dissipated in a blink and the snake disappeared, but it had already traveled up to his elbow, leaving a twisting trail of blood all the way up his arm. He held up his other hand in defense, though he had no technique gathered. It was just the instinctive panic of a wounded animal. It was hard to see through the pain, and the rising tide of fear that threatened to choke him. All of his preparation had come to nothing. His weapons were gone. His plans had failed. He was at Jai Long's mercy.
Chapter 5 Jai Long moved in a flash. His red-wrapped face was only two feet from Lindon's own, his pale spear raised, poised to plunge down. Lindon scrambled backward, but the weapon wasn't pointed at his head or chest. Jai Long paused a moment to take aim at...his leg. He was trying to spear Lindon through the leg. That was probably a mercy, but Lindon certainly didn't feel like it at the moment. His arm already felt like it had been chewed up and spat out, and now his enemy was trying to cut off his leg. He almost fell as he scrambled to escape. "Enough," Eithan said. His voice wasn't stern, but it echoed through the room like the command of an emperor. Jai Long's spear froze. Lindon backed up another few steps, keeping a wary eye on the spear, but he still turned slightly to see Eithan. The Arelius Underlord was standing now, hands in his pockets, a slightly pained smile on his face. "It's clear the Arelius family has lost this duel. Congratulations, Jai Daishou. You have found a worthy replacement...though I'm sorry you had to use such a tight leash." Lindon didn't understand that, but Jai Long tensed. Jai Daishou's wrinkled face twisted with disgust, and he barked at his champion: "It isn't over yet. Kill him." Jai Long tightened his grip on the spear as though straining against something. "I carried out your command," he said, through gritted teeth. "He surrendered; we're done." Jai Chen let out a breath of relief at almost the same time Lindon did. "It's not a duel to surrender," came an aged, lazy voice from the cliff overlooking the drop. Naru Gwei's dirty gray hair drifted in the wind as he rested against the column, arms still crossed. He chewed on his leaf as though unconcerned. Jai Long stopped. He turned slowly, lifting the Ancestor's Spear.
Behind him, Jai Daishou looked as though the heavens had opened and given him a gift. Lindon clenched his jaw at the pain in his arm, but his Bloodforged Iron body had already started pulling madra to heal it. He cycled the Path of Black Flame, preparing the Burning Cloak. Eithan raised both hands from his pockets. "Hey now, let's not go too far. I've admitted my loss, Captain, openly and without reservation. I will accept the cost of losing." "Not how it works, Arelius," Naru Gwei said, spitting out his leaf and replacing it with another. "I'm the adjudicator. Surrender all you want, but the boy isn't killed or crippled." Lindon could feel the world tightening around him. Jai Long gathered his madra, white light spreading from beneath his robes. He wasn't going to get out of this. He couldn't cheat. He wouldn't catch Jai Long off guard again. Eithan couldn't save him. Lindon was on his own. He was walking out of this killed...or crippled. His Burning Cloak ignited. "We've had our differences," Eithan said, his voice becoming more serious. "Don't make this about me." The Skysworn Captain turned back to the two champions. "Fight," he said. Jai Long blurred as he moved, and Lindon struck to the side with his good arm. It was a bad punch—he was off-balance, and his stance was sloppy; Yerin would have mocked him for it—but his knuckles met the edge of the Ancestor's Spear. It sliced his skin. The force of his punch knocked Jai Long's blow aside, so the spear swept harmlessly by his shoulder, but Lindon hardly noticed. The pain from this tiny cut was almost as overwhelming as the agony from his shredded arm. This spear cut not just the flesh, but the spirit. Spiritual damage, as he had experienced several times before, was deeper and harder to ignore than physical pain. It cut him to his core, and his Blackflame core shivered. Black-and-red light slithered down the spear, and Jai Long took a step back. He jabbed the spear backwards, thrusting the butt into the floor behind him. The Blackflame madra spurted out with the motion, venting into the floor, scorching a pothole into the stone.
So that was how it worked. Fisher Gesha still hadn't given him back the Soulsmith papers he'd taken from the Transcendent Ruins, but he'd been allowed to study them for the purpose of preparing for the upcoming match. Just in case Jai Long were to use the Ancestor's Spear. He hadn't known how the weapon would work—if the spear took in madra that was incompatible with the user's Path, would it absorb the madra anyway? Thus perhaps ruining the user's core? That would have been a double-edged sword, and one Lindon could exploit. He had considered intentionally allowing himself to be cut, so that Jai Long would corrupt his own core. But there was a safety valve built into the script of the spear. Fisher Gesha had theorized there would be, otherwise it wouldn't be a useful weapon in battle. That was one more hope struck dead. His Blackflame core had dimmed slightly with that cut, and his Iron body was still trying to heal his right arm. He would run out of madra very quickly at this rate, even with both his cores raised according to months of the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel. Without that cycling technique, perhaps his Blackflame core would already be dangerously low. He had expanded the capacity of both his cores to the point that he had almost made up for the weakness of splitting his cores in the first place: each core held almost as much madra as any Lowgold sacred artist's core should. But he didn't have vast reserves to draw on, especially with his Bloodforged Iron body draining madra with every injury and every second he used the Burning Cloak. That spear would be his downfall...and Jai Long could probably beat him without it. Jai Long moved with such speed that Lindon couldn't track his movements. Only the explosive speed provided by the Burning Cloak let him keep up, and each of his dodges was a guess. He leaped to the left, hoping to avoid a thrust from the right, and the Ancestor's Spear sliced across his ribs. It took another chunk from his spirit at the same time. A stab above, a sweep from the left, and a probing attack at his legs. He guessed the first one was coming and ducked, accidentally hit the second
with a blind punch, and missed the third completely. The white spearhead buried itself in his calf, and he screamed as he jerked his leg away. Jai Long vented enough Blackflame from the butt of his spear to gouge a ditch in the rock, Lindon swaying with exhaustion on a body of pure pain. His Blackflame madra was about to run out, though his pure core was still fat and bright, and there was something wrong with his wounds. His Bloodforged Iron body was still working on his right arm, but it hadn't sent any madra to the other wounds. Why not? Was it working on the worst injury first? No, the stab to his calf was deep enough that his shoes were already soaked in blood. Then... His heart clenched as he realized the truth. The Ancestor's Spear was blocking his Iron body from healing him. When it drained madra away from the affected areas, some property he didn't understand prevented his Iron body from sending power back into the flesh. He could still cycle madra through those areas, but he couldn't use it to affect the wounds at all. Maybe bits of the spear's substance, left behind after each thrust? Even when it looked like he was about to lose one of his limbs, he was trying to understand. Some part of his mind was still trying to capture details about the spear; any information he gained would help him understand the binding he'd taken from that ancient Soulsmith foundry. That was one year ago today. Jai Long had finished venting his madra, but something caught his eye. Lindon stumbled to the side so he could see too. Eithan was on his feet, frozen mid-step by chains of green wind aura that were only visible in spiritual sight. To the mundane eye, he was as still as though he'd been locked in glass. It was a Ruler technique. The Skysworn Captain had controlled the wind to lock him in place. "We didn't pick this place on accident, Underlord," Naru Gwei said, chewing on his leaf. "Continue, boys." Jai Long stood with the Ancestor's Spear held loose in one hand, the Blackflame gone from its shaft. He didn't attack immediately. "You're a coward, and you have no shame. I've killed people who deserved it less than you, and slept soundly afterwards." Coming from a red-masked monster, the icy words were even more chilling.
Then he glanced back at his sister. "...but I still don't want to kill you. Give up the arm." If nothing else, Lindon thought, helping Jai Chen paid off. He had wanted to try and help her because he knew what it was like to have no control over your own soul, but he had almost ignored that feeling when he realized she was Jai Long's sister. He had continued in order to build up some goodwill with Jai Long, hoping to cancel the duel entirely. That hadn't worked quite as well as he'd hoped, but without Jai Long's mercy, he would have died already. Now... He shivered as he extended his shredded right arm. It hurt so badly that raising it every inch was a new stab of agony, but the fact that he could move it at all was testament to the power of his Iron body. Jai Long nodded, a businesslike acknowledgement, and moved his spear in a smooth blur. Lindon projected Blackflame out of his hand, pulling it away from the weapon. It wasn't a proper Striker technique, and projecting madra outside of his body without a real technique was always both difficult and inefficient. This time, a puff of madra burst from his fist in all directions, dying almost immediately like a bubble popping. So instead of his hand, the spear swept through a cloud of Blackflame madra. It was much easier to cope with Jai Long's superior speed when he knew exactly where the next strike would land. The spearhead flashed as it absorbed the cloud of madra...but as Lindon had hoped, a lick of the diffusing flame landed on the spear's haft. And a small puff of essence burned upward. Not much. Just a spark like one would see from a campfire, instead of the dust-sized motes that usually drifted from decomposing madra. But it taught Lindon one thing: the spear could be destroyed. And the Path of Black Flame could do it. He gathered Blackflame into his cupped hand as Jai Long thrust his own hand forward. Another white snake bloomed out of nothing, lunging for Lindon. A wave of madra tore through the entire building.
It passed Lindon like a curtain of cool water, rippling smoothly through his spirit. Not a single hair was affected, nor a pebble disturbed; only the spirit trembled at the touch of this power. Pure madra. That one pulse was more than Lindon could contain in his entire body. Jai Long's serpent dispersed into a cloud of harmless white motes and vanished. The fistful of Blackflame guttered and went out like a candle, and even his Burning Cloak was blown away like dust in a strong wind. And Eithan was free. His pulse of pure madra had disrupted the madra Naru Gwei had used to control the wind aura, and as soon as he lost that control, the wind was once again nothing more than air. Eithan covered another ten feet of ground in a blink, black scissors flashing in the sun. Then he froze again. His face was grim, all smile gone. His yellow hair streamed behind him—each strand undulating slowly, as though underwater. He had both hands on his scissors, held in front as though he were about to drive them into flesh, and his body was low as he'd been caught in the middle of a dash. The green-armored man's leaf had fallen from his lips, and now he was giving Eithan his full attention. The blond Underlord's jaw worked, and he forced words out. "I will not allow this," Eithan said, his voice cold as the grave. "Not yours to allow," Naru Gwei said, but he seemed to be waking up. "I follow the rules, Arelius. Our laws are etched in steel." The chains of aura binding Eithan were much brighter in Lindon's spiritual sight now, like thick bands of green steel wrapping the Underlord. It was clear that the Skysworn Captain was putting everything he could into it. Another sacred artist could respond with a Ruler technique of their own, but there was no such thing as pure aura. Eithan would have to break free physically...or disrupt the Skysworn's control again, as he had done before. But even if he arrived at Naru Gwei, would he be in time to help Lindon? Lindon returned his full attention to Jai Long, gathering Blackflame in his palm once again. He had to fight as though he were all on his own. Jai Long seemed distracted. Behind him, the Jai Underlord walked forward steadily, spear gripped in both hands. He seemed to regain ten
years at the sight of a helpless Eithan. "Please, Captain, allow me to assist you." "Get back, Jai," Naru Gwei barked. Jai Daishou stopped, confused. "Do not mistake this as a favor to you. The Arelius Underlord thinks he is the exception to all rules. He trespasses on the Imperial Palace and escapes without punishment. He moves behind the scenes of the empire, pulling strings, violating the laws of the realm without fear. He raised a Blackflame and expected to get away with it. Because he always does." He thrust two green-armored hands forward, and a green gust of madra visible to the naked eye blew toward Eithan. It looked like wind dyed green, and it wrapped in a circle around Eithan's shoulders, pulling his arms into his sides. Now Eithan was trapped by both madra and natural wind, but the Skysworn stayed focused on him. "I will uphold the laws of this empire," Naru Gwei said. "If you violate them as well, you will join him." Jai Daishou looked as though he'd swallowed a lemon, but his expression brightened when he looked back at Jai Long. His champion had been barely scratched, while Lindon looked like he shouldn't be able to stand up. Lindon himself was surprised that he could still stand. His calf had started to slowly heal, but the pain infected every thought, affecting his concentration. It was twice as hard to gather madra in his palm as it should have been. Without a word, the Underlord strode back to his place next to Jai Chen. The girl had gone pale, but she was no longer concentrating on the fight. She held her palms a few inches apart and was focusing between them, as though she were struggling to use a technique. Before Jai Daishou had returned to his seat, Lindon threw his hand forward as though hurling a fistful of water. The Blackflame madra wasn't concentrated enough to hurt Jai Long—it burned a few holes in his clothes, but it vanished as soon as it touched the Truegold madra flowing through his skin. But the sloppy technique did its job. More sparks sprayed up from the haft of the Ancestor's Spear, though the spearhead absorbed part of the power safely. That madra spiraled down the weapon's script, gathering at the butt until Jai Long vented it.
Jai Long continued with his attack, stepping into the thrust, but Lindon stepped back with surprising ease. That had been the easiest move so far to dodge. Maybe Jai Long was getting tired, just as he was. Lindon should have seen it coming. In the same motion as his 'failed' attack, Jai Long swept the spear up and back until the butt was pointed at Lindon. Then he expelled Blackflame into Lindon's face. Lindon crossed his arms in front of his head, cycling the Path of Black Flame. He'd spent enough time fighting Orthos to know what to expect; as a Blackflame artist, he could resist the madra with his own, but it still burned. Such a small amount of madra, released with no technique, couldn't kill him. But it put another burden on his core. The madra he used to resist came from his Blackflame core, and his Bloodforged Iron body activated at the burns...draining yet more power. As the dark fire washed over him, his core sputtered. He only had a spark of Blackflame left. A fist-sized hole had been burned in Jai Long's mask, exposing one corner of his mouth. His lips stretched inhumanly wide in a smile that stretched all the way back to his ears...but it wasn't a real smile. Not a human one. It was a crocodile's smile. The baring of fangs. And those were actual fangs showing in his mouth, blue and sharp as a shark's. Yerin had described what she'd seen beneath his mask before, but Lindon found that seeing with his own eyes was different. Patches of skin were showing through the small, burned holes in Jai Long's robes, and lines of white snaked over his skin as he advanced. "That is the way my ancestor used this spear," he said, calmly walking forward. "I'll show you the proper—" Another wave of pure madra lashed the room. This time, Lindon was ready. He switched to his pure core immediately. Jai Long wasn't disabled by the pulse, but his Enforcer technique had been banished, so he'd lost his advantage in speed. Lindon lunged forward, driving the Empty Palm into Jai Long's core. For a second time, it connected. There was a loud explosion from somewhere out of sight, and something pushed him from behind like a pillow hitting him in the back,
but that only thrust his body into Jai Long's. Jai Long grabbed him to push him off, one hand still holding the Ancestor's Spear. And Lindon switched to Blackflame. He was close enough that he might have been able to kill his opponent, but in the moment, he didn't even consider it. He had already set his target. With both hands, Lindon grabbed the white shaft of the Ancestor's Spear and let Blackflame flow. The fire spread through the weapon as though through a dry log, sending sparks spraying into the air like blood from a severed artery. Jai Long cast the red-hot weapon aside, shouting in horror. Lindon stood panting, his pain turning his emotions numb. He watched with a sort of dull fascination as the white spear melted like ice, its light dulling steadily as scripts broke and died. In mere moments, the Ancestor's Spear was a pile of white dust, and even that was disintegrating by the second. Only the spearhead remained, white and glinting, a single script on its surface shining. Lindon noted its position. If there was any way for him to get out of here with that, he should try—it would be an invaluable material for Soulsmithing. Not that it seemed like he was getting out of here at all. Jai Daishou roared, his face actually turning red, and his lips were speckled with...was that blood? He drew up his spear, and white light shone from his skin. Jai Chen glanced at him nervously, but she was still concentrating on a space between her hands. Something swirled there, like one of Jai Long's snakes, but smaller and so faded it was barely visible. Her Patriarch didn't spare her a glance. He cocked his spear back over his shoulder, preparing to throw at Lindon. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. At first, Lindon thought it was fear and blood loss. He had been on the brink of death often enough to know that his body could betray him in unexpected ways. But it wasn't just his breath. There was pressure on every inch of his skin, as though someone had wrapped him in a sheet and pulled it tight. Each movement was difficult, like he was pushing his way through mud. Judging from Jai Long's stiff position, Lindon wasn't the only one affected. Jai Daishou seemed even worse, as his spear dropped from a
suddenly slack grip—and drifted through midair, falling like a feather. Jai Chen seemed like she had been touched the least, her hair lifting but her posture changing not at all. Lindon looked to the Skysworn Underlord. Sure enough, he had thrust both his hands out to the sides, and green madra spilled from them like gas. The power faded into invisibility, affecting the wind aura and commanding the air to obey him. This was a Ruler technique. He had locked everyone in place, though it didn't seem as thorough as what he'd used on Eithan earlier. Lindon could still move, if with difficulty, and he saw the others shifting position slightly as well. He must be concentrating it differently on each of us, he thought. If he was binding them according to their relative threat level, that explained why Lindon and Jai Chen were least disrupted. Of course, the primary target was Eithan. In Lindon's spiritual sight, Eithan glowed in a sun of green wind aura. The wind howled in from all the open sides of the building, pushing against him, building a prison of air. He was only a step from the Skysworn Captain, his scissors poised. Naru Gwei's filthy gray locks were whipped in the wind, his eyes savage, the burn scars on his face crinkled and red. He shouted, and from his back spread two enormous, emerald wings. They glistened like jewels, bright as the most stable Remnants, but each feather had as much detail as a real bird's wings. His Goldsign. "Interfering with a Skysworn in the course of his duties!" Naru Gwei announced. "No matter your background, even you can't—" A pulse of madra blasted out of Eithan. Lindon could see it, twisting the air like a heat haze. It burst from Eithan's chest, the size of a galloping horse, sweeping through Naru Gwei in an instant. The cage around Eithan vanished, as the technique passed through Gwei's body. It did not, however, pass through his wings. The spread Goldsign caught the blast of pure madra like a sail catching the full force of a hurricane's wind. The Underlord was ripped back by his own wings, hurtling out over the abyss. And dropping.
Where he had stood a moment before, the majestic range of snowy peaks now reigned. Everyone in the room stared. Lindon wanted to say something, but it was a struggle to stay conscious. He began shuffling toward the head of the Ancestor's Spear—now that the Skysworn's restriction had vanished, he could move under his own power again, but he barely had the strength to do it. Before anyone had a chance to react, there came a sound like a flag snapping in the wind and the huge emerald wings reappeared. The greenarmored Skysworn rose up to the building's height, bobbing up and down with every flap of his wings. There was a dark gray sword in his hand, its blade long and thick. Its surface was notched and dull, just like the Underlord's armor, but its edge was clean and sharp. Eithan's smile was back, and he regarded Naru Gwei with arms folded. He looked like his normal, cheerful self, as though the icy demeanor from before was only a lie. "You really want to use your Goldsign to fly? If I take them away, you'll fall three hundred feet." The Skysworn's face hardened. "Do you really want to make an enemy of the entire empire by fighting me? I'm the second-ranked Underlord on these shores, Arelius. You'll be lucky to escape the Emperor's wrath already." "You...almost made me lose my temper, I'll admit," Eithan said. "But no harm done. No, I'm not here to fight you. I just want to delay you." A little of that ice returned to his voice. "I have a different target." One step, a swirl of his wrist, and a punch. Pure madra rippled out of his fist, so dense as to be visible. It caught Naru Gwei in the center of his chest, and he plummeted like a brick. Jai Daishou scrambled on the ground, pulling up his spear as though his life depended on it. His white metal hair fell around his face in disarray, and he watched Eithan in panic. White light began to glow from the tip of his spear...but the light was fitful and weak. Eithan turned to him. Not quickly or slowly—he was the picture of a man in control. "I rarely have to kill someone twice," he said. "A third time? Never." Jai Long shoved Lindon away and ran over toward the Patriarch...then he scooped up his sister and backed away. He was leaving Jai Daishou on his own.
Chapter 6 Jai Chen, for her part, didn't seem to realize that her brother had pulled her away for her own safety. She released the technique from between her hands, and a finger-sized worm of pink-tinged white light slithered into the air. Though it was smaller, it seemed somehow more...real than Jai Long's attacks. The serpents he created while fighting were bare outlines, like the sketches of snakes, but this tiny dragon drew itself up in front of Jai Chen, sniffing at her face like a dog. It was like a tiny Remnant. Like a real spirit. Like Little Blue. Lindon had only turned his head for a second, but he looked back when the sound of crashing steel tore the air louder than thunder. Eithan had smashed the Jai Underlord's spear aside with his scissors. They traded another half-dozen blows in an instant, each one loud as a ship crashing into rocks. The air itself rippled around their blows, and Lindon thought he could see flashes of a gray, almost colorless fire: soulfire. The hallmark of an Underlord. They were surely using it in their attacks, but he couldn't see how. In the first second of their engagement, it was clear that Eithan was toying with his opponent. Despite having the advantage in reach, Jai Daishou was always on the back foot. He could barely move his spear enough to intercept the blows, and at any moment, Eithan could take away his sacred arts. He was done. Lindon had made it. The relief—that sweet sensation of having walked away from a situation that should have killed him—settled onto Lindon. It was growing to be a familiar sensation. He lowered himself to pick up the head of the Ancestor's Spear. It took him entirely too long, as his entire body screamed in pain, and even his pure
core was strained trying to provide enough madra to fuel the Bloodforged Iron body's restoration. With or without it, he was running low on blood, and he was going to need some real medical attention. The wounds caused by the Ancestor's Spear still weren't healing right. Something snatched the spearhead out of his hand. It was a small, worm-sized figure of pink and white. The blade was bigger than its entire body, but it still seized the spearhead in its jaws and hauled it back, like a snake trying to drag a bear's carcass. Lindon watched it with bleary eyes, the sight so bizarre that it took a moment to register. Jai Chen was taking it. He grabbed for it out of slow-witted reaction more than anything else, but the little worm turned and snapped at him. It was actually a little dragon, he realized; a serpentine figure with a flowing mane and four undersized legs. Lindon hesitated before grabbing for the spearhead again. He hated to let it go, but he didn't need it exactly, and he didn't have the strength to fight anyone for it. And the last thing he needed was to provoke Jai Long again. Besides, the tiny dragon was amusing. It was still having trouble dragging the blade across the floor, every once in a while raising its head to give Lindon a wary look. He swayed on his feet, and he realized he couldn't feel his left leg anymore. That couldn't be good. At least his right arm was almost useable again, though it still looked like mincemeat. Eithan still hammered away at Jai Daishou, keeping the old man stumbling backwards, occasionally throwing a barely-visible pulse of pure madra that whizzed past the Jai Underlord's shoulder or between his legs. Though the battle had only continued for a few seconds, Lindon could already tell: Eithan was drawing it out on purpose. Why? What was he waiting for? As Lindon wondered, Jai Daishou caught his eye. "Jai Long!" the Patriarch screamed. "Serve the clan!" Jai Long stiffened. Lindon's stomach hollowed out. He had wondered why Jai Long would fight for the Jai clan, who had exiled him to the Desolate Wilds. Lindon had gotten the impression that he
and his sister had grudges against the clan proper, but after they began working for the Underlord, he'd assumed he was mistaken. Now it made sense: Jai Long was under an oath. Dredging up the last of his strength, Lindon raised his fists to defend himself. He ran madra through his muscles to Enforce himself, though his Path of Twin Stars did not have an actual Enforcer technique. "Hold on just a moment," Lindon said, as Jai Long approached. Light had already started slithering over his skin, even the lips of his stretched-out grin. "Let's talk this out. You can serve the clan without—" Jai Long blurred forward. Lindon didn't have the speed of the Burning Cloak anymore. He didn't have the time to switch to his Blackflame core, and even if he did, that core was empty anyway. He triggered his Void Snare, but Jai Long didn't even try to avoid it. The purple line caught him in the forehead and simply pulled him forward. It would have disrupted his Enforcer technique in his head, as well, and Lindon wondered if there were some way to use that to his advantage. He was still wondering when the razor-edged white light took off his arm. *** For the second time, Jai Daishou was being driven backward by a pair of scissors. He had hoped Eithan would be distracted by Lindon's impending death, but the Arelius was as cold as an Underlord should be. He stayed focused on his enemy, raining blows down on Jai Daishou's spear. On the spear itself. As though he were aiming for the weapon, and not to kill. "I have beaten you," Eithan said, knocking the spear aside and ignoring a gap that could easily have reached his enemy's throat. "I could kill you any second." He slapped the weapon down this time with his bare hand, contemptuously. "You're a weak—" He broke a Striker technique, shattering the beam of white light. "—old—" Eithan kicked Jai Daishou's wrist, sending the pain of shattered bone through his arm. "—man." Jai Daishou's spear clattered to the ground, and Eithan kicked it away. Jai Daishou crouched, panting, his entire body aching. His spirit was a dull spark, and darkness closed in around his eyes. He tasted blood in his
mouth, and his breath came rough. Even if he survived this day, it wouldn't be for long. His time was up. "Unless you have something left," Eithan said, smiling. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Blood sprayed up from behind the Arelius Underlord, and Lindon's arm fell to the ground. Jai Daishou felt a surge of elation before the crushing despair reminded him that a crippled Lindon changed nothing. He should have made Jai Long swear a tighter oath. Absolute loyalty to him, not just obedience to the letter of his commands. That would have saved him today. If he could have ordered Jai Long to "kill" instead of to "serve the clan," then surely Eithan would have turned aside and saved his young disciple. Surely. Instead, the young Lowgold fell to his knees, staring at his stump. Then he folded like a rag as consciousness failed him. Jai Daishou envied him. Only rage kept him awake. If spite could give him power, Eithan would have already crumbled to ash and blown away. Now, he only had one option left: the Archstone. Eithan had cornered him into using it. Naru Gwei would be back any moment. This could ruin the Jai clan... ...but how could he worry about consequences in a time like this? From his soulspace, he withdrew the fist-sized crystal orb. It flickered with a swirling light, as though something invisible swirled through it. Its palpable sensation of power tickled his spirit, as it would for anyone within range. Even Eithan's eyes widened for a moment in sheer awe. A flap of emerald wings, and Naru Gwei emerged from below the cliff. He looked furious, but his anger could compare nothing to Jai Daishou's. Now? Now the Skysworn finally managed to make it back up the mountain? Now that it was too late? Jai Daishou triggered the Archstone. Color drained from the entire world. It appeared gray and lifeless, as though he had painted everything in charcoal. Aura still appeared as colorful as ever, if he looked through his spiritual sight, but all madra and mundane matter now appeared in shades of gray.
An instant later, streams of color burst from everyone in the room. A twisting, white light flowed from Jai Long's chest, thick as his wrist. A thin string of pink-tinged white came from Jai Chen, and an even thinner stream of pale blue from Lindon's unconscious form. That was strange; the Archstone should have drawn from everyone according to their power. Either Lindon simply had that little power left, or the artifact drew less madra from unconscious targets. Jai Daishou didn't know; records about these weapons were sketchy, and he hadn't been able to test it for fear of discovery. But those three streams were only teasers. They were appetites before the main course. A breath later, streams of power burst from the Underlords. These were rivers, thick as the bodies from which they came. Naru Gwei's was green and nebulous, but bright, funneling into the Archstone and from the Archstone into Jai Daishou. It came to him in a torrent, overloading his madra channels, stuffing him full. And even that was nothing next to the tide of madra from Eithan. It surged from him in a wave that was mostly colorless and tinged with blue-white. The pure madra blended and strengthened every other type, diluting it like a flow of water. Jai Daishou took in so much madra that his spirit began to strain at the seams. It vented madra, white light bleeding from his skin, and still Eithan's power kept coming. How much madra did the man have? Though the Jai Underlord had already permanently damaged his spirit, he cackled. What did he have to lose? He was dying. He took more, and the world lit up. It was as though there were invisible strings leading from him to the rest of the world, and each string carried his hearing and sight along with it. He could see in all directions, though only a tiny strip at a time: he could hear worms crawling through the dirt in the mountain, and Lindon's heart beating weakly. He could see the two Skysworn guarding the outer door, hear snatches of their whispered conversation about whether they should intervene. He could taste the wood of the door between them, smell the clean snow on the roof. The legendary power of the Arelius bloodline power. It was beautiful. So beautiful that it overwhelmed him.
He tried to move, but where was his body? He was standing on the wings of a sacred eagle, perched on the edge of a cliff, deep beneath the ground... Vaguely, he could feel that he needed to take a breath, but he couldn't remember how. Eithan staggered forward, unused to a body without madra, but his scissors were still sharp. Naru Gwei had managed to land before his wings failed him, but he couldn't move in his armor any longer. Then a piercing pain bit into Jai Daishou's neck. He screamed, snapping back to himself, and lashed out with his madra. A chaotic mess of madra stained with different colors tore out of him, a stream blinding in its brilliance, but it was too great for him to control. He was like a child trying to swing his father's sword. The rough Striker technique blasted through the stone of the building, tearing a gouge in the wall, slowly carving outward until it was blasting column after column. The roof sagged, but the pain in his neck didn't subside. If anything, it got stronger. His soul was tearing itself apart, but he realized part of his massive power was missing. His core had dimmed, and now he was bleeding from a hole through his neck. He was choking on blood. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. But he could still see. Jai Chen was behind him. She clutched the spearhead of the Ancestor's Spear in both hands, the weapon still planted in his neck. Power surged through her, flooding her core. She released the blade quickly, her core swelling, her madra channels strained to bursting. As she panted, eyes wide, he could see white light rising in the back of her throat. He tried to ask her what she was doing, but he still couldn't say anything. His hands went numb, and the Archstone fell from his fingers. He reached out for it, and realized he was lying on stone. He couldn't lose that. He had risked too much to get it. Without it, he had no chance. It was his only hope. His only... ***
Eithan saw everything at once, and it was a mess. Things had gotten out of hand. Naru Gwei held the Archstone in two gauntleted hands as though it were a writhing spider, his heartbeat picking up as he realized the implications. The Captain of the Skysworn would see that Jai Daishou had violated an imperial command to retrieve that weapon, and had placed the entire realm in danger. Being who he was, he would provide an accurate account to the Emperor. That much, at least, had gone according to plan. Jai Chen crackled with stolen madra; it stretched her core, straining her channels. Her back arched, her eyes rolling back into her head, her jaw locked open. But she didn't fall. Her brother held her, the chaotic mix of madra blended by the Archstone slicing pieces of his clothes away. But still he held her, Enforcing his own flesh to protect himself, his muscles tense and eyes locked on his sister. And Lindon...Lindon lay a foot away from his right arm, his Bloodforged Iron body drawing madra to stop the bleeding. Jai Long had cut him evenly at the elbow, for which Eithan was grateful. It would be easier to attach a prosthetic at the joint. This will be an opportunity for him, Eithan thought. A chance for him to grow. That was true, but it was also an excuse. He was honest enough with himself to recognize that. This was all Eithan's fault. And Lindon had suffered for it. The other two Skysworn kicked in the door just in time to see a white tendril rise from Jai Daishou's body. A dozen tendrils followed, and Renfei and Bai Rou were horrified, gathering their power to defend. A cloud boiled up from the hammer in Renfei's right hand, and Bai Rou Forged three fistsized drops of yellow water: Amberwell madra. An Underlord's Remnant was no joke, and this one had been swollen by the Archstone. Under different conditions, Eithan and Naru Gwei would have had to join their powers together in order to prevent this spirit from tearing the building apart. Instead, Eithan didn't even turn around, keeping his eyes on Lindon. Naru Gwei tucked the smoky crystal Archstone into his armor, paying no attention to the Remnant. He knew.
The two Truegolds ran as though to battle, even as a dozen fat tentacles of white light pushed at the ground around Jai Daishou's corpse, hauling the main body of the Remnant out of his chest... There was one instant where the outline of the Remnant was visible, a bulbous pale creature that looked like it belonged at the bottom of the sea. Then it fell apart. Chunks of wet, slick-looking madra fell to the ground, dissolving to essence almost immediately. The tentacles shook with spasms as they squirmed on the floor, then they too faded to nothing. Only seconds after Jai Daishou's Remnant had begun to reveal itself, it was nothing more than a cloud of white dust hanging in the air. The Archstone itself was capable of siphoning much more power than it had demonstrated today, but its wielder had limits. Jai Daishou had drawn everything he could with no attention to his own safety. He had eroded the foundation of his own soul, so his madra wasn't stable enough to form a whole Remnant. If he had lived a little longer with his spirit shredding itself apart, his core would have shattered so completely that a Remnant wouldn't have formed at all. The two surviving Underlords had realized what would happen, but the others didn't have enough experience. Bai Rou's yellow eyes were wide as he stared at Eithan as though wondering what he'd done. Renfei returned her hammer to her hip, but her brow was creased in confusion. Eithan tilted his head to Naru Gwei. "He must have been desperate, to go so deep into the labyrinth." "He should have died with courage," the Skysworn Captain barked. He scratched roughly at his dirty hair. "Do you know what this...no, you do. Of course you do." "To protect himself, he put us all in danger. If we caught the attention of the Bleeding Phoenix, Redmoon Hall will show themselves inside a week." "That's the best case," Naru Gwei said, looking as though he wanted to kick Jai Daishou's body. "If the Titan or the Dragon caught a whiff, then our lives depend on the whims of the Monarchs." "The Weeping Dragon was sighted only last year in the Iceflower Continent. No reason to think it should be making its way here." Naru Gwei looked like a man running on three sleepless nights who was staring down three more. "Dreadgods...I never thought I'd see the day. I'll
bring word to the Emperor, but if it is Redmoon Hall, he will require all of us. You'll have to do your duty this time, Arelius." Eithan put a hand on his chest and staggered as though Naru Gwei had wounded him. "How dare you suggest that I wouldn't do my duty for my beloved Empire?" The Skysworn Captain wasn't in the mood for levity, it seemed. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his arms and legs tensed, and madra swirled through his soul. He had to be weighing the costs and benefits of attacking Eithan once again. Eithan raised his hands. "No need for that, I apologize. I'm aware of the weight of this situation." Naru Gwei's look was still bleak, and his madra kept cycling. Eithan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The Captain wouldn't kill him, not before a potential Dreadgod attack. This was just irritation boiling over—Eithan saw it quite often. An Underlord should have more control over his emotions than this. If there were another fight, Eithan would not fare well. He'd been forced to waste an absurd amount of madra to break Naru Gwei's Ruler techniques, and the Archstone had taken even more out of him. Despite his years of practicing the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel, his core was almost dry. He couldn't afford another fight here. Finally, help came from an unexpected corner. Jai Long raised his head, crying out in a hoarse voice. "Please, help her!" Eithan ran his spiritual sense through her soul. Thanks to Sylvan Riverseed's touch, her madra channels had been rebalanced, cleansed, and purified. Without that, she would have lost control of her madra and died already. As it was, she was just barely holding on. A sack stuffed to capacity and coming apart at the seams, but not in danger of bursting. "Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do for her," Eithan said, and Jai Long's twisted face began to fall behind his mask. "...but fortunately, there's also no need. She will survive this. And her core will be filled with quite unique madra, so that's a treat. You were quite lucky that Lindon and I were here, and that Lindon's Blackflame core was empty, otherwise the madra would have reached a critical imbalance. As it is, none of our madra conflicted too badly with each other. They will blend together in her."
She would also gain some measure of the Arelius bloodline ability, though she would have to expend madra to use it, while Eithan's happened naturally. She really had ended up in quite a unique situation, and he looked forward to seeing how she handled it. "She will have difficulty controlling her madra for a while," he continued. "But then...well, she has a unique Path ahead of her." And he was very interested in that Path, though he didn't express it. The siblings needed space, so he could keep his distance. For now. While he spoke, he reached down and casually took an object from the floor. Jai Long didn't notice, consumed as he was with his sister's fate, so Eithan had no trouble slipping the head of the Ancestor's Spear into his pocket. He could certainly find a use for that. He still had the original, locked away in Serpent's Grave…but there was no such thing as too many priceless weapons. Naru Gwei stretched out his wings and walked over to the edge of the room. "I'll be reporting the results of this duel, Arelius." "You don't think we have more important concerns?" "It was still a legal match with a valid conclusion. When this all blows over, you'll be facing the consequences." "I understand," Eithan said, affecting a solemn tone. The family elders and branch heads would irritate him after this. The reputation of the Arelius name would take a hit, and that would result in economic pressure on the family all across the country. The rest of the family would use this to put restrictions on him, and if Redmoon Hall really did invade, he wouldn't have time to deal with family business. This would tie his hands for a while, but in the end, he found it hard to care. The world was so much more than anyone on this continent imagined, and there were still more worlds beyond. He reached into his pocket and rolled the glass marble between his fingers. As always, the feel of its cool surface comforted him. Naru Gwei walked over to the edge, where the wind tossed his dirty hair. "Will you follow me to the Emperor, or will I have to drag you?" "I will follow as soon as I have seen to family business. I have a disciple who has just lost an arm."
Muscles all over Naru Gwei's body tensed, though he didn't change on the outside. He needs to learn to relax, Eithan thought. "Even now, you still won't cooperate? When a Dreadgod might be headed our way with all its little cult in tow?" "If I have to choose between disappointing you or my disciple…well, I'm sorry, but I don't like you very much." Eithan gave him a cheery wave and turned his back on the Skysworn, strolling away. "I won't wait long," Naru Gwei said. Eithan walked through the door without a response. He needed to take Lindon to shelter, and surround him with friendly faces. When he woke up, he wouldn't be happy.
Chapter 7 "Prosthetic limbs," Fisher Gesha said, "are among the easiest constructs for a Soulsmith to create. You were lucky. If we had to replace one of your organs, I would be singing a very different tune right now, hm?" They were still inside the mountain, five or six floors beneath the arena where he'd fought. Apparently this whole place was honeycombed with shelters—it had once been the home of a sect living in secrecy, but had been abandoned for years. Or so the Fisher had told him in the last few minutes. Lindon remembered nothing of the trip down here, and very little of the fight. He didn't even ask how Fisher Gesha had gotten there, though he assumed Eithan had brought her. Yerin and Orthos were nowhere to be seen, but he didn't ask about them. His attention was swallowed entirely by his right arm. Which was lying somewhere above him, he assumed. Now, it ended abruptly above the elbow. Gesha had wrapped his stump with scripted bandages, which weren't stained with as much blood as he had expected. This script must work the same as the one his mother had once used on him: it guided his spirit through an Enforcer technique that blocked out pain. Certainly, he didn't feel any physical pain. It was more like the opposite. He felt normal, as though he could reach out with his right arm just as always. But he couldn't seem to peel his eyes away from the space where his hand should be. The Fisher firmly grasped his chin and turned his head back toward her. Her wrinkled face was set in a stern expression, but a few strands of gray hair had escaped their normal tight bun. "Whatever state you're in, you listen to me when I'm talking to you, yes?" Involuntarily, he tried to turn back to his arm, but her grip was steel. "Don't think," she warned him. "After an injury like this, it is your thoughts that are most deadly. Your fears, your pain, your despair, they are
deadly poison. Do not let them rule you." From somewhere, he mustered up a nod. "Good. Now, limbs are simple. We simply take an arm from a Remnant that is compatible with your Path—or Paths, I suppose, since you always have to make things complicated—and we attach it to you with a combination of scripting and Forging. I happen to have some Remnant arms with me right now." She knelt by his bed, rummaging around in her chest, which gave Lindon a chance to look around the room. It was a rounded room carved out of the stone, giving it the impression that a mole had dug it out of solid rock. His bed was more of a cot, made of trembling wood and scratchy sheets. A single candle sat on a shelf bolted to the wall. There was one more source of light: a glowing script-circle on the wall behind a square of paper painted with an abstract landscape. Meant to replace a window, he was certain. His pack leaned against the wall, which was a relief. Next to it was the Sylvan Riverseed's case, a box of glass with a tiny island inside. Little Blue herself, now almost too big for her enclosure, stood on the island and stared at him with her hands pressed against the glass. Though she was made entirely from ocean-blue madra, she had gained enough definition that he could read her face: she was worried. Her concern almost broke him, but he tore his eyes away and took in a deep breath. Don't think about it. He was fine. Better than fine, really. He had expected to die if he lost, so walking away with three limbs out of four was a bargain. Fisher Gesha straightened, carrying a wide wooden tray set with three limbs. As Remnant arms, they didn't look quite real, like they were paintings come to three-dimensional life. "These are the ones I have on hand for you," she said, "and be grateful I have this many. It's not every day I have to match a limb to not one, but two cores." She gestured to the first, a slick-looking purple arm with webbing between the fingers. "From a Fisher Remnant, this one has a Snare binding like the one you used against Jai Long. It is more compatible with your pure Path than with Blackflame, so you might have some trouble cycling Blackflame for the next few weeks, but it won't trigger a critical incompatibility."
Lindon had seen Fisher Gesha use some of her techniques before, and of course he'd practiced with his Void Snare construct. He could imagine lashing himself to a wall to pull himself up the side of a building, trapping enemies who tried to escape, swinging across a chasm... The thought cheered him. Just a little. "The problem will be what the binding becomes when it absorbs your Path of Black Flame, you see? I see two possibilities: either it will become a sort of burning whip instead of an actual Snare technique, or it will work as usual, but carry a measure of Blackflame with it that burns whatever you attach to. It depends on how the madra balances out, and there's no way to test without slapping it on." She moved to the second offering on the table, a gray mass of cloud molded into the shape of a limb that looked as though it could blow apart any second. "You'll have to concentrate to keep this firm enough to interact with solid objects, but it's made from Cloud Hammer madra. It was one of their Enforcer techniques in a binding, though I'm afraid I don't know the name. It may have been a custom technique belonging to the artist who left this Remnant. Anyway, you'll pack quite the punch, especially once it equalizes with your Blackflame madra." He reached out and passed his fingers through the cloud. As he expected, it only felt like mist. He could find a use for this just as much as the binding inside—an arm that could reach through solid objects. "I like the physical properties of this one," he said, reaching for a set of goldsteel tongs at the edge of the tray. But he reached with his right hand, so nothing happened besides his stump twitching. He blinked. Gesha snapped up the goldsteel tongs and used them to grip the limb of cloud. You needed goldsteel to manipulate Remnant parts like this one, because anything else would pass straight through. Madra couldn't pass through goldsteel. The golden tools flashed unnaturally milk-white in the light as she grabbed the cloud hand and stretched. The hand grabbed at her tool while she pulled, trying to wrestle against her. Remnant limbs often retained some life and will of their own. She ignored the hand's attempt to fight back and stretched the limb, pulling it out to a good three feet before the cloud started to thin. The
severed end stayed on the tray, but now the fingertips were halfway across the room. "It can be stretched, you see," she said, holding it there for a moment. "This is something you could learn to do in time, though keeping it solid while you do so would take quite the force of madra." Lindon had already forgotten about the Fisher arm. This one had endless possibilities. He could stretch it, reach through doors, and hit with the force of a Cloud Hammer Enforcer technique... Maybe he hadn't lost as much as he'd thought. Gesha folded the arm back onto the tray and placed down her goldsteel tongs, moving to the third limb. "Now, this one...you're lucky I favor you, hm? I made this one myself." This hand had six fingers with an extra joint on each one, making them look somewhat like an insect's legs. They were tipped as though clawed, and the arm was inhumanly thin. It seemed to be made of glass, with the slightest hint of color shooting through it. The color changed every second, a wisp of green brightening to a hint of yellow before darkening to orange. "Path of the Shifting Skies," she said proudly, as though it was her own Path. "I caught this Remnant almost four years ago, and I recognized its potential immediately. Years of experience should not be underestimated," she said, shooting him a glance as though he had been questioning her expertise. "It was an interesting blend of cloud, wind, and water madra, but I found it especially intriguing when I found that it was also extremely close to pure. It was only barely tinged with other aspects of madra, as though the artist who left it had cycled aura for no more than a month. Though this is a Highgold arm, so that certainly could not be the case. I do wish I knew the story of this sacred artist," she said with a regretful sigh. Lindon stared at the transparent arm. If he understood her correctly, then she had easily saved the best for last. Finding a pure Remnant in the wild was next to impossible, because there were so few pure madra Paths. Unless Eithan died, there was very little chance of Lindon ever encountering one. That was the whole reason Eithan had gone through the effort of raising him to Lowgold without hunting down a Remnant— because finding a Remnant would have been even more difficult and expensive. But Fisher Gesha had found a piece of the next best thing.
"I say I created this because I've fed it with pure madra for almost the last two years," she said. "It was difficult to do so without compromising the balance of the binding or the structure of the limb, but I did it, didn't I? If we join this to you, it should—should, I say—match perfectly with the Path of Black Flame while you're drawing on your Blackflame core, but lose that influence and match with your pure core while you cycle the Path of Twin Stars. Eventually, it will carry a slight Blackflame influence, but it won't affect the performance of the limb." "It can't be so perfect for me," Lindon said. If it were, she wouldn't have given him a choice, and would have simply brought this limb out from the beginning. She pointed to him. "And so it isn't. Very good. Always be wary of anything that seems to fit too well. There is no binding in this limb, so it will not bring any technique along with it. Only the properties of its madra. It will serve you perfectly well as an arm, but it will carry you no capabilities you don't already have." Lindon nodded absently, looking from one arm to another. So he had a choice between compatibility and utility. The cloud arm looked the best, but there was an argument for the Fisher arm. Though tying himself to a surface didn't sound terribly exciting, it would allow him some creative options. Of course, he was still worried about its interaction with Blackflame. How could he only choose one? "What about all three?" Lindon asked. "I could change them out according to the situation." Fisher Gesha raised two fingers as though she were about to smack him on the head, but grumbled to herself for a moment and lowered them. "You think binding a Remnant arm to your spirit is so simple of a process, do you? You think you can just stick it in and remove it whenever you want to?" "Pardon, Fisher Gesha, but you said it was simple." She opened her mouth, but then closed it again. "I suppose I did. Well, attaching one is the simplest process in the world, but by the time you can use it naturally, it will be your arm. It will be attached to your body and spirit, you see. Losing it will be the same as losing the limb you were born with." Lindon's eyes drifted back to his stump before he jerked them away. "I see. I'll be sure to choose carefully, then."
A thought occurred to him, and he nodded to his pack sitting in the corner of the room. "What if we added a binding of our own? To the Shifting Skies arm, I mean." That one was clearly the best selection, if only it came with a technique. Fisher Gesha clearly understood what he meant, because she hesitated. "You should know that we've studied bindings like that one for generations. Dreadbeasts have plagued our lands long enough that we wanted to know what kind of madra created such monsters." She waited for him to ask a question, but he remained silent, so she reached into her robes and pulled out a sheaf of papers bound together with string. The Soulsmith notes he'd taken from the foundry back in the Desolate Wilds. "We never had a name for the white madra in dreadbeast bindings," she continued. "Our drudges could measure some of its properties, you see, but not enough to identify it. These notes call it hunger madra, which is perhaps one of the most absurd names for a power that I've ever heard. Though it seems to fit." "Hunger madra," Lindon repeated. He'd read the notes, so he had heard the expression before, but he hadn't put the phrase together with the binding he'd carried around for the past year. "Is it compatible with my Paths?" "As far as we can tell, it's compatible with everything," she said wryly. "Dreadbeasts attack us with madra of all aspects, and they all have one of those bindings inside them. Although it could be that the ones with incompatible spirits die off..." She waved a hand in the air. "You're distracting me. These notes reference an origin for this madra, a single source from which they got all their samples. They were trying to breed sacred beasts that left Remnants of this aspect, but they never made it. At least, not by the time these notes were written." Lindon nodded. If they didn't have a reliable source of Remnants, then the bindings and madra for the Ancestor's Spear must have come from somewhere else. "So where did the bindings come from?" "That is what disturbs me," she said. She shook her head as though shaking off cobwebs. "But it doesn't matter, does it? I could put your binding into this arm, certainly, but there would be no framework for it. We would need more hunger madra to reinforce and adapt the arm to handle the
binding. Besides, do you really want a hand that devours madra? It could start feeding on the spirit of anyone you touch." To Lindon, that sounded incredible. "If it worked like the Ancestor's Spear, my Paths would be much easier to advance," he said delicately, keeping his enthusiasm from his voice. If she knew how excited he was, she would try and talk him out of it. "Reaching the peak of Truegold would be no problem. I could even split my core again, and drain yet a third Path." He nodded to the color-tinged glass arm, which was tapping its pointed fingertips on the tray like a woodpecker. "We have such a fine sample here. Why not try an experiment?" He was trying to appeal to her curiosity as a Soulsmith, but she shook her head. "The Ancestor's Spear worked thanks to its script as much as its binding. Without those scripts, we can't be certain what it will do, and testing out the binding might destroy it, and render our tests useless. Besides, we need more hunger madra if we're to build it into your arm without collapsing it, and the spear has dissolved already. There's no—" She was cut off when the steel-banded wooden door creaked open, revealing Eithan grinning and holding up a pure white knife. Gesha pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a heavy breath, but soon composed herself and bowed. "Underlord." Lindon started to greet Eithan, but no words came out. The man's easy smile stabbed him. "It seems you need further materials," Eithan said cheerily, striding into the room. "I just so happen to have some to spare." He tossed her the spearhead, but instead of reaching out her hands to catch it, she jerked them back as though afraid. Lines of purple madra lashed out from her, lashing the blade to the ceiling and slowly lowering it down to her eye level like a spider on a line. Clearly, she didn't want to risk having her madra drained away, even if Eithan had been holding it in his bare hands with no apparent problems. When she saw that her technique had remained intact despite its contact with the weapon, she gingerly plucked it out of the web with two fingers. The spearhead was about a foot long and a hand wide. She studied it for a moment, and then two long purple spider's legs reached up from beneath her. Her drudge. The two legs snatched the blade from her, juggling and spinning it between them for a good two minutes before the spider-construct let out a