by Will Wight
Beginning report…
Path: Wasteland. The Path of the Wasteland has aspects of earth and wind, and its techniques take the form of blowing golden sand. It is a versatile and adaptable Path, often used to call sandstorms, form complex shapes from sand at great distances, and scour flesh from bone.
Gold dragons have a natural affinity for fire and water aura, but Seshethkunaaz was born in the desert. An exile, he was left by the rest of his kind to die.
He was found by a group of human nomads, who saved the dying dragon and raised him as part of their family. He formed a contract with one of their children, providing him with enough pure madra to dilute his spirit. With time and great effort, he was able to change the nature of his madra and embark on the Path of the Wasteland.
He and his contractor were raised as brothers, and they advanced together at great speed. When he reached Underlord, he took on a human form like that of his contractor. His adoptive parents shortened his name to Sesh, introducing the two of them as twin brothers, and explaining Sesh’s remaining draconic traits as part of his Goldsign.
For years, they remained content. Until Sesh’s brother killed a child.
In a conflict between hot-tempered boys, Sesh’s young contractor lost his temper. He struck a Lowgold, forgetting his strength as an Underlord. His victim perished instantly.
In many lands, an Underlord would not be held responsible for any actions against a Gold. But the laws of this nation prohibited the murder of anyone regardless of advancement, and the young victim was the descendant of a powerful clan.
Sesh’s family fled in the night, but they were soon caught. Sesh’s brother was executed for murder, reckless use of power, and fleeing justice.
To this day, the King of Dragons walks the desert in the form of a human boy, hair dark and skin tanned by the sun, wrapped in a cloak against the harsh wind. He admires humans, but hates human civilization, that collection of unnatural rules under which the weak are favored above the strong.
If power and survival were the only laws, he believes all would benefit. Even humans.
Suggested topic: Seshethkunaaz and the Dread War. Continue?
Denied, report complete.
~~~
Naru Saeya, sister of the Blackflame Emperor, hovered above Yerin. Emerald wings from the Path of Grasping Sky barely flapped as wind aura held her motionless in the air. Even when they both stood flat on the ground, Saeya loomed over Yerin, but that wasn't enough. She just had to fly too.
She wore sacred artist robes in a color that matched her wings, and the cloth was as fresh as if it had been sewn this morning. Her hair had been tied back into a tail, all the better to fight, but a fan of peacock feathers still stuck up over her ear.
Yerin glared at those feathers, clutching an iron bar in her hands. This was a handicap she had given herself; blunt instruments gathered no sword aura. She had to beat her opponent with combat skills, not with her madra techniques.
It was more irritating than she'd expected.
“You expecting us to get much practice done when you're hanging from the ceiling?” Yerin asked.
The ceiling in this wing of the imperial palace was over a hundred feet tall, and Saeya wasn't even close to it. If she had been, maybe Yerin could have dashed up the wall or tried something else.
The Emperor's sister looked as irritated as Yerin was, holding her own iron bar. She had refused to take any weapon advantage over her training partner.
“It will only go the same as before,” Saeya said.
Yerin sharpened her senses, letting madra flow through her Steelborn Iron body. Strength flooded her Underlord body, and she felt invincible as she never had as a Truegold.
“One more try,” Yerin said through gritted teeth.
Saeya didn't say anything, but wind madra gathered up inside her, and then she vanished in a blur of green. Yerin swung her bar with all her strength, whipping up a whirlwind in the training room, but she hit nothing.
A sharp pain cracked against her back.
“If I slow down enough to let you hit me,” Saeya said from behind her, “you'd break me in half.”
The Naru woman walked around to Yerin's front, letting her practice weapon drop. “We're a bad match. I have virtually no defense against your Path, so if you had a real sword, I'd have to keep my distance. When you don't, either I'm too fast or you're too strong.”
Saeya hurled her iron bar so hard to one side that it struck against the wall like a bell and sent a chip of stone flying.
Yerin felt like doing the same thing. The iron bar felt odd in her hand, and she looked down to see that she had squeezed fingerprints into the metal.
“You want to go into the tournament betting that you'll only face good matches?” Yerin challenged. In truth, she felt the same way. Neither of them were getting good practice out of this.
Naru Saeya took deep breaths, clearly fighting down her frustration. “We need to be familiar with each other if we're going to fight side-by-side. Maybe we should spar together against another pair of Underlords.”
“Cheers and celebration, you've struck gold. I'll sit here and polish my sword while you find another pair of Underlords who can match us.”
The Blackflame Empire had doubled its number of Underlords during the competition in the Night Wheel Valley, but over the last few weeks, Yerin had found out firsthand that most of the newly advanced Lords and Ladies weren't much to her. If she held back everything from her Path, they weren't her match in swordsmanship. The gap only widened with madra.
The only young Underlords worth anything to Yerin had been stolen by Akura Charity.
The older Underlords would be a real challenge, but they had one and all left the capital to deal with their own responsibilities. They had been gone for too long during the qualification fights, and now they had to make up for lost time.
As far as Yerin knew, only two people left in the city could challenge her or Naru Saeya. One was the Emperor, who was busy signing laws and looking stern. The other was Eithan, and only the heavens knew where he had vanished to.
Naru Gwei had dumped Yerin and Eithan out of Stormrock at the first possible opportunity and had suggested that he wouldn't come close to Eithan ever again without an Imperial command.
“We fight for the honor of the Empire,” Saeya said, “but we can't sacrifice the stability of the Empire for the honor of the Empire. This is our problem to solve.” She didn't sound happy about it. She stared out the window overlooking Blackflame City, glaring at the buildings below as though they were holding her back.
“Then let's stop fighting like Coppers.” Yerin tossed her iron bar aside, too. She walked over to the corner, where she had propped her master's sheathed blade. “We gather up every Underlord and Truegold we can get our hands on and face them all at once. Pile on enough straws, and eventually we'll feel the weight.”
Saeya let out a long breath. “You're right, we should. It's important that we get you more experience against different opponents.”
“If you had so much more experience than me, you'd be too old for the tournament.”
“There's a big difference between thirty-five and...what are you, twenty?” The tall woman eyed Yerin.
Yerin herself wasn't sure how old she was, but twenty had to be about right. “Thought you had to be under thirty-five.”
“As long as you haven't begun your thirty-sixth year by the time the tournament begins, you're eligible,” Saeya said. “I qualify by less than a month. That's the human standard, of course. Some sacred beasts can be almost—”
Saeya stopped. She turned from the window in a way that Yerin recognized: she had sensed something.
Yerin extended her own senses, feeling a growing shadow in the next room. It was cold and dark, like the air of the Night Wheel Valley leaking into Blackflame City.
“Akura clan likes to take their time,” Yerin muttered. They had been promised training support from the Akura Sage, and this must be it.
<
br /> She strode forward, joined by Naru Saeya, throwing open the doors to the hallway outside their training room. An ornate chest of black wood sat on the crimson rug, emanating darkness. Its lid shone with the moon-pale image of a mountain range topped by three stars—the symbol of the Akura family.
A shiver passed through Yerin's spirit as a construct in the box scanned first her, then Naru Saeya.
Confirming their presence, the box opened, its lid slithering apart.
The sense of spiritual power within blinded Yerin's eyes and her perception at once, but it instantly improved her mood. The Akura clan lived up to their reputation if they were sending gifts that felt like this.
Saeya's expression had softened into something that looked like awe. “We'll have to track Eithan down to give him his share,” she said absently.
“I'd bet a sackful of gems against two hairs that he's standing around a corner waiting to pop out.” Yerin knelt to pick up the box.
When Yerin straightened, Saeya had turned all the way around to stare into the training room they had just come from. “No...he's climbing up the side of the tower to slip in through the window.”
“Counts as a corner,” Yerin said, carrying the chest back through the door.
As Naru Saeya went to the window to look down, Yerin settled on her knees in the center of the room, rummaging through the box. It was divided neatly in three, and from the feel of each section alone, she could tell which section belonged to each of them.
Small, narrow tubes leaked sword-madra, certainly containing scales intended for Yerin. A series of stones next to them would be dream tablets, and that was it for her. Scales and dream tablets, though the tablets looked a little strange, polished and cut like gemstones. Maybe that was how the Akura family preferred them.
The partition next to hers contained Saeya's share: more scales and dream tablets, as well as a small scroll with a wing on it. Eithan's section had no tablets, only scales of pure madra and a pile of books and letters.
Naru Saeya had clearly lost patience waiting for Eithan to climb up. With wind madra, she reached over the side. Eithan came drifting up, bundled in green-tinged air, hanging like a doll in invisible hands. His long blond hair dangled, and he was breathing heavily, but his smile didn't suffer.
“Good evening, ladies!” he said. “I was trying to surprise you, but I'm afraid climbing up a smooth wall using only my fingertips was more tiring than I assumed. You know, this tower is very tall.”
Saeya dumped him onto his feet, heading toward the box, but she kept her eyes on him. “You're not hurt, are you?”
“Only my pride.” Eithan stretched and knuckled his back. “And also the skin of my fingers.”
Naru Saeya brightened when she reached the box. “Top-grade scales! Before the Night Wheel Valley, those alone would have been worth more than everything I owned.”
With both hands, she picked up a jeweled dream tablet, her eyes glazing over as she sunk into it. Eagerly, Yerin started to do the same.
Eithan extended a hand, stopping her. “Don't be too eager. One of those is a sound transmission construct, perhaps for Akura Charity to contact you. The rest are training courses, sent under the assumption that we wouldn't have any worthy opponents to train against here in the Empire.”
“We don't,” Yerin said. Despite Eithan's words, her excitement for the tablets had just gone up.
“Don't we? What did you learn by training against Saeya?”
Yerin's fingers were still itching to pick up one of the tablets, but Eithan had a purpose for asking questions like this. Usually. And he hadn't touched his own pile of books.
She noticed they hadn't sent him any training courses.
“I need a better answer to fast feet and good eyes,” Yerin said. “Same thing as when I'm fighting you. If I can trap them in with the Endless Sword and stop them from running around like a newborn rabbit, I'll win. If they slip past me and land a hit, I'm dead.”
“And how would you solve that problem, if the heavens granted you one almighty wish?”
She nodded to him. “I'd take your ability. Eyes of my own give me a better chance to move. Or I'd ask the heavens to make me faster than any sacred artist living. But since that's nothing but dreams and shadows, I can double up the Endless Sword with the Shadow.” She still grimaced and felt a pang of revulsion whenever she mentioned using the Blood Shadow. “Cover more ground, give them less space to run.”
Eithan stroked his chin. “Would you like my help?”
That was typical of Eithan, leaving her with a fake choice. Of course the only correct answer was yes; how could she turn down training before a tournament in front of the entire world? Her master never would have.
“I sense that my reputation is under attack, so let me defend myself,” Eithan continued. “You are already on the right path. With or without my help, you will close off your weaknesses. If you feel that you would benefit more from figuring this out on your own, I will respect that.”
She sensed unusual sincerity from him. Cautiously, she asked, “What would you suggest?”
From within his outer robe, he withdrew a long stretch of bright blue silk, probably meant to tie a different set of his robes closed. He held it up for her inspection.
“One answer to superior awareness is improving your own,” he said. “As you fight, tie this around your eyes and rely on your spiritual perception instead.”
She almost laughed at him. “I'm not an Arelius. I can't see without my eyes, I can only feel. And only if there's madra.”
If she closed her eyes and focused on Eithan, he felt only like a mass of pure madra. When he attacked, she would feel a spike of danger, but that told her almost nothing about where the attack was coming from. Relying on her spiritual perception to fight was like trying to find her way through a maze by smell.
“Sometimes,” Eithan said, “I do forget what it is like not to see all around me.” He let his eyes drift closed. “I spent my childhood learning how not to see, how to deafen myself to my opponent's heartbeat, their rasping breath, their gurgling stomach. But my actual spiritual perception was no better than yours.”
His eyes opened again. “You will have noticed upon reaching Underlord that your senses can be cast wider and farther than ever before. I suggest you challenge yourself in an area that most Lords and Ladies ignore until they are a higher stage: to make your perception sharper and deeper. I myself took on this training, when I first realized how long the journey to Overlord would be. It's a small advantage over your fellow Underlords, but it can turn the tide.”
He held out the blindfold with one finger.
“Maybe one of the others will be some kind of challenge with this on,” Yerin said, stuffing the blindfold away. “You're not going to tell me that there are six more levels of this training, are you?”
He shook his head. “This is entirely up to you. The more you restrict your physical senses, the more you will get out of this training. You might reap a greater reward than I did; blindfolds are only so effective for me, you see.”
Naru Saeya still sat in a cycling position, eyes distant.
Yerin returned her attention to the Akura clan box. “That's enough about me. What did they pack for you?”
He still hadn't leaned over to look through the chest. “Combat records and manuals from the main House Arelius on the Rosegold continent. I mastered most of these as a child. Still, it can be nice to see something from one's ancestral home.”
“Thought you grew up here.” Yerin snatched a dream tablet from the box.
“I was born there, raised here, and then returned there as an adult for a number of years. Most of those I knew on the other side are gone, but I have a message I'd like to deliver to the others.”
In spite of herself, Yerin was curious. “What message?”
“I will tell them to hold on,” Eithan said softly. “Help is coming.” Something in the box caught his attention, and he reached down, brushing aside hi
s manuals to find a letter. “Ah, and look, a letter from the Sage herself. She hopes that we will find these simulated opponents useful...some other things, I'm not entirely interested...and intends to retrieve us in approximately eight months after the Rising Earth and Frozen Blade teams.” He tossed the letter down. “Well, at least we have a time limit.”
He had to have noticed when Yerin's spine stiffened and her hand froze on the dream tablet, but he didn't ask what was wrong. He merely watched her, his expression somewhat curious.
“...the Frozen Blade school?” Yerin’s eyes flicked to the Sage's sword against the wall. “They're going to be there?”
“They're one of the larger vassal factions under the Akura clan, so I imagine they will be.”
“So the Winter Sage will be too, then.”
He peered into her eyes and for some reason grew more excited. “You know the Sage of the Frozen Blade, don't you?”
“Like an arrow that missed my neck,” Yerin muttered. “My master almost married her.”
Chapter 4
Through the eyes of her living Forger technique, a silver-and-purple owl, Charity watched Lindon.
The owls were made of her own madra, a blend of shadow and dream aspects, so they could be difficult to detect. Though Lindon was alone in the bare basement of his guest house, he gave no sign of noticing the owl in the corner.
She checked on him every few days to ensure he was following her training program and that none of the Akura Underlords had beaten him too badly. So far, he had exceeded her expectations. Not only was he finishing her training courses faster than she'd planned, his actions demonstrated obvious determination. He rose early and worked late. Even while eating, he took notes.
The pen she had provided him looked tiny in his hands, and he hunched broad shoulders over the desk. Unkempt hair fell around his face, and he wrote at a feverish pace. He was a large young man, built like her father, and that appearance could be used as a weapon.