by Will Wight
“...apologies, but at some point I would just decline the duel,” Lindon said.
“Even better. Someone who will not face a fight against a strong opponent is unfit for the tournament.”
Lindon shrugged. “That's up to the Sage, isn't it?”
Pride glared at him for a moment longer, then took a step back. “Wei Shi Lindon Arelius, I challenge you.”
It had only been a minute since he had fought the boy with the lightning Path. And a few moments before that, he'd been beaten by the girl with the huge hammer. Despite his Iron body's work, he was bruised and battered all over. He throbbed with pain just standing there.
Nonetheless, Lindon clenched his jaw and said, “I accept.”
It ended no better than the last time.
He used his full set of abilities, but he was hardly in his best condition. Pride and the others left him conscious but reeling, staring up at the ceiling.
[My Pride model has been significantly improved,] Dross said. [Believe it or not, you pulled out more of his skills during this shameful beating than the last one.]
Lindon pulled himself up. He could barely stand.
“Show me,” he said.
~~~
In preparing for the tournament, Charity didn’t have enough time in the day. There were always more people who needed her commands, enemies who needed her deterrence, projects that needed her personal supervision.
As an Archlady, she needed very little sleep. Most nights, she could go without. But she tried to keep a regular pattern of rest anyway. A rested mind, she’d found, was a sharp mind.
Before bed, she checked in on Lindon. She had yet to find him resting.
Only a few days after her father had given him some pointers, she took another look at him. He sat diligently cycling, but even through her owl, she could see that he was out of balance.
His eyes were half-open and blank, his hair was matted and unwashed, his clothes were rumpled and stained with blood, and he hadn’t shaved in days. His Sylvan Riverseed lay curled up in his lap, sleeping, and he looked as though he would pitch over at any second.
She had intended to let him go a few more days before intervening, but everyone had a limit. This was his.
Charity glanced down at herself. She perched on the edge of her bed, hair undone, wearing only a thin single-layer robe. She wasn’t suitable for greeting a stranger. So instead of ripping open a human-sized tear in space, she made one about the size of her hand.
And she slid a construct through. It looked like a dream tablet made from a purple gemstone, but it was instead a rare and valuable transmission construct. She doubted he would recognize how valuable.
The instant the small portal appeared, Lindon’s eyes snapped open, and he reached out his pale right hand and caught the falling construct.
Charity spoke through the spatial connection before it closed. “A mind needs more than training to keep it active. Do not wear yourself out before the tournament begins. That construct will be active for one hour after sunset every other day. Do not waste the time. Instructions are contained within.”
She let the portal close, but continued watching through one of her hidden owls.
At first, Lindon examined the gem suspiciously. He swept his spiritual sense through it, examined it from several angles, and then finally activated it. She could see on his face when he realized that it was a transmission construct, because his suspicion deepened.
She smiled.
A moment later, Yerin Arelius’ voice came through, speaking loudly through the stone in Lindon’s hand. “…who is this? Am I supposed to talk into this? Is it going to carry a message, or what?”
The change in Lindon was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. He looked like he’d gained a full night’s sleep in an instant, and he began speaking eagerly into the construct at once.
Charity let her owl dissipate, cutting off the vision, and settled in to sleep.
Chapter 6
Lindon sat on the roof of his house in Moongrave, watching the skies as he spoke with Yerin. Lines of cloudships followed each other in even lanes, passing over dark towers and black-leafed trees, and Yerin’s voice came from the jewel-construct sitting on the tiles next to him.
“…and I can beat Saeya so long as she keeps that sword locked away. If I had a weapon with a binding I could use, you can bet I’d be whipping her like a stubborn mule.”
The shadow aura hung so thick in the air that it tinged all the stars with a slight purple haze. He settled onto his back as he responded.
“Forgiveness, but I’m glad you don’t. I might have to fight you.”
A short laugh came from Yerin’s side of the construct. “I’d need something to knock you off track. Don’t have any surprises you haven’t seen.”
“I’m the one who needs a surprise.” Lindon’s early attempts to fight a model of Yerin made by Dross had not gone well. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I’ve actually been working on something that might catch you off-guard, but I can’t tell you too much.” That should have caught her curiosity, but she still didn’t respond. “Yerin?”
He glanced at the horizon. Darkness had completely swallowed the sun, leaving the stars, the buildings in the city, and the vehicles passing overhead as the only lights.
Dross made a sound like he was clearing his throat. [Well, I’ve been working on something. I’m just using your brain.]
Lindon ignored him, sitting up and cradling the transmission construct. Sure enough, only a glimmer of light remained in its depths. It was deactivating on the time limit the Sage had left.
He let pure madra flood into the construct, along with a wisp of gray soulfire. He had learned early on that providing it with more madra would boost its performance for a short time.
Indistinctly, Yerin’s voice drifted through the air. “…there? Lindon?”
Lindon brought the construct close to his mouth. “We’re out of time. I’ll talk to you the day after tomorrow.” The weight of that time settled on him. Two days before he could have a break like this again. He added, “I wish you were here.”
The construct went dark.
Lindon tucked the jewel of Forged madra away, laying back down against the tile. Two phoenixes of violet flame circled each other in the sky, and he watched them as they ducked into clouds and reemerged.
Part of him wished Charity hadn’t given him the construct. Being able to talk to Yerin five times in the last week had made the time between unbearable. He’d never realized how short an hour was.
[You know,] Dross said, [I can’t tell if these talks make you feel better or if they highlight just how alone you really are. Anyway, I’m sure the best thing to do is not think about it. Just stuff those feelings way down deep where they can never hurt anybody.]
The phoenixes vanished, and Lindon realized he was lying on his own roof for no reason. He stood, stretching his arms. “I’m going to sleep early. You should, too. We have a big day tomorrow.”
[We’re still going with your plan, then? Oh, good. Good. I was worried you had changed your mind to something reasonable. No, don’t worry. Just go to sleep and dream of success. Maybe that will help somehow.]
~~~
The next day, Charity sat next to Fury in a viewing tower overlooking one of their fighting stages.
“I know this is to choose your representative,” Charity said, “but I didn't think you'd show up.”
Sixteen young Underlords—the last remaining candidates for the main Akura team—were lined up on the arena beneath them. Several dozen possibilities had already been eliminated, whittled down to this elite group.
An Overlord barked instructions at them—he was Fury's great-grandson, Charity's grand-nephew. The Underlords bowed to him and then to the tower where the Sage and the Herald waited.
The stage itself was a polished black square a hundred yards to a side, and the Akura family emblem glowed at the center. One large star and two small stars, all
over three mountains. The stars and the mountains glowed purple.
The star on the left represented Charity. Fury was the star on the right, and Malice the largest star in the center. The one that rose over them all.
He tilted his head back, swallowing a bowl of soup bigger than his head. When he finished, he let out a long, satisfied breath, then picked up a loaf of bread. “Intuition,” he said between bites. “I feel like something interesting is going to happen.”
Two Underladies stepped up, saluting one another. One of them, Akura Grace, had a real shot at winning. She looked more like Malice than most of the Akura descendants, full-figured and beautiful, with long raven hair. While she had failed to bond with any of the Books of Seven Pages, she had developed considerable mastery of her sword and shadow Path and carried a long, curved saber on her back.
Grace's opponent was sadly unremarkable. She had made it this far by sheer luck.
At the end of the fight, the two bowed to one another, Grace unharmed and her challenger bleeding from the arm. There had been no tension there.
“And here comes something interesting now.” Fury tossed the uneaten half of his bread over his shoulder.
At first, Charity assumed he was talking about Grace's match, and she wondered if her father was feeling all right. Then she paid more attention to her spiritual sense.
Another young Underlord had removed his veil and walked toward the stage. He was tall and strapping, with a stern expression and a build that reminded her of Fury. He wore the black-and-white robes that the Akura family used for many of their disciples, with a glittering halfsilver hammer badge hanging from a ribbon around his neck.
When he stepped onto the stage, he pressed the fist of his white Remnant arm against his human left, bowing toward their viewing tower.
The Overlord demanded to know what he was doing there, but Charity sent a quick pulse of her madra, signaling him to stop. Pride and several of the others shouted angrily for him to stop, and a few other young Underlords began to climb onto the stage, ready to attack him.
Lindon straightened from his bow, ignoring the others and looking up at Fury and Charity. “Pardon the interruption,” he said, his voice echoing throughout the arena. “Since the winner here is going to be my teammate, I thought I would check their abilities for myself. One last time.”
Audacious of him to try something like this. He was leaning too hard on Charity’s favor. She was inclined to remind him of his disrespect...but only if she had been supervising this contest alone.
She knew what her father was going to say.
“Granted!” Fury shouted happily. “The winner fights Lindon!”
“Apologies, but I had something else in mind.” For the first time, he turned to look at his peers around him.
Charity detected disdain in him, along with more confidence than she had ever seen in him before. Suddenly, even she was intrigued.
“I challenge every Underlord here.”
They all reacted. Some shouted out of wounded pride, some prepared techniques, others laughed or called insults.
Fury turned to Charity eagerly, his red eyes flashing with excitement. “Where's Mercy?”
“The sixth island.”
“She'll want to see this.” He rose from his chair and started cycling his madra, but she stopped him.
“I'll get her.” Fury would fly over there faster than sound, snatch up Mercy, and leap away with no warning. Charity’s way was faster. With a moment of concentration, she stretched her spiritual awareness all the way out to the sixth of the thirteen Phantom Islands.
Mercy was tempering her concentration, pulling her four techniques from the Book of Eternal Night while nightmare beasts assaulted her mind. Charity seized her in the middle of her trial, pulling her through a fold in the Way.
Teleporting so quickly and precisely was the limit of Charity's ability, and she had always been skilled with spatial transport. Mercy tumbled onto the platform, her training outfit muddied and gray, her hair tangled and messy. She shoved herself up using Eclipse as support, and the sacred bow hissed.
Mercy looked around in a panic, disoriented. “Ah! What? Where am I? What? ...what?”
Charity used one pulse of her madra to soothe Mercy's thoughts, and another to command the Underlords below not to form into an angry mob and beat Lindon to death. “Your friend has just done something interesting. We thought you might want to watch.”
Mercy perked up. She leaned her weapon up against the wall and peered over the edge of the platform at the other Underlords below.
“What did he do? Wow, Pride does not look happy.” She pulled her hair back into a rough tail, tying it in place with a string of Forged madra.
“He challenged everyone to a duel,” Fury said, moving up to stand next to her. “I was just about to let it happen.”
By their relative ages, Fury should have been Mercy’s ancestor many generations removed. Instead, they were half-siblings separated by centuries.
Such was the reality of life in a Monarch’s family.
Mercy waved down to Lindon, who looked surprised to see her. “Does he know how strong they are?”
“Everyone down there has fought him at least once,” Charity responded. “Most of them multiple times. They did not enjoy seeing him placed above them, so they took out their frustrations on him.”
Without looking, Mercy extended a String of Shadow and pulled up a chair. “As long as he knows what he's getting into, then we're about to see a show.”
Fury slapped the railing in excitement. His red eyes gleamed, and his voice boomed out over the field. “First fight: Akura Shiria! Wei Shi Lindon! Let's see it!”
~~~
The others cleared off the stage, leaving Lindon and the girl with the hammer and pigtails. Shiria was a distant enough descendant that she had a normal name, and her force Path had been selected for her by her outsider father. But she still had the black hair and purple eyes.
Lindon had fought her five times in total, losing every time.
In his head, he'd trained against her two hundred and sixteen times.
As soon as the stage cleared, she loosened her hammer from its strap on her back, cycling force madra. Her Goldsign, a silver ring around her neck, began to hum. A pair of golden anklets started to activate, drawing a movement technique to her feet.
She couldn't use the Akura bloodline armor, but she hit hard and was surprisingly adaptable.
“Begin,” called the Overlord in charge of the stage.
Lindon slammed an Empty Palm into the air on his left. Rather than many echoes, like Akura Fury had created, he Forged one huge echo at the moment of impact and superimposed it over an Enforced palm strike.
As a result, when Akura Shiria finished her movement technique and appeared suddenly to Lindon's left, an Empty Palm the size of her entire torso caught her in the chest. The blue-white hand that struck her was ten times bigger than Lindon's and disappeared immediately.
Pure madra rushed through her core and her entire madra system, sending her spirit into chaos. The construct in her boots failed, her Goldsign dimmed, and her cycling jammed to a sudden halt.
The physical strike hit her with full force, driving all the air from her lungs, and her eyes bugged out. Without her spirit Enforcing her body, she lost her grip on the hammer, which tumbled from her limp hands.
She fell to her knees, wheezing for a breath.
“You favor attacking from the left side,” Lindon said, “and your movements are too wide when you use your boots.” She also tended to cycle her madra too far in advance of her attack, so it was simple to follow her with his spiritual perception.
“Victory: Wei Shi Lindon Arelius.” The Overlord glanced up at the viewing tower.
Akura Fury nodded and stroked his chin, and Charity looked as impassive as ever. Mercy cheered.
“Second fight,” Fury called. “Akura Courage.”
Courage, it turned out, was the young Underlord with the s
ix flying swords and the Striker techniques. He strode up full of confidence, fanning his swords out behind him.
Lindon had only fought him once and hadn't caught his name. He might have other secrets up his sleeve, because Dross' model of him was not as precise as some of the others.
But Lindon had trained against it ninety-one times.
His eyes burned black.
“Begin,” the Overseer called, and Lindon fired a finger-thin bar of dragon's breath over his opponent's shoulder. It burned a line across the top of his outer robe, and smoke drifted up from singed cloth. His flying swords still hadn't reached Lindon yet.
The blades froze in midair. Courage's purple eyes had gone wide with shock. Clearly, Lindon could have put that Striker technique through his throat.
“You're too slow to start up,” Lindon said simply.
“Victory to Lindon.” The Overlord sounded angry this time, so Lindon wondered if Courage was a close relative.
Fury stood and laughed again, preparing to call out the next match when Lindon interrupted.
Dross heaved a deep breath. [And now the foolishness begins.]
“Forgiveness, honored Herald,” Lindon said, “but I had a different plan in mind.”
He looked to the remaining Underlords, more than half of whom looked angry enough to storm the stage at any second. The Path of Black Flame continued burning through his spirit.
“I challenged all the Underlords here,” Lindon said.
Of the remaining fourteen Akura Underlords, twelve of them looked instantly to Akura Fury, waiting for his permission. Only two continued watching Lindon: Pride and his distant cousin, Grace. Pride looked ready to commit murder, but Grace watched him with distant confusion in her purple eyes, as though she were trying to figure out his angle of approach.
Fury’s wild laughter preceded the words, “Go wild, kids!”
Twelve people leaped onto the stage, and Lindon sharpened his attention as Dross slowed the world down.