Uncrowned (Cradle Book 7)

by Will Wight

  Seven young men and five women in Akura colors sprinted for him, drawing weapons and kindling techniques. Sword madra flashed in a silver wave, Forged needles of venom flicked for his neck, and a spear sailed through the air.

  Thanks to Dross, Lindon had time to consider his response.

  Dragon’s breath seared into a girl’s leg as Lindon snatched the spear out of the air with the explosive movement of the Burning Cloak then hurled it back. Dross projected their movements onto his sight, like ghostly outlines of the future. Lindon fell in line with the projections as though following a dance he had long memorized.

  He ducked a fan of sword madra while rolling to avoid a spray of poisoned needles and drilling a finger-thin bar of dragon’s flame through a boy’s shield. As he’d hoped, Charity or Fury called out whenever they considered someone eliminated, so he didn’t have to hurt anyone too badly.

  As they grew closer, he poured soulfire into the Burning Cloak. It propelled his every movement with such force that it became hard to control, each step a leap and each punch launched like a cannon-shot. Without weeks of practice, he would have tumbled straight out of the arena’s bounds.

  By the time they reached him with their weapons, there were seven remaining.

  So quickly that it sent pain lancing through his spirit, Lindon emptied himself of Blackflame madra and switched to the Path of Twin Stars.

  That transition was the most dangerous time, and in his predictions, this was where he failed most often. Without Dross’ calculations, he would have been ground into paste between a Forged fist, a body covered in the amethyst Akura bloodline armor, and a blast of force madra.

  In the fraction of a second when the Burning Cloak dropped and the Spirit Cloak rose up around him, he slipped each attack by a hair’s breadth.

  When the pure madra Enforcer technique filled him, the fight ended.

  He broke two legs and three arms, cracked a set of ribs, and drove an Empty Palm into an armored chest. A glowing blue-white handprint five times bigger than his own struck at the same time, quickly Forged out of his Twin Stars madra and shoved into his opponent’s spirit.

  Her spirit trembled, the armor shrank away, and she collapsed to her knees. Lindon stood, breathing heavily and focusing on his spirit to keep his madra under control. He was the only one standing.

  Fury now sat on the railing at the edge of his viewing platform, legs dangling, leaning forward so that it looked like he could fall off at any second. But the tower was only about thirty feet tall; a fall from that height would threaten him no more than a stiff breeze.

  Charity still showed no expression, but Mercy saw Lindon looking and clapped her black-gloved hands together eagerly.

  Lindon never had to use more than three techniques against any single opponent. His madra channels were a little strained, having to use so many techniques in a row with no breaks, but he had plenty of power left. He had taken one shallow cut, a few impacts that would bruise if not for his Bloodforged Iron body, and a spiritual attack to his core that he had drowned with pure madra.

  Nothing worth complaining about after an overwhelming victory.

  [Don’t let me interrupt you with reality, but we’re not done.]

  Dross was right. There were two rivals left.

  “Next opponent,” the Overlord said wearily, “Akura Grace.”

  Most of the young Akura Underlords would be considered attractive; they were physically trained and had delicate features, with the resources of the Akura family to take care of them. Even their battle clothes were finely made, and they all had bodies remade in soulfire.

  Akura Grace was on another level. Her every movement was beautiful, her skin smooth, her long hair thick and dark. As she walked onto the stage, she met his eyes with a clear gaze, carrying a lightly curved saber in both hands. She drew the weapon in one elegant motion and set the sheath aside.

  Lindon had fought her only once. She had challenged him and won without injuring him. He got the impression that she was really evaluating him, not taking out a grudge on him as the others had, and she had gone away disappointed.

  Now she looked interested again, like her ancestor, Fury. She readied her sword.

  She had no other constructs on her besides the blade, her sacred instrument, though of course she could have something stored in her soulspace or a void key. But he suspected she wouldn't. Like him, she was pushing to train herself, not to seek a lonely victory.

  [My model for her doesn’t have a lot of testing,] Dross said. [Should we think about this a minute? That’s a good idea, let’s think about it.]

  “Begin!” the Overlord called.

  Grace's sword was already at his neck.

  Lindon had back-stepped immediately, expecting the rush. She used a full-body Enforcer technique that shrouded her in shadow, and she moved with a grace that proved her worthy of her name. Her advantage in this fight was her weapon. Lindon had completed some basic Iron-level weapons-training courses provided by Charity, but he’d never found a weapon that he felt suited him.

  Though that was a problem now. She channeled an Enforcer technique into her weapon, and a shadowy black edge expanded its length and width a few inches. It moved faster now, a dark blur, and its movements were harder to track.

  Lindon used the Soul Cloak. With the control it gave him over his movements, his Underlord body, and Dross' enhancement of his mind, he danced out of the way. She grew faster and faster, but he stayed inches away, even when she began to mix Striker techniques into her attack patterns. Sharp black crescents of madra flashed out at him, slicing the air, but he evaded them all.

  Finally, she grew frustrated, stopping her sword for a moment to pour soulfire in it. Colorless flame flickered up and down the blade's length in an instant, and the pressure coming off of the weapon doubled.

  But it provided the opening Lindon had been waiting for.

  As soon as she stopped, Lindon gathered a gray flame of his own from the quiet bonfire burning in his spirit. He funneled it into a twist of spirit behind his cores, a binding in the making. The location of his Soul Cloak technique.

  The smooth blue-white aura around him turned almost tangible, like a waterfall flowing in reverse up his body.

  Before she swung, Grace realized what he'd done. She poured soulfire into her own full-body Enforcer technique, but it was too late.

  In one motion, he closed the gap between them and jabbed two fingers into her wrist along with a pulse of pure madra. It disrupted her strength, loosening her grip, and he took the weapon from her.

  But he didn’t turn it to point the blade at her. He released the Soul Cloak, holding her sword out to her hilt-first.

  Her purple eyes were wide with astonishment, her lips slightly parted. She took the weapon back absently.

  “Lindon's victory.” The Overlord sighed. He was almost inaudible over Mercy cheering and Fury clapping.

  Grace scooped up her sheath, slipping the weapon inside. Then she turned back to him and pressed both fists together.

  “Thank you for the match,” she said quietly.

  Lindon returned the salute.

  Then Pride strode onto the stage. Shadow madra pulsed around him, and Lindon could make out a phantom image in the air behind him: a red book made of madra, its cover sealed with silver chains.

  Rather than announcing the sixteenth fight, Fury remained quiet. Pride glowered at Lindon, his spirit unrestrained.

  In a way, Lindon was more confident against Pride than against Grace. He had fought Pride twice and seen more of his Path both times. Dross was confident that his model of the young man was at least eighty percent accurate.

  But of the four hundred and fifteen simulated matches Lindon had held against Pride, Lindon had won only two hundred.

  Pride used exclusively Enforcer techniques. If he managed to move in close, he won. Lindon won only when he kept his distance and peppered Pride with dragon's breath.

  They stood facing each other in silence as
the defeated Akura members stared at them.

  Pride drew himself up to his full height, his eyes moving to the viewing arena. His madra spun quickly, and Lindon started cycling for the Burning Cloak.

  “Enough.” Charity’s quiet voice swallowed up all else.

  Akura Fury looked to her in childish disappointment, but both Pride and Lindon drew up short.

  “Wei Shi Lindon Arelius, step back,” she continued. “Your point is made. Let all see that I have made my selection, and it is final.”

  Pride bowed, and then turned away, his every step heavy with obvious frustration.

  Lindon looked up to the tower, uncertain. He had expected to fight Pride last of all, so this sudden change wrong-footed him.

  Charity stood up, surveying them all. “I suppose now we should have the actual selection tournament.”

  “Eh, I'm going to pick Grace or Pride,” Fury said. He hopped down from the thirty-foot tower, landing easily on the ground below, and then began to walk away. “Fight it out between the two of you. Best two of three matches, return to good condition in between each match, Charity's the judge.”

  His figure blurred as he shot away.

  [What an abrupt man,] Dross said.

  Chapter 7

  Lindon hadn’t seen Mercy much since arriving in Moongrave, but after the Akura clan acknowledged him as a qualified participant in the Uncrowned tournament, the situation changed. Now Charity required him to appear in public with members of the Monarch’s family to reinforce his new status. Since Charity and Fury were far too busy, that meant Mercy or Pride.

  He had immediately chosen Mercy.

  Delighted, she had taken the opportunity to bring him to a show. They now sat side-by-side in a theater box reserved for the Akura head family, looking down on the rest of the audience and on a broad stage. Onstage, sacred artists performed what they called ‘drake-dancing’; they rode serpentine lesser dragons through the air in complex acrobatics, narrowly dodging each other and a barrage of dangerous techniques.

  The spectacle focused on the stunts, but the story engaged Lindon the most. The rider on the black drake was a fallen prince trying to regain his kingdom, but every step he took brought him further away from his true love.

  An hour in, the director called an intermission, and the drakes landed. They carried their riders backstage to the sound of applause, and the audience’s murmurs rose to a dull roar.

  Lindon immediately began cycling the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel.

  Mercy cried out when she saw his eyes shut, and she clapped her hands in front of his face, startling him out of the cycling trance. “You really don’t take any breaks, do you?” Her purple eyes shone with amusement.

  “Apologies, but I don’t have time for breaks.” The truth was, he was embarrassed at how easily he had been swallowed up by the show. For a few minutes, he had almost forgotten to improve himself.

  Mercy turned her body in her seat, folding black-gloved hands on the arm of her chair. “I’ve never seen you voluntarily take a break. Even in the Skysworn, you were cycling or practicing until you collapsed. Do you not have any hobbies?”

  Lindon thought of training as his hobby, but he searched for a more appropriate answer. “I used to work in a library.”

  From Mercy’s face, that was clearly not what she wanted to hear. “What do you like doing?”

  That felt like the wrong question, but it took him a moment to find the words to explain why. “It’s not about what I like. I’m years behind you and Yerin. I have to work harder to catch up.”

  “Lindon, this isn’t a test. What do you enjoy?”

  “I like Soulsmithing,” he responded. He was answering from the gut, but that was the most honest answer he could think of. “It’s satisfying to come up with something that works, because Remnant pieces never combine like you expect.”

  Mercy leaned even closer to him, eagerly awaiting more.

  “I enjoy research. Searching through volumes of information and pulling out just the pieces you need, then putting them together.” He shrugged, self-conscious. “It doesn’t sound fun when I say it like that, but that’s what came to mind.”

  Mercy’s tone became overly casual. “What about your talks with Yerin?”

  “Of course.” This time, Lindon didn’t need to consider his answer. “She’s always excited to train, and that makes me enjoy it more. Having to advance on my own these last few months has made me realize…”

  He trailed off as the music started up beneath them. The director emerged back onstage and began to announce the second part of the drake-dancing show.

  Without turning from Lindon, Mercy raised her hand, palm-out.

  The director corrected himself mid-sentence. “Ah, it seems that the show will resume in just a few more minutes.”

  The musicians lowered their volume. A few members of the audience glanced up at their box, but most people kept their eyes low.

  Lindon stared at Mercy. It seemed there were more perks to being a Monarch’s daughter than he realized.

  She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “So I’ve never asked, but now that we’ve got this chance to talk…what exactly are you and Yerin? Are you…” She twined her fingers together.

  Lindon felt like every light in the theater had turned onto him.

  “First I thought you were together,” Mercy went on, “and then after watching you and finding out you had both been adopted into the Arelius family, I figured you might have thought of yourselves as brother and sister. But the more I watch you…there’s something there, right?”

  Excitement painted every inch of her face. The music stayed low, the crowd murmured, and the show wouldn’t start until Mercy allowed it to.

  Lindon’s face burned, and he dug for an excuse to get himself out of the conversation.

  [Just move your mouth and make words come out,] Dross said. [Your thoughts are a mess, so talking isn’t going to make it any worse.]

  “She…makes me want to work harder,” Lindon began. “When I’m not with her, I feel like something’s wrong. But everything is based on advancing together. That’s all we do.”

  He looked down at the stage so he wouldn’t have to look into Mercy’s purple eyes anymore. “If we tried to do more…what would that look like? Would we have to give up advancement? Would we have anything in common?”

  “And you’re okay with that?” She sounded confused.

  He responded honestly. “I don’t know.”

  Mercy settled back into her seat. After a few seconds, she waved her hand. The music swelled again as the show resumed.

  “Well,” she said with a sigh, “there’s one easy answer: make it to Monarch. Then you can spend all the time you want on romance and no one can say anything. Just ask my mother.”

  ~~~

  On the day Lindon was to leave for the tournament, the entire Akura family turned out in force.

  In an open courtyard so vast that Lindon could not see the end, an uncountable number of people had gathered. They organized themselves into squares, some more precisely than others, representing the families and sects and clans within Akura territory.

  It was an ocean of humanity. The noise they generated shook the ground.

  Black towers rose evenly between the squares, and a grasshopper-like Remnant of white smoke wavered on top of each of those towers. The spirits played haunting music that drifted over the scene, weaving in and out of the crowd's titanic murmurs.

  Lindon watched from above, on a platform supported by a violet Thousand-Mile Cloud. He stood to Mercy's left, while Pride stood to her right. Charity rose above them all, floating on a platform of her own.

  They were on display. Two minutes after they rose into the air, the noise of the crowd heightened into cheers, and the music peaked in triumph.

  Lindon stood stiffly, his mind choking on the sheer scale. In any direction he looked, he saw more people than he had ever imagined existed.

  Constructs in
each of the towers projected an illusory image of the three Underlords into the air so everyone in the endless crowd could see. Lindon could now see himself as a forty-foot-tall figure of madra, as flawless as anything a master of the Path of the White Fox could have produced. Every time another construct farther away sprang to life, showing Mercy and Pride and Lindon, a further burst of cheers erupted from the crowd around it.

  This was a staggering display of the Akura clan's wealth. The weight sunk in as it never had before: he was representing them, a power that dwarfed the Blackflame Empire. Whether he liked it or not, he was one of the clan's faces now. He had to please them. The force of their displeasure would crush him.

  Charity spread her hands, and a gentle ripple of madra drifted out over the crowd. Lindon was certain that even she couldn't reach the end of the gathered people, but when those in the center quieted, a wave of silence spread out over everyone.

  The Sage began with a speech designed to reinforce the power and dignity of the Akura clan, and how their family was synonymous with the stability of humanity. Lindon listened intently until he realized he would learn nothing of value. This was only to impress everyone with the importance of what they were doing.

  Instead, he examined his illusory image.

  He had always been tall, but next to Mercy and Pride, that was even more apparent. With Mercy in the center, it looked as though they were arranged in descending order of height. Mercy came up to his chin, and Pride only his shoulder.

  His expression had always looked like he was spoiling for a fight, but since ascending to Underlord, he had changed in a dozen tiny ways. Now he looked stern. Too stern, or so he thought as he examined the giant projection of his face. His discomfort made him look like a judge ready to order an execution. He tried to relax, but the situation was too tense.

  He was dressed, as were Mercy and Pride, in the best the Akura clan had to offer. He wore a stiff outer coat with a high collar that flared behind him like a cape and plum-colored inner garments, tailored tightly.

  The outside of the coat was black, but the inside was a bright violet that looked like it was on the verge of starting to glow. There was a line of script ringing the lowest hem of his coat that actually did glow bright violet, and after examining it thoroughly, he had been disappointed to find it was only decorative.