by Will Wight
Lindon watched the Dreadgod teams emerge from the waiting room with disgust, and he wasn't the only one. No one cheered for them, not even their own tower. The Stormcallers and Redmoon Hall emerged to uneasy silence.
Even Sophara the gold dragon stopped glaring at the Akura team to spare some hostility for the Dreadgods. The Ninecloud Soul's voice had the slightest hint of a condescending tone to it as she announced each cult, though of course she did not openly disparage anyone. The Ninecloud Court would not offend Reigan Shen.
When Abyssal Palace took their seats, the focus shifted back to the eight wedges of twelve sacred artists seated in the center of the arena.
Music swelled, celebrating the completion of the announcement. Nine-colored fireworks burst overhead, and the Ninecloud Soul began a speech about the power of the sacred arts and the glory of the upcoming competition.
Finally, as the fireworks and the music reached a crescendo, the illusion in the center of the arena turned to a column of rainbow light.
“Sacred artists,” the Ninecloud Soul announced, “glorious Monarchs, the time has come! Let the first round of the eighteenth Uncrowned King tournament finally...begin!”
Between each tower, a list appeared written in the air, each bearing ninety-six names: all the fighters, ready to be ranked. Applause and cheers shook the ground, and Lindon tensed his body and spirit.
“The contents of this first round are a mystery to the participants,” the voice continued. “We will give each young person a chance to demonstrate the full range of their skills and specialties, and their performance will be judged by a panel of independent judges gathered from all throughout the world.”
Rainbow light indicated another hovering platform, much more humble than the rest, enclosed so that Lindon could not see anyone inside.
“The Monarchs have agreed to abide by the judgment of these experts, so the results of this tournament should never—”
“Hold.”
A deep voice echoed throughout the arena, and everyone stopped. A wisp of Mercy’s hair, which had been blowing in the wind, froze in place. The wind itself stopped blowing, and some of the fireworks froze mid-explosion. Lindon’s breath locked in his chest. Even his thoughts seemed to slow.
A ragged, blue-edged hole opened in midair, and Northstrider stepped out.
Chapter 10
Suriel had shown Lindon a vision of Northstrider, and he had seen an image of the Monarch projected by a construct in Ghostwater. Seeing him in person was a guttural shock, like catching a glimpse of a mythical beast.
Northstrider was tall and powerfully built, with broad shoulders and defined muscles. His long, wild hair and unshaven face suggested he’d been wandering in the wild, and his skin was browned by long exposure to the sun. His eyes were golden and vertically slitted, like those of the gold dragons, and black scales covered his hands up to his elbows.
He wore rough, shapeless, dirty clothes that looked as if he'd scavenged them from different places and replaced each piece as it wore out. His shoes didn't match, an armored leather sleeve had replaced one leg of his pants, his belt was a thick rope, and his “shirt” was a series of cloths wrapped over and around his chest. He looked like he’d dressed himself by robbing beggars.
But his will held the entire arena in thrall, and even with his spirit veiled, the sense of his power was overwhelming. His gaze carried behind it the weight of an emperor.
Northstrider looked up to the flying paradise with its crystalline waterfall spilling over the edge.
A second later, another figure stepped out of nowhere. He was shorter than Northstrider, but just as broad, with chiseled and handsome features that looked as though they belonged on the statue of an ancient king.
Lindon had heard that the Monarch of the House of Shen was a sacred lion, and indeed this man’s gold-tinged white hair and beard blended into one majestic white-gold mane. He was dressed like the Arelius family in a white linen skirt that fell to his feet and a white wrap across his chest.
In contrast to Northstrider, the newcomer’s simple clothing looked like intentional fashion. The cloth was pristine, his belt was made of shimmering goldsteel links, and jeweled rings glinted on every finger. He held a golden goblet in one hand, and he gestured with it toward the column of rainbow light, which had frozen along with everything else in the world.
The light streamed down once again, and Lindon heard the Ninecloud Soul draw in a breath. However, she never lost her professional tone as she announced, “Guests from all over the world, history has been overturned! We are joined by the legendary Monarch Northstrider himself! We ourselves believed he fell in battle years ago, but no rumors can constrain him!”
Deathly silence met her. Everyone else was still frozen. Lindon was starting to suffer for the lack of air.
“Wise Monarch of the Hungry Deep,” the voice said gently, “would you release your hold on the audience so that they may celebrate your presence?”
Northstrider still faced his opposite, and made no reaction that Lindon could see, but his restriction released. The wind blew, the fireworks drifted down from the sky, and Lindon heaved in a breath as the crowd took in a collective gasp.
The other man, who Lindon assumed to be the Monarch Reigan Shen, clicked his tongue impatiently.
Rainbow light flowed around him as the voice of the Ninecloud Court spoke. “It is our honor to present the Emperor of the Rosegold continent, who needs no introduction! Sacred artists, prostrate yourselves in humility before the greatest of lions, the creator of the Path of the King’s Key, Monarch Reigan Shen!”
Thunderous applause. Lindon and most of the other competitors joined in; no one wanted to have their breath stopped again.
The Arelius teams, he noticed, did not clap. They stared at the Monarch as though daring him to strike them down.
Reigan Shen spoke without quieting the audience, but his languid voice filled the arena nonetheless. “Northstrider! We are pleased to see you here. We knew you would never have fallen to a mere serpent.”
Shen might as well have been talking about the weather for all Northstrider reacted.
“I judge this tournament now,” Northstrider announced to the entire arena, and his tone left no room for debate. “The contestants will fight under my protection and according to my will.”
Reigan Shen shook with silent laughter, waving his goblet through the air. “That hardly seems fair, does it?” he asked, voice amused. “Who is to stop you from declaring your own team the victor? Or exiling our team to the void? Not that we would accuse you of such...petty conduct.”
He sipped from his goblet, watching Northstrider over the rim.
Lindon didn't know what he expected to see. Northstrider's face might as well have been carved from stone.
Finally, Shen waved a hand in irritation. “Fine. If none of our peers has an objection, then we have none. You are certainly...overly qualified to supervise the squabbling of children.”
If Shen was attempting to get a visible reaction out of Northstrider, he failed. The Monarch of the Hungry Deep walked away, and the Ninecloud Soul sounded shocked as she made her declaration.
“On behalf of the Ninecloud Court and in the name of Monarch Sha Leiala, I announce a…sudden…alteration to the rules,” the voice said. “Rather than our distinguished panel of judges and experts from all across the world, the competition will now be judged by a Monarch directly! This is an unprecedented honor to the contestants, and a mark of glory for what will surely be the greatest tournament ever held!”
The audience gave some confused cheers after that, though Lindon stayed focused on Northstrider.
The Monarch paid no attention to the lesser sacred artists around him. His eyes moved from one Monarch platform to the next, as though watching for something that Lindon couldn't see.
He was looking for the reactions of his equals…or perhaps challenging them.
Reigan Shen stepped into nothing and disappeared, and no other Mo
narchs objected. When he had finished turning to each of the other seven towers, Northstrider folded his arms and closed his eyes, waiting for the Ninecloud Soul to continue her speech.
Obviously, in his mind, the matter was settled.
[He’s going to watch us directly!] Dross said breathlessly. […what if he doesn’t like how I look? What if he thinks I have too many arms? Or not enough?]
As if Lindon didn’t have enough to worry about, this brought a new source of panic. Now Northstrider would be watching their fights closely…and if he looked closely enough at Lindon, he would find Dross.
Would he consider Lindon a thief?
When the Ninecloud Soul paused in her speech, Northstrider spoke again without opening his eyes, and his voice reverberated throughout the arena. “As all participants are under my protection, they should fight freely. None may die unless I allow it, and they will be restored to perfect condition when necessary. So it shall be.”
The pillar of rainbow light shone brighter. “The Ninecloud Court thanks the Monarch for his support! Now, with all surprises settled and no further changes, we come to the beginning of the opening round! Monarch, we begin at your will.”
Lindon drew himself inward, breathing steadily, cycling his madra. He could feel Dross doing something similar, focusing his attention.
“Begin,” Northstrider said.
In a flash of blue light, everyone vanished.
~~~
When Lindon found himself in a dark cave, he immediately extended his spiritual perception and realized he was alone. There were powerful constructs buried beneath the ground and many scripts in operation, but no other living souls.
Why divide us into teams just to separate us? he wondered.
[False hope,] Dross said confidently. [Lift up your spirits and then just smash them to pieces.]
Lindon stood in a cavern of dark, jagged rock a few dozen feet wide and the same distance high. Lights speckled the ceiling like tiny stars. The cavern was much longer than it was wide, perhaps three hundred yards distant, and he could see no entrance or exit.
Before he could adjust to his new surroundings, the ground shook. A white dome split the rock beneath his feet, rising under him. He tried to leap off, but an invisible barrier prevented him, keeping him standing on the dome.
Dross screamed. [The earth is attacking! Kill it! Kill it!]
The dome rose up to the height of a house, giving him a look to the far end of the cavern. Against the distant wall, a black dome rose in exact parallel to the white dome on which he stood.
In front of his white dome, soldiers made of matching white rose up from the stone. The size and rough shape of men, the soldiers rose in three rows, each with about two dozen figures standing shoulder-to-shoulder. The edges of their line scraped the walls.
The ones in front carried shields and spears, the second row carried bows, and the final row were all individual sacred artists with their own Paths. Some of those had claws, some conjured flame, and some had haloes of light around their head.
The army of black figures looked exactly the same. It was like a game board, each side precisely matching the other.
In the air before Lindon, characters appeared in golden flame: “Defeat the Army.”
Then the front ranks of the armies rushed at each other.
The invisible wall containing Lindon vanished, but he didn't move away from the dome. When the golden words had appeared, a scroll had also fallen out of nowhere into his hand. He unraveled the scroll and read it.
The armies, it said, were perfectly matched. He could see as much just from observing the way the white and black soldiers would pierce each other at the same time. They replaced themselves endlessly—Lindon watched that happen too. After a pair of front-line soldiers fell, two more rose from the stone in the back, then hustled to return to the front.
However, the situation would not remain in a stalemate forever. The black soldiers would replace themselves faster and faster until eventually the white side was overwhelmed.
Lindon's objective was to lead the white army to victory by either eliminating all the black soldiers or destroying the dome representing the black base. Competitors would be ranked based on how thoroughly and how quickly they completed their tasks.
This was only the first of fifteen trials making up the first round of the competition. After that, the scroll contained no new information.
[Easy enough,] Dross said. [Just fire at the base. Give it a quick lick of dragon's breath, and we'll be on our way.]
Lindon doubted that would work, and he was too far away to hit the black dome anyway, but he needed more information.
He hopped down from the dome, dashing forward without using an Enforcer technique.
I'd like to avoid showing too much, Lindon said silently to Dross. The audience is watching us, and we want to give our opponents as little information as possible.
[Ah, I get it. A stealth mission. That's what I was born for: stealth. I'm so sneaky I hardly exist.]
Lindon ran through the back line of white soldiers—they parted to let him pass, but there was no empty space to the side for him to skirt around. He could feel now that each of these constructs had the power of an Underlord. He didn't know if they were created by powerful experts or ancient artifacts, but they would not be simple to defeat.
The battle raged around him, crushing his spiritual sense and shaking his body. Shield-bearing warriors slammed against each other, rattling Lindon's teeth, as Striker techniques scorched the air above him.
Black stone soldiers loomed over him, and though he was still a little far for his dragon's breath to be effective, he tried shooting a bar of black-and-red madra at the enemy dome.
As he'd expected, a globe of water rose from the sacred artists in the back row, swallowing up his technique. They would counter any attack he made on the enemy base.
Lindon retreated, sharing a quick discussion with Dross.
[They're using the same techniques and tactics over and over, so I could probably build a model of any one. But it'll take a little longer to hold the whole battlefield. I think the simplest solution is to eliminate one or to tilt things in our favor.]
Lindon agreed, but he'd have to show off his Blackflame Path to do so. He was feeling the pressure of time—as far as he knew, the other Underlords had all completed their task by now—but he suspected the hazards of rushing were greater than taking his time.
The purpose of the first round is to give everyone a chance to display their full power, even if they won't make it any further in the competition, Lindon said. Real victory will be if we can pass without showing all the cards in our hand.
[Oh, that’s a good plan! As long as you don’t fail. You don’t think you’ll fail, do you? That would be embarrassing, round one. Right out of the gate.]
Lindon backed up toward his dome. Two white soldiers climbed out of the stone, nodded to him, and then hurried to the battle. The gray stone of the plain healed as soon as they left.
He knelt and pressed his left hand to the rock, extending his spiritual perception. How does this work? he asked Dross.
[Hmmm...there are three different bindings down here making the soldiers, and then there are scripts that contain and control all the little fiddly pieces that make everything work.]
Could we disrupt it?
[Yes, but actually no. You feel that shield around the bindings? Right there, feel that? The second you try and send any madra down there, that’s going to get in the way. It would take you longer to blast your way down there and destroy the bindings than it would to just kill some soldiers. Which is the plan I would recommend, by the way.]
Lindon flexed the fingers of his right hand. But the shield is a madra construct? Not a script?
[Oh, I see where you’re heading with this. Yeah, that might work. It's all made of Lord-level madra, not like it was made by a Sage or a Monarch, so it's possible. Give it a try. The only thing to lose is the entire competition.]
Pressing his white Remnant arm to the ground, Lindon activated the binding. Hunger madra reached out, sticky threads of greed running down the stone toward the construct that produced the soldiers. The shield sprung to life, a spiritual dome surrounding the constructs, but the tendrils of hunger madra latched on. And began to feed.
Gray madra flooded into Lindon's arm, and he had to break off contact to vent it into the air in an explosive spray of force. Two more tries, and he'd drained the shield completely. The script surrounding it was dark and un-powered, the construct vulnerable.
Lindon stood, shaking out his aching right hand. All right, now the trick will be getting through the soldiers to the other two constructs.
[Eh, well, you don't want to show all your cards. You still have to show a few.]
Lindon ignited the Soul Cloak.
~~~
From the comfort of her mansion on the Akura floating mountain, Charity looked down onto the arena through a viewing-mirror.
The audience down below watched a handful of images at a time, each projected in crisp detail by light and dream madra into the center of the arena. The Ninecloud Court tournament staff would select the most interesting visions and share them with the audience.
The gold-scaled Sopharanatoth burned a hole straight through the black soldiers, running through the gap for their base in seconds. She tore through all attempts to slow her down.
Her image transformed into Yerin, whose sword-aura radiated out, blasting chunks from every black soldier at once. Her Path was perfect for annihilating large ranks of weaker enemies, and only a minute or two passed before she had reduced her opponents to gravel. Though the black soldiers would re-form faster than the white, it wouldn’t be enough to overcome such a disadvantage.
One of the Weeping Dragon's acolytes in the Stormcallers was up next, calling living blue lightning from clear skies to destroy his opponents. Then the image became a boy from the Wastelands in a gray cloak, running on green circles of force over the opposing lines and smashing the enemy base with a fist enhanced by Forged script. One after the other, shocking and impressive scenes played themselves before the audience.