Before she could make a move, every protective script in the arena lit up at once.
To her spiritual senses, the atmosphere grew painfully heavy, as if the air had suddenly turned to water. Her spirit screamed a warning, and she threw the Endless Sword up like a barrier, surrounding herself in sword-aura.
Her Blood Shadow exploded. Blood madra splattered all over the walls in a spray as though it had been struck by the hand of a Monarch.
Yerin had seen nothing. She had felt only a brief spike of pure madra.
Where was Eithan?
She cast her perception out for him, but she sensed nothing. She spun in place, hunting for him.
He was right behind her.
His smile was gone, his eyes twin needles of ice. His hostility was so thick she could taste it. A fist squeezed her spirit, and it was all she could do to keep her madra circulating. She gathered a Rippling Sword at the edge of her blade, whipping a quick Striker technique at him.
Eithan did nothing to stop it. The madra cracked against invisible armor that coated every inch of his skin.
He pointed his finger up, and only then did Yerin realize there was something above her.
She leaped back, but the seething cluster of blue-white stars against the ceiling followed her. She raised her sword, filling it with madra.
A cascade of blue-white light speared down, powerful enough to drive right through her spirit.
It lanced into the ground in front of her. When the light faded, the floor was completely unharmed.
Her muscles shuddered in relief, and she lowered her pale sword. Her Goldsigns sagged, and she stared in disbelief at the spot where his technique had landed.
Eithan slid over to her, grin returned, his overbearing malice withdrawn. The protective scripts around the arena faded. The bystanders had gone silent.
Yerin stared at the untouched floor. “What are you?” she asked quietly.
“An Underlord,” he answered. “People always think that the way to improve your power is to push for advancement, but that's not always true. A child and a veteran swordsman, given the same weapon, are vastly different opponents. With enough skill, there's no reason you couldn't do what I just did. In your own way, of course.”
Yerin looked over at the puddle of blood madra pulling itself together. “Teach me.”
Chapter 2
A week had passed since the Sage’s transportation had brought Lindon to the city of Moongrave.
From the outside, the Akura capital had looked less like a city and more like a fortress for evil giants. Remnants out of a nightmare guarded its black and spiked walls. Their physical manifestations were so detailed and solid that he almost mistook them for twisted sacred beasts. He hadn’t been able to see the end of the city’s walls, which stretched all the way into the horizon.
Dark towers rose from behind the walls, and the cloudy sky crackled with purple lightning. The spiritual weight reminded him of the Night Wheel Valley, as though if he opened his perception too wide he would be blinded.
From the inside, Moongrave gave off a different impression. It seemed as though everything inside had been designed by an artist, like a dark paradise. Carefully cultivated rows of glowing blue, white, and pink flowers flanked gardens of black trees that sheltered flickering, shadowy shapes. Remnants and sacred birds flew through the sky, often carrying passengers or pulling floating carriages.
Lindon had spent most of his time here isolated, but the crowds he glimpsed always walked at a relaxed pace, gentle and civilized, as though they had all the time in the world.
When he looked out over the city, it stretched before him like an ocean. He could scarcely imagine an end to it.
Now, Lindon followed Mercy through a pair of iridescent doors that swung open before them, revealing a broad hall that seemed to be woven from liquid black branches and glowing stained glass in shades of blue, purple, and violet. A long walkway stretched out to the back of the room, with rows of benches on either side.
The benches held a crowd of three dozen young, purple-eyed Underlords.
Mercy strode between them, waving excitedly to some she recognized. These shuddered back or looked away, pretending not to see her. Only a few waved back halfheartedly, though they looked pained as they did so.
Rather than focusing on Mercy, they all seemed to prefer watching Lindon. Like a pack of proud wolves watching a scrawny dog that had dared to wander among them.
[They don’t look happy to see you. Maybe if you smiled a little more.]
Charity appeared at the end of the walkway, on a raised dais beneath a stained-glass depiction of a giant female figure covered in purple armor.
The Sage of the Silver Heart looked over her relatives with no expression. She looked no older than they, no older than Lindon, but she had the poise of a judge.
She was a slight woman, but one in complete possession of herself, as though every movement of her body were deliberate. She wore the same fine, layered black-and-white robes as the rest of her family, but her outfit had been designed to suit her. The others seemed only imitators.
The Akura Underlords all rose to their feet, dipping their heads to Charity. “Greetings to the Sage,” they shouted in unison, and the force of their voices shook the room.
Lindon stopped walking when the Sage appeared in front of him, but Mercy grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him forward to stand next to her.
A number of eyes focused on that black-gloved hand on his arm, and already-cold gazes grew frigid. Delicately, he slid his hand back.
“Young Lords and Ladies, you have fought hard to serve the clan in the Uncrowned King tournament,” the Sage said. Her voice was placid and cool. “To have made it this far, you are the best of your generation. However, only one of you will earn the ultimate honor, and that one will fight as part of a team with these two. I thought it fair that I introduce them.”
Soft violet light rose around Mercy, outlining her for the room. “You all know Mercy. The daughter of the Monarch, she bears Eclipse, Ancient Bow of the Soulseeker, and the Book of Eternal Night. To fight alongside her, you must prove yourself her equal.”
Lindon expected the crowd of ambitious young Underlords to look eager for the opportunity, but it was the exact opposite. They seemed to lose all their spine when their eyes fell on Mercy, shifting in place, staring into the ceiling, clearing their throats, or fidgeting uncomfortably.
Lindon glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Was she so amazing, or were these Akura Underlords not as impressive as he'd imagined?
For her part, Mercy didn't seem to care what the crowd thought of her. She was craning her neck, looking over the heads of the first few rows, as though searching for a particular face among them.
Light began to rise around Lindon, who straightened himself to try to project dignity, but Mercy interrupted before the Sage could speak. “Pride? Where are you?”
The spotlight highlighting Mercy dimmed back into shadows. “Akura Pride,” Charity commanded, “step forward.”
From the back of the room, behind a taller Underlord, a man moved into the walkway.
He looked to be about Lindon's age, but almost two feet shorter. He had the same black hair, pale skin, and purple eyes of his family, but swirling tattoos flowed down from his ears and chin, down the sides of his neck, disappearing into his clothes. They looked like trails of ink, but they seethed as though alive, so Lindon assumed they were his Goldsign.