Lindon, History's Strongest Unsouled Chapter 4, a Kenichi the Mightiest Disciple + Cradle series Crossover fanfic

Lindon, History's Strongest Disciple

I don't own anything

Chapter 4: Soulsmithing, Ruin Stomping & Ironing Up

The Fishers led Lindon back to a tall building that looked like more of a permanent structure than anything around it. He thought of it as a barn, wide and tall with broad doors, and Gesha's spiders scuttled up its walls and inside through holes on the roof.

"I'll deal with you tomorrow, girl," she said to the young woman as they reached the barn doors. "Be here at dawn, or I'll come root you out with my hook." The razor edge of her curved goldsteel blade gleamed. The tall woman paled and babbled something, then took the slightest excuse to hurry off. Her friends joined her, casting fearful glances back at the Soulsmith.

Gesha stood there, hands behind her back, like a pocket-sized elder. The spider legs of her drudge worked impatiently against the dirt, but she didn't so much as shift.

Lindon glanced around, looking for some reason why she was just staring at the barn doors. Did she expect them to open themselves? Was she waiting for her spiders to open them for her? Or was she waiting for someone?

With his height, the pack on his back, and the rust-red cloud following him around, Lindon knew he cut a recognizable figure in the darkness. Though he was far enough away that he shouldn't have bothered the Soulsmith, he hadn't exactly been subtle when chasing after her. He watched, waiting for some clue, as five minutes turned into ten.

Finally, the old woman barked out, "Do you know what happened to the last man who kept me waiting? Hm? I married him. That's a threat."

He rushed a bow over fists pressed together, not wanting to chance that particular threat. "This one apologizes for his lack of manners, honored elder. This one was ignorant and did not realize he was being observed."

A snort ripped out of the tiny woman. "'This one,' is it? Hurry up, get closer. I may have eyes everywhere, but this pair doesn't work like they used to."

Lindon hurried over, steadying his pack as he ran. He'd planned on doing something drastic to attract the Fisher's attention, but she was inviting him over on her own. She'd noticed him, and that could only be a good thing.

He bowed again when he reached her, both to show respect and to give him an excuse to lean down so she could get a close look at his face. She squinted at him for a moment through a mask of wrinkles, then patted her bun.

"Are you the tallest five-year-old in the world?" she asked suddenly.

"No, honored elder. This one's training was somewhat delayed."

"This one, that one. If you say that again, I'll spin your Copper head around on your neck. Now, tell me your name."

"Wei Shi Lindon, honored elder."

She grunted, "Does the Wei clan teach you to skulk around as you make requests of an elder? Hm? Are you from a clan of skulkers, Shi Lindon?"

Honestly, he was. The Wei specialized in illusions, and as a result typically hid and waited until they could take advantage of the battle. They fought like snowfoxes, not like tigers, but he doubted that answer would satisfy her.

"Apologies, honored elder. This...I would like to offer my humble services to you, in any way I can."

She glared at him, her spider's legs clacking against stones hidden in the dirt. "Humble? Humble is an apprentice who can't make a levitation plate out of cloud madra. If a Copper could offer me humble services, he'd be a genius. Are you a genius, Copper?"

He wished she would stop calling him that, but he wasn't about to say so, besides, his masters had referred to him as 'bug' for the first year of his training. He has long gotten use to masters of their craft talking down to those looking to learn from them -the cost of doing business. "My mother was a Soulsmith, and I worked as her assistance since the day I learned to cycle. I know my knowledge is deficient and paltry, but I know all of the basic scripts, I can dissect a Remnant into its functional components, I can perform basic maintenance-"

Gesha made a 'tsst' sound and threw up her hands. "You don't think I have enough to worry about? Go. Go! If you bother me again, I'll set the spiders on you."

Lindon was a bit perturbed at not getting to the part about his blacksmithing and refining skills, but he bit down the response and bowed to her, projecting compliance. "Of course, honored elder. You're tired, and I'm keeping you from your rest."

In an uncanny display of mindreading, Gesha warned, "I'd best not see you here in the morning, waiting for me to wake up!"

That had been his plan, in fact. A bead of sweat rolled across his forehead. "I would not disrespect the honored elder's wishes that way. But if I may be so rude as to offer one last explanation-"

She flicked fingers at him, and a spider ran down the barn door toward him. Not her drudge, on which she still stood, but an ordinary construct that was probably intended to do nothing but observe and report as commanded.

It was made of jointed purple madra, and it ran on the door as easily as on the ground. Its head was featureless except for a couple of mandibles, which opened as it chirped at him. It sounded more like a bird than a snake, which he hadn't expected. Hadn't it hissed earlier, or was that his imagination?

He dropped his pack to free his shoulders and drew his blade. The constructs back in Sacred Valley had been deadly if directed, but predictable enough if unguarded. But this was the product of a Gold Soulsmith at the head of a sect full of Golds. It might drill its legs through his flesh, leaving little spurting holes, or tear into him with its mandibles, or leave him spun up into a cocoon to decorate the ceiling of the nearby barn...

One of its legs hitched and it almost stumbled, its gait uneven, before it righted itself and continued on. A stumble meant a defect. It must be old, in need of maintenance. That was a weakness he could exploit.

Besides, he wanted to prove his worth as a Soulsmith, not a combatant -not to say that wasn't important, but he chose the Fishers because of Gesha's Soulsmithing abilities, not her Path. He wanted to try something first. Something that could show his value to the Fisher Soulsmith.

By the time it had reached his feet, Lindon had moved.

He sheathed his sword and seized the pack from the ground beside him with one hand, holding it like a shield as he flopped belly-first on top of the spider-construct.

The spider tried to scuttle out of the way, but he caught it on the edge, imprisoning it beneath his pack. Its legs flailed, and it gave an angry chirp, but it was pinned. He had it.

His body surged down suddenly, as though he'd grown twice as heavy, or someone was standing on his back. Fortunately for him, Lindon has been trained extensively with added weights for years. This pulling sensation was nothing to him. It barely tugged his head forward a few inches, and that had more to do with the suddenness of the pulling effect than the force behind it.

He didn't know what the spider was doing it -undoubtedly it was some function of its madra, or some kind of script -but the spider was using an invisible force to pull him closer.

With some minor adjustments of his position on the pack between him and the construct, he was able to get his left hand onto the spiders back.

Then, adjusting his breathing to a measured cycling technique, he fed pure madra into the construct.

Something like the Thousand-Mile Cloud was relatively simple in its construction. It was made of densely packed cloud madra, which floated. You could activate a single script-circle buried at its core in order to get it to move. It followed the direction of the operator's spirit, not any directions in its actual script, so it was a flexible but simple tool. It would never be able to fly off without active guidance.

The spider, by contrast, was an intricate clockwork of branching scripts, interlocking plates of madra, and delicate organs that must have been extracted from Remnants. His madra flowed through it, giving him a vague picture of its functions, and of the scripts that had to remain active to keep it following orders.

A spark of madra came from a crystal flask, a tiny speck of a vessel that must power this construct's operation. Using his own madra, Lindon forced the flow from the flask aside.

It didn't take much power to do so; there was no will behind that madra, so it was easily directed. He simply blocked the flow into the script, keeping it bound inside the crystal.

The spider shivered once, then collapsed. The invisible force on him vanished, letting him loosen up his muscles and stance.

An idea about using whatever method the construct used to create the pulling force to create better training equipment popped into hid head. That way, he wouldn't have to run around with large statues clinging to him anymore. He could just make a device that can be attached to himself, or an object pulled behind him to add more weight to his body.

That thought was interrupted by irregular, spiky footsteps scrapping along the dirt as Gesha slid closer on her drudge, and she would arrive to find him hunched over her deactivated construct. He ran his fingers along the edge of the spider's leg.

He might have noticed a defect before, a place where the construct was in need of maintenance. If that was the case...

One plate of the leg made a harsh noise as his hand moved over it, crackling like thin ice. He pushed madra into it desperately, fueling it with all the force his rapidly cycling spirit could churn out.

The best way to maintain a construct's parts was to infuse it with madra of the same Path, which would keep that part fresh and new for as long as you wanted. The second-best way was to purify madra through a device like a crystal flask or a specially designed script and use that instead. It took much longer, was less efficient, and resulted in less accuracy for some cases that required delicate craftsmanship. But it worked.

In fact, Lindon had only recently understood that the purity of his madra was why his mother let him work with her on her projects at all.

The leg-plate strengthened a little. Enough that it wouldn't collapse under the constructs own weight, at least, which should demonstrate his value somewhat. He had other ideas and options to pursue if it wasn't enough, but hopefully it would be.

He looked up to see Fisher Gesha an inch away from him, her grey bun even with his head, peering into the construct. After a second, she slapped his hand away, feeling the spider with her own fingers.

"Did you steal the Path of the Fisherman? Hm?"

"No, honored elder," he answered, though it was just a formality. If the Path of the Fisherman was what the Fishers followed -and he had a good feeling that it was- she would be able to sense that power on him if he had it. She'd only asked out of irritation.

"Then come here." She grabbed him by the neck, pulling forward for a closer inspection. Luckily, he had long since strengthened his neck muscles -it was that or have his neck broken by Apachai's elbow blows- otherwise her Iron body's natural strength could have caused some real damage to someone without an Iron boy, like him.

She pushed him back a second later, eyes wide. The expression looked comical in her heavily wrinkled face. "You have no training?"

"None in the scared arts, elder." Lindon clarified.

"No Path at all?"

"No, elder."

"You're Copper, but you've never taken a taste of aura?"

"I was never given a Path, honored elder. I don't know how."

Something like pity sparked in her eyes, and she patted him roughly on the back of the head. "You come from a clan of fools."

He hesitated before protesting. "They are my family, honored elder..."

"Bah." She made a spitting noise at that. "No family of yours. But you can make scales for me, so I'll take you."

He searched her quickly for signs of mockery, disappointment, irritation. Anything that might indicate she was lying. "You'll teach me?"

She slapped him in the back of the head. "I'll work you until your bones are nubs, that's what I'll do for you. You won't get the secrets of the sect until you've brought enough value to us, which you'll do slowly and obediently. Is that clear enough?"

Lindon dropped to his knees, pushing his head into the dirt, blinking back tears of joy. "The disciple greets his master."

"Stop that. I'm not your master."

"Your disciple understands."

"I'm going to make you do what my servants can't do, because they've advanced too far. You understand? Hm? You're lower than my servants." She waved a hand aside, and the barn door rumbled open.

He understood that he was going to be working inside a Soulsmith's foundry. Even if he did nothing but sweep floors, it was an opportunity for him. He'd take it. He'd take anything that'd let him even glance the secrets of Soulsmithing. He even has a few plans for convincing Gesha that he has much more value than she thinks. Eventually getting her to let him help with the actual Soulsmithing process.

"Get in there," she demanded. "Maintenance on all constructs by dawn, and don't think you'll get any sleep. If you look like you're going to finish early, I'll make another one."

"Yes master," Lindon replied enthusiastically, hurrying inside. He's secretly missed the demanding and unreasonable orders of his masters.

More than that, he was finally going to be a Soulsmith.

As dawn's first light filtered through the blackened trees surrounding the Five Factions Alliance, Yerin returned, dragging a bright blue corpse behind her. It looked something like a crab painted onto the world in the colors of the sky, and it leaked azure light as she trudged through the outer gates and down the main street.

At her peak condition, she should have been able to run carrying something as light as this, but she felt like her bones had been filled with lead. Now that she settled down and thought, she hadn't had a real rest in... months, probably.

Even now that she'd crossed the threshold to Gold, gaining a shiny metal arm with a sword stuck on it, her body had limits. She was starting to feel them.

Didn't help that every rotten set of eyes on the way in was looking at her like she was dragging a bloody sack of dead dogs behind her. This was a camp of sacred artists, wasn't it? Couldn't be that unusual, seeing someone dragging in a Remnant corpse.

Or maybe it was the cargo she'd slung over her shoulder that they were staring at.

It took her a handful of wrong turns to find the Fisher section of camp again, by which time she wondered if she could learn to sleepwalk on the fly. The crowd could just wash around her like a river around a boulder, and rot take them all.

Finally, she passed down a street she recognized, dragging the blue-leaking Remnant under trees that had been decorated with spider constructs the night before. It looked different in the light, like it had been dyed a different color.

She grabbed some Fisher pup about ten years old, demanding directions to Fisher Gesha. He looked like she'd popped out an extra eye -worse than that, to be true, since there were more than a few Goldsigns that gave you an extra eyeball- but he gave her rough directions.

When she followed them to a huge barn that had been slapped down in the middle of camp, she almost turned back to show the kid the flat edge of her sword. Soulsmiths required a lot of space for their work, that was true, but it was her observation that they liked to do their business in as flashy a place as possible. Last Soulsmith she visited had built a glowing palace out of shining pillars and sat on a throne of burning inhuman skulls.

But the Desolate Wilds were the back-end of nowhere, where even Sacred Valley looked civilized. Weak, but civilized. Maybe working in a barn was showing off out here.

She could have rapped on the door, but that would have taken energy. Instead, she simply hauled the door open.

It slid on a track, spilling sunlight into the barn.

The floor was actually covered in hay, but this was clearly the foundry of an active Soulsmith. A rainbow of severed limbs hung from hooks in the ceiling, drizzling colored sparks. Spiders hung from the rafters like bats in a cave, and stalls that should have held animals instead contained massive constructs -duller than Remnants and mysterious in construction. She didn't want to think what constructs that size had been built to do, so she didn't bother.

Lindon was sitting at a long workbench arranged down the center of the room like a feeding trough, broad shoulders bent over a half-assembled spider. He looked older than he was, until she happened to reach out and scan his spirit. Then she'd sense the pathetic strength of a Copper, which she always associated with children. It gave her a queasy feeling, like seeing a grown man with a baby's head on his shoulders.

It was a relief to see him, though she still hadn't fully shaken her irritation. He'd insisted on joining a faction, like he knew up from down out here without her. He did need some real training in the sacred arts, and she couldn't give it to him, but this was still an inconvenience.

Now that she had eyes on him, her previous worries seemed simpleminded. Foolish. Of course he wasn't going to run off, leaving her alone in a sea of strangers without a single friendly soul. No reason he should.

Fisher Gesha hopped down from an upper floor that Yerin hadn't noticed, caught by the legs of the spider-construct that jutted out from under her robes. She held her hands behind her back, wrinkled face stuck in a mask of irritation. "What is this? Hm? You think we take customers now?"

"Rumor says you take in strangers for a price," Yerin said. She hauled on the rope binding the Remnant, brining the blue crab forward. "This is supposed to be worth something." She'd found it by following a team of Fishers who had skirted around this Remnant as too dangerous. Not so dangerous when she dismembered it from two hundred feet away, it turned out. Now its limbs were bundled upon its carapace, and she pulled it along on its belly.

Fisher Gesha rubbed her chin with two fingers. "What do you want?"

"Shelter in the Fishers for me," Yerin started. Then she pointed to Lindon. "Training for him. Real stuff, not this sweep-and-gather rot."

Lindon raised one sheepish hand. "Gratitude, Yerin. I will repay you for this, but she already agreed-"

The Fisher cut him off with a gesture, eyeing the pack on Yerin's shoulder. "You have something else for me, don't you?"

Yerin slapped the bundle down on the floor, unrolling it with one foot. It was a trio of blood-spattered furs that, until a few hours ago, had been worn by Sandvipers.

"Dead?" Gesha asked, eyes sharp.

"Not quite," Yerin answered, because she had known better than to unleash three hostile Remnants in the middle of a crowd. "But I can tell you they're not happy."

A smile creased Gesha's face. "I think we can find a space for you."

The space they'd found for Yerin was among the main sect, in rooms reserved for the women of the Fishers. They'd given Lindon a spot up among the rafters, in a pile of hay only accessible by a creaking ladder -thus he simply hops up instead of actually using it. Nothing like adding a little extra leg exercise to ones daily routine, his masters would have approved. He had to sleep motionless on his back so not to roll off the edge, which meant he spent his nights staring up at the spider constructs dangling over his head.

The first day, Gesha had her drudge run over the blue crab Remnant that Yerin had brought, the construct's eight legs moving at blurring speeds to dismantle the spirit and separate it into usable parts. She handed him first a claw bigger than his whole upper body, then a pile of tubes that looked something like intestines, then a Forged blue beak. The whole mess didn't act quite right; it smelled of lightning storms and salty water rather than rotten guts, and it felt more like oiled glass than anything natural.

After he'd separated the parts into buckets, a task he'd often performed for his mother, he sealed them with scripts to prevent them from decaying and 'sent to storage.' Which meant that he shoved the boxes into the giant closet at the back of the barn, labeled only with a code that he hoped Fisher Gesha could read.

Most of the crab would go back there, to serve as what Gesha called 'dead matter.' These would be the most mundane parts of a construct -maybe the shell of a spider, maybe the hilt of a sword- and were needed only for their physical properties.

The parts she didn't send into storage, the parts she kept out on her workbench, those were more interesting.

Lindon's mother had never allowed him to help with this part, though he'd caught glimpses through cracked doors and around corners. This was the part of being a Soulsmith that required delicacy and skill, but Fisher Gesha hacked away at these treasures like a butcher working on a slab of meat.

She started with a cluster of blue rocky madra about the size of a fist, but after a few strokes of her bladed goldsteel hook, she was left with a...

He wanted to call it a 'heart,' because that was the nearest analogy in a living being, but it didn't look like the mass of muscle that was left over after he'd cleaned a deer. It was a tightly wound tangle of tubes, so that Lindon thought it might actually be one tube, so folded and looped in so many different directions that it became a knotted mass.

Gesha held it up in one hand. "We call this a binding, you see? We work with these like a blacksmith works with iron."

"And the rest of the material? Do you still use it for constructs?" he asked, gesturing back toward the closet door. Even dead matter of an unusual Remnant would have supplied his mother for months.

She snorted. "We fold into different shapes, use it to build the skeletons, but the heart and soul of every construct is a binding. If we could work with bindings completely, we would. You think the rest of the Remnant is expensive? No. This is the gemstone inside the mountain."

She tossed it to him, and he caught it in both his hands. It smelled like a rainy day.

"Put your hand over the tube at the top," she ordered. "Point the other end-no, not at me! You want me to toss you out? At the floor! Now, funnel a trickle of madra into it. Just a little, do you hear me?"

Lindon did, careful not to put in too much. The binding made a tiny whining sound.

"Well, more than that," she said.

He took deeper breaths in rhythm, cycling his madra and forcing more power into the binding. He had eaten the second Lotus Bud last night and it was fuzzing up his madra cores, thus taking more effort than normal. It squealed louder.

Gesha muttered to herself.

He forced all the madra he could into the twisted organ, and finally it spurted out a spray of water.

"Finally," she snapped, snatching it back. She shook the binding in her hand, drawing his attention to it. "This was a Purelake Remnant, you hear me? Primary aspect water. When this sacred artist was alive, she made water from aura in the air, you see? This was a technique she'd mastered, and it becomes part of her spirit. Her Remnant uses this binding, doing the same thing."

Lindon's jaw almost cracked under the force of his questions.

"Her technique becomes a part of the Remnant? How? Why?"

"Patterns," Gesha stated shortly, tucking the binding away in a drawer. "You've seen scripts, haven't you? What are they, if not shapes that guide madra? What is a technique, if not weaving madra in a certain pattern?" She held out a hand. "You move the right madra, in the right way, with the right rhythm, and you get..." A pair of pliers smacked into her open hand; drawn by some technique she'd used. "You move it any other way, and you get..." She waved her hand. "...nothing. Hm? You, see?"

"I believe I do, but please forgive another question. A binding is like a script inside your soul?"

"You think it's that simple? No. A script is a drawing, a biding is a statue. Bindings are pearls, and Remnants are the clams around them. You, see?"

On some level, he did. Bindings had weight, depth. A script-circle was nothing but a carved circle of letters. But they seemed to do the same things, so he wasn't entirely sure what advantages a binding had.

He pointed to the drawer containing the binding. "How did you know which end took madra in, and which end spat water out?"

"Experience," she replied, prying at the shell of what he guessed was another concealed binding.

"How did you know it would create water, instead of something else?"

"Drudge told me." She ran a hand down the smooth carapace of her large spider-construct, which rested on the desk next to her. "It tastes the aspects of madra for me, you see? It tells me which madra touches on water, which touches on ice, and which is simply blue."

"And now that you have the binding, you can use it in a construct? One that will automatically produce water? Is that all you can use it for, or can you do something else with it?"

She pointed at him with the pliers. "That is the question worthy of a Soulsmith." He tried to restrain his smile to polite levels, but he couldn't hold it back. She glowered at him.

"Don't smile. A smile doesn't go with those eyes. You look like you want to eat me for breakfast." She smacked herself in the forehead with the back of her hand. "Tsst. What am I doing? You are not my student. Sweep! Sweep the floors!"

As days went by, Lindon fell into a pattern of getting up early to get in as much martial arts training as he could before his 'sweeping duties' took over. To get more out of his chores, so-to-speak, he carved clutching golems out of small boulders near the barn that'd latch on to his limbs and torso, to add weight and resistance to his movements.

When Fisher Gesha first saw them, she barked at the stupidity of tying rock to his limbs. Until she took a closer look at the muscular rock golems. Then she wondered where he had stolen such works of art and how he could have ever conceived the idea of wearing statues as training. Lindon ended up telling her about a teacher of his that died -figuring that it was best not tell a Soulsmith about advanced artificially created Remnants that preserved ancient masters- had sculpted similar statues for his physical training. That upon realizing his own end was near, he taught Lindon how to carve his own statues to continue his training after his passing. Also, that was where he got the unique demonic design style from.

After agreeing to carve extras for her, she left him to it...so long as they didn't impede his chores. He hasn't seen her use them or display them, so he thinks that Gesha sold them. That, or stored them some place outside the barn. Though, the work order for quality stone he saw while organizing her paperwork, drove home the fact that she sold them. And that she plans on making him carve more...he's started sleeping with his current set just to be safe.

That didn't stop the old Soulsmith from taking a closer look at his stuff. She found his sword, kunai, and armor -more specifically the quality and composition. To protect the sylvan river-seed he volunteered the goldsteel and halfsilver ingots to steer her away from going too deep into his pack. He's been feeding the little spirit daily and has grown attached to the little lady, still not sure why he thinks of it as a girl.

More so, he didn't want Gesha to find his copper-plated ball construct, she'd most definitely take it from him for its value alone. That's not counting the knowledge held within, but most sacred artists wouldn't be able to use it, let alone appreciate it.

Lindon was able to keep both the river-seed and the training construct hidden by fully explaining his blacksmithing ability to forge goldsteel and half-silver by mixing steel through the Kosaka smithing process. He proceeded to forge her a new bladed hook made like his sword was, minus the half-silver -it's disruptive properties on madra would hinder her Soulsmithing. She was absolutely absorbed into watching his forging process, shocked by the speed of it. Well, the set-up and prep-work took nearly an entire day but melting down the metals and forging the Goldsteel bladed hook only took two hours.

He proceeds to forge several ordinary weapons with ordinary materials; like more bladed hooks, swords, knifes, spears, shields, armor and chainmail gauntlets and gloves. The chainmail took the longest and brought the most surprise from how cloth-like it looked and felt.

Lindon knew Fisher Gesha was trying to copy the Kosaka smithing style with her sect's own blacksmiths, but to no avail. He'd explained the process and even demonstrated several key steps, but he left out the most important part: infusing your Ki into the metal. It was why he always had a meditative look on his face while smithing. He can feel that Gold stage sacred artists do have Ki, but it's defused and weak. They'd never be able to infuse their Will into their crafts. He couldn't until he reached the "Release" of Ki stage, and it still took an enormous effort and the Mastered guidance of Shigure to learn.

Not that the Fisher sect smiths didn't gain anything from his technique. They all improved drastically, just never being able to match the quality of his work.

Gesha now has a side business going, using his forging abilities to make weapons and gear for the Five Factions Alliance -minus the Sandvipers.

That's how his 'sweeping duties' became a minor chore he rarely does now. Nothing like a profitable skill set to change someone's mind about your value. But he still hasn't been taught anymore about Soulsmithing. The old Fisher is always saying that he should just focus on making the sect more money and stop asking questions. She'll teach him at her pace, not his.

During those days, he watched customers come and go. They usually met Gesha or other Fishers elsewhere, passing along work orders for him to fill, and only the most determined tracked her to her foundry. That was when Lindon found the answer to his question about the binding.

More than once, Gesha would take a binding and encase it in dead matter, using her drudge to seal it up so that it looked like a sword, or a shield, a shovel, or whatever the customer ordered. Once, when she'd encased a crystalline binding into a hammer that looked like it was hacked from glacial ice, a burly man in thick furs came to pick it up only seconds after she'd finished.

He had no sandviper Remnant on his arm, and he was dressed in much thicker clothing. The dark furs of his outfit were even dusted with snow, though autumn was only beginning, and the days were still warm.

He took the hammer from her without a word, caressing it in gloved hands. Before Gesha could say a word, without warning, he turned and slammed the icy head into the planks of the barn.

Ice bloomed from the center of the impact, blasting away like waves that froze instantly. Lindon swirled at the sound, kunai in hand, but a moment later he stopped in awe. A flower of ice had bloomed in the barn.

It could have been the man's own sacred arts that created the ice, but he suspected that wasn't the case. The man could have tested his own technique anywhere, without the hammer. No, he was trying out this weapon...with the binding inside. He'd seen one produce water, so why not ice?

The sword Yerin had inherited from her master was white and unnaturally cold, and her techniques seemed more deadly with it than without it. Did it have a binding in it too?

Gesha beat the stranger around the shoulders for ruining her barn floor and made him pay extra scales to fix it. Lindon had heard of other transactions before, but this was the first time he'd seen one, and therefore the first time he'd actually seen a scale.

It was a little disappointing. It was nothing more than a coin, though one Forged of madra to be sure, translucent and threaded with blue. Fifty scales for the hammer, twenty more for her floor, and five because he'd made her get up early. He paid gladly, whistling as he carried his new weapon out over his shoulder.

When Gesha noticed Lindon's interest in the scales, she nodded to him. "You're curious? Hm? Good, because this will be your next job. Once you clean up that ice and finish up the Cloud Hammer order. They'll be here by noon."

Under Gesha's instruction and given the proper scripts, Lindon started adding scripts to the weapons he forged. Giving them added functionality; like the flying sword he saw at Heaven's Glory, and allowing for easier, controlled flow of the users madra into the weapon. Spears that's gather sword aura once the script activated, and Hammers like the ones he had to make, gathering Force aura for increased power of their swing.

Even though it is eating into his time for training and taking his attention away from Soulsmithing, Lindon is eager for the opportunity. He's hoping that not only will it increase his value but can eventually be used for adding bindings to his smithing -once he actually learns some Soulsmithing.

Sandviper Tern was a thin man, not tall, with a tendency to avoid Jai Long's gaze. He shifted his weight nervously with every word, and even the serpent Goldsign on his arm was smaller than usual. He gave the impression of a frightened child even when he was perfectly confident.

Which, today, he was not.

"The Copper is with one of the Fisher Soulsmiths," Tern said to Jai Long's boots. "We had him observed in shifts, but he didn't leave her foundry. She must have taken him in."

Jai Long looked over Tern's head to the cages full of captured miners. There were two rows of scripted cages, framing a strip of grass that led directly into the cavernous entrance of the Transcendent Ruins. He didn't open his spiritual senses, but the signs of gathered vital aura were everywhere: each blade of grass blew in different directions, a patch of frost clustered like mold onto the edge of one cage while the inhabitants of another sweated, and the clouds over the Ruins churned like they were being stirred by a giant hand.

The heavens and the earth overflowed with power. And here were his miners, shaking the bars of their cages in fear and anger.

Not mining.

"She likely wants him to sweep the foundry, clean up after botched constructs, sort boxes, that kind of thing," Tern continued, raising his voice to be heard over the racket behind him and shifting his gaze to Jai Long's shoulder. "If she throws him out in the next few days, we'll see it. No need to worry about that. His companion might be more of a problem, considering she-"

"What is happening here?"

Tern straightened and very nearly looked Jai Long in the eyes. "Just a bit of trouble, nothing to concern you, Highgold. A little dissent in the ranks, that's all."

One of the cages shook forward under the weight of its occupants, threatening to tip over.

"Where did this trouble come from, Sandviper Tern?"

Tern winced, shifting from foot to foot on the grass. "The dreadbeasts, they're...getting worse. We don't know where they're coming from, but there's no end to them. And the Remnants...at the start, they acted like Remnants. A good few of them attacked, but some of them just climbed back into the tunnels, or sat down, or started counting clouds, or what have you. Now, they all want blood."

Jai Long stared him down, waiting for further explanation. His masked face disturbed some people -it disturbed everyone, in reality- but it was nothing compared to how they'd react if he walked around with face bare. He was considering giving Tern a nice big grin.

"...the miners won't go back in," Tern said finally. "The Remnants cut into them last night, and we lost more than one team. Now they won't listen to us. We picked the one that was screaming the loudest, speared him up in front of them, made them watch as he died. Still didn't get them into the tunnel."

Jai Long hefted his spear, "I see."

"We could shove them in, but I don't know how we'd get them to work."

"No," Jai Long said, "you don't." He stalked forward, weapon in one hand, gathering Stellar Spear madra into the steel head as he walked. More eyes turned to him with every step, agitated miners and overwhelmed Sandviper guards alike.

By the time he reached the middle of the row, the noise had settled into what -in this crowded camp- passed for silence.

"Take whatever you can keep," Jai Long announced, and though his voice was even, it carried to every cage. "It's the law of the Wilds. The Sandvipers took you because you could not repay a debt, because you lost a duel, because you challenged us and failed. One and all, it was because you were too weak. Would any among you dispute that truth?"

A few angry voices shouted out in response.

"If you are dissatisfied, if you believe that bad fortune is to blame rather than your own weakness, I will give you a chance to prove it." Jai Long ground the butt of his spear into the earth and let his spearhead glow like a beacon next to his eyes. "Step forward, and I will have your collar removed. You will face me with honor, like a sacred artist, and show me your strength."

This silenced most of the voices, but one bulky man stepped up. He was twice as wide across the shoulders as Jai Long, with his muscular neck straining against his restrictive collar. "I have confidence in facing any Lowgold," he rumbled. "Send one as your champion, and I will face him. There is no sense in fighting a Highgold."

Only duels between those of the same stage could possibly prove anything, otherwise Jai Long may as well be slaughtering sheep. He looked to Tern.

"Sandviper Tern, remove this man's collar."

The Sandviper did so, with a glare and unnecessary shove to the prisoner. For his part, the big man gave a deep breath and flexed his hands, no doubt feeling the madra passing through his body unobstructed for the first time since his capture.

"Now place it on me," Jai Long ordered, eyes on his opponent.

Every Sandviper stared at him, So did the bulky miner.

Sandviper Tern's mouth gaped. "Highgold, don't you think it would be better for me to face him?"

Jai Long did not move his gaze or adjust his inflection as he stated, "You are one mistake away from filling a cage yourself. Your safest path forward is to do what I tell you, precisely when I tell you to do it. Starting now."

Tern tripped over himself to snap the collar around Jai Long's neck.

The light of his spear dimmed dramatically, and the flow of madra within his core squeezed tight. The restriction of the collar wasn't anything so straightforward as reducing his power to the levels of Lowgold; it hobbled him in every way, leaving him with nothing more than the physical strength of his Iron body, his combat skills, and the most basic of techniques.

"If this man wins, he goes free of whatever debts he owes to the Sandviper sect," Jai Long said. "If he does not, his life is mine to do with as I will."

The big man nodded, signaling his own agreement, and a Sandviper handed him a spear of his own. He ran a hand down the shaft and took the weapon in both hands, feeling its balance, holding it ready.

When the opponent was prepared, Jai Long moved.

It was a simple thrust, honed from millions of repetitions and glowing with the last embers of a week Stellar Spear technique. The bulky man's dodge was a hair out of place, his counterstrike a beat too slow.

The glowing spearhead passed through his heart and emerged from the other side.

Jai Long withdrew his weapon even as a Remnant -creamy off-white, like fresh butter- peeled itself out of the man's body with a couple of shovel-shaped hands.

It cocked a head like a bucket, staring at the Ruins, and then lumbered away from Jai Long. It followed the flow of aura in the air until it disappeared into the darkness of the entrance.

In the cages, miners were quiet.

"Your lives belong to me," Jai Long stated, without raising his voice. "When the Five Factions Alliance disperses, I have no more use for them. You will be set free, safe, your debts clear, and encouraged to return home. At that time, you may consider your time in the Ruins little more than a dream."

He tapped his collar, and Tern removed it with shaking hands. "That is my will. To you, it is law. There is no alternative, There is no escape. If you die in the Ruins, it will be for the same flaw that brought you here in the first place: your own weakness."

Jai Long turned and walked away, gesturing for Tern to follow him.

Behind him, the cages began to murmur.

"They'll go into the Ruins with you now but watch for runaways. Have guards return any that escape, don't kill them."

Tern nodded frantically.

"And what did you learn today, Tern?"

The man stumbled, then hustled to catch up. "How impressive you are, Highgold. Your reputation does not do you justice."

"So when I tell you to capture a Copper..."

Tern swallowed loudly.

"You wait for an opportunity," Jai Long said, fixing Tern with his gaze, "If you die of old age, you will do so at your post. The second the Copper leaves, or the Fisher leaves him, you will be there with a sack ready to pull over his head. And Tern?"

The Sandviper quivered with the effort of looking him in the eye.

"This is not important to me. This is the least of my priorities. But it should be very, very important to you."

Sandviper Tern dropped to his knees and bowed until his head reached the ground.

After Lindon scraped every inch of the beautiful, wild ice sculpture away from the floor with a shovel he crated up the bulk order for the Cloud Hammers. When he finished, Gesha walked him over to a new corner of the foundry. Something that looked like a metal barrel with handles stood there, with script covering every inch and a few gleaming jewels studding an otherwise unremarkable lid. After close examination, he identified them as crystal flasks.

"This," she said, slapping the barrel, "is mining equipment. You've heard us talking about miners in the Ruins, have you? Well, there's nothing to it. All a 'miner' has to do is go where the aura is thick, funnel madra into the handles, and the script does the rest. A trained dog could do it. When it purifies enough aura, it comes out the other end..."

She flipped a scale into the pan at the bottom, where it landed with a hollow ping. "...as a scale. You see? Scales come out at the bottom."

He thought for a moment, looking over the process. "It seems like it's...cycling."

"Oh, so even a Copper has eyes. Bulky device and all, that's all it is. Just a way to cycle."

He was missing something important here, he was sure. "I'm sorry. Why? Doesn't everyone cycle on their own?"

The scale flew from the pail back into her hands, and she held it up between two fingers. "You don't think this looks familiar? Hm?"

He squinted at it. "I'm untrained, I know, but it only looks like madra to me."

"Close. It looks like your madra. It's clean, it's pure. You see? Anyone can use pure madra." She inhaled sharply, and the scale dissolved into what looked like liquid light and streamed straight into her core. She slapped her belly afterward. "For anybody on a Path, cycling pure madra is like adding water to wine. You add a little, and there's more wine, you see? Doesn't affect the flavor much. Add too much, and it's just watery."

She waved a hand. "Mostly you don't absorb them, it's a waste. You use them on your weapons, or on constructs, or give a handful to young children. Get them to Copper quicker," she explained, poking him in the ribs. "Everybody can use scales, and nobody can make them directly, so we use them as coins. Works for everyone that way."

"Nobody can make them..." he began, but she finished for him.

"But you can. You start to see, hm? Mining is dangerous work. When you run the equipment, you're helpless, and places with enough vital aura are very dangerous. The aura in the Ruins is so thick you can practically pinch scales from the air, so Remnants and dreadbeasts will be thick as grass down there. If three miners out of ten comes back alive, I'll shave my head."

"Then, if you'll forgive another question, why are you doing it?"

She gestured with her new curved sword, which Lindon had come to realize was called a Fisher's hook. "We are not. We're trading with those who are. When the Arelius family Underlord comes to visit, he'll take the Ruins and everything inside. Until he does, we're all scrambling to make as much money as we can."

"Which is why you're flooding my forge with business and making me carve more statues on the side..." Lindon muttered. "...on top of all the repair work on your constructs."

"What was that? Hm? Am I working you too hard? Want to leave?" She jabbed him with the dull back of her hook. "You want to be my disciple, right? Than earn me as many scales as you can. Start forging some too, my little mine. Once you've contributed enough to the sect, you'll get more from me."

She left him sitting at the bench, figuring out how to Forge madra.

He'd tried before, sneaking tips from his mother as he tried to move his madra in just the right way that meant he was secretly a Forger and not a reject. He'd never had any success, and his failures had always left his spirit exhausted.

This time, he was Copper and he'd finished processing the second lotus bud.

He started by slipping on his parasite ring and cycling for a while, running his madra through the burden of the ring until it was as strong and pure as he could make it without exhausting his spirit. Then he held his palms a few inches apart, focusing on the space between.

He gathered all his madra into that space, packing it thicker and thicker. At first, he could only visualize the flow of madra in the same half-imaginary way he saw when he was cycling. But after his third attempt, he was sure he saw something; a flash of blue against the rough wooden tabletop.

He kept seeing the flash getting bigger and brighter the more he focused, three more attempts, each one brighter than the next.

Then he stopped, catching his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead. He had to cycle again, pumping his spirit, generating every scrap of madra he could.

He didn't sleep for most of the night, trying again and again to condense madra into reality. When his spirit failed him, he cycled until he had enough madra to try again.

Just before dawn, his spirit was completely exhausted and frayed, having to call it a night.

Gesha was disappointed in his failure, but she took it in stride. She just sighed out that she couldn't expect much from a Copper. He proceeded to train his martial skills and physicality, though, he was plateauing in his body's growth. He's at the threshold of the Expert class and breaking through to Master class isn't about increasing ones physicality but Ki strength and saturation.

Lindon needs to strengthen his willpower and infuse it completely with every cell of his body. This final step into the Master realm can take years to complete, only rare instances of extreme stress and dire need can push through this slow step. He's already been strengthening and infusing his Ki into every cell in his body for nearly a year now, and is barely halfway done.

So he's also spent his time completing blacksmith orders and maintaining constructs during the day, finding sparce moments to cycle his madra and infuse his Ki. But then his spirit was too depleted to try Forging at night.

So he used less power.

Instead of spilling his madra into the whole construct and letting it repair itself, he began directing his power where it was needed. If there was a crack, he focused a line of madra and sealed the crack. If it was simply fading away, becoming weak, he fed power directly into it drop by drop until the part was whole again.

After two days, he finally got the knack of it. He used so much less energy on his chores that he could try Forging again, allowing him more attempts each day. He stayed up that night alternating between forcing his madra out and cycling to recover, over and over until he finally did it.

A single scale, round and crystalline blue, gleamed in the palm of his hand.

It had been almost two weeks since Lindon had begun working for Fisher Gesha, and in that time, he'd continued every night until his body and spirit refused to continue any longer. Even when he finished work early, he'd spend hours keeping notes on what he learned, keeping careful records for the Path of Twin Stars, until he eventually passed out on the page.

Even so, he always made sure to rise early -most of the time- to begin his training routine. Though, one of his usual methods -running with ever increasing amount of weight strapped to his back in the form of an oversized grab-kun statue- has been skipped due to all the extra work and Gesha wanting to keep him close. She doesn't want anyone in the Five Factions Alliance knowing that Lindon is the amazing smith that's been forging the top-grade weapons and armor of late. Only her Soulsmith weapons with bindings being considered better, and that mostly do to just the added functionality of the binding.

At least Yerin had come by several times to visit him at the barn. They'd talk about their day and the work they were doing for the Fishers. But it'd always turn towards training, most specifically the training Yerin wanted to unlock her Ki. She was glad to hear that she already had a weak and diffused Ki developed in her body, giving her an edge over his own beginnings of training his Ki.

She was less thrilled by the training routine he'd given her. A madra suppression collar like the ones the Five Factions Alliance use on their miners/slaves was put on her, and he'd ordered her to keep the rest inside her core. It's unpleasant to say the least, but it was the only way for her to develop her Ki in the manner that Lindon is familiar with. He'd agreed with Yerin that their was another way better suited for sacred artists, but silenced her by mentioning that unless a Sage was here and willing to teach her, this was the only option they had currently.

Though Lindon thinks that it had less to do with the uncomfortable feeling and slight pain of having her madra suppressed, and more to do with the boring pace. She wanted to spar with him in that condition to speed the process along, but he'd just had her go through all her sword stances and movements in that state. He wanted her to remaster her fighting abilities without the use of her madra -that had always aided her even on an unconscious level- first.

It took besting her several times in quick succession and repeatedly failing even the lower level training routines in Ryozanpaku's training construct. Yerin was only interested in Shigure's training and only the parts about sword play. She didn't care for the other weapons' training. She did surprisingly well at first, ploughing through all the beginner stuff of Shigure's training, but once it got to her actual techniques and advance conditioning, Yerin began failing spectacularly.

Having an Iron body and years of prior experience with a blade gave her a remarkable edge, and Yerin just took to the sword arts like a fish to water. But when it got tougher, where she needed her full strength and speed, madra would slip out of her core to empower her body, causing her to immediately fail. That's not even including the more advanced disciple class Ki methods and applications. It hurt her pride to know that she wasn't even qualified to even start certain basic training routines, mostly the ones involving Ki.

But quit wasn't apart of Yerin's vocabulary. She'd eventually got use to the training methods, spending more and more time focusing on Ryozanpaku's madraless training until it was equally split with her sacred arts training.

It's honestly a little scary how quickly Yerin is progressing, though, if you asked her, it was still taking too long. Her Ki is already stronger than most the Golds in the camp and is starting to compress in her body. It took Lindon over a year of extensive training to get to that stage, which only took her two weeks.

Lindon soothed his ego by reminding himself that Yerin was already a Lowgold with an Iron body and years of experience over him. She started off with a much stronger base than he did, that's all. But a small part of him also recognized that she is a genus in the martial arts and a full-on prodigy with the sword. Once Yerin adjusted to the madra suppression she started besting him in swordsmanship again. And don't even get him started on her skills in the sacred arts.

Lindon had finally earned the right to leave the barn and his work was far enough ahead that he could do several dozen laps around Fisher territory. He'd even carved out a gripping demon of bulging muscle twice his height and four times his girth. He had to promise Gesha that she could sell it once he outgrew it in a week or two.

The morning of his first run since leaving Sacred Valley there was a biting chill in the air, and light was only just touching the horizon.

Only a few others were even awake at this ungodly hour, cycling, training, or on guard duty. Leaving plenty of room for Lindon run at full tilt, mostly unmolested through the usually crowed streets.

It was around the seventh lap, when he was just starting to work up a good sweat that he was pounced upon. He had just barley sensed the danger in time to block the Forged poisonous spike with the oversized statue.

The force of the blow shattered grab-kun, sending shards flying off in every direction, and knocking Lindon forward. Using the momentum of the blow, he flipped forward onto a handstand, his offhand pulling a concealed kunai from his robe. By time he pivoted and landed on his feet, he saw a scrawny Sandviper moving towards him.

The man's hissing bright green lizard-spirit attached to his arm looked on the small side, at least in comparison the ones he's seen. Dressed in the same dirty furs every Sandviper wears and a pair of axes glowing with their toxic madra. Their insidious, venomous powers, which could dissolve flesh like an acid.

He'd dismantled a Sandviper Remnant under Gesha just two days before, and even its dead matter was enough to slowly burn through living flesh. She demonstrated on a dead rat.

Worse, she explained, the aura they gathered did not kill so quickly. Their Ruler techniques produced a sort of gas that causes seizures, paralysis, and other, less pleasant symptoms. She'd spoken with a shadow in her voice that suggested she'd seen that state entirely too many times.

Now Lindon was laser focused for any sign of glowing green madra, immediately entering his Ryusui Sekuken and taking in every aspect of his opponent. From muscle movements, body language, to his very breath. He's even opened his Copper sight to see the venomous aura surrounding the Sandviper's weapons.

He can't afford to receive even the tiniest of scratches, otherwise he'll lose.

Taking a page out of master Sakaki's teaching, Lindon rushed in to score the first hit. Throwing the kunai he had in his left to make an opening just as he sprang forward.

The lanky Sandviper was surprised by the sudden aggression by a Copper, of all things. Normally, a Copper would have fallen to their knees and bowed deeply to comply with a Lowgold's wishes. He was already thrown off his game by the Copper managing to stay on his feet after taking the hit from his Forged spike.

Tern had planned on just nicking the Copper and let his poison debilitate him, but the Copper managed to sense his attack and block it with the oversized statue on his back. He'd have given the broad shouldered and ridiculously well-built young man the antidote once he fell. But he'd never expected the oversized Copper to actually put up a fight.

The kunai zipped through the air at blinding speed, but nothing a Lowgold couldn't handle. It was easily deflected by one of the Sandviper's axes.

In that exact moment, Lindon had gotten right within Tern's personal space, and on instinct he reacted by swinging his second axe to cleave the Copper in two.

Yet, instead of killing the Copper -which would have meant that he failed to carry out Jai Long's orders- thankfully, and with immense surprise, his blade only hit empty air. His bladed axe narrowly missed the young man's skin, and every return swing, occasional kick and Forged striker technique missed as well.

No, it felt as if everyone of Tern's attacks were being sucked into vortex of empty space. As if the Copper knew where all of the Sandviper's attacks were headed and dodged with the least amount of effort and movement required before he even acted. All the while, the Copper's eyes never broke contact with his own. Like the young man's eyes were peering deep into his very soul, seeing absolutely everything about him. It unnerved Tern to his core.

"Stop struggling Copper! You're just making this worse than it has to be! Give up and you won't be harmed," Tern gritted out between his clenched teeth.

Lindon didn't respond, all of his focus was absorbed in reading his opponent, controlling the flow of the battle by matching the Lowgold's pace. It wasn't going to last for much longer. The man's enraged comment was the sign of the Lowgold's patience running out.

The Sandviper was becoming angry and concerned, increasing his speed and power to his max. Lindon knew that he'd never be able to match a Gold's speed and power, not until he broke through and reached the Low Class Master stage. He needed to finish this now, while his opponent was still confused, and Lindon's speed could keep up. The second level of Ryusei Seikuken allowed him near perfect clarity and let him read his opponents every move like it he could see them before they came. Becoming a stone in the river; the water's flow always going around it.

Lindon started the Holding of his Ki shifts into the third level of the Ryusei Seikuken. Using his Ki to alter the Sanviper's body moments, allowing him to flow perfectly into his step and overtake his rhythm. Moving instantly, sliding through a vicious slice that'd have taken his head off, to turn into his side, facing the same direction as the Sandviper.

With his right arm cocked forward, his stance rooted to the ground, Lindon moved smoothly to ram his elbow back into the Lowgold's abdomen in a reverse Ryusei Mubyoshi. Overtaking his step.

He has been working on this modified Mubyoshi for weeks; to infuse his Holding of Ki with his Ryusei Seikuken, though the reversal of letting it loose through an elbow strike was improvised.

The blow slammed through the Sandviper with devastating force. From the outside it looked like a swirling blow of force was driven from Lindon's elbow clean through the tall Lowgold. The man folding around the blow as he was blasted backwards, a crushing and cracking sound booming out.

The Sandviper went flying back several feet as blood trickled spittle spewed from his mouth.

Internally, the damage was much worse than what the physical blow would have indicated, because his Ki slammed into Tern's body. Lindon's will overpowered Tern's, temporarily shutting it down its natural defenses. It was like where the blow landed the flesh was no longer reinforced by madra, as if he never had an Iron body. Allowing the force of Lindon's blow managed to break Tern's ribs.

Technically, this was third level of Ki, 'Holding,' controlling the Ki of others, but not completely. His grasp of Holding is weak and can only done while in his Ryusei state.

In the meantime, though, Tern was powerlessly gasping on the ground, his axes laying forgotten on the ground a few feet away -having flown from his hands as he lost all strength in his body. Not wanting to risk fate, Lindon chose that moment to turn and run back to the barn deep in Fisher territory. Sandvipers rarely went out alone in the Five Factions Alliance camp.

Before he could make a single step, a poisonous aura surround Lindon. A Ruler technique on the Path of the Sandviper. He'd already breathed in a little of the toxic gas by time he realized what had happened. Unfortunately, that was all it took to send Lindon crashing to the ground in a paralyzing seizure.

Lindon had made the deadly mistake of putting all his focus on the enemy in front him, missing the ones around him. A fellow Sandviper Lowgold on patrol around Fisher territory, bordering their own, sensed one of her own locked in combat. Once checking in on who'd dare turn a hand against the Sandviper sect, she saw Tern struggling to hit a Copper.

She knew of the mission Jai Long had given Tern, so she knew that failure wasn't an option. Fearing for Tern's safety, not from the Copper, but Jai Long's reprisal, she decided to end things before the Fishers caught them attacking one of their Coppers in their territory. Thus, she created a basic Ruler technique to immobilize the Copper, the venomous gas wouldn't affect one of their own. Their Iron bodies were made to counteract the poison they use, so Tern would be fine.

Yet, to her surprise, the Copper laid out Tern with a powerful elbow strike to his torso. Obviously, a physical blow from a Copper couldn't have done any damage to an Iron body. Yet, Tern folded around the elbow strike, somehow making him powerless. An underhanded trick of some kind.

Seeing the Copper was about to run, she unleased her Ruler technique on him. Tern would be killed if he was bested by a Copper and allowed to escape.

Tern was just getting to his feet, coughing up more blood, as Lindon writhed on the ground. Seeing a fellow Sandviper standing on a nearby rooftop, giving him a disappointed look, Tern felt shame nearly consume him. He'd needed help in capturing a Copper! And he knew if he didn't want word getting around, he'd have to bribe her to keep quiet.

So, with a silent nod of acknowledgement that he owed her and that he'd pay her back, Tern moved to bind the shaking Copper. His eyes were rolled back into his head and foam was starting to pour out of his mouth. Once he was fully bound, not willing to underestimate this Copper again, did Tern give him the antidote. After all, he was ordered take the Copper alive. And last thing he wanted do was tell Jai Long he failed.

Tern shivered in fear at what the Highgold would do to him. That alone was enough to wipe away his shame and gladly give his fellow Sandviper whatever she wanted for helping him.

The antidote worked fast, stopping the Copper's writhing and foaming at the mouth, but he was still twitching. It'd take a day or two for the poison to fully work its way out his system, but his life was no longer in any danger.

Tern proceeded to throw the unconscious, twitching, Copper over his shoulder, wincing in pain. This meager Copper actually broke several of his ribs, that were already healing due to the healing properties of his sect's Iron body. A Copper! He'll never live this down, but he can't do anything to the Copper.

Jai Long's orders are not to be ignored, ever.

Lindon came to the sounds of laughter and chatter cutting through the fog of his idled mind. His body was twitching involuntarily from the residual poison in his body. The possible damage it caused to his body is more concerning to him at the moment than the fact that he's been captured. Hopefully, the twitching is temporary and once the poison is fully out of his system, there will be no long-lasting damage to his body.

Hearing the noise better now, he realized it must be the Sandviper camp, though even craning his stiff neck, Lindon couldn't see much more of it than a few temporary buildings and some torch-smoke fading out with the rising sun.

The man carrying him over his shoulder walked past the laughing crowd, taking him to one of the only buildings Lindon had seen in the enter Five Factions Alliance that wasn't made of rough, freshly cut wood. Instead, it was entirely constructed from iron bars, with rings of script spiraling up the length of the bars like creepers on tree trunks.

Hinges squealed as the door opened, and Lindon hit the ground hard and rolled before he came to a stop on his back. Still giving the occasional twitch and spasm as he stayed laid out on his back.

Even the ceiling was made from bars, which must get unpleasant when it rained. If Lindon were left here, where Fisher Gesha and Yerin couldn't find him, he'd have to endure those rainstorms huddling in the corner and bunched up against the cold. An unpleasant experience, so say the least, but one he could and has survived before. Minus the guards of Lowgolds waiting to kill him if he tries escaping.

Lindon was able to get enough control of himself to rise to a sitting position as the Sandviper Gold shut the door. He'd have attempted bolting out, seeing as the Gold didn't seem rushed, but he could barely stand if he had to right now. Let alone escape a camp filled with hostile Golds.

None of the other prisoners made a break for it.

There were only five others inside this cage, though there were other cages on the left and right. He couldn't begin to guess how many totals, which he imagined might be useful information if he ever got out of here.

As he rose to shaky feet, fighting the paralyzing effect of the residual poison to get a better look at his surroundings, one of his cellmates raised her head to look at him. She was filthy, shrouded in a ragged blanket, and she stared with one eye. The other was a half-healed mess, shredded by what seemed to be claw marks.

Lindon couldn't meet her good eye. He was too busy staring at her missing one as though it had shown him his own future.

The next one in the cage was a man that revealed a missing arm and, when he turned in his sleep, several missing toes.

The third, a boy about Lindon's age. Half his hair had been seared off, and he stared into the distance with a glassy look.

The fourth and fifth clung to one another so that he couldn't make out the details of one against another, but blood clung to the bars behind them and the floor beneath him.

Wounds surrounded him, a tale of misery and pain etched in flesh. All of these were Golds, he was sure -a weak cloud drifted over the one-eyed woman's head, and one of the couples in the corner seemed to have a tail- and they had suffered like this. What had wounded them would crush a Copper to paste. Though, he was far stronger than a Copper, but at most, his strength was comparable to a Jades. So, he'd probably survive for a while before being torn apart or turned into the walking wounded like these Golds, at best.

He took a breath, calming his disordered thoughts, the fog on his brain from the poison fading ever more by the second. Though, he still switched uncontrollably, until he used his Ki to force his body to still. It wasn't perfect, only the core muscles of his body complied with his will, leaving most of the micro muscle groups to continue their twitching. He'd have complete and utter control of his body through Ki usage once he mastered the "Holding" of Ki stage -which wouldn't happen until he hit Master class. So, he could, right now, move his body as he wished, even fight at a diminished capacity, but he looked...odd. His facial features twitched in every direction and his muscles looked like they wiggled and writhed under his skin.

With most of his body back under his control, Lindon knelt and examined the door, studying the latch and the script together, but so many of the symbols were unfamiliar to him. He recognized something similar to the circle he'd used to ward off Remnants, but with ten times the complexity.

That was it. There wasn't much else to examine. No other tools to use, no threads to pull, just idle time to pass before whatever had shredded the other prisoners' bodies was used on him.

Though when he spent some time thinking about it, he thought he might know what had happened. These must be miners.

When he looked up, the blocky silhouette of the Transcendent Ruins blocked out the rising sun and half the clouds. They were camped right at the base of it, so maybe this wasn't Sandviper territory at all, because all of the five allied factions would want to share access to the ruins.

The Sandvipers he'd met before had mentioned miners, and Fisher Gesha had told him the story of how dangerous it was to go inside the Ruins to draw scales from the air. She'd suggested a survival rate of less than thirty percent.

Lindon took another look around him as he imagined what had happened to the rest.

Laughter echoed around the camp until is sounded almost like screams...no, those were screams, along with some shouts and the ringing of metal.

He craned his neck, trying to stick his head between the bars -though they were too closely set for that- in order to see down the row of cages and storage buildings.

Another cage, just like the one he is in, was rattling back and forth as its inhabitants threw themselves against the sides. It looked as though it would actually tip over, but a couple of Sandvipers appeared out of nowhere at the final instant. One of them sent two bright green lights flickering into the cage -he couldn't see the details, but it was obviously a technique of some kind- and the other grabbed the cage in both hands.

He heaved, lifting the entire cage off the ground, and then slammed it back down.

The screams had redoubled in intensity, but now other cages were rattling, and more guards were pouring out of nearby shelters.

When the commotion spread closer to him, with Sandviper guards running past him to help, Lindon stepped back. He was getting too detailed of a look at what the Sandviper techniques were doing to prisoner flesh.

And his cage seemed least likely to join in. Not one of his fellow inmates even looked up. Meaning this was a common occurrence. Which set his blood to boil. All his life he has been taught about the honor of the sacred arts. The honorable duels and deaths met in battle between scared artists, but not this. These people, Gold level sacred artists that knew the dangers of seeking the prizes within the Ruins, willing to risk their lives in the pursuit of advancement of their Paths, are being held as slaves.

Where is the honor in that?

Sure, he's heard of sacred artists losing to another clan or school and being imprisoned for their failure. Even hostages being held by the Schools to force the clans of the Valley to stay compliant. He can even understand out right killing a rival scared artist you've bested; it comes with the territory of the arts; sacred and martial.

But working warriors to death in a mining operation. Maybe he could see a scared artist agreeing to work for the ones that beat them instead of death, but not like this. Caged, cold, wounded and treated like dogs. It'd have been kinder to have just killed them.

Is this how the powerful rule over those weaker than themselves in the outer world. Even as an Unsouled, he was never treated like this back in Sacred Valley. Most wouldn't even conceive of such a thing. It'd wound their pride and dishonor the scared arts too much to treat even defeated enemies like these prisoners are being treated.

Lindon now saw the true face of the Sandvipers and possibly all the factions of the alliance. They're willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want. Honorless dogs, as Yerin would have called them.

He sat himself with his back against the bars, letting his anger cool down. He knows the truth of it all, the way the world works: The strong rule and the weak have no say in anything, not in even how they die. But that's all the reason more that Lindon wants to get stronger. Not just so that he isn't caged and at the mercy of the more powerful -like he is right now- but to make a place where people don't have to be worried about being preyed upon by the strong. Where the strong use their power to protect the weak and let them live full, happy lives.

But he's not even strong enough to keep himself safe, let alone others. Only once he becomes strong like the Monarchs he saw, or a Heavenly Messenger like Suriel, can he actually create such a world. To have powers like there's.

He's getting ahead of himself. He needs to think about his current problem of imprisonment. What did he have on him? He didn't have his pack, of course, but even his pockets had been emptied. His hidden knives and throwing stars, gone. Except...

A smooth, round ball slightly bigger than his thumbnail sat at the bottom of his pocket, forgotten. He reached in, pulling out the glass marble from Suriel. A single blue candle-flame flickered in the center, pointing straight up no matter how he turned the outside.

The marble had no use, unless he could throw it like a pebble to distract a guard, or aim to take out an eye, but these are all Gold sacred artists, they'd be able to deflect it in time. But it was a comfort. A concrete reminder that the heavens hadn't given up on him.

He rolled it between his fingers as he took further stock.

He was in reasonably good physical condition -the twitching lessening and manageable- and he'd recovered most of the energy in his cores that he'd spent earlier that night. Not that either of those things would help him escape this many Sandvipers...openly.

From what he can tell, the cage is only made of iron, and he can bend and break it with his physical strength alone. The problem is the script spiraling up the bars. He might not know all of what it does, but he can tell it would at least signal the Sandvipers that someone is escaping, possibly using madra to keep it sealed tight.

His best chance was to wait until they take him out to the Ruins to mine. There he can escape during the chaos of a dreadbeast attack. He's just a Copper so they will just assume he'd die at the hands of a random dreadbeast or Remnant. Which isn't to say that won't happen, but he'll at least have a fighting chance.

Then, if he escapes the Ruins alive, if being the big issue, he can make his way back to Fisher Gesha's barn.

Looking out in the distance, he saw an enormous block sink back into the wall of the Ruins. A small army filed out, the Sandvipers in the front carrying weapons, and the collection of people in the middle carrying iron barrels speckled on the bottom with crystal flasks.

They passed close enough for Lindon to make out the wounds on the prisoners, missing limbs, finger, chunks of flesh. The procession turned to a building that looked like a big, painted wagon...

And Lindon gained his first truly interesting piece of information. The back of the wagon lifted open, and the first prisoner -prodded by a knife- dumped his barrel into the back.

Scales clattered out into a box specially prepared for the purpose, and then the second miner stepped up, also emptying her barrel. It took twenty or thirty people before the box was filled up and pushed to the back.

To join dozens of boxes just like it.

Lindon's eyes were glued to the stack of boxes, the blue-lit marble spinning in his fingers. Fisher Gesha had said that scales could be used for advancement but doing so was like watering down your madra. Well, his madra was essentially all water.

How many scales would it take to break through to Iron? Twenty? A hundred? However, many he needed; they were right there.

He pushed himself against the bars, eyes stuck on the boxes.

When the prisoners had finished their delivery, the door on the wagon slammed shut. Something like an angry trumpet blast sounded, and the wagon actually rumbled forward, sliding out from between a pair of cages.

So the fortune didn't stick around. That was a disappointment, but it was a good policy not to leave their treasure sitting among a group of disgruntled prisoners.

A Sandviper woman walked up, and Lindon backed away from the bars just in time to avoid her slapping her sword against the cage. It rang like a hideous bell, hurting his ears, but not as much as her voice. She propelled her words with the full force of her Gold spirit and Iron body, causing him to reinforce his eardrums with his Ki and his cellmates to scramble to their feet.

"Wake up, wake up. Feed time, and then it's day shift."

So there was a day shift. Meaning the wagon would show up at sunrise and sunset, for the two mining shifts to deliver their haul.

She pulled the squealing door open, stepping back, and Lindon eyed the gap uncertainly. Was she really trying to fight six people on her own? He's still a little bit twitchy but more than combat capable, not that he'd be able to beat her alone, but the others were Gold. Even wounded, they should be on her like a pack of wolves.

That was when he noticed the collars, iron and scripted just like the bars. It was the same collar he has Yerin using for her Ki training. So, none of these Golds have access to their madra, and like his masters had told him, sacred artists are mostly harmless without their madra.

They hadn't collared him. He wondered if they'd put one on him later, but he found it unlikely. He's Copper. Not worth wasting one on someone with so little madra. Not that'd make him any less dangerous, he doesn't have a Path.

Four of the five prisoners shuffled forward at the Sandviper's prodding, but the woman with the missing eye had curled back against the bars. She shook as though weeping but made no sound.

The Sandviper woman looked bored as she stepped past the other inmates and into the cage, holding her sword in one hand.

Before she could reach the crouching woman, Lindon bent over and grabbed the prisoner by the shoulder. "Come on, stand up. You don't want to be beaten on top of being forced into the Ruins. They're not going to let us go until they've mined the place clean."

She wasn't responding to his firm shaking, and seeing the impatience of the Sandviper woman, Lindon grabbed her by the other shoulder and hauled her up. "Listen to me," making sure to look the woman in her one good eye, "I know that death is most likely waiting for us in the Ruins. But I give you my word that I'll look out for you down there."

The Sandviper woman snorted at that remark, getting the one-eyed prisoner to look at his neck and fall back into her despair. Coming to the conclusion that he's too weak to need being collar, and thus can't help her.

Just as it looked like the Sandviper was going to shove him aside, a familiar voice came from behind them, sharp and venomous. "There are no pieces of him missing? Hm? This is good for you."

Lindon spun to see Fisher Gesha, goldsteel hook on her back, standing on top of her mechanical spider legs. She looked the same as always -bun tight on her head, expression disapproving- but there was something about her that made him shiver.

The Sandviper guard turned to Gesha, leaning her sword on her shoulder. "What do you think our sect is, that you can come in and order us around? Do you think everyone works for you?"

A gentle, invisible force tugged Lindon out the open door so that he stumbled forward until he was standing next to Gesha.

"You need Copper miners that badly, do you?" the Fisher asked dryly. "Tell your young chief his message was received, but I am taking back my property. Can you remember that, hm?"

Green light crawled up the edge of the Sandviper's blade like veins in a leaf. She glared at Gesha and raised her voice. "Fisher-"

Whatever she was going to say next was cut off when Gesha moved like a flickering snake. She suddenly stood next to the Sandviper woman, one arm behind her back, the other holding her new goldsteel hook extended. The sharp inside of the blade's crescent was pressed against the younger woman's throat.

"Silly girl. When I was as weak as you, did I disrespect my betters? No, I kept my head on my work. And you have a miner to catch."

She nodded down the row, where the one-eyed woman was hobbling away, casting a fearful glance behind her.

As Gesha removed the hook, the Sandviper guard tore her gaze between the escaping prisoner and her enemy, muttered a curse under her breath, and bolted off after the miner. To most Coppers and below scared artists -like Lindon- her jog would have been nothing but a blur, but Lindon can move just as fast and has trained his eyes to see much faster movements. Thus, he saw in perfect clarity as the Sandviper easily gained on the fleeing woman. His heart pounding as he remembered his just given promise.

He turned back to Gesha as the guard seized the miner by the hair and started dragging her back.

"Can we take them with us?" he asked in a firm voice.

She gave him a look of almost comical surprise. "There are worse things than this in the world, Wei Shi Lindon. These are enemies, captured in battle."

"Not honorably, or even fairly," fired back louder than he should have. "They ganged up on me, a Copper, with two Golds during my morning run. After I...got past the first a second had ensnared me in their Ruler technique while in hiding. How is that a battle between sacred artists? It's...it's an attack by rabid dogs! Cowards!"

She darkened, "And so I have taken you back from these cowardly dogs," a grin spread on her wrinkled face as she took pleasure from demeaning the Sandvipers. "This time. But you are not my grandson, you hear me? Hm? I cannot come to save you every morning. If you cannot protect yourself, I cannot protect you either. Then again..." She narrowed her eyes at the Sandviper guard, who still had the one-eyed woman held by her hair and green glowing blade raised with gritted teeth.

Several other guards with their own groups of prisoners had come closer, having heard the insult thrown at their sect. Angry faces held in tight sneers and weapons glowing with poisonous madra.

She continued unconcerned, "A Copper shouldn't be expected to defend himself from a bunch of Golds. Hm?" Gesha's look turning accusatory.

"You better watch what you say Fisher!" the Sandviper woman spat out. "We won't standby and let you disrespect our sect!" her blade glowing brighter.

"Hm?" Gesha's expression turned to confusion, unconcerned by the threat. "Are you suggesting that swarming a Copper with Golds is an acceptable act? If so, perhaps I should start sending my sect's Golds after your Coppers? Hm?"

The Sandviper guards all had to bite down their angered responses because they got her point. They acted in a way that could allow the Fishers to target their children as fair play, having struck at one their Coppers first.

"Hm, I thought so," she gave them one last sneer. "Follow me, Shi Lindon." She gestured, and his red Thousand-Mile Cloud floated up from behind her. He hadn't noticed it, having kept his eyes on the defeated woman trapped in the Sandviper's grip.

Lindon knew that Gesha wasn't going to do anything to help the rest, and why would she? They aren't her concern. They're not a part of her sect. Even knowing that some of them might have been taken like him, not through combat befitting sacred artists.

When he turned along with Gesh, he didn't follow as she instructed. Instead he went straight to his pack and dug out his bag of halfsilver chips. He can't beat all these guards, nor will Gesha help him, but he can buy their freedom. This whole mining operation is all about profit, making as much as they can. So trading is an option here.

He knows from prior experience that one halfsilver chip is worth about four scales. He has exactly one hundred and eighty seven chips, that's at least seven hundred and forty eight scales worth.

After pulling out his pouch of chips, he turned and face the Sandviper guard that was still stabbing daggers at them with her eyes. Not an ideal starting point for a negotiation, but he gave his word and he'll be damned if he doesn't keep it. Though, he does hesitate for a moment, thinking about how he could spend his halfsilver chips on scales instead. With that many, he could easily advance to Iron, possibly to Jade. It only takes seeing the dead, hopeless look in the one-eyed woman's eye to solidify his resolve.

Lindon opened his stuffed shadesilk pouch and pulled out a handful of chips, rattling them around in his fist before slowly pouring them back into the bag. The shining halfsilver reflects brightly even in this dark camp, catching the guards' eyes. Halfsilver is rare and valuable, something they'd spend their scales on to purchase.

"I have a proposal for you," Lindon spoke out to the Sandviper woman, hefting his pouch in his right hand.

The Sandviper woman sneered as she spat out, "What? You want to buy your safety from us, little Copper?" several of her fellow guards chuckling at his expense.

"No. That's already been secured by the honored Elder Fisher. What I want is to buy my fellow miners from your sect. I'm not so dumb as to assume to buy all you have, just the five that shared my cage." His voice was as firm as steel.

The Sandviper smirked in amusement as Gesha snapped out, "Boy, what do think you are doing? It's foolishness and-"

Lindon interrupted the Fisher, "I'm doing what I want with my halfsilver chips. I've given more than this to the sect and more than earned the right to spend it. The sect has been making a lot off me and I've asked for very little in return." Then remembering his place and who he's talking to, adds, "If that's okay with you, honored elder."

She lets out an annoyed breath as she replies, "Hmmp. Foolish boy. Wasting so much on a pointless act. Fine! Do what you want. You've earned the right to make a mistake. Hm. But don't think I'll be taking care of your new servants. Ha! A servant having servants, ridiculous." She proceed to mutter to herself in irritation. He could have sworn he heard her say something about dimwitted Coppers and wasting her time.

The Sandviper dashed his hopes by raging, "Why would the Sandvipers lower themselves by doing business with the likes of the Fishers!?"

Fisher Gesha just gave Lindon a look like this what exactly what she expected to happen, while he clenched his jaw. "Forgiveness elder sister, but this one is not making this offer as a Fisher, but as an individual looking to buy your sects property." It took a considerable amount of effort on Lindon's part not to spite out that last word with distaste.

The guard's look didn't lose any of her hatred, but she wasn't striking down his proposal out-of-hand. So, he continued, "I have about seven hundred and fifty scales worth of halfsilver here," giving his pouch a little waggle. "Let's say those five prisoners could mine seventy scales a day and could probably go another week before dying."

Gesha snorts out at that, "If they're very lucky."

Lindon just keeps going, acting like she didn't say anything, but was secretly glad as most around them acknowledged that as true. "That'd be at best, four hundred and ninety scales the five of them could make your sect. I'm offer two hundred and fifty-eight more than their value. It's more than a fair trade."

For a moment, it looked like the Sandviper woman might agree to his offer, it was more profitable. Especially, considering that most of them wouldn't make past five days, let alone a full week. But the guard's eyes moved in Gesha's direction and turned fiery hot. Her anger and their sect's rivalry overrode her greed.

But not entirely, "That does seem like a fair trade, even from a Fisher...for this one miner here." She lifted the one-eyed woman by her hair up a bit. Her fellow Sandviper guards laughed and commented on how generous such a deal was for a Fisher. Some even going as far to say that it was too good for them.

Gesha narrowed her eyes with anger, but just spoke to Lindon, "See, it was waste of time."

The Sandviper woman roughly shook the prisoner in her hand, "My generosity is starting thin Fisher. You want this one or not. I've got work to do and they got mining to do, so if you're not satisfied with my offer-"

Lindon cut her off, "No, elder sister. This one thanks you for your generous offer and accepts. Gratitude," he bowed over his fists before tossing the guard his pouch of halfsilver chips.

At the same time, the Sandviper woman released the one-eyed woman and grabbed the pouch, tying it to her belt. Then, quickly pulled a key from a pocket and unlocked the woman's collar, and with a not-so-gentle shove, pushed her towards Lindon and Fisher Gesha. "Nice doing business with you. Now leave our sect's territory if you know what's best for you, little Copper."

Gesha glared pointedly at the Sandviper women before shifting towards Lindon, "Foolish waste of halfsilver. Bah! Come on, let's go. That means you to girl! Don't keep me waiting or you'll wish the fool-boy had left you here."

Lindon followed after her, his neck tight from the effort of not looking back to see the others he'd left behind. He'd taken solace in saving at least one of them, and even with a limp, the one-eyed woman speed ahead to keep pace with Fisher Gesha, more than happy to be away from the Sandvipers.

Gesha spent most of their journey back cursing the Sandvipers for their cowardice and Lindon's stupidity, but Lindon remained lost in thought. When he asked her how she'd found him, she simply said, "I looked," in the tone of voice that suggested he was an idiot.

When they returned to Fisher territory with an additional person, Gesha asked, "Now, tell me boy. What are you going to do with her, hm? She's not much of a looker, obviously can't fight well and is practically crippled." One of her drudge's legs pointed at the one-eyed woman with a cloud over her head, her goldsign.

"Well, I'll treat her wounds and start getting her to help around my forge. She can sweep up and organize my finished works and tools. Ready them for sell to the client. It'll give more time for my training, maintenance on the constructs and actual work."

"Hm, so pushing off all your servant work onto your servant. Fine, but it'll come out of your earnings to feed her. The sect will house her for you, at a cost of course."

"Of course, honored elder."

"You can start by getting today's work orders done. Hm? We've gotten a larger demand for your steel weapons. A whole bunch of spears, swords and hammers waiting for you to forge them. So, I'll take the one-eyed girl here and get her squared away as you get back to earning more for the sect." She jabbed at him with her finger, "And try not getting yourself kidnapped again. Hm?"

While she was on that note, Lindon decided to ask a question he wanted to ask for nearly two weeks. "Pardon, Fisher Gesha, but I'd be better able to defend myself with a Path."

Her drudge's spider-legs did not falter in their smooth, rolling gait, as Gesha moved to lead Lindon's recent purchase to the women's housing. Nor, did she so much as glance at him. "You think you've earned it? Hm? You think you've given so much to the sect that we must give you something back? I've already rescued you. Let you throw away good halfsilver for a one-eyed cripple. And I'm housing her for you. Don't you think you're being too greedy for a Copper? Hm?"

"I have nothing but gratitude to you and to the Fisher sect," he assured her, though his only contact with the Fishers thus far had been limited to when they came to pick up the weapons and armor, he forged for either themselves or customers. And a few glimpses in the Soulsmith foundry. "I will never repay my debt for your kindness in this lifetime. I'm only impatient to contribute more."

Which wasn't really true. On top of his maintenance work, blacksmithing, and Forging scales, she also has him carve statues. She's gotten marble stone slabs recently and has made him make more artistic renditions of his training statues.

He had to carve a five-tailed snowfox with fiery foxfire dancing around its whirling tails just to get her to supply him with the scripts he wanted to improve his training statues. They'll allow him to add her Paths attractive madra properties to them, making them pull down against him. Allowing him to have smaller statues with the effect of larger ones, this way he won't one day have to run around with a barn-sized statue on his back.

But, judging by her pleased smile, flattery had been the right choice. "Why so impatient? If you have not walked a Path so far, waiting until Iron is not so late. Focus on Forging two scales a day. When you can do that, you will keep one."

He's already been Forging one scale a day every day, and he's not too far off from two, so that'll help. "If I could, then how long might it take me to reach Iron?"

She was silent for a moment, contemplating the question. "If you work hard, one year is not too short. Not so bad, is it? A year is nothing when you're my age, I can tell you."

"Of course not," Lindon lied, thoughts cast back to the wagon full of boxes. "Not too short at all."

He fully planned on going back and robbing them blind. After all, he had paid for much more than he was given, and the Sandvipers would soon understand that he does not like to be cheated. Besides he wanted to free the other miners and in doing so, he'd get back at them for kidnapping him.

A win all around.

Four days after his release from the Sandvipers, Lindon went to see Yerin. She'd spent most of her time with the Fishers helping them hunt down Remnants and sacred beasts, which was one of the primary businesses of their sect. There were many Soulsmiths in the Five Factions Alliance, and most of them got their primary supply of bindings and Remnant parts from the Fishers. Refiners paid for rare medicinal ingredients or scared beasts as components for elixirs, and the Fishers prided themselves on diving into the wilderness and emerging with whatever their customers requested.

It wasn't until word spread about the weapons Lindon was forging -often as just steel weapons with enhancing scripts, but some used in Fisher Gesha's Soulsmithing, like axes with a binding in the shaft made of dead matter with various affects- that a lot more business came from Gesha's foundry.
But still, most came from supplying others.

Yerin provided something that the sect had previously found in short supply: overwhelming offensive power. They still saw each other for training and now the occasional spar as she adjusted to the madra restraints. Of course, that wasn't all they did...just mostly. They'd talk to, mostly in between breaks.

According to her, the Fishers were experts at tracking, navigating the wilderness, and extracting natural treasures for later sale. But they were forced to give up on some prizes simply because their madra wasn't as suited for combat.

As such, they treated Yerin like some kind of long-lost younger sister who had returned to usher in a golden age of economic prosperity. Which Lindon felt was a little unfair. He's been forging weapons and carving statues for sell by the dozens, and they haven't treated him like anything other than a servant. Now, when Lindon showed up at the Fisher housing to see Yerin, she had a room of her own. Previously, she had to share one long log cabin with twelve other women. Now, she had her own, smaller log cabin, complete with baked clay tiles for the roof and a hearth and chimney. He still slept in the rafters with spider constructs.

She opened the door blearily as Lindon knocked, swiping at her eyes with one hand. The silver sword extended out from her back, touching the invisible traps she'd Forged around the doorframe and dissolved them.

He was glad to see that all the traps were on the inside of the door this time. He's spent long enough looking for any lethal traps lurking in the air around her cabin as he approached.

"I'm sorry for waking you," he said. "Should I come back later?" He kept moving inside as he asked; the question was a formality anyway.

She shifted that red rope she wore as a belt and stretched, yawning. "Cycling. The snoring doesn't start until about the third hour."

He'd come at sunset, so she may well have been preparing to sleep, but she still looked better-rested than she had when they'd arrived. The Fishers had replaced her old, tattered sacred artist's robe with a new one, and the fine black fabric looked unmarred despite her days in the wilderness. Her scabs had peeled away to reveal new scars, though her hair had grown out, longer and less even than before.

In short, she looked like she'd had two weeks rest and regular food to get her back into fighting shape. While Lindon himself had changed into his spare Ryozanpaku clothing, his full armor -his goldsteel chainmail underneath his top, arm and shin guards- and sword strapped to his back. After being kidnapped by the Sandvipers, Lindon has made sure to always be fully armed and armored when outside Gesha's barn.

She looked him up and down, an approving look on her face. "Good. Seems you've learned your lesson right and true. You can't take more than two steps in this world without something trying to kill you. Best to be prepared to draw swords at any moment."

Lindon acknowledged Yerin's point, "Yeah. Not an experience I want to repeat. If I can help it."

"True. So, come here for more of that Ki training?" she asked expectantly. "I'm finally starting to feel something, but only when we're drawing steel against one another. I need the razor's edge to really push my willpower out enough to actually feel it."

Lindon had already noticed that when they sparred last. She just barley pulled together enough of her Ki to be noticeably felt in her attacks. It honestly frightens him a bit on how quickly she's catching on and brings up feelings of envy. She's a prodigy in the sacred arts, trained by a Sage, and it looks like she might be just as exceptional at the advanced martial arts of Ryozanpaku. He's still oceans distance ahead of her in Ki usage and martial ability -not counting her skill with the blade, she's just outright better in that field- but he's made very little progress in the sacred arts.

In comparison to her growth in awakening her Ki to his growth in the sacred arts, Yerin is beating him. He knows that she has years of real combat experience and pure, natural talent that aids her progress, but still. He hasn't even started learning a Path yet. Which won't happen until he reaches Iron, if Gesha keeps her word.

Which is why he has been working on a plan the past four days to help bridge the gap. "Forgiveness, but I didn't come here today for training. I've got something else in mind."

Lindon slung his pack off, then pulled out a sheet of a paper and slapped it down on her one table.

She leaned over for a closer look. "They've been making you take a lot of notes, have they?"

"These are the shift changes of every Sandviper guard working regular duty with the mining teams. I've been following them most of the last week. I made up some of the names, but this isn't all; I know their habits, their replacements, what they like to drink, which teams they're responsible for, when they deposit their scales, everything I could think of." She lifted the paper as though wondering how he got so much information on there, and he hurried to add, "That's not the only sheet."

"Why?" she asked simply.

"I know where they keep the scales," he said passionately. "It pulls in twice a day, they load up the haul for the day, and then they take it away to a secure location back in their main camp stronghold. Their guards are tired, their miners are angry, and everyone's rushing so that they can squeeze the Ruins dry before the Arelius family gets here." His words were tripping all over one another in excitement, but he plowed on anyway. "They're too strong when all the Sandvipers are together, but that's almost never true."

He waited until he had her full attention before hitting her with the selling point. "We can free the miners. All I have to do is activate one of Fisher Gesha's spider constructs, take it to camp, have it disrupt the script-"

"That sounds like a tall cliff to climb," she interrupted. "You think you can keep it powered that long? And you know how to disable the script?"

Lindon had to take a deep breath to pull back on his excitement before responding, "It's easy, if you know how and where, which I do because they gave me a personal look. It's like breaking a lock."

"Breaking a lock isn't usually easy," she said.

"It is if you have specialized equipment, which we do. We'll have a construct. Anyway, we release enough prisoners, and we can take the wagon. So long as we strike at dawn or dusk, of course, when it's there. If I fill my pack, I expect I can walk away with one thousand scales, and I'm sure you can too."

"And then we fade away like the mist in the sun, do we?" She was still eyeing the paper, so at least she hadn't dismissed him completely, but he'd been hoping for a more enthusiastic reaction.

"Fly away on the Thousand-Mile Cloud," Lindon replied.

"A Thousand-Mile Cloud isn't made of dragon scales. The Fishers have three, and I've seen at least two people zipping around on Remnants. One of the Sandvipers will run us down."

He'd been waiting for that objection, "I've thought of that!" He dug another paper out of his pack, this one a crudely drawn map, and slapped it onto the table as well. "You remember the bathhouse? It's halfway between Gesha's barn and the Ruins. We only have to fly a short distance to the bathhouses, hide there, and head back to the foundry when we're clear."

Lindon had prepared for other objections. For one thing, if they would be caught upon entry to the camp. But if they did, then the prisoners would attack them when set free. If they weren't being chased, there was no need to hide at the bathhouse, and if they were then the bathhouse wouldn't help.

He had counters to these, nuances to his plans that he'd worked very hard on. He hadn't entirely counted on Yerin handing the paper back to him, smile sharper than the blade over her shoulder. "Let's burn 'em."

He took the plan from her, a little taken aback. "You'll do it?"

She rested a hand on the hilt of her sword, "We're working for the Fishers now, and they get along with the Sandvipers like two tigers in one cage. And they kidnapped you." Her hand tightened on the hilt. "You let an enemy take one of yours without response, and you're giving them signed permission to do it again. The Sandvipers haven't slipped out of my memory, any more than Heaven's Glory has."

Her expression darkened further. "They think I'm not coming back to clean their whole rotten house and burn it down, then they're getting a surprise."

She'd agreed to his plan, and even his own family had never fought for him. But some of his warm feelings cooled in the face of her vengeful oath.

He wasn't sure why he felt that way -revenge had always been part of the sacred arts, as widely celebrated in stories as honored duels. Even his masters at Ryozanpaku told him stories of their own revenge filled attacks on rival sects and schools- but her whole demeanor changes when she talked about revenge. Something in the air felt dark, and heavy, and wrong.

It was his own weakness. That was what his father would have told him, and Lindon knew he was right. Yerin was wiser, stronger, more knowledgeable and more experienced. He was seeing the world as a child.

Suddenly ashamed of his own cowardice, he bowed to her. "You won't go back alone."

She gave him a look of such gratitude that he forgot all his misgivings a moment before. It also solidified his own resolve to help save her from that darkness. As much as he knows that her revenge is justified and fair, he is equally sure that if Yerin went back and killed all of Heaven's Glory without mercy, giving into those dark feelings, she'd never be the same.

Elder Furinji had talked extensively with Lindon about killing and revenge in depth. As a warrior, killing is an inevitable act he'd be forced to perform. Two warriors, sacred artists and martial artists alike will fight to the death for one reason or another. Killing, even going after an enemy that has spilled you or yours blood is all a part of their lives and is fair, even honorable. But it's the context that surrounds these acts that matter most.

Killing someone else that's trying to kill you, someone you care about, or an innocent is just fine. But hunting down and killing the weak to make a point, for pleasure, or test out your abilities is where a man becomes a monster. Giving into hatred and killing to satisfy your own darker urges, killing blindly and without mercy is not getting revenge. It's just base murder and that is a path that leads to becoming an inhuman monster.

Lindon will go back to Heaven's Glory to help Yerin get her revenge, but to also make sure she doesn't do something she regrets. Killing the school's elders and all the sacred artist that try to kill them along the way are just fine. But he'll make sure her blade never turns on the disciples that are not a threat and had nothing to do with her master's death.

Lindon refocused on the task at hand. They needed to hit the Sandviper mining operation soon. His information was less valuable by the day, as the guard habits changed, and the Arelius family could arrive any time to put an end to it all.

"I'd suggest you get ready," Lindon said. "We need to go as soon as we can."

Yerin tapped her fingers on her sword, and Lindon felt as though a blade had passed through the air just in front of his nose. His eyes widened, sure that she'd just used a technique.

Then strands of her hair drifted down. It was razor-straight again, hanging down as though it had been measured to end exactly at her eyes in the front and exactly at her shoulders in the back.

"Straight and clean again," she said in a satisfied tone. "Now I'm ready." She eyed his head. "I can have a try at yours too, now that it's getting a little overgrown."

He held up his hands, hoping she wouldn't start blasting invisible sword madra at his head. "I could use some more time." For one thing, he needs to finish up their disguises and it's not quite the right time to move yet. Dawn is still a ways off.

She shrugged and walked back to the corner of her cabin, where she knelt on a cushion for cycling. "Pop in when you're ready. If I'm not here, I'm out hunting."

He left her to it, sneaking back through the dark, avoiding as much attention as possible. He finished off all his daily orders and didn't have to worry about clean up thanks to his new "servant" taking over his chores.

He spent some alone time feeding his Sylvan Riverseed, its color deepening even more. He still wasn't sure what it was going to become or what purpose it'll serve, but he likes feeding her. Still not sure why he sees the little spirit as a she, maybe because of the dress like bottom? Then he switches back to finishing up the final preparations of his plan.

At first, the plan worked flawlessly.

They crept in just before dawn, in Sandviper sect outfits that Lindon had made himself. The furs came cheap from the Fishers, who would never deign to wear the same clothing as their rivals, and their Goldsigns were faked through pieces of green dead matter he'd scavenged from Gesha's supply.

He was proud of himself for that, actually. The little Remnant-creatures attached to every real Sandviper's arm couldn't be duplicated, but he had buckets full of pieces from Sandviper Remnants. Four green legs and a serpentine tube sewn onto a sleeve, and he had something that -from a distance- would pass as a Sandviper's Goldsign.

Yerin's was harder to hide. She couldn't control the bladed arm on her back as well as he thought she should, so it had taken them almost an hour of bending and folding to get it stuck between her furs and her pack. But with the bear-like head of a dreadbeast over her hair, hide concealing the red rope around her waist, and her sword-arm hidden, even Lindon had trouble recognizing her.

He had to admit, it was satisfying when these Golds scurried away at a single sight of his Sandviper uniform and an angry scowl. That satisfaction fled as quick as a lightning bolt when he also noticed a few children hide fearfully from him. Power should only strike fear in your enemies, not children -at least as far as Lindon was concerned.

They'd positioned the Thousand-Mile Cloud behind a tent, close enough to be summoned but not so close that it would give them away. His usual pack was waiting with the cloud, in case he needed anything from within, and the one he was carrying now contained only the spider-construct.

Everything slid smoothly along, even up to the point where they reached the cages.

He'd worried that he might not be able to find his old cage, but he did so almost instantly. This would be his test case, and ideally a way to survive the prisoner uprising.

Glancing around assured him that everything was in place. Yerin was loitering across the lane, close enough to help if needed. The wagon backed into place almost exactly as he arrived, giving him the fleeting joy of seeing elements of a plan slide neatly into place.

Reaching into his pack, he slowly -and with many a glance around- extracted one of Gesha's spider constructs. The spider was inert, curled up into a ball, and though it stored enough energy for independent action, the crystal flask would be swiftly depleted, and its actions would be limited. It would be best to control this one directly, before guiding it to cages down the line.

The cage was mostly empty space, with only two dirty figures huddled inside. He ducked to get a glimpse at each one, but the young man his age wasn't there.

He'd known that was a possibility. Gesha put the miners' survival rate frighteningly low, and the last he'd seen there were four left behind, and they were all in bad shape. The one-eyed woman -whose name he hasn't taken the time to learn- would most likely have died with the other two.

Too easily, the image came to mind of himself, tucked in a filthy blanket just like the rest and sent day after day into the waiting horrors of the Ruins. The pyramid overhead seemed ominous now, like a monster looming over the corpse of its prey.

With a flicker of his madra, the spider surged to life, slicing across two points in the script according to his instruction. The scrape of spider's leg against iron was surprisingly soft and quick, leading him to wonder what the construct was made of. If it cut iron so easily, he could think of a number of other uses for it.

Finally, he directed the spider up the bars and to the roof, where the final loop of the script-circle was located. This had taken him three days of observation to realize; though he was only an amateur scriptor, he could tell that cutting two of the loops wouldn't be enough. Leaving the final link on the roof made sense from the Sandvipers' perspective, given the risk that one of the prisoners knew some sacred art that could cut iron even with their spirits suppressed by collars. Like he could have, though, not using sacred arts, just pure strength.

A scripted key would have simplified this process, but he'd never found one unguarded, and stealing it could have risked everything.

Seconds later, a soft whisk came from overhead as the spider sliced through the last of the protective script. Lindon pushed the door open, wincing at the squeal of the hinges, and directed the spider back into his pack.

Even that paltry few seconds of action had drained one of his cores almost by half, and he would need to cycle whenever he got the chance if he wants to open all the cages. In the meantime, he'll focus on opening up as many cages as he can first.

Two figures in the cage moaned and backed away from him, but as the spider clambered into the pack behind him, Lindon sank to his knees. "Look at me," he whispered. "We don't have much time."

Even less than he'd imagined, as he found out immediately when Jai Long stepped out from besides the scale wagon.

The sight of the tall spearman in the mask of red cloth scrambled Lindon's thoughts for a second. He'd already cast his mind forward, to the next steps of the plan, to things that could go wrong. Jai Long stayed in his tent in the mornings, Lindon had observed that for five mornings in a row, and idle comments from some of the other Sandvipers suggested he'd done the same thing for as long as he'd known them.

But there was still the possibility that he wouldn't notice anything. If he'd just decided to stretch his legs and get a lungful of morning air, he would just brush past two "Sandvipers" going about their ordinary chores with hardly a glance.

That hope died when Jai Long turned his head to look straight at Lindon.

"To save face for the Fishers, I will keep you as miners instead of killing you as intruders. You have my word."

Lindon's head was still spinning. They hadn't even done anything yet. Where had he gone wrong? Was there an alarm attached to the script-circle on the cage?

No, he was certain there wasn't. The script connected to nothing; it was all self-contained around the cage. It couldn't have activated an alarm, or he would have found it. What, then?

Yerin, meanwhile, had immediately drawn her white sword against young chief Kral. He wore black furs, finer than those of his subordinates, and he still gave off the air of unimpeachable dignity even while holding an awl in each hand.

Jai Long didn't even look to the side, where his young chief faced Yerin. He remained focused on Lindon; spear propped against his shoulder.

"You want to know why? he asked.

Lindon didn't dare to nod. In his experience, questions like that didn't require a response.

"Do you know how many Coppers there are in the Five Factions Alliance above the age of six?" Jai Long went on. "There's one. One of men happened to notice a Copper days ago, when you were sneaking around the camp, and reported you. I knew you could only be the newly adopted Fisher."

Lindon could put the rest together for himself. Jai Long had assumed he'd come here because this was where he'd been held captive. Then all he had to do was set a watch with Lindon's description...

That didn't hold up. Even though Lindon had run into the Sandvipers more than once, it wasn't as though he'd been in camp long. He wasn't famous. Jai Long had seen him before, but there was no reason he should remember. He'd even gone so far as to disguise himself while checking out Sandviper territory, blending in as best he could.

"How did you recognize me?" Lindon asked, trying desperately to understand how he was found out.

The spearman studied him from behind the red wrappings as though unsure how to answer. "I had them sense your spirit," he answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Lindon had been blind. In Sacred Valley, once a person reached Jade, they could use their spirit to sense things they couldn't possibly see or hear. They couldn't sense a person's level of advancement without personally witnessing their sacred arts. Somehow, it hadn't occurred to him that sacred artists on the outside could.

It was an idiot's mistake. He'd let his own ignorance lead both him and Yerin into an ambush.

Yerin knew what was possible, of course, but he couldn't fault her for not pointing it out -to her, it was common knowledge. She'd have assumed that he would take steps to disguise himself as a Copper, or prevent himself from being sensed.

He didn't even know those were possibilities.

Something tugged at his spirit, and he opened his Copper sight. The aura around Yerin bloomed into a razor-edged dome, like a thicket of swords surrounding her, and the pale blade in her hand gathered sword aura along the edges. She hadn't said a word, but her body was turned half to the side, her weapon held high and her eyes fixed on Kral.

For his part, the Sandviper heir held his awls to his sides, completely relaxed. He didn't seem to be drawing up aura at all. "You're not even a Fisher, are you? Are you sure you want to be buried for them?"

The colorless blades around her sharpened, but she didn't respond.

"Your choice," he said, lazily lifting a spike to point at her. Green light gathering on the tip, like a poison about to drip off. "I am Kral, young chief of the Sandviper sect, and I will instruct you."

As soon as he finished speaking, a line of venomous green light blasted toward her. She ducked, drawing aura behind her sword like a wave as she swung it upward.

Kral had already reached her, the sword almost at his ribs, but he drove his awl down and pushed Yerin's blade into the ground.

The air roared as her technique sheared a hole through the grass, sending dirt and roots blasting skyward. Reading her flow perfectly, Kral moved forward and drove his second awl at her neck in the same moment of his counter. Sword aura tore at his hand, but they didn't stop him, and Yerin had to throw herself back.

The young chief laughed, saking off his wounded hand. He wasn't even bleeding. There were red lines, but nothing worse than Lindon might get if he brushed against a briar bush if he didn't protect himself with Ki.

Kral gestured, and aura around Yerin surged. She moved out of the way just s a cloud of toxic gas manifested behind her.

But he was toying with her, moving her like a puppet where he wanted. The awl flashed forward again, this time with four green echoes of itself moving along with it -a Forger trick to duplicate the weapon. She smashed them all but took a scrape along the shoulder for it.

Her Goldsign burst out then, a flashing arm of steel, blurring as it shot straight for Kral's eye.

Before Lindon could register joy that Yerin might have turned the fight around, Kral's own Goldsign scurried into action. The legged serpent ran down the man's forearm, running onto Yerin's shoulder, and opening its jaws to bite down on her neck.

It froze that way, its tail wrapped around Kral's arm and its teeth on Yerin, as her blade arm came to a quivering stop a foot from the Sandviper's nose.

"If you draw a blade on a Highgold, you should be prepared for the consequences," Kral informed, in a tone haughty enough for a king. His expression, on the other hand, said he was enjoying himself.

Lindon had already moved out the cage door and towards Kral with kunai flying and one hand on his sheathed sword, ready to draw. He knows he can't win, but maybe he can create an opening for Yerin to break free from his Goldsign.

His kunai were intercepted by Jai Long with a single sweep of his spear, and in that same fluid movement sent his spear's tip towards Lindon's head. Only his own senses screaming at him just as he moved forward allowed him just enough time to deflect Jai Long's attack with his Elucidator.

That one strike sent pain flaring through Lindon's arm and knocked him back several steps, and that wasn't even his full strength. He just barely kept his footing and activated his Seikuken as he went into his ready stance.

Kral raised his voice without turning from Yerin, as if nothing had happened. "Are the Fishers coming?"

"At least one of them is," Jai Long responded, just as unconcerned as Kral, though, he made sure not to turn from Lindon. There was evident surprise in Jai Long's eyes, but no real concern. Lindon was inhumanly strong for a Copper, but still nothing to a Highgold -he couldn't even beat that Lowgold that captured him before. That's why hope trickled back into Lindon's heart, Gesha must be coming for them.

"Good," Kral responded, and the tiny Remnant on his arm bit down.

Blood oozed from Yerin's neck, but that didn't even cause her to make a sound. She simply glared at the Sandviper, even as the tiny green spirit ran back up to nest on his arm.

A second later, her jaw visibly tightened as she gritted her teeth.

Another second, and she'd fallen to her knees, chest heaving.

Then she dropped her sword and screamed.

With Yerin's screams washing over him, Lindon roared in rage as his Ki exploded outward with it. It took considerable effort to pull it back in, as a Sei type his power needed to be internalized and controlled. But Yerin's screams were becoming deafening to him.

His Ki kept exploding, expanding ever deeper as Lindon internalized it, kept his head about him and not give into the anger. Yerin saved him at Heaven's Glory. She saved him from the Sandviper attack in the Wilds. She's the sacred artist he's always wanted to be. And here she is, screaming in agony, in the dirt because of his foolish mistake.

Jai Long felt the primal power come out of Lindon in a wave and then pour right back into him, becoming stronger. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn that the Copper was advancing, but his madra was unchanged.

Krall just raised his eyebrows in confusion as Jai Long readied his spear.

In that moment, Lindon shattered the shell of an Expert and entered the Low Class Master rank. The last recesses of his body becoming fully saturated in his Ki. It felt exhilarating as newfound strength poured throughout Lindon's entire body.

With greater ease than ever before he slipped right into the second level of the Ryusei Seikuken. Allowing him to practically ghost through Jai Long's spear thrusts and strikes, anticipating his every move, That, and the sudden increase from Jade speed to Lowgold.

Once inside his spear range, Lindon goes straight into a palm strike to his chin, blocking the butt of Jai Long's spear with his sword. Then flowing into a sideways elbow strike, an inside axe kick to break his stance, taking a shallow cut over his shoulder from Jai long's return slash -Lindon's chainmail stopping his glowing spearhead from penetrating his flesh- and moving for a spinning blade trust into Jai long's skull.

Jai Long's Iron body shook off the strikes easily enough, and with lines of writhing light traveling through his body -his fullbody Enforcer technique- he quickly dodges Lindon's trust. Coming up from behind him in a blur, spearing into Lindon's back with a full force thrust of his own, glowing light trailing the strike.

Only with superior senses of his Ryusei Seikuken, master class speed and having seen moves to fast to actually see does Lindon just barely turn in time to take a glancing blow to his side. His Sandviper disguise is shredded apart alongside his left torso, his chain mail breaking up, but stopping the spearhead from cutting him open...deeply.

Lindon grits his teeth as his blood splashes out from his side, just barely keeping up his Ryusei Seikukuen.

But, before Lindon could blink, Jai Long has moved in and knocked his sword from his hand, his tekko saving his hand from amputation, but breaking the bones instead.

The fight is over by that point. In the span of a second, a half dozen more spear strikes and thrusts bombard Lindon. He was able to avoid the worst and narrow the damage to superficial cuts and bruises.

But Jai Long ends it with a brutal smack to Lindon's forehead with the butt of his spear, knocking Lindon back head over end before he lands face down in dirt. His head aching, his mind numbing as his world blurs and darkness tickles at the edges of his awareness.

Lindon should have known better. Remembered his place. He got so lost in the elation of his sudden growth to Low Class Master and the new strength it brought, that he forgot that it only made him as strong as a Lowgold. Maybe after reaching the threshold of Lowmaster he could handle a Highgold, but not after just reaching that level. Especially not one of Jai Long's skill.

Stupid.

Lindon struggles to lift his head up enough to see Kral chuckling, "He's tough for a Copper, but still Jai Long, it's embarrassing to struggle against a mere Copper." Being just loud enough to be heard over Yerin's screams.

Jai Long make a noncommittal scoff, "He's an abnormal Copper. It just took me by surprise, that's all, Kral."

"Sure, old friend. Just caught off guard...by a Copper!" laughing over the screams.

Jai Long didn't respond, too focused on the nick in his spearhead, before turning his attention to the new arrival.

"You like it noisy in your camps, do you? Hm?" Fisher Gesha said, and Lindon's eyes cleared of his unshed tears. She looked the same as ever, her bun tightly in place, spider legs jutting out from where her feet should be. Her hands were clasped behind her in the small of her back, her absurdly wrinkled face disapproving. Lindon had never seen anyone more beautiful; he could breathe again.

If only she could help Yerin.

"You don't enjoy the screams of your enemies?" Kral asked, sliding over to stand by Jai Long. "I'm sure you do."

Gesha was giving nothing away. "Enemies? I see none of your enemies here."

It was Jai Long's turn to speak. "Do you not? Two new Fishers sneaking into our camp, dutifully assignd to us according to the Alliance. If they were working for you, then that's an unprovoked act of aggression on your part."

Gesha's gaze flickered to Yerin, then to Lindon -thinking about all the business he's brought to the Fishers lately.

"Are children supposed to be placid and well-behaved now? I made mistakes when I was young."

"If they're not yours," Jai Long continued, "I'll work them in the mines. If they are, then I've captured them as the result of honorable combat, and they will still work the mines. But in that case, you were the ones who worked to undermine us. Only days before the Arelius arrive."

Fisher Gesha didn't respond, and he let out a heavy breath from behind his mask. "We cannot allow this, elder Gesha. You know that."

When the old Soulsmith spoke again, it looked as though her lips had been pried apart with an iron bar. "There has been a misunderstanding between us, hasn't there?"

"It seems there has," Jai Long replied.

"I don't see any Fishers here," she said, and Lindon let his eyes fall shut again.

"Only you, honored elder," Kral stated, with his respectable expression back on.

"Then I will return." Without the slightest glance in Lindon's direction, she drifted off on a spider's legs.

Yerin's screams continued.

Eithan watched, sipping from a bottle of what tasted like distilled poison, as the old Fisher departed. The drama had largely faded at that point, but he stayed to see the night shift of miners arrive. They dropped off their scales, headed to their cages, and switched for the day crew.

Lindon and Yerin were bundled among them. Yerin wore a collar, but not Lindon. Why waste a collar? If a Copper trundled off alone in the mines, he might as well slit his own wrists. At least by conventional standards, but Lindon breaks the mold of what a Copper can do. In that brief clash with Jai Long he'd fought with the strength of a Lowgold. But a collar only suppresses spiritual strength and Lindon's power comes from pure brute strength and raw willpower. It'd be wasted on a Copper spirit.

They had given Yerin the antidote to the Sandviper venom only minutes after her bite, but she still shambled along like an animated corpse. A natural sandviper would have been less painful; the Remnant madra attacked the soul as much as the body, and she would have a difficult time recovering with the scripted collar around her neck. He should know; he'd been in similar situations, once or twice.

Handled correctly, this excursion into the Ruins could end up being a valuable lesson for her. Even an adventure, if framed properly.

Eithan took another sip of poison. In his experience, practically anything became an adventure if framed properly.

Her spirit was still flawless, her foundation solid. The Sage of the Endless Sword had done a wonderful job with her, as was expected. There was the problematic matter of her past -as some of the Sandvipers had learned when they tried to unravel the 'rope' around her waist- but even that could be turned to her advantage. Like adventure, advantage was so often just a matter of perspective.

It was her character that he was interested in now. If she had the strength of will to go along with her powers, as he suspected she did, she would be perfect.

Which brought him to Lindon, who was simultaneously more puzzling and more intriguing.

Someone had meddled with Lindon, in a way that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe it would occur to him later. Either way, the boy was still a masterful foundation of potential waiting to be built upon. Some master of martial combat had sculpted the boy's body to perfection and cultivated an unimaginable amount of willpower into him. A palpable amount of pure will not seen outside the higher end of the Lord realm.

And in that moment when Lindon's rage burned over, his body advanced in a way even he's never seen before. Though, there was an ancient record of such a thing, left by his family's first Patriarch. His body is completely saturated in pure will; every cell of his being strengthened, like having an Iron body not made by madra.

Would he work out for Eithan's purposes? Hopefully so. But the shaping process would be fun, and if nothing else, it would be something to occupy Eithan's attention for a few years. And if it did payoff, it'd be something truly magnificent. Possibly being exactly what he needs.

And if there was fun to be had, why not start immediately?

He downed the last of the bottle, which he suspected really was poison, and tossed the empty container aside. His expensive clothes, made of creamy sky blue and imported from the Ninecloud Court, would suffer in this next part. But those were the sacrifices one made to stave off boredom.

Just as the procession of miners was about to enter the gaping maw of the Ruins, Eithan hopped over to stand beside Jai Long.

"THEY'LL KILL US ALL!" Eithan shouted into Jai Long's ear.

The spearman's reaction was gratifying. He spun with a sweeping, glowing arc of his spear that would have taken Eithan's head off if he were anyone else. He ducked beneath it, then straightened again.

Jai Long leveled his spear again, though Eithan was just standing there. Sandvipers started to boil out of their surroundings, clutching weapons.

The man in the red mask studied him for a moment before speaking. "What are you doing here?"

Eithan raised his hands, "Surrendering myself into your custody, good sir."

Jai Long's spear wavered, remembering how Eithan had played around with him, Kral and a dozen other Sandvipers without getting so much as a scratch. "And why is that?"

"As punishment for my many sins and imperfections. I am a cursed man, wracked by guilt."

He smiled.

Slowly, Jai Long lifted his spear, then gestured for a Sandviper to come forward. A short man in furs scurried out, carrying a collar.

"I will be placing a restrictive collar on you," Jai Long explained warily, holding out the iron loop. "It is scripted to inhibit your madra."

"A wise and prudent decision," Eithan replied, bowing forward to present his neck.

As though fearing a trap, Jai Long crept forward step by deliberate step, collar in one hand and spear in the other. Eithan sighed, but waited with all the patience he could muster.

Finally, cold iron snapped around his throat. "Adroitly done," Eithan said, straightening up and clapping his hands together. "Now, the previous group is already in the Ruins. I'll go on and catch up -we're wasting valuable mining time."

Jai Long stood over him, spearhead glowing with madra. The young man had a decision to make. And Eithan smiled pleasantly at him until he made it.

Jai Long took one step to the side, the light in his spear fading.

Wise decision.

The square hallway was wide enough for all twenty miners and their five Sandviper escorts. Three of the guards moved in front, two in back, but most of the prisoners didn't seem to need guarding. They stumbled along with empty gazes, all of them with wounds both old and fresh.

Each of the prisoners, including Lindon, carried one of the scripted iron barrels that Fisher Gesha had called mining equipment. It was light enough for him, having carried heavier during his runs, but his broken right hand was aching. He had to set the bones himself and wrap it, along with all the cuts on his body, with torn pieces of his clothing. The deepest cut on his side from Jai Long's Fullbody Enforced thrust, is causing the most difficulty. He was able to stitch it closed, but he has to be careful not to tear them. Making for an odd, painful carry that has him sweating before they passed the first hallway.

The hall itself would have been worth a closer look, if it didn't take all his still blurry concentration to carry the barrel without tearing his stitches. Script ran along the walls, with runes etched deeper than his fingers and wider than his hand. It must have continued for miles, judging by how long they'd traveled. They were remarkably similar to the scripts that ran through Ryozanpaku's Tomb.

He could just barley comprehend the scale of the circle. It's on a small part of whatever mechanism drew in vital aura from all over the region, just like the Tomb he spent years inside. Though, this one is more ambitious than even the script that powered his masters' tomb. The tomb in Sacred Valley subtly took vital aura to power the scripts almost continuously, instead how the pyramid periodically takes massive amounts at once.

They finally came to a stop in a room shaped like a cylinder, where five other hallways identical to their own had ended. The room was smaller than he'd expected, and while they weren't crowded, he could see why the Sandvipers hadn't taken more miners.

His first question, when one of the guards raised a torch, was why this room had been made of a different type of stone. Unlike the blocks of the hallway, these were splashed with darker shades of color, as though the blocks had been spattered with...

He missed a step, agitating his wounds.

Fragments of bone were more common than pebbles on the floor. All clean, and none larger than his thumbnail. A distinct scent of copper and rot lingered in the air, and the stone was stained twice as high as his head. He'd smelt it earlier as they first entered the Ruins but he assumed that it was all from the prisoners' wounds. This was much more than he anticipated.

Whatever happened here, it hadn't left any bodies. The dead had been blasted into tiny pieces and reduced to blood stains.

The old miners had begun to huddle together, setting their barrels down in the center and gripping the handles. A handful, including Lindon and Yerin, glanced around as though waiting for instruction.

The same guard Lindon had seen before, the bored-looking Sandviper woman that fleeced him of nearly all his halfsilver, tapped her sword against the stone to gather their attention. "The activation script for your harvesters is on your handles," she explained, in the tone of someone who had repeated the same instructions for so long that the words came out on their own. "If you stop mining, we leave you here. If you run, we leave you here. If you harass or disobey a guard, we leave you here. Meal comes at midday. When battle starts, don't panic or run, just trust us to cover you. You panic, and we'll leave you here."

With that, she turned and took up a position covering two tunnel mouths. Three of the other guards did the same, though one continued to patrol among the miners.

Lindon set up next to Yerin, who was still pale and shaking from the venom. A feeling Lindon could relate to, having been dosed himself once before.

"We'll pay them back for this," Lindon said. "A hundred times over, we'll pay them back." It wasn't the sort of thing that would comfort him, but he suspected Yerin would appreciate revenge more than sympathy.

She smiled in one corner of her mouth even as she gripped the harvester's handles. "Master always said I should get captured once or twice. Shows spine when you break free."

The guard shouted at them to work before Lindon could respond, but his spirits lifted. If Yerin hadn't given up, there was still hope.

If nothing else, running the harvester would be good exercise for his madra. If he got his hands on a few scales, he might even be able to advance while he was down here.

Now that he'd settled on a goal, Lindon grabbed the handles and sunk his spirit into the script.

The harvester activated almost immediately, drawing Lindon's senses to the aura in the air around him...

He swallowed back a scream.

It was a silent storm, a chaotic gale of blinding color that flashed and blasted in every direction as though it would tear everything apart. He couldn't pick a single aspect out of the maelstrom -anything, maybe everything. It felt as though it would peel the flesh from bones with sheer force, though it passed through him harmlessly.

When the harvester began, it pulled the slightest breath of that aura from the air, running it in a corkscrew pattern through the center of the iron barrel. The energy circled between the crystal flasks at the bottom -purifying the aura and converting it to madra, no doubt- and Lindon's spirit was necessary to keep the script running so that the process continued. The crystals were steadily filling up, and when they were full, the final stretch of script activated and popped out a scale.

The process repeating itself as second scale popped out, but halfway through the third, his core ran dry. Taking a single breath, Lindon switched cores and then the third scale popped out. After scale five, his second core was nearly empty too, forcing him to stop and cycle.

The Sandviper guard that wore the hide of a bear-like dreadbeast and an axe in hand stalked closer and growled.

"Back to work," the man spat, jabbing him with the butt of his axe, getting Lindon to flinch back.

Lindon met the man's eyes, trying to look earnest. "I'm sorry, honored elder, but I'm only-"

The man hit him again, hard enough that Lindon had to reinforce his body with his Ki to prevent injury. "Don't give me that look. You think you're getting out of here? The dreadbeasts are coming, and they're going to...Where's your collar?"

He swung the axe harder, and if Lindon hadn't tucked in his shoulder and let the blow land on his tightened bicep, it would have broken his shoulder. Still, he stumbled a step back from the force of it.

"What have you done with it?" the man roared, lifting his axe again. Lindon sputtered out protests, holding up a hand to catch the next blow. He doesn't want this to escalate into a fight. He's certain he could best this one Lowgold with his newfound strength, but not three while unarmed and with Yerin hobbled so. Sure, he could tear off her collar easily enough, it was just made of iron, but that'd leave them open to attack and she wouldn't be able to respond in time without her madra aiding her. Besides, he wants to keep that fact hidden until a more opportune moment presents itself.

Something skittered across the floor like a stone across the surface of the pond, and the guard tripped.

His foot flew out behind him, and for an instant he fell but he caught himself with one palm against the ground, flipping upright. As expected, he's still a Gold whose speed and reflexes are on pair with a Low Class Master. He spun around, pulling a second axe from his belt.

"Which one of you?" he growled, choked with anger.

A man in the corner lifted his head and met Lindon's eye, winking.

Lindon stared. It was that same yellow-haired man. He'd been captured too? How? When? From the feel of his Ki alone, he should be at least a Truegold, if not in the lower level of the Lord realm. It's more compressed and powerful than any Gold he's sensed, even Jai Long's.

The leader of the guards raised a hand, "Be peaceful, Tash," she ordered. "You tripped."

Tash shouted a protest, but he didn't even get the first word out of his mouth before she spoke again. "And he's a Copper. Collar won't make him any weaker than he already is. Though, Jai Long did give standing orders to kill the Copper if even attempts to escape. Something about him being odd, or was it tricky?" The woman giving a shrug before ignoring the drama to return to her guard post.

The axe wielding guard looked back at Lindon in disbelief, and then something brushed gently against Lindon's spirit. If he hadn't been paying attention, he might not have noticed.

So that was what it felt like, having his soul tested by another. He would have to remember that. Though, thinking back on it now, he remembered a similar feeling when he met Yerin. Damn, he should have paid more attention to it and asked what that was. Then they wouldn't be in this mess.

Tash shoved him one more time with the butt of the axe, then left him alone. For the rest of the day, Lindon was allowed to stop and cycle whenever he needed, though the first time he was sure Tash would split his head for stopping the harvester. Instead, the guards treated him like he didn't exist. When Yerin so much as glanced up, they shouted her back down. He was an exception.

That had to be an advantage, somehow. Though, it'd appear that he ended up making Jai Long warry of him, so he'll only get one shot to use it.

He heard the slightest flutter of a robe moving closer to him and the sound of someone's breathing right next to him. In that single instant, Lindon snapped his head up to see the yellow-haired man grinning at him, and sure enough, right next to him. He was just leaning up against a wall a moment ago, yet he speed through everyone here unnoticed to reach him in just the blink of an eye. No way this guy was overpowered and forced to mine. He must be up to something.

"Isn't it ingenious, this thing?" he said, gesturing to the harvester. "In the Blackflame Empire, we don't have anything like it."

Tash turned around, his skin blooming red. "Quiet!"

"My name is Eithan," he announced with a bow. He made no attempt to quiet himself, and even several others turned around with looks of disbelief.

"And you are Wei Shi Lindon. The Copper. You're famous! Although infamous might be more accurate, really."

Tash had an axe in each hand and looked ready to use them. Lindon scraped his harvester across the ground to put a little distance between him and Eithan. He's trying to stay low and continued to be seen as not a threat. Eithan is trying to ruin his plans.

The yellow-haired man followed him. "You know, there's an opportunity for you here. The measure of a sacred artist isn't talent; it's how you respond to risk."

Lindon turned away, trying to make it clear that he wasn't speaking. Tash had arrived, an axe in each hand.

"It's kind of like this," Eithan said, and pivoted on the balls of his feet to deliver an overhead punch.

Straight at Lindon.

Lindon released his harvester, rotated his forearm in a spinning motion to redirect Eithan's punch away from him and to the side. But Eithan saw that coming and responded with a low kick to Lindon's legs.

Lindon sensed and responded without thought to the attack by meeting it with a low kick of his own. Eithan fluidly hooked his foot behind Lindon's and pulled back to trip him, only to meet resistance as Lindon did the exact same thing.

Eithan had already thrust his other arm forward in a palm strike to Lindon's chest, which, once again was meet by Lindon. He'd grabbed the yellow-haired man's wrist before it could make contact, but this time, the sheer force of the palm thrust broke Lindon's grip -the air rushing out of his lungs as the palm stuck his chest, hard.

That entire exchange only took a second.

Thus, Lindon was propelled into Tash's legs, and no matter how strong the Gold was, he'd been caught in mid-stride. He stumbled, halfway falling, and caught himself on the lip of a nearby harvester.

The guard looked up at Lindon with a face like a furnace.

"What do you do when you're met with danger?" Eithan asked conversationally. "Do you fight? Do you beg for forgiveness? Do you listen to me? Now, Yerin."

Yerin's hand shot out, stopping Tash from planting his axe in Lindon's skull, who was just regaining his breath and was focusing on the biggest threat in the room...Eithan. She looked back at Eithan, looking as stunned as Lindon felt.

"One step to your left," Eithan informed, and Lindon followed his instructions. In a blur of motion, Tash had already thrown one axe, and it whistled through the air to clatter against the wall.

Now everyone was staring at Eithan, Lindon included, but for different reasons. Lindon had long since got used to receiving blows from powerful masters and has been trained to gage a person's true strength when taking said hits. When Eithan's palm strike landed, Lindon knew how powerful this man was. The closest he could tell, was the upper end of the Mid Class Master level.

An Underlord, by sacred arts standards. If he wasn't, then Lindon would eat his shoes.

"Let him go," Eithan said, and Yerin released Tash just as he swiped at her arm with his remaining axe.

"Lindon, take two steps back and then sit down," Eithan said, but by now Lindon was catching on. The man was singling them out for some reason, pushing them into trouble, but why? No, that doesn't matter anymore. They've gone too far now. The guards will kill both him and Yerin for their disobedience, but there's still a chance they can make it out of this; this Lord before them, Eithan.

He'd activated his seikuken the moment Eithan threw his first punch and came to realize his seikuken's range had drastically increased. It now took up nearly a third of the room, encompassing the Lord, Tash, Yerin and several other miners. Thus, Lindon sensed the dreadbeast coming out of one of the openings halfway up the walls. They were half the size of the hallway that had admitted the miners but were plenty big enough for the dreadbeasts converging on their position.

Lindon could sense the twisted Ki of the dreadbeasts much easier than the weak Ki of the Golds in the Five Factions Alliance. The dreadbeasts' Ki was just as defuse, but it was naturally stronger with a twisted feeling of corruption. Most predatory animals have a natural feel for Ki, their intent to kill is palpable, more so with these Gold level predators. There's a reason his masters called the usage of willpower as 'Killing Intent,' the stronger one's intent to kill, the easier it is felt.

And these dreadbeasts' killing intent is off the charts. Like it's all they think about.

Lindon decided that the best chance he and Yerin had was to get Eithan's help, and he had an idea as to how to get it. They have his attention, now they just need to prove that it was warranted.

So, instead of following Eithan's orders, that would have allowed him to dodge the incoming dreadbeast, he turned in its direction. Then, with a short leap upward, Lindon brought up his knee while bringing down his elbow. They met the snarling skull of a monkey with skin mottled bruise-purple and meat-red, crushing it into a pulpy mass.

Lindon let its corpse fall just enough for him to quickly kick it away, right into an emerging dreadbeast. Causing it to slam back into the hole it just shot out of.

"Well done," Eithan complimented with a knowing grin on his face. Lindon had expected shock at seeing a Copper beat a dreadbeast so easily, but it seemed like this man somehow already knew what he could do, and actually expected his reaction. But how? This strange man has never seen him fight and spiritual senses would only show Lindon as a weak Copper. Can he sense Ki like Lindon can?

"Weapons up!" the woman in charge shouted, raising her own sword as more dreadbeasts poured out, but her command had come late. The guards already had their weapons in hand, and the miners crouched by their harvesters.

Tash had already been mid-swing with his axe aimed at Lindon, his anger overtaking his commonsense. Like paying attention to the ravenous dreadbeasts pouring into the room, looking to tear into whatever flesh they could get their jaws around. So, with the heightened reflexes installed him to automatically throw anything that comes up from behind him, Lindon grabbed Tash's wrist and hurled him away. Right into a wolf-like dreadbeast that was barreling towards a crouched miner.

There was an angered shout and snarl before the man screamed, and blood sprayed up onto the walls. Lindon had seen enough of the Sandvipers' cruelty to no longer care if they died, and if they did so while saving a miner, all the better.

Only three of the miners stood in the middle of the deluge: Eithan, Yerin and Lindon. Yerin had lifted the harvester with one hand -with much more strength than she should have been able to use while under collar's effect, but the Ki training she's been undergoing with Lindon had readied her for fighting with a suppressed spirit- and punched a rotting dog with the iron barrel on her fist.

Lindon was moving around in a blur intercepting dreadbeasts targeting miners. Usually kicking, punching or throwing them into other dreadbeasts, causing them to sometimes turn on each other in a gory battle of fang and claw. Occasionally, Lindon would bat one into a Sandviper guard's weapon or striker technique.

Eithan was wandering around seemingly at random, taking a casual stroll around the room, but none of the dreadbeasts ever latched onto him. His movements were like Lindon's were with his seikuken activated, but smoother and effortless. And with utter shock, Lindon could see why when he focused all his senses on Eithan's awareness. A seikuken so massive that it actually went outside the room they were in, stretching beyond Lindon's ability to sense. What's more, he could see faint strains of awareness weaved throughout the massive seikuken.

But the part that really shook Lindon to his core was that their was no Ki or madra involved in the usage of Eithan's seikuken. That shouldn't be possible. Whether one's increased spatial awareness comes from their willpower or spirit it should have some sign of their efforts attached to it. He's doing all this with no conscious effort on his part. As if he was born with this extraordinary sense as if it was a natural sense, like sight or hearing.

Eithan grabbed the stunned Lindon by the shoulder as he passed, pulling him out of the way of a snarling attack by a foxlike beast. Eithan threw his arm across Lindon's shoulder in a fatherly gesture.

"There's a linage of sacred beasts, you may have heard of them, known as the Heavenly Sky Tigers. It's a bit much for a name, I know, but they're quite famous." One of the miners was being dragged down a tunnel with his arm in the muzzle of a rotting wolf. Lindon tried move to save him, but Eithan's grip was too strong to break. Fortunately, a casual blow from a nearby guard sent the dreadbeast tumbling. Guess they were good for something after all.

"These tigers breed every year or two," Eithan went on, ignoring the carnage around him and Lindon's struggle to break free and help -as if he was a helpless butterfly trapped in a spider's web. "Each litter has two, and exactly two, cubs...but only one ever survives to adulthood. Can you guess why that is?"

Yerin had taken a slash across the shoulder, and she was beating a monkey-creature to death with her bare hands. Lindon strained forward to help once more, but he couldn't escape from beneath Eithan's arm. Well, not without attacking him, but Lindon could feel that would be a fatal mistake.

"I'd be happy to hear this story later," Lindon replied through gritted teeth, forcing calm into his voice. He wanted to get to Yerin and remove her collar, now.

"It's because the cubs fight each other to the death," Eithan answered, unperturbed by Lindon's worry. "As a child, I found it tragic. My family kept a breeding pair of these Heavenly Sky Tigers, and when they gave birth to a brother and sister, I was determined to save them both. I kept them in separate enclosures, fed them separately, raised them as I would a pair of children."

Blood spattered onto Lindon's forehead, and it took all his concentration not to attack Eithan and break free of his grip. He wanted to help the miners, remove their collars and escape the Ruins with Yerin. He hasn't felt this overpowered since he last trained under his masters. Eithan's not as powerful as they were, but he was damn close and too much Lindon.

"In the end, they wasted away and died. Both of them. I tried everything I knew to save them, but it was useless. Later, I found out the truth: for a Heavenly Sky Tiger, the body of their sibling is like an elixir. If one does not consume the other, their madra isn't enough to support their bodies, and they will inevitably die."

Eithan clasped Lindon with one hand on each shoulder, looking into his eyes with an earnest gaze. The head of a dreadbeast flew behind him, trailing blood. "Do you understand the story, Lindon?"

"It's a parable about overly protective parents," Lindon answered hastily, straining his senses to keep an eye on the creatures prowling around them and the miners -more importantly Yerin. Normally he'd not be concerned about her safety, she can more than take care of herself, but she's still collared.

"Not just parents," Eithan explained. "Sacred artists. Without risk, without battle, without willingness to fight, you will stay weak. And weakness means death. Do you agree?"

Even if he hadn't, he would have wholeheartedly agreed to get Eithan's help. "Elder brother is so wise!" he exclaimed, his words tripping over each other. "This one agrees and will gladly discuss it with elder brother at length."

Eithan clapped him on the back, smiling proudly. He took one long glance around the room, where the room had fallen into temporary silence. A few miners lay in bloody pools on the ground, as did Tash, but most of them had survived.

The leader raised her sword. "Run!" she shouted and started down the hallway entrance.

Lindon focused on the tunnels, expecting more dreadbeasts, but none came.

Instead, a rainbow of light slowly bloomed on the floor, and Remnants started to climb up from corpses.

Something seized Lindon from behind, but before it could get a grip, he threw it automatically. Eithan had anticipated his reaction and grabbed Lindon's wrist in response, flowed into the throw and hurled Lindon up instead, sliding perfectly into one of the tunnels into the wall.

Lindon had been thrown over fifty thousand times in his life, so he easily, and without thought, spun in midair; landing on his feet, sliding back along the stone floor of the tunnel.

He moved back to the entrance, looking down, where he saw Eithan smiling up at him. The yellow-haired man gave a cheery wave, and then reached to one side without looking.

Yerin swiped at his hand, but he was ready for her.

A second later, she slid into the tunnel beside Lindon. She growled as she stood, not landing as gracefully has he had, one hand groping for a sword, the other held in a fist at her side.

"Who is he?" Lindon asked.

"A dead man, if he doesn't explain himself true and proper."

"I wouldn't recommend that, Yerin. He's-"

Eithan interrupted by landing neatly on the lip of the tunnel as though he'd moved ten feet vertically in one step, fine white-and-blue robes billowing behind him as he walked. "Follow me. Most of those Remnants can climb, and some of them can fly."

A blue wing spread across the entrance to the tunnel, accompanied by a cry that sounded like the song of a zither. Eithan doubled his pace. "Whoops, faster. We should go faster."

Yerin matched his stride, gesturing back the way they'd come. "You don't have the spine for a fight?"

Eithan hooked a finger underneath his collar. "We could find a way to get these off, if that's what you prefer. But you should know that I...well, you might say there's only one string to my bow."

"Superior awareness of your surroundings with an extremely large range. One at least as good as, if not outright better, than my Ryusei seikuken, but spread out even further than my seikuken." Lindon gave a shrug before wrenching Yerin's collar off with both hands, the iron locking mechanism snapping. "That's what I could make of it, at least. I just don't understand how you do it so effortlessly and with no intentional will behind it."

Acting as if seeing a Copper tear off an iron collar with his bare hands was nothing, Eithan responded, "Close! But not quite right. I'm not sure how your...what do call it? Seikuken works, but it does share a similarity with my ability to see, well, everything around me. Just much, much better."

A Remnant cried behind them, like a low horn, accompanied by a human scream.

Before Lindon could express his skepticism, Eithan continued, "I have a thousand eyes and ten thousand ears. I know everything that happens within the range of my spirit, so as soon as an enemy starts to move, I simply step aside. It's like fighting the blind."

"Can't hit too hard with just that," Yerin observed.

Eithan bowed to her. "Just so! Superior awareness is perhaps the greatest power of all, but as far as weapons go, knowledge lacks a certain heft. Though it does make me frustrating to kill -no one's managed it so far. You know what I mean Lindon, right? Your awareness is magnificent, though nowhere as magnificent as my own, but still, it's leagues ahead of even Truegolds."

"Yes, being able to defend oneself is even more important than overwhelming offensive power." Yerin gave him an unbelieving look, so he quickly added. "At least that's what my karate master, Shio Sakaki told me. 'Anyone can dish out damage, but what's the point if you get shredded up in the process. If you can't fight without getting beaten bloody every time, then you're not a real martial artist.'" Lindon even deepened his voice to try and sound like the gruff man.

"My point exactly! Just look at my skin, flawless. Not a blemish to be found." Eithan exuded happily.

Yerin on the other hand, looked like she'd cut him to ribbons with her teeth. Her razor-thin scars standing out as a representative to her belief about combat differing from theirs.

Wanting to change the subject before Yerin exploded, Lindon asked, "If you don't mind telling me, how did they capture you?" He kept his tone casual, but he was listening for a lie. If Eithan's awareness was really as extensive as he claimed, it would have been easier than lifting a hand to avoid the Sandvipers. And Lindon felt his real strength, maybe just a glimpse of it, but enough to know that there isn't a sacred artist in the entire Five Factions Alliance that could match him. He'd entered the mines on his own.

But why?

Eithan smiled broadly and reached out a hand to Lindon's head. Lindon tried to step aside, but the older man's palm landed regardless. He ruffled Lindon's hair. "Oh, I remember when I was your age. Young, spirited, distrusting of strangers. They say the years wear your innocence away, but it took me better than a decade on my own to learn the freedom of trust."

"That's not looking much like an answer," Yerin pointed out, which nicely mirrored Lindon's own thought.

"Very well! As a reward for your observational skills, I'll tell you the truth." Eithan spun around, speaking as he walked backwards. "I came from the Blackflame Empire, located far to the east. Not long ago, I happened to sense a great power coming from the west. I brought it to the attention of my clan, who instructed me to investigate. When I arrived here, I found this incredible pyramid had drawn up all the aura for miles. Of course, I wasn't the only one -every sacred artist in the Desolate Wilds had beaten me to it."

"Is there something in the Ruins you want to take back to your clan?" Lindon asked. The spear Jai Sen had mentioned loomed in his imagination.

Eithan waved a hand. "The Ruins are loud and well worth investigating, but a treasure to a wilderness sect is not necessarily worthy of attention from a major Blackflame clan." He glanced up at the ceiling. "There's quite a nice spear in here, but it looks like it would be most suitable for the Jai clan. It's not useful for me, so I gave up on it a long time ago."

"You can sense the spear?" Lindon asked, suddenly hungry. If Eithan could lead him straight to the weapon everyone wanted...

But he said something more surprising. "You don't want it?"

"We have Soulsmiths of our own," Eithan said dismissively. "A spear isn't interesting. Far more than a mere weapon, we value talent."

He was recruiting for a major imperial clan, and here he'd singled out the two of them. Lindon found himself forgetting the spear too. With Eithan's resources behind him, he wouldn't have to scrape for every scale. If he understood correctly, with a powerful family supporting him, he could reach Gold tomorrow.

"Forgiveness, I was blind," Lindon responded. "I should have known that treasures in our eyes are just trash in yours. If I may ask, which-"

Eithan cut him off. "I know this is like asking an amputee what happened to his legs, but I'm dying of curiosity. What happened to your core?"

Lindon glanced down at his midsection as though his core had just become visible. "My core?"

"You have two of them. Were you born that way? Is that why you're so spiritually weak? Or did someone damage your soul?"

Eithan asked with a tone of open curiosity, but Lindon had never felt that feather-light shiver of someone reaching out to sense his soul. Either he'd missed it, or Eithan was aware of everything that happened close to him. Including the strength and nature of souls.

Lindon swelled with questions. How far did his sense extend? Was it some kind of sacred art that he had to use, or was he just aware of everything? Did he have to focus to avoid being overwhelmed?

But those were questions he could ask later, after he's earned his way into the protection of Eithan's clan. For now, his job was to make himself valuable to Eithan.

"Pardon my rudeness. I was surprised that you noticed. I was born..." He had planned to say 'Unsouled,' but that had no meaning outside Sacred Valley, so he corrected himself midsentence. "...with a weak soul. Instead of wasting resources developing me, my clan chose not to teach me sacred arts. I split my core myself, to have a second Path and to help refine my Ryozanpaku Path."

Eithan nodded along to every word, as though he'd expected exactly that story. When Lindon had finished, the man stopped walking -they'd put quite a distance between themselves and the Remnants by this point, though the occasional haunting echo did drift down the hall- and put his palm against Lindon's chest.

"Breathe in to here," Eithan instructed.

Lindon glanced over to Yerin, but she looked just as confused as he did, so he followed instructions. He filled his lungs until his ribs pressed against Eithan's hand.

"Now breathe out halfway."

Lindon did, until Eithan told him to hold his breath there.

"Your breathing technique helped you split your core?"

He nodded, still holding his breath.

"That explains why it's all focused inward." Eithan waved a hand vaguely in front of Lindon's middle. "Your madra flow is all knotted. It's not a bad breathing technique for pure madra, and you haven't damaged your channels yet, but it's better to correct now. You have a Path manual?"

He glanced at Lindon as though expecting Lindon to produce the book on command, and Lindon finally let his breath out to respond. "It's inside my pack, but unless you know a way out..."

Eithan tapped his chin with one finger, thinking. "Do you have a madra filter? Some condensation elixirs? You must have something to improve madra quality, if you made it to Copper without harvesting aura."

"I have a parasite ring," Lindon offered.

Eithan beamed. "Perfect! Now, where did you leave this pack?"

Yerin cutting in, pushing her way between them and holding up a hand as though she held an invisible sword to Eithan's throat. "Let's not throw our doors wide just yet. You say you're from the Blackflame Empire. Who are you?"

He drew himself up as though proud to be asked the question. "Young lady, I am the greatest janitor in all existence. I am the son of a janitor, last in a long line of janitors that stretch all the way back to the Sage of Brooms...and beyond!"

"Janitors?" Yerin asked blankly.

"Lest you think I'm speaking figuratively, let me clarify. My clan organizes the street sweeper in Blackflame City, we supervise sewer maintenance, we dig ditches and light lamps and sweep chimneys. 'Dirty hands are a mark of pride,' those are the words by which we live."

This from a man who looked as though he'd never held a shovel in his life. His fingers were long, his skin pale -and as he previously boasted, unblemished- his hands soft, his clothes far more expensive than anything else Lindon had seen in the Five Factions Alliance. In short, he looked more like the spoiled young master of a noble clan rather than any janitor.

"Please excuse me if I still seem...untrusting..." Lindon said, "but surely such a role does not fit your esteemed station. Do you perhaps mean that you keep the streets clean of crime, or you're a clan of assassins ridding the empire of the unworthy..."

Eithan was sliding his hands over the wall now, as though feeling the stone for weakness. "I grew up in the sewers of Blackflame City, ankle-deep in what you might call 'sludge.' They used similar scripts to control intake and outflow, so if this works on similar principles...ah, there we have it."

A single rune sparked to life, sending a ripple of light flaring down the line of script in either direction.

With a grating sound, a stone slab slid upwards, revealing an open doorway onto a flight of stairs leading up.

"Maybe this was some kind of ancient sewer," Eithan speculated. "Anyway, I have a task for you, Wei Shi Lindon."

Now that he thought about it, Lindon realized that Eithan had known his full name the first time they'd met. There are still a lot of unexplained things about this man; his power, his awareness, and why he wants them.

"Forgiveness, but I still don't get why an Underlord is here and wants the two of us. Yerin I can understand, but I'm just a Copper and-"

"Whoa there. Hold on a minute. He's an Underlord," Yerin cut in, her tone in disbelief. "Claiming to be a janitor to boot. And he's out here in the backend of nowhere. And just so happened to get himself captured by a bunch of Golds. That doesn't sound like any Underlord I've ever heard of."

Eithan never lost his grin as he replies, "So you picked up on that, Lindon? I'm fairly confident in my vail. Color me impressed. But, how'd you peer through it?" Sounding like he's enthused at being found out.

"Vail? What's that?" Lindon asked in confusion.

Yerin just sighed as Eithan said, "Okay, you didn't see through my vail. So, what was it that gave me away?"

"Uh...When your palm strike hit me, I just...well, I got a glimpse of your real power." Lindon explained oddly. "Elder Furinji taught me how to gage an opponent's power when taking a hit. It can't reveal everything, but through that blow I felt the depth of your Ki...um...willpower. I figured you had to be either a peak Truegold or an Underlord off of that."

Eithan's eyebrows rose and his grin grew wider. "As interested as I am in that, I still have task you need to complete. We can get to the details later, but yes, I am an Underlord. Most major families of the Blackflame Empire have an Underlord so, it's not that surprising. Now, that task."

"You wouldn't happen to be the Arelius Underlord that's got everybody in fuss, would you?" Yerin chimed in, her tone being just a notch more respectful. Even she's not willing draw the ire of an Underlord.

Eithan just waves her off, "Yes, yes. Now let's stop wasting vital training time."

An Underlord of a great empire was infinitely more powerful than the four Schools of Sacred Valley and the sects of Five Factions Alliance, so Lindon bowed deeply over a salute. "I will do my best to serve." After all, he'd have to mad to refuse training from an Underlord.

"Your current breathing technique is sufficient if you're planning to split your core again, but it's building a wall between you and Iron. To reach Iron, you have to push madra out of your madra channels, forcing it into every scrap of your flesh -just like you did with your willpower in your fight with Jai Long. A remarkable feat by the way, even by Lord standards."

"Sorry to interrupt, but you saw that? Where you there?" Lindon asked.

"I see much and at very far distances. You two both caught my eye. So, I've been keeping watch of your adventures since arriving at the Five Factions Alliance."

Yerin looked like she swallowed a lemon, clearly not happy about being observed all this time, and was struggling not to lash out at the grinning, yellow-haired Underlord. Lindon could relate. It's disconcerting to know that someone could be watching you at any time.

Eithan clapped his hands together and continued, "We're losing focus. Reaching Iron by forcing madra into your flesh. It's very difficult without elixirs, and your madra is currently focused into your core...and nowhere else. You need a new breathing technique."

Eithan stood straight, facing Lindon. 'Inhale as I do, and as you do so, cycle your madra in wide loops to every extremity of your body. As you exhale, gather it together again, all at once. I'll show you how."

Lindon had practiced a simple breathing technique since the day he first got his wooden badge, until it eventually became his natural breathing rhythm. He'd changed it according to the instruction in the Heart of Twin Stars manual, but it wasn't any more complex than his original technique, only different. Then there are all the different breathing techniques he'd learned for certain martial art techniques of great complexity, but they only need to be used when using the technique.

The technique Eithan taught him wasn't complicated. It didn't use any principles Lindon didn't already know, and none from his more complex Ryozanpaku breathing techniques. Making it a relatively simple breathing technique.

But it was hard.

He could easily hold the cycling pattern standing straight and watching Eithan, but it felt like breathing through a wet rag. That'd make fighting while using it difficult, but that was common practice for Lindon. He's been forced to fight while actually holding his breath under water for a dozen odd minutes at time. Holding difficult stances that stretched his muscles painfully and many other hard held techniques, but he eventually mastered them all. With Eithan giving him pointers, it shouldn't take long to adjust to this cycling pattern.

Once he saw that Lindon had a solid grasp of the cycling pattern, Eithan pointed up the stairs. "Now, as your first challenge, hold that pattern as you run up to the next floor."

Lindon peered into the shadows at the top. "Do you have a light?" He'd been trained to fight in absolute darkness, filled with swinging iron balls and traps, but he'd like to avoid it whenever possible.

"You do," Eithan replied.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out Suriel's marble. He was somewhat self-conscious holding it, as though he'd been caught in a lie, but there was no way Eithan would know what it was. Even if he sensed it, it was just a light in a glass.

Sure enough, Eithan gave the marble a curious glance, but that was all. Lindon held it up, took a deep breath, and began to cycle as he ran.

The blue light of the marble was faint, but it was enough to show Lindon when he reached the end of the stairs and found himself in a large room. He couldn't see anything beyond the patch of floor at his feet.

The jog hadn't been long and compared to his usually morning runs it was a breeze, but was a bit of a challenge while holding the breathing technique. Then his sense's picked up two agitated Ki signatures in the room. When they started hissing in the shadows, he knew hungry beasts were up here, and there was no way Eithan hadn't known. If he can sense the spear at the top, he sensed them before he even opened the door.

Lindon let out a resigned sigh. This was an all too familiar situation he's been tossed into. His masters always did crazy things like this to help him fully grasp a technique, gain experience or grow stronger. Still, Eithan could have just told him to go up and fight the creatures up there while holding his cycling pattern. He's a little too much like his masters in that regard.

They were only about as big as his arm. Tan centipedes with a carapace the color of a sandy dune. They had a head like a snake and two rows of insect claws, and their tails arched up into a scorpion's stinger.

He'd never seen one in the flesh, but their Remnants had left him with an impression all too clear. The first sandviper hissed at him, baring fangs as the second scuttled up, keeping a wary distance from its twin, angling toward Lindon.

Eithan's voice came from the stairs beneath him. "Make sure to keep hold of your cycling pattern the whole time."

Then came the grinding of stone as the door slid shut.

Lindon's shouts and struggles came muffled through the stone door as he fought, and Yerin gathered all the madra she could onto her fingernails. Sword madra gathered onto sharp edges, so her nails were not the best container.

She would have used her Goldsign instead, but she was still shaky from the Sandviper venom. Her muscles squirmed like snakes in a bag, and she barely had enough focus to hold the technique together. If she tried to control the steel arm on her back, she might end up cutting her own head off.

But she'd die and rot away before she gave up without a fight. Even against an Underlord.

She held her fingers up like claws to Eithan's eye. "Pop it back open."

He didn't flinch, looking at her like a wronged child. "But he's not finished yet."

She slashed at him, but he'd already started walking to the side, as though he'd picked exactly that second to take a stroll. Her technique rippled through the air, almost invisible without her spiritual sight, and madra craved slash marks into the stone.

"I came here to find some promising recruits," Eithan continued, pacing around her. She turned so he didn't have a shot at her back. "I was also bored, but the recruits are important too. You see, the families of the empire compete largely on the strength of the younger generation, because disciples are the indication of a clan's future power. Since we're looking fairly sparse in the disciple department, I'm keeping an eye or two open for outside talent."

Crashes and screams of pain with hissing thrown in were filling the hall now.

"I'll go with you," Yerin said quickly. Eithan wouldn't have been the first to try and forcibly recruit the Sword Sage's apprentice -even while her master had been alive, every sect and school they'd crossed had tried to make her a better offer. But none of them had taken a hostage.

Not that Lindon's entirely helpless, he should be able to hand a few dreadbeasts on his own. But the sounds coming from the other side of the door weren't painting a good picture. How many were there? Are there Remnants up there? Without his weapons she doubts he can handle them with just his physical strength, and his sacred arts aren't worth anything yet. He needs her help.

If she went with Eithan now, she could break out later. Her master would have loved it.

Eithan paid no more attention to Lindon's struggles than he would to a chirping bird, brushing some dirt from his shoulder. "It would be irresponsible of me to turn you down. As I said, we've been backed into something of a corner. But there's a saying where I come from: 'a bad student is a weight around his teacher's neck.' I'd rather go back empty-handed than take someone who isn't ready."

Yerin still couldn't control her Goldsign well; the bladed silver arm silver arm wobbled as it rose into the air, but she could at least keep it straight. It was ten times easier to funnel sword madra through the blade on the end than through her fingernails. Not that'd it help against an Underlord, but she was not one to just give up.

She gathered her power into it and fixed Eithan with her gaze. "He dies, and I'm not going anywhere."

Eithan's eyebrows lifted. "Oh, you're more than good enough on your own. A Sage is a Sage after all; he had the good fortune to pick you up early, and your foundation is flawless. It would be an honor to pick up where your master left off." He swept his arm toward the stone door. "But I find myself intrigued by your Copper friend."

Yerin's focus wavered, and some of the madra in her Goldsign dissipated. "What is it you want from him?"

"To teach him." Eithan patted the door like a favored pet, even as Lindon shouted on the other side. "It's so rare to find a truly blank canvas. Let alone one so masterfully prepared as Lindon."

"You're looking for pure madra? Raise your own kid."

"No no, that's easy enough. The quality I'm looking for, indeed the most important quality for any sacred artist, is drive. He needs the resolve to push through any obstacle in his Path, and that kind of focus is very difficult to teach. But here we have someone who split his own core, a Copper working side-by-side with Golds. Through sheer will he found a way to create a body on par with even your perfect Iron body. And acquired martial skills to stand on the same level as Lowgolds as a Copper. Something's driving him, and it might be enough to take him to the top."

She found herself speaking through clenched teeth. "He's blind, you hear me? The world's all jade beds and silk sheets for him. He's never seen how ugly it gets. He doesn't know."

He'd been mistreated by his clan, that was true. He'd even been given top quality martial training that'd even empress her master. But there's a world of difference between being taught to fight and having to fight for your life. He'd never clawed his way out of a pile of bodies until he was elbow-deep in blood. He'd never woken to find his only family was dead...and pushed through that crushing weight to draw his sword anyway.

Eithan leaned one shoulder against the wall, considering her. "What do you think I'm trying to teach him?"

Suddenly, he sounded just like her master. It brought up memories she'd just as soon have left buried.

A white forest, long ago. A ring of swords in the snow.

Yerin ran a thumb across one paper-thin scar on the back of her hand, remembering. Her madra dissipated, her Goldsign retreating.

Eithan was smart enough not to crow about his victory. If he had given her so much as a smug look, she'd have peeled his face away. Well, she would have tried to. Instead, he spoke as though nothing had happened. "Lindon has a remarkable physical body powered by willpower with keen senses and martial ability to match. But he's made a crucial mistake on building a scared arts' Path around them."

"Mistake? He's just a Copper. Not a lot he's even done to really make his Path."

"So you didn't notice it either. Well, let me enlighten you. He assumes that he can just learn a Path and create techniques for his pure madra path. That once he has a Forger, Striker, Enforcer, and Ruler technique he can just add them into his fighting style. Like putting two pieces of a puzzle together and poof, he has created his Path." Eithan even made a poofing gesture with hands.

"And that wouldn't work?" Yerin said, not getting the issue. She knew it'd be harder than Lindon thought it'd be to create techniques and add them into his fighting style, but that wasn't anything new. Sacred artists always have to fit a Path towards their own styles and skills. Not everyone on the same Path will fight the same way.

Eithan wagged his finger and made a tisking sound, "For most people it'd be possible, but Lindon doesn't cycle any madra as he fights. I noticed back when we were being attacked by dreadbeasts. He subconsciously tucks it all away in his core and uses will to power his body. Even his breathing patterns change constantly as he goes from one move to the next."

Yerin understood immediately. When fighting as a sacred artist you're always cycling madra through your body, not just to strengthen yourself, but to ready techniques. If Lindon can only fight while suppressing his madra, he'll never be able to fight the way he does while also using the sacred arts. Which makes sense considering his masters created his style because they were spiritual cripples and couldn't use the sacred arts.

That'd also explain why he's struggling with a few beasts. He's having to keep up a cycling technique while fighting. The breathing pattern alone would mess up his fighting rhythm and slow down his reaction time. He has to learn how to change his entire fighting method to incorporate cycling madra and its required breathing technique.

And just as her master would have done, Eithan decided to do it by throwing Lindon to the wolfs. Nothing helps you grow faster as a Sacred artist than dancing along the razor's edge of death.

"This method, though it may seem harsh, will allow him to fix that fundamental problem, give him a taste of the harsher nature of the world as a sacred artist, and prepare him to reach Iron. All rolled into one convenient, if somewhat deadly, exercise." Eithan had counted down on his fingers as he went and beamed happily at the end.

Yerin just reluctantly nodded her head in agreement.

Eithan continued, "Now, as for you, Yerin. Your foundation is excellent, as I'd expect from a master like yours. But I'm sure you know your advancement is lacking"

She didn't even need to nod. Within Lowgold, she could call herself strong. But the gap to Highgold was a chasm. She could barely control her Goldsign, much less the powerful madra that had come with her master's Remnant. She'd left it mostly alone so far; when she touched that reserve of inherited power, she felt like an infant strapped to the back of a war-trained stallion. She didn't even like to think of it.

"I'm sure the Sage of the Endless Sword would have had greater insight in regard to sword Paths, but I can offer a few observations of my own."

She looked from his pristine hair to his expensive, unstained clothes. "You think you're a sword artist, do you?"

If he said he was, she wasn't listening to another word from this lair's mouth. Underlord, or not.

"I prefer not to use a weapon at all. None of them seem to suit me. But sword Paths are common because they're very simple."

She was still trying to figure out if he needed his teeth punched out for that insult when he continued. "You need to push yourself."

She gave that some measured thought. True, she'd felt something when she fought off three Sandviper soldiers on the slopes of Mount Samara. Not comfortable, exactly, but like she was moving along a familiar road. And it hadn't been long ago when she'd honed herself to the peak of Jade by engaging in endless battle with the Heaven's Glory School.

Eithan continued, still leaning against the door that held a battling Lindon. "Advancement along sword Paths is very straightforward at this stage. Immerse yourself in the sword, cycle on the battlefield, and find opponents who will push you to the very edge of life and death. There's a reason why it's one of the most common aspects."

Yerin nodded once. Her teacher had said similar things, but every stage of advancement was different. He'd actually stopped her from fighting when she was Iron, for fear that she'd ruin her foundation for Jade. "You know where I can find any of that in here?"

He grinned and pushed off from the wall. "You'll need your sword to really practice, so just sit and cycle until I return. We have to make sure you're in your best condition, don't we?"

Eithan paused for a moment, then added, "If he dies before I get back, you should know that I am sorry. But some Paths are shorter than others."

Before she could respond, he hooked a finger under his collar and tugged. With a wrenching shriek, the iron split and tore.

He tossed the ruined metal behind him and left, whistling a cheery tune.

Yerin looked at the ruined collar, wondering how Lindon had done similar to hers, though, not as easily as Eithan. Which isn't surprising, seeing as he's an Underlord; meaning his body had been reforged in Soulfire, making it far superior to anyone below his advancement level. She could just barely scrape together enough madra to Enforce herself while collared, but not enough to tear metal with her bare hands.

She knows that Lindon uses Ki, his willpower to strengthen his body like most others due with madra, but he doesn't have an Iron body. It still boggles her mind when thinking about how strong Lindon's body is just through physical training and pure will. Her Iron body is built for brute strength and yet, without madra she couldn't break herself free of the iron collar. She can accept being weaker than Eithan, he's an Underlord, it's to be expected, but Lindon...he's just Copper.

How strong will he become once he has an Iron body and learns how to Enforce it with his madra. If it wasn't for her experience, larger madra pools and sacred arts Lindon would be stronger than her. When they trained while her madra was suppressed, not allowed to Enforce her body nor use any of her scared arts' techniques, he beat her every time.

Yerin sat, leaning her back against the door, thinking as sounds of Lindon's fight continues on from the other side.

Sure, her skill with the blade was better than his, but mixed with his other martial skills and his pure physical ability, he was better, straight and true. Without Enforcing her body, she couldn't keep up with him. Though, she did enjoy the challenge and she was starting to feel her own Ki.

And that training construct had sword skills and techniques that'd capture her master's interest. Whoever that Shigure woman was in life, she must have been an unparalleled sword master. And if that's just one of the masters Lindon has been trained by over the years, then she can understand his skill level.

Though, she can't understand how he can learn so many different styles and techniques at once. Then add in his blacksmithing, desire to learn Soulsmithing, learning a second Path and creating his own Path, it's obvious he's stretching himself too thin. He'll break soon enough if he doesn't just stick to at least two of those things. He'd progress faster if wasn't trying to pull himself in so many different directions at once.

Even her master only split his focus on training her, his own Path and his passion as a Refiner. He would even have them take an easy day every now and again. Yet, Lindon is always working or training whenever he isn't eating or sleeping. And even then, she has noticed him taking notes or working out while taking one of his meals.

So, Yerin knows that his problem isn't putting the hard work that the sacred arts demand. He lacks real combat experience. Those masters of his trained him well, even gave him some practical lessons and sparing. But he needs the real pressures of life and death battles with no one but himself to rely on. It's painful, it's bloody, and it's hard. But that's how you advance.

There are shortcuts if you've got a fortune to burn on elixirs and treasures, but if you don't, that's the only way up. The sacred arts are a game, and your life is the only thing you've got to bet. That's what up looks like.

The sounds of fighting went silent.

She sat against the door, remembering all the times she'd stared death in the eyes. It had started when she was a young girl, before she met her master, and she was sure the heavens would strike her dead for her sins. That had lasted for...longer than she cared to recall.

Lindon didn't deserve anything like that, but here he was anyway. The longer the silence stretched, the more certain she became that he was dead. She couldn't say she hadn't seen it coming; he was skilled and strong for his level of advancement, but this place ate experienced and hardened Golds. Lindon still had the softness that came from an easy life not filled with the deadly struggles real sacred artists face constantly.

But she waited in the endless dark of the Ruins, only the flickering light of the script on the wall for company, straining her ears as time slid by.

When she finally caught a sound, it sounded like scrapes and grunts from the other side, like a man dragging something heavy across the ground. After an age, footsteps.

"Forgive me," Lindon said, his voice strained and tight. "It was harder than I thought it would be, and I took more hits than I should have. I am ashamed in not realizing my error before now."

"Everything steady in there, Lindon?" she asked, straining her ears as though she could hear an injury. "All your pieces still on?"

She could hear Lindon lean against the other side of the door and slide down to take a seat. "Yeah, I'm in one piece. The sandvipers were just hard to hit while maintaining my new cycling pattern. I just had to make sure to avoid their venomous stingers and fangs. One hit from those and I'd have died for sure. The worst part was when their Remnants rose. Without any of my halfsilver-goldsteel weapons it was harder to take them down."

Lindon let out a sigh before continuing, "But that's just a reason to be better prepared to fight Remnants without them. Never know when I'll have to fight one again unarmed."

"That's true. Fights are rarely fair or arrive when you're ready for them," Yerin commented.

Lindon chuckled a bit. "Yeah, that's for sure. I just got a nasty reminder of that. My masters had always attacked me at random sometimes just to make sure I learned to never let down my guard. And the traps master Shigure would leave...well, let's just say I'm still weary when going to the bathroom."

Yerin just made an agreeable noise.

Lindon continued on. "I found out an interesting thing about my Empty Palm; it blasts away chunks of Remnants when used on them. That's actually how I beat them. Blasted off one their stingers and stabbed them to death with it, making sure to stay out for their reach. But that's nothing to a sacred artist, right?"

"Just one more day," Yerin said, letting out a deep breath and relaxing against the door. "Don't know why you're crowing about it. Any day where I haven't beaten a Remnant to death with its own limb is a holiday."

He gave a weak laugh. "Forgiveness, I let my head get too big."

Lindon went silent for a bit, getting Yerin to worry, "You sure you're steady?"

"Uh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. It's just...I'm used to being thrown into danger and forced to adapt and grow, but this time it felt different. I didn't have the safety of knowing my masters would safe me or the constructed scenario would end, and I'd find myself whole and alive. I could feel death pressing me as I couldn't fight as fluidly as before, my techniques not moving right as I kept up the breathing pattern and cycled my madra. More than once I wanted to just give it up and fight normally, but then I'd fail the task and wouldn't have learned the important lesson."

"And did you learn it?"

"Yes. I'm going to have to rework my martial arts and even the breathing techniques I know. I've already got a good idea on how to do that now, thanks to simply not wanting to die or fail. But I'm also altering the cycling pattern Eithan taught me, it still works mostly the same, but it works better with my basic fighting style now. I honestly get why he threw me into this, but would it have killed him to just tell me what I was doing wrong first? I could have thought of a solution first, then tried fighting while holding the cycling pattern. I wouldn't have had nearly as hard a time at it."

"Hm? I think it was best you learned it this way instead. The best way forward is by dancing on the razor's edge of death."

Lindon muttered back, "I don't think so. I nearly died a dozen times. What's so wrong about planning things out first?"

"Let me ask you this, Lindon. If you were given time to think it over, would you have progressed as quickly? Or would you have tried finding a way to just switch back and forth from cycling and fighting like you normally do?"

Lindon was too embarrassed to reply because that's exactly what he would have done. Trying to find a work around instead of properly adjusting his martial arts with the breathing pattern necessary for cycling his madra while fighting. It'd have taken longer for him to learn the lesson as he'd keep trying to find a loophole, a cheat.

Yerin took his silence as confirmation and continued. "You've spent too long having the safety of a master to guide you -and there's nothing wrong with that, I've done the same under my master- but you need to learn how to fight on your own. To develop and grow unguided, because you're forging a Path they couldn't, and no one else has tried before. And the sooner you get use to facing death, the sooner you can call yourself a real sacred artist."

"Gratitude. You're right and I'm sure my masters would have agreed with you. The best training is the kind that risks your life and is impossible to forget." He hesitated, and then added, "If you could find a way to open the door, I would still be grateful."

For a second, she thought it was a heaven-sent miracle: at his words, the door actually started to grind open.

"I had every faith in you!" Eithan called from only a few feet down the hall, and Yerin rose to her feet. She hadn't felt him approach at all. She knew it was expected from an Underlord, but it was still unnerving, as though he'd popped out of nowhere.

Eithan removed his hand from the script, smiling broadly. The Thousand-Mile Cloud floated behind him, sullen and red, with Lindon's pack seated comfortably on top of it. Two packs, in fact: his big one, bulging with all the knickknacks he carried around, and the smaller one he'd planned on filling with scales stolen from the Sandvipers.

And beneath it, peeking out from the edge of the cloud, both her and Lindon's sheathed swords.

"If you can get out anytime you want," Yerin said, "Let's leave. This place is like a graveyard stuffed into a cave."

"Why leave?" Eithan asked. "Everything we need is right here."

The door had opened completely by then, revealing Lindon standing stunned at the bottom of the stairs. He was hugging the side of his torso that was stuck by Jai Long's spear, displaying a collection of scrapes and bruises, but the corpse of a Sandviper Remnant lay sprawled on the stairs behind him. He held a bright green stinger as long as his arm in one hand, hilt wrapped in cloth, so he didn't have to touch the toxic madra directly. He'd torn off the shredded remains of his top to provide the fabric, leaving his upper body bare.

Truth was, he actually looked like a real sacred artist. With his sharp eyes, broad shoulders, defined muscular body, and severed Remnant arm bleeding sparks of essence, he looked like a Jade ready to advance to Lowgold. It was a much better look on him than how she'd found him, all clean and cringing and soft.

And surprisingly, he was still holding the breathing technique and cycling his madra. Had he never stopped, even after the battle was over.

Eithan tossed the two packs and his sheathed sword to Lindon, who had to drop his improvised weapon to catch them. It also revealed that his wound from before had opened back up and was bleeding. He stumbled back a few steps, almost falling onto the stairs.

"Make sure to take notes," Eithan said, pointing to the pack. "Wear your parasite ring and keep your breathing straight. I put some scales in there for you, but I'm keeping the cloud." He patted the construct with one hand. "I need a bed."

Then he slapped the wall, and the door started sliding shut again.

Lindon shouted out, "Wait!" digging through his pack to pull out the training construct he got from Ryozanpaku. Before the stone door full closed, Lindon tossed it to Yerin, "You'll get more out of than I will right now."

When the door slammed closed, Lindon could be heard muttering curses from the other side. Most about his luck with getting masters that liked deadly training methods and needing to stitch himself up.

Eithan brushed his sleeves, smiling at Yerin as though he'd heard nothing. "That should keep him occupied for a few weeks. Now, I believe I mentioned something about you needing an opponent."

He tossed her sheathed sword to her and drew a weapon of his own: a pair of wrought iron fabric scissors.

"Best weapon I could find," he said apologetically, snipping them open and closed. "Now, if you're ready, let's begin."

Yerin didn't believe that scissors were the best he could find, but that wouldn't really matter considering the difference in their advancement. She pocketed Lindon's copper-plated ball construct and readied herself. She felt like between her and Lindon, she was the one with the ruffer patch to follow. After all, she's having to fight an Underlord.

Lindon levered himself up to a seated position, the flare of pain reminding him of his cracked rib. He set the pain aside. It was nothing compared to the damage to his left leg, which lay bound in a cobbled together stint, swollen and useless on the ground in front of him. It happened when the scripts grew extra bright one day and he ended up swarmed by two dozen dreadbeasts and Remnants. He hadn't been able to put any weight on it for days. It made fighting all the more difficult, having to fight on just his right one.

He reached over and slid the glass case closer, using the three unbroken fingers on his left hand. It'd been a while since he last used his sword with his left. The right is in a full cast, hung in a sling. It'd taken a horrible break and a deep gash when his already broken hand had lost his grip on his Elucidator while fighting a half dozen dreadbeasts and three Remnants. One of his eyes was swollen shut -a different fight but similar numbers, but through the other he watched the Sylvan.

She spun in place, arms swaying as though dancing to some music he couldn't hear. He'd been thinking of it as female almost since he first feed her on the sloops of Mount Samara, though he had no reason to think she had a gender at all. Sure, the dress like lower half suggested it, but do pure spirits like the Sylvan have genders?

Regardless, the Sylvan had been his only companion these two weeks besides Yerin's voice through the door. He'd feed her what dribbles if his spare madra he could afford to Forge, and she'd grow almost a full inch. Her translucent blue form looked more solid, though that could have been his imagination, and she expressed a greater range of actions. A week ago, she had swum a full lap of her tank inside the ever-flowing river. She's up two now.

Lindon looked up from the case to regard his fortress.

It was a slipshod attempt at defense; he'd cut dead matter away from the Remnants that regularly attacked him. With those pieces, those bright blue shells and shimmering green limbs, he'd boxed an area around the door. That way, he'd have some protection while he slept and/or rested with his fortress piled up against the stairs. If something snuck down the stairs while he slept, it'd give him enough time to wake and respond to the attack. That, and if the door ever opened, he wanted to be able to run through in an instant.

He even had the defensive constructs he stole from Heaven's Glory setup on top of the fortress. They weren't worth anything, as Gesha had called them poor excuses of Soulsmithing and not even worth the materials they were made from. But they had held a few dreadbeasts back long enough to wake to the threat. They're nothing but essence now, having long since outlived their use.

When he was well rested, he'd leave his pack and the Sylvan inside the fortress while he went up top. Either to retrain his martial art skills and techniques while maintaining the breathing pattern, or fought off the creatures as they swarmed in. He's found that twice in every twenty-four-hour period the scripts would glow brighter and dreadbeasts and Remnants would come swarming in. He was certain it was worse in the areas the prisoners mined, but he still got more than he'd like.

The first time had cracked his ribs and reopened the gash on his side, nearly killing him that day. After that he's timed out the attacks and planed accordingly. But, over the weeks his supply of medical equipment, slaves and low-grade elixirs he made are tapped out. The stint on his leg is made from dreadbeast bones and the cloth from his pants leg. At least the gash on his side has fully healed and his arm will recover, in time.

The other cheery note to his dread filled time in the Ruins is that he's completely gotten use to his breathing pattern and can now cycle madra through is body effortlessly while using his martial arts. Just a few of the more advanced and complex ones still need some work, but that can wait for when he has both his legs and arms available to him. So yay for him, he made progress.

While watching the Sylvan, he reached over to a binding shaped like a twisted blue seashell. He had to replace the dead matter in his walls every day or two, as it bled away regularly, but he used his own madra to supplement his few useful bindings. He'd been fortunate to find this one, which Gesha had demonstrated for him a few weeks before: it produced water.

He drank only a few mouthfuls; reserving as much madra as he can. Most of his madra went to refreshing the essential bindings and forging scales for his advancement. He cycled the rest of it, pushing madra through every square inch if his body.

Despite the injures and pain -and the series of sudden, vicious attacks that've kept him on edge this whole time- he was pleased with the weeks of work. The razor-edged tension had done wonders for his advancement, since there was nothing to do here but cycle, train, and prepare to be attacked. And the slightest moment of inattention could result in his death, as it has nearly done several times already.

Both his cores are now at the peak of Copper, almost ready to overflow and pour through his body in the transition to Iron. He'd focus most of his efforts on one core until it peeked, then got the other one up afterwards. That had been Yerin's advice.

Eithan's breathing technique -modified to work with his martial arts- had almost gotten him killed in the first few days, when he lost his breath in the middle of a fight and his madra fell out of control, disrupting his techniques and flow. Now, he rarely lost the rhythm, and he started to see the advantages: his madra recovered much more quickly, and he was sure he could advance to Iron any day he wanted.

That wasn't entirely true. He wanted to advance right now, because breaking through the barrier to Iron completely reforged the body. Advancing to Copper had cleansed him of scrapes, cuts, and bruises, and Iron was supposed to be a more thorough transformation. When Yerin told him that it would heal his broken limbs, he'd almost cried from the effort not to force an advancement now.

But if he advanced before he was ready, he would damage his own foundation. That was the only thing that held him back. If his Iron body wasn't perfect, he wouldn't be guaranteed Highgold, much less the heights Suriel had challenged him to reach.

The blue marble sat in a corner, its flame straight and steady inside the glass barrier. He stared at it every day as he cycled, meditating on it. Suriel had believed he could do this. She'd known he would meet suffering even worse than this -and he's gone through more painful things under Ryozanpaku's training- and he would come out on the other side stronger.

He seized on that like a mantra, clutching it like the edge of a cliff.

Only one problem remained: his progress was too slow.

Sure, he fixed his martial arts to now work in conjunction with the sacred arts, but he'd only pushed madra through half of his body at most. He could execute a basic Enforcer technique now, making himself stronger for short periods of time, which he had hastily scrawled into the Path of Twin Stars in excitement. But he needed to suffuse his body with madra, soaking it completely, and he was at least another two weeks away from that. Probably three.

And it was starting to grind away at his body and spirit.

With a broken leg, one broken arm, one eye swollen shut, two broken fingers on his useable hand, cracked ribs, and more wounds and complaints than he could even remember, it was only a matter of time before it all became too much. He misses master Akisame's medical treatments. The man was a genus healer and added with Ma's elixirs, Lindon would be almost at one hundred percent already. His skills aren't nearly as good as theirs and he ran out of supplies to make any more healing elixirs.

Then there was the issue with food. Sandvipers tasted like chicken livers soaked in acid, but they were the best thing he'd found to eat in here. Fortunately, he still had the construct from Heaven's Glory that produced fire and there was more than enough aura here to fuel it instead of direct sunlight. But it I also starting to fail and fade into essence.

They've become wary of this area and in his current condition he's not confident in exploring deeper in the Ruins to find them. He'd burned through Eithan's supply of scales in a week, using them to push the barrier of his cores further and further, and then he'd started Forging his own.

At first, he'd wondered how a scale he'd Forged would help further his own advancement. It felt a bit like eating your own arm for sustenance. But it was quite simple, in practice: he Forged the madra, condensing it into a scale and setting it aside. The he cycled to restore his madra to its peak condition and swallow the scale again. Pushed beyond its capacity, his core stretched a little.

Gradually, by repeating that process over and over, he'd stretched his cores to the limit of Copper. When his body was ready, he'd push them just a little further, and then it would spill over and run through all the channels he was patiently preparing.

But that brought him back to the original problem.

He'd poured out his concerns to Yerin, who listened until the end. She'd kept him sane during these two weeks, though she was never as impressed with his accomplishments as she ought to be. To her, any scared artist should be able to survive for a few weeks under constant attack. It's exactly what his masters would have said about martial artists.

Yerin's progress with Shigure's techniques were going even better. She's already learned the sonic slash, even though she has to Enforce her arms to make it work. Even getting a grasp of Shigure's double edge technique: a single diagonal slash that has a second pressurized air current followed up right on top of the first. A two in one type move. Yerin was already going into how she's planning on incorporating it with her Flowing Sword technique.

She sat in silence for a moment, then said, "Have my eye gone soft, or is it getting bright in there?"

At first he assumed that was one of her expressions, and 'bright' meant his situation was getting more hopeful. Then he looked at the walls.

Between the glow of Suriel's marble and the soft luminescence of the Remnant bodies piled around, it was actually quite bright in his little nook. So, it took him a moment to realize that there were faint sparks playing inside the script that wrapped the chamber.

It wasn't the usual increase in light as the scripts blazed light shortly before dreadbeasts and Remnants went crazy. This was much subtler and slowly building. Besides, it wasn't the right time for that yet. "Have you asked Eithan? Is he there, by chance?"

Eithan had said nothing to Lindon directly over the past two weeks. Not a word. Yerin had consulted with him a few times on an answer to one of Lindon's sacred arts questions, but otherwise he might as well have left. He spent his days with Yerin, locked in combat that Lindon could hear crashing through the door, and more than once Lindon had shed actual tears of envy.

Now, the light in the script meant the possibility of hearing from Eithan. And that conversation could be the key that opened the door.

Yerin left, and only minutes later, a new voice came through. Lindon closed his eyes, for a moment just savoring the sound of someone else's voice. It had been so long.

"I'm sorry to cut this phase of your training short, Lindon, but it looks as though someone has lit a fuse for us. They're fooling with the script, so power is flowing into empty chambers. Bad news is this door's going to open soon."

Lindon's spirits soared.

"But don't worry. The power is being drawn to the top of the pyramid, so every dreadbeast and Remnant in the Ruins will follow us."

His spirits crashed back down to earth, but at least he won't be alone anymore. The loneliness of the past two weeks was the hardest part.

The wait for the door to slide open felt longer than the previous two weeks. Lindon stared at the blank stone slab, every twitch of his body sending notes of pain through him like a symphony of agony.

Finally, the lines of script running along the wall flared brighter. Light grew along the bottom, and the door lifted away from the floor.

Tears welled in Lindon's one good eye, and he swiped them away. Better if they saw him as a grizzled survivor of suffering, rather than a boy waiting to be rescued. He didn't need rescuing...yet. He could go another week or two, maybe.

When the door opened, Eithan was holding an arm over his nose. "I didn't expect you to smell of rosewater and lavender, but it would have been considerate of you to bathe."

Lindon stared at him over the crude splint binding his broken leg.

Yerin advanced without comment. Her hair had grown slightly uneven again, and the new sacred artist's robe that she'd received from the Fishers was little more than a collection of black tatters. She smiled at him out of one corner of her mouth and then stepped past him, gripping her sheathed sword.

With a grunt, she hauled one of the half-ruined Remnant corpses away from his wall and peered out. "Still scarce for now," she stated. "But we should scurry."

Eithan looked Lindon up and down. "It's been hard on you."

Lindon held a glare as he growled softly in irritation. He could have opened the door three days ago, after he'd fixed his martial arts with cycling.

Lowering his sleeve, Eithan revealed a curious expression. "Was it worth it?"

With his less injured arm, Lindon pushed himself up straighter to slowly execute a seated bow. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the pain in his ribs, but he easily pushed through it. "Gratitude, elder. This one cannot repay the favor."

These two weeks had been the worst in Lindon's life, but half a month of agony was nothing compared to the years of agony he went through under Ryozanpaku's masters. This training routine was only worse because at times it felt like his body wasn't under his control and death was a real concern. Plus, the isolation was unbearable.

Now, he was on the verge of Iron. Iron might not be nothing but a child's accomplishment out here, but his parents were only Iron. He hadn't even turned sixteen yet, so he'd surpass his sister.

If he returned to Sacred Valley, the Wei clan wouldn't just welcome him back. They'd reward him. He would be their new idol, the one they paraded in front of the other clans to show their superiority.

The idea was so sweet that it almost choked him.

Far more important was that he'd taken his first steps on the Path Suriel had shown him. He might really surpass Gold, and Eithan had helped him.

For that alone, he really did owe the yellow-haired man a debt he couldn't repay. And as an Underlord Eithan can possibly take him to the Lord realm.

Eithan smiled broadly, pleased with his answer. "That's good," he replied. "Because it isn't over yet."

Yerin glanced back over her shoulder, giving him a look of pity.

"You're only halfway through pushing madra channels through your entire body, so if you advance to Iron now, you'd be crippling your own future. Lowgold would be difficult, and you may reach Highgold in your old age."

Never would Lindon have thought that reaching Gold would be the lowest he would aim for.

"Even if you had finished, you will have reached only the most ordinary sort of Iron. If you were very gifted or lucky, perhaps you could reach the peak of Truegold. Underlord would be a distant dream."

"Pardon my rudeness but does that mean there's another option."

Eithan's smile widened further. "You need a perfect Iron body."

Lindon liked the sound of that. "Yerin mentioned that sacred artists prepared for each stage, but I'm afraid my family didn't have such a custom. To us, Iron was Iron."

"Well, contrary to what your family may have taught you, Iron comes in several flavors. Every serious sacred artist trains their body before advancing."

Once again, Lindon felt like he'd missed something that everyone else considered common sense, but he also felt that something was wrong. "Trains their body before advancing... I've been training my body for years, transforming all my muscles to pink tissue, making it the perfect balance between speed and stamina with strength and durability. It's still not as conditioned as master Akisame's, but it's still around the peak of human physical potential. How is that not enough for a perfect Iron body?"

Eithan put a finger to his cheek in thought for a moment before explaining, "By most standards, that would be ideal preparation for a perfect Iron body, but like I said before, you're only halfway through pushing madra channels through your entire body. It'd perform like a perfect Iron body, but that flaw would keep you at Truegold. Your body never be spiritually capable enough to make the transition into Underlord."

"Then was all my physical training pointless?" dreaded shock at wasting so much time and effort clear in his voice.

Eithan quickly waved him off. "No, not all, Lindon. If anything, it'll add the extra physical strength of your...what'd you call it? Oh, right! Pink muscles to your perfect Iron body. It'll almost be like having two Iron bodies stuffed into one. Not really, that's impossible, but it'll give you one very special and unique Iron body. That much I can assure. No effort ever truly goes to waste, Lindon"

Lindon lets out a relieved breath and is actually becoming excited at the prospect. "I'll do whatever I have to," he said. And then, a bit late, "...what do I have to do?"

"How did your master prepare you, Yerin?"

"I was probably seven, maybe eight," Yerin answered conversationally. "Master dropped me in a black pool, and it stung like fire. Water drilled right down into me until I thought I was dead for sure. Three days and three nights I squirmed like a worm on a frying pan, breathing through a reed. Then he let me out."

She slapped one arm. "Steelborn body, he called it. You don't see much out of it until you're past Gold, but once you hit Underlord, it's supposed to be the best Iron body in the world for pure brute strength. Same one my master had."

"And a wise man he was," Eithan replied. "A fine choice for you, and for your Path. Me, I was born with eyes faster than my hands, so to speak. I needed the reaction speed to keep up with my detection, so my family put me through the training for the Raindrop body. Poetic name: you're supposed to be able to thread through drops in a rainstorm without getting wet, though I've never found that to be true."

"What did you have to do for that?" Lindon asked.

"I played games. Catching birds as they ran off, running as fast as I could, hitting balls back with sticks, that sort of thing."

Yerin and Lindon both remained silent for several breaths.

"What can I say? Not everyone grows up suffering in the wilderness." He leaned closer to Lindon, though he did pinch his nose as he did so. "We could give you your choice, if we had a month or two. But we don't, we need to move you very soon. Today would be ideal, since tomorrow I'd give you even odds of being devoured alive with the massive army of dreadbeasts and Remnants headed our way."

"Ideal, Lindon said. "Yes, I agree, that does sound ideal."

"I thought your schedule would open up. Ordinarily I would give you options, as I said, but now we have to forcibly create more madra channels to finish preparing you for Iron in a single day. That narrows our conditions somewhat, so I would suggest the Bloodforged Iron body."

Lindon perked up at the name. This one sounded like a legendary technique, something worthy of a powerful sacred artist. "We can do it here?"

"It's the same one the Sandviper sect uses for its initiates," Eithan explained, "though of course they call it the Sandviper body. They've really run themselves a rut when it comes to naming their techniques, I can tell you that. They used it to avoid killing themselves with their own venom."

"If it makes you immune to poison, I can see how that might be helpful," Lindon replied. It wasn't as exciting as he'd imagined something called the 'Bloodforged body' would be, but he guessed it was practical. Especially if he had to go through more Sandviper Remnants on the way out. It'd also keep him from being dropped by the Sandvipers' Ruler technique again.

Eithan considered the statement for a moment. "Immunity to poisons is really an impossible concept. Any compound that harms the body is a poison, and there's no one solution for them all. What this will do is naturally draw on your spirit to accelerate your body's ability to restore and protect itself. It should help you against poison, parasites, diseases, infection, and so forth, as well as small wounds."

That actually sounded pretty good to Lindon, he already has a fast and strong body sculpted by his masters; Akisame's physical conditioning and accelerated by Ma's elixirs. Being able to naturally fight off illness and poison would help cover for some deadly weaknesses that training can't counter. "If that's what you recommend, then I humbly accept your advice."

Eithan held up a finger. "Before you agree, you should know that there are two ways to create this body, but we're going to have to do it the fast way. And the fast way is terrible."

Steel rang as Yerin's sword left its sheath. An instant later, a Remnant cry followed like a high note from a flute.

"Back to work for me," she stated. "But you want to speed things up, that would be golden."

She dashed out of view, and the Remnant screamed again.

"I think it's time for the fast way," Lindon said to Eithan, who nodded.

"That's what I thought too." Then he pulled a squirming Sandviper out from behind his back.

Lindon flinched back instinctively, Sandviper venom is potent and very painful. Its centipede legs kicked at the air, its serpentine head baring fangs as it hissed. Its carapace was tan and bright, exactly the color of a desert in the sun.

Eitan held it calmly, regarding the monster with something like fascination. "This isn't one of the corrupted dreadbeasts of this region, you know. It's a perfectly natural sacred beast, it just happens to be hideous. For the first step, you must allow it to bite you. Once the venom is in your blood, you can use madra to guide it, and it will actually burn channels into your body that madra will be able to follow later. Its unbelievably painful, but it's quick, and you will heal once you advance to Iron. But you have to guide it yourself to keep it from running wild, which means you have to stay conscious."

Lindon's mouth was hanging open in horror, but he didn't close it.

"It gets more disgusting," Eithan continued. "As the Sandviper sect found out so many years ago, you also must drink the blood of the sandviper itself. It helps slow the venom's progress into your organs, making it easier to control. And slightly less likely that you will die."

Fumbling for his pack, Lindon pulled out the sheaf of yellow papers that was originally the Heart of Twin stars and was now his personal Path manual. A small brush and portable inkwell followed. He flipped to one of the later pages, filling in the details that Eithan had shared. The motion gave him time to think, with each stroke solidifying his resolve. Even the pain of his broken bones faded as he worked.

Eithan waited patiently even as Yerin fought in the distance.

Finally, Lindon had finished recording, and his own heart had settled. If this was the path forward, he was going to walk it. He'd come too far to turn back now. Though, he was still worried about ruining the body his masters poured so much effort in crating with poison. He'll heal when he advances to Iron, he knows that, but it's still hard to do. He's risking all his hard work for the possibility to go even further, but he has to. Suriel's vison still loomed over him and his home. He must reach the greatest of heights, go even further than his masters, and this was the way up.

After releasing a calming breath, he replied, "I'm ready." With eyes squeezed shut, he extended his wrist.

"Breathe carefully," Eithna instructed. "Cycle."

As Lindon did so, mixing his Ki with his madra -having learned that by doing so he could send the madra deeper into his body with near perfect control, and making it possible to hold the breathing pattern, cycling his madra while fighting with his Ryozanpaku style- pain flashed like someone had stabbed him through his arm. Then the venom came, and his blood burned.

If anything, Eithan understated the pain, but he's been trained to push aside all pain, never ignoring it -that can cause more harm than good, pain tells you where you are injured, what weakness you have, and not to expose them while fighting- allowing him to keep his focus sharp.

Venom cycled in his veins along with ever pulse of madra, strengthened and guided by his Ki, and Eithan than poured coppery blood into his open mouth. His muscles tensed as he fought off the pain and drank the sandviper blood.

With his will enforced focus, Lindon pushed the venom everywhere he hadn't already worked his madra, forcing it into his muscles, his skin, the center of his bones, and even branching down to the very center of his every cell. It was an endless moment, but still over sooner than he needed. The venom hadn't permeated his body thoroughly enough. Not deep enough.

He panted, losing control of his cycling technique just to fill his lungs with oxygen.

He tried to open his good eye, but the lid wasn't cooperating. Now that he noticed, his limbs were moving out of his control; his fingertips twitched and his back arched as though someone else had tied strings to him and started to pull.

With a concentrated effort, his Ki reigned his body back under his control, his eye opened and was distracted by his own flesh. Black veins stood out along his skin, tracing lines like a map over every inch of himself he could see.

"It's not enough," he croaked out, "I need more." Eithan stared at him for a moment.

Then he gave a pure, rich laugh, pleased by Lindon's reaction. "I'm no Sandviper. I've only read about the Bloodforged Iron body. But if you don't think this is enough..."

He tossed the mangled corpse of the sandviper aside and reached into his outer robe, producing a second live specimen.

Lindon flinched again, just as he had the first time. "Would you mind telling me where you're getting those?"

With his free hand, Eithan lifted Lindon's arm up before bringing the sandviper down. "Once more," he said.

Again, Lindon braced himself to set aside the pain and focus on controlling the venom.

Ten of the little sacred beasts had been all that Eithan could scrounge from the Ruins -it seemed that once they knew he was hunting them, they started to run away. He actually had to go nearly all around the Ruins, slipping through the Five Factions Alliance's people still going about their business to get what he could. And that's with his bloodline ability aiding him.

The tenth was still alive, squirming in his hand and sending out its madra to try and burn away his hand, but he kept it suppressed with his own spirit. The other nine were dead, having been drained of both venom and blood. The husks rested on the ground at his feet, twisted and broken.

In that respect, they looked much like Lindon.

His body wasn't moving much anymore, as he'd run out of energy sometime this morning. When he twitched, it was like lightning moving through dead flesh more than any conscious attempt at motion, and his skin was all but invisible beneath swollen black veins. Sandviper blood ran down his teeth as his own blood ran from his ears, the corners of his eyes, and even sweated through his pours.

He'd lasted more than two days, which had left even Eithan astonished. His standards were high -too high, really- but this Copper had still surprised him. He'd figured that five sandvipers would be enough for Lindon, if not a little too much, but the Copper kept asking for more. He'd almost stated that he couldn't fine anymore before administering the fifth, but he saw what Lindon was doing.

With his family's bloodline trait, he could see how deep Lindon had been pushing his madra, and the venom. Lindon kept branching it down further and further until every last cell had a microscopic channel reaching it. Deep through the muscles, cartilage, all of the tissue groups, even down into his bone marrow and organs -only excluding his heart and brain, that'd kill him with certainty. And without advancing to Iron he will die due to the damage; he's already showing signs of jaundice -not that most could see the yellowing skin under the black veins and blood.

He'd never seen such a thorough madra channel network in human being before. It was beautiful, like a tree's roots reaching every millimeter of his being.

Eithan honestly didn't think anyone could have the necessary willpower and absolute control of their body to create such a thing at Copper. Certain powerful Lords could, but they were too advanced to prepare their Iron body in such a way -having long since forged theirs.

Even he can't be completely sure what will happen as Lindon finally advances to Iron. Though, he does have a few very interesting ideas and theories, and if it doesn't cripple or outright kill Lindon, it'll be magnificent. A truly surprising boy this Wei Shi Lindon has turned out to be.

And that's fun.

Yerin had done well for herself too. She'd fought almost without rest for nearly two days straight and was even now finishing off a pack of twisted dreadbeasts. He kept his eyes on Lindon, but it almost didn't matter; he could still see Yerin, shoulders slumped in weakness, dragging her sword behind her as she limped back to their barricade on the stairs, eyes moving to check Lindon's condition...

...and Eithan stepped aside to avoid the sword plunging into his back.

"You buried him," she snarled, heat in her eyes and aura gathering around the edge of her sword.

He held up both hands to show his innocence, forgetting for a moment that he had a live sandviper in one. That didn't paint the best picture.

"He asked me to!" Eithan protested.

The sword-arm on Yerin's back stabbed in Lindon's direction. She really was getting better with her Goldsign, thanks to his guidance. "He asked for this?"

Under other circumstances, Eithan would have had trouble believing it too. "I'm performing as instructed. If it helps, I'm as horrified as you are."

Her eyes filled with disgust, and she drew her sword, flooding it with madra for a strike that would be...at best, inconvenient to avoid.

Instead of dodging, he seized Lindon's wrist, holding up the boy's blackened hand. It was curled into a fist so tight that blood leaked out of the palm. Eithan scrubbed away dried blood and grit from a line of metal on Lindon's finger: a halfsilver ring.

"Do you happen to know what this is?" he asked, and before she could respond, he answered for her. "This acts as a filter for madra, refining madra quality during the cycling process. But it makes cycling twice as hard, and it takes twice as long. Like running with weights strapped to your legs."

Yerin's narrowed eyes moved from him to the ring. "He put that on himself?"

Eithan released Lindon's arm, wiping his hand with a cloth he happened to carry in his pocket. It was difficult to do with only one free hand, the other still clutching a sandviper, but he managed. "I'll admit, I shut Lindon in this room without concern for his will. But he has kept that ring on every day since the door first shut. And now..."

Lindon spoke precisely on cue. "One more..." he grunted, his voice scraping through a ruined throat. "Last one...both...cores...p-push...Iron."

Eithan shrugged at Yerin's look of astonishment. "As soon as he asks me to, I'll stop."

Then, before the girl could react, he turned and thrust the sandviper's fangs into Lindon's arm.

He tore the creature's head off with one hand and dripped the blood into Lindon's mouth as he had done nine times before. This time was different. Eithan had knew what Lindon was going to do with this last dose of venom. It was why he'd croaked out about pushing both his cores to Iron, knowing he most likely couldn't do it himself.

And Eithan agreed. Normally, just one Iron core would be enough, but the extent of the madra channels he burned through his body is too much for just one. The Copper would need both to hit Iron if he wanted even a chance at this working. And even then, that might not be enough.

Lindon was directing, no, willing the venom in a weaving pattern through his heart and lungs. The poison burning channels deep down like throughout the rest of his body. This Copper was risking death to completely build one of the most extensive madra network's to ever exist in a mortal entity. It was awe inspiring, and even though it will more than likely kill Lindon, Eithan wanted to see if he succeeds.

It'd be a true loss if the boy died, but he still has the Sword Sage's disciple. And that was still a victory in of itself. But, if Lindon survives, Eithan may have just placed a winning bet this time.

Lindon just barely finished this last round before his back seized up. His eyes -well, the one eye not hidden by swelling- rolled up into its socket and foam bubbled up quickly at the mouth.

"Ah," Eithan said, tossing the twisted husk aside. "That was too much."

Yerin dropped her sword and fell to her knees, pressing fingers against Lindon's throat. "What's the cure?"

Eithan wiped his bloody hand off on Lindon's clothes, then fished around his pocket until he grabbed a pair of scales waiting at the very bottom. "He channeled the venom into his heart, so he's dead." He withdrew the blue crystal coins, holding them up for her consideration. "Unless we trigger the transformation to Iron."

He hesitated a moment, considering the accuracy of his own words. Honesty was very important.

"There's always the possibility that it will take too long, and then he'll be brain dead," he clarified. "He can't breathe like this, you see. And his channels are very extensive. The odds are not good."

Yerin reached to snatch the scales from his hand, but Eithan moved them out of her reach.

Before she could explode on him, "This will require a more experienced touch and deft application of madra flow than you can handle. Leave this to me, Yerin."

Yerin looked like she wanted to argue, but time wasn't on their side. So, she just nodded her head in understanding.

Clutching the scales in his fist, he broke the structure and reverted it to madra, using his spirit to force a flow of blue-white energy into Lindon's mouth.

That wouldn't be enough. His madra wasn't cycling at the moment, so Eithan placed his palms against Lindon's cores and guided the scales' madra within. They flexed, resisting for a second before cracking like a broken dam.

The madra flooded all through Lindon's body, expelling all physical impurities and transforming him with the power of the soul. His cores would condense and restore themselves into smaller, denser forms, transmuted from Copper to Iron.

At least they tried to.

It was as Eithan feared; even with both his shallow Iron cores, which at best make up one weak Iron core, they don't have enough madra to fully complete the transformation. The channels Lindon made are too extensive and at best, his madra will only reach a fourth of his body before running dry. Plus, with how deep they go, the process is slow going. Even if Eithan gave him the madra he needed to complete the advancement, Lindon would be brain dead by time it finished.

Eithan let out a sign.

"What is it? Is it not working?" Yerin asked fearfully.

"At this rate, no, it won't work. He doesn't have enough madra to finish the transformation of his body. His advancement will fail and even if I aided the process along with the needed madra, he'd be brain dead by the end."

Yerin rushed out, "Then what? He's just dead and buried before we even try anything! There has to be something-"

Eithan interrupted her, "I never said there was nothing that could save him." he proceeded to pour his own pure madra into Lindon's cores. "Because, after all, he had the fortunate opportunity to have me here as his master."

Yerin could feel the massive amount of madra coming from Eithan, going directly into Lindon's cores. It was contained and pure -which made no sense to her. How could anyone become an Underlord without taking in vital aura?- giving off the strength of an Underlord, but it was being so perfectly controlled that no one outside this room would feel it.

"What are you doing?" Yerin asked in astonishment.

"When I had sensed how deep the channels Lindon had created gone, I guessed this might happen." Eithan's usual grin was gone, replaced by an expression of pure concentration. "So in my spare time I conceived of a method to counter act this very problem. I'm going to use my pure madra to keep his cores maxed out and forcefully speed the flow of his madra along to complete his advancement to Iron in time. Lindon's rather lucky I'm here. Almost nobody uses pure madra for their Path."

That helps answer why Eithan wanted Lindon; he's making his own pure madra Path and that makes him a perfect student for Eithan, who has a pure Path himself. But that's not as important right now. What Eithan is attempting to do is much more concerning.

"If you do that, it'll damage his spirit. Possibly crippling his future as a sacred artist!"

"You're right about that. This method will his damage his cores and madra channels, but it's the only way to save his life." Eithan responded simply. "But, when you advance to Jade, your spirit will be remade, just like Iron does for the body. That will fix the damage caused by his advancement to Iron."

Yerin fires back, "He won't be able to reach Jade with a spirit that badly damaged! And even if you forced it, his spirit would be so unstable and weak that he would never make it to Lowgold!"

Eithan grimaced, not because of what Yerin said, but from the mess.

The Iron transformation was never neat or pretty, as the body expelled impurities through any medium, but this was particularly gruesome. Black blood oozed through Lindon's skin, his muscles convulsing beneath as though they were liquefying and pouring out. Black tears ran from his bloodshot eye, and all of it was getting on him.

The black substance oozing from Lindon's body carried a stench like bodies rotting in a cesspool, ruining Eithan's clothing and gaging him at the same time.

Looking on the positive side of things, he has spare clothing he can change into. Also, Lindon wasn't screaming. The boy's tolerance for pain is monstrous.

Noticing that Yerin was seething, he explained, "What you are leaving out is that I'm the one doing it. An Underlord with superior senses, pure madra and Soulfire at his disposal."

That actual stoppered her anger at Eithan. Soulfire could do things no Gold could hope to do. It was the trademark of an Underlord. But could it help Lindon?

Answering her unspoken question, Eithan continued, "With all those aiding this process along, I can minimize the damage done to his spirit. Though, the damage would start to worsen as he cycled and pushed for Jade. So, I'll just push straight to Jade right after he reaches Iron, fixing the damage as soon as it was made."

Yerin looked like she was going to say something, but Eithan just kept going. "Using my Soulfire I can temporarily reinforce his channels long enough for him to advance to Jade. And that advancement will take care of the rest."

There's a lot more to it than that, but Eithan needs to focus for the next step and doesn't have any to spare for explaining it to Yerin. To ensure Lindon's Path from Jade to Lowgold is solid, Eithan has to force the 'Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel' cycling technique on Lindon's cores. This Iron body of Lindon's is just too madra intensive for a single Jade core to support. Let alone the two weak ones he'd have if left as they were. He had to make them deep enough that they function as two full Jade cores and give them the spiral they'll need to reach Lowgold. And they will still be hard pressed to fully supply the madra Lindon's body will demand.

Most of the damage to Lindon's core will come from this part alone. Without lacing and reinforcing his cores with Eithan's own Soulfire the entire time, it'd be impossible. That's not even going into the difficulty of all Eithan is having to concentrate on at the same time, fueling both cores, working the cycling technique, and speeding along the madra flowing through Lindon's channels.

It's almost too much even for Eithan's enormous well of madra and concentration. He's going to need a rejuvenating elixir and refill his Soulfire reserves later.

And there's still the possibility that this all fails, and the boy dies anyway. It is harder on Lindon than Eithan, after all. Before, the Copper could bite down the screams and endure the pain, but now he starts to scream as his cores are grinded into deeper depths. Spiritual pain is always harder to ignore than physical pain.

Yerin returned to guard duty, leaving Lindon in Eithan's hands. Not that she wants to, but she has no other choice. If the boy died, that would be a shame, though it wouldn't set Eithan back much.

But he expected a better result.