Lindon Histories Strongest Unsouled
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Chapter 10:
Yerin couldn't be sure if she was awake or dreaming. Her body had no weight to it, drifting on the breeze without direction. Must be a dream, then. The last thing she remembered was facing a Highgold, so cheers and celebration to her for surviving. She'd been only able to land one shallow cut on Jai Long's arm using her new Double Flowing Edge technique -she'd combined the double edge with her Flowing Sword, but she hadn't retreated or died either. Her master would call that a win. She floated into memory, allowing it to carry her back to sleep.
Her arm pricked.
She glanced down, just to make sure everything was all prim and proper, only to see a spider the size of a fox suspended from the ceiling, poking her skin with needle-sharp legs.
She tried to jerk away, but whatever kept her suspended in the air also had her tied like a pig for roasting. She was held in an invisible trap with a giant spider clinging to her arm.
Yerin's breath froze, and before she could think, she tore everything apart.
Sword madra blasted out of her in every direction, shredding the spider...and the unseen bonds that held her suspended halfway to the ceiling. She landed in a crouch, spider parts clattering to the ground in a sizzle of escaping madra. A construct, then. Of course, it was. She shuddered anyway.
The walls of her room were made of rough wood that still smelled fresh. One door -the only entrance or exit besides a single shuttered window. The hearth in one wall was too narrow to let anything in besides a construct or a tiny sacred beast, and a scripted circle helped ward against those. She'd checked those herself, inside an hour of moving in.
She would have recognized the room faster had she not just reduced all the furniture to kindling. This was the little cottage the Fishers had given her, where she'd stayed for less than two weeks. That almost won the medal for the longest time she'd lived in the same place.
Her robe was soft, white, a single layer, and tied at the waist. The sort of thing you'd put on a patient while they were unconscious. Whatever had tied her to the ceiling hadn't left any fragments of rope lying everywhere, which meant it had been a Fisher technique. The spider would have been one of Gesha's constructs.
She'd lost the fight to Jai Long, so by rights she should have been dead. Instead, she was receiving healing from the Fishers.
What had Lindon done?
She took a step forward, circulating madra to her feet to keep out splinters, and her body sent her a pointed reminder: if they were in the middle of healing her, it was because something was wrong. The hint came to her in the form of a shooting pain up her leg, which made her stagger and grab the wall.
Footsteps pounded the grass outside, and she gathered madra into the steel blade of her Goldsign. It wasn't as useful a medium as her master's sword, but she could still cobble together a Rippling Sword technique to defend herself. If she could find a real weapon, she figured she had an even shot of cutting her way out of the Five Factions Alliance camp. Though that would leave her alone in the Desolate Wilds with no idea what happened to Lindon. Eithan...would be just fine. As an Underlord there was nothing out here that could threaten him. But it was hard to tell if he was authentic and actually wanted to help them, or just watch them struggle for his own amusement. He might have already left after they lost, becoming bored or disappointed with her and Lindon's performance.
The door cracked open, and the blade poised over her shoulder, on the edge of slashing down.
Lindon's voice drifted in. "Yerin, relax. It's me, Lindon. Can you please stop that technique you're building...I'd prefer that you not cut me, if you don't mind."
Yerin let out a breath as she sunk to the ground, strength leaking out of her legs. She leaned against the wall and called back, "Two steps closer and I'd have carved you into a roast."
"That's why I waited." He poked his head into the door, showing off a shy smile. He was still too tall for someone so weak -not that he's all that weak, but his spirit doesn't match his physical prowess. It messes with her head. Like he has a baby's head on a man's body. "I thought I might explain what happened before you went looking for the story yourself."
"So long as they answered my questions proper and quick, they were in no danger."
Actually, as she was, she couldn't even threaten Lindon. -It was still odd to feel his Jade spirit when he was still at the Foundation stage six weeks ago, when they first met. Now he's just one stage below her- Her spirit felt like a guttering candle, her body like a sack of tender meat, and her unwelcome guest had started to strain against its cage. She rested a hand on her red belt, with her always, still tied into an intricate bow -the shape designed by her master to bind its power.
It twisted slightly beneath her palm, straining against the seal. It was no threat for now, but its restrictions would weaken with time.
Sand rushed through an hourglass; an incense stick burned steadily down. She wasn't sure how many years she had left, but if she didn't advance far enough to keep her guest suppressed with her own power...
Then she wouldn't be herself anymore.
Now that she thought of it, someone had dressed her. Which meant someone had gotten a good look at the 'rope' tied around her waist and had decided not to fiddle with it. That showed strange wisdom; most sacred artists would poke a bear to see if it was sleeping.
Lindon knelt opposite her, the closest thing to a chair in the room being a thumb-thick splinter. He arranged himself carefully, sitting with his back straight true and proper. You could take a kid out of his clan, but you couldn't pull the clan out of him with a set of red-hot pliers.
Then her eyes snagged on his clothes.
He was wearing a typical outer sacred artist's robe over his usual clothing, which went by different names in different lands: wide sleeves that left the arms free, a loose hem hanging down to the ankles to allow a broad range of movement techniques, a cloth belt tied around the waist. Usually, the scared artist's sect or clan would determine the patterns and colors of the robe, and this was what had stolen Yerin's attention.
The robe was a deep blue in some places, white in others, and marked over the heart with a black crescent moon the size of a palm. She'd seen that symbol before; it had whipped these Five Factions artists into a frenzy.
The Arelius family; Eithan's family, an Underlord's family.
So, Eithan finally decided to reveal his true identity, and his family arrived to take control of the camp. Now that she thinks about it, that was probably why she is alive, and the Fishers are treating her injures. And Lindon was wearing their colors. He'd taken Eithan's offer and joined his family.
His explanation of the events that had occurred while she was unconscious -told in Lindon's way, soft and polite- painted the picture clear.
And just like she thought, Eithan showed up as an Underlord and forced the Five Factions to back off. Saving both her and Lindon's lives. There's nobody around that could oppose him in the Wilds and with his family arriving, they had no choice but to kneel.
That was all expected, but there were a few other points she found too sticky to release.
"You buried Kral? A Highgold?" she asked in a mixed tone of surprise and doubt.
Lindon brushed her aside with an explanation of how his Iron body devoured his madra to temporarily boost his speed and strength to that of Kral's level. And how it was only due to the Sandviper heir's arrogance and incompetence that he'd left Lindon alive on the ground, back turned that allowed him to deliver a lethal blow. He sounded ashamed by his victory, but pride lurked in his eyes and his words.
A Jade taking on a Highgold, whatever the circumstances -even though the how did soothe her pride a little, anyone can be helpless if they let their guard down, even her master- was like the sun rising green. That was a story his grandchildren could be proud of.
"You know he came here for recruits," Lindon explained, "and he thinks we'd be...suitable." Something haunted his expression for a moment. Maybe hesitation. But what was there to hesitate about when it came to an Underlord's personal invitation? For a Jade to exchange words with someone like Eithan was enough good fortune for five lifetimes.
What was he worried about?
But there was a more urgent question. She didn't think she'd missed so much -if she had slept for days, she would have expected hunger, thirst, a powerful pressure in her bladder. But besides her weakness, which was plain and clear after a fight, she felt like she'd only slept for a few hours.
"How long was I out?" she asked.
"Only six hours," he answered, and that settled that. Still, it tore a new whole in his story, and one that she'd almost missed.
"You've got a fox's luck," she commented. "Kral didn't so much as cut you?"
Her gave her a guilty look, pressing a hand to his bicep. "Forgiveness. I didn't mean to suggest that I walked away without a scratch. He ran a Forged spike through, right here. And a few small holes from his Striker technique."
She stared at his upper arm, which he rubbed as though it ached. Even if Lindon was exaggerating about being run through, which she doubted, he'd still been struck by a Highgold's Forger technique less than half a day before.
"Underlords must have some great medicines, I'd guess."
"It was mostly the Fishers who worked on you," Lindon replied, still rubbing his arm. "Eithan didn't do much, but they tied themselves into knots trying to serve him. If I hadn't told them they should be gone when you woke up, I'm sure they would still be in here."
"I'm not concerned about me," Yerin stated. "How are you moving that arm? You should be dead and buried, but you're up and hopping in six hours."
Lindon's brow furrowed. "I have an Iron body now. Just like you."
"Not like me."
Jai Long outclassed her in power, but her skill was the highest card she had to play. She'd managed to avoid to many direct hits, so she'd taken many small wounds, but nothing like a through-and-through stab. Even so, she'd needed the urgent attention of a healer, and she still wouldn't be sharp enough to hold an edge for a week or two.
That was all plain and proper, part of a normal life -she'd barely taken a step on her Path without some gruesome injury. But Lindon just walked his off in a few hours.
She flashed to a figure caked in blood and black ooze until he looked like he crawled out of a wildfire. She would have bet a pile of jewels that he was dead, and she was prepared to take that price out of Eithan's skin.
Instead, he'd advanced to Iron and straight to Jade. Which is difficult enough to believe, but also giving him the physical ability to toe-to-toe with a Highgold...that's too bitter a pill to swallow. It must be an aftereffect of all his martial training and willpower enhancement. It has to be.
What kind of body had they given him?
He picked up on her response, and his voice shook. "Is that wrong? Should I be worried?"
She gave him a light kicked, shaking his perfect posture. "Your new Underlord can handle it."
He winced. "Apologies. I accepted his invitation before you woke up."
"You'd have been cracked in the head if you hadn't," Yerin said, which was true. It was the sort of opportunity that only a madman would turn down.
But that still left the ugly question: where did it leave her?
An endless winter forest stretched out before her, filled with nothing but snow and no one but her.
"No, I owe you more consideration than that." He bent slightly, giving her a little seated bow. "Forgive me."
She forced herself to her feet, one hand on the wall. "Don't fuss about that. Jades are allowed out of the house without a shepherd. You'll settle in with the Underlord, stable and true."
Her master's sword wasn't in the cottage, and she needed it. When you're alone, first look for a weapon.
Lindon looked confused before he realized something. "You're coming too, right? I know I kind of forced your hand again by joining, and I apologize, but you're not going to refuse Eithan's invitation, are you?"
That hit her like an ox's kick.
Before she could ask what he meant, Lindon jerked back as though struck, eyes widening on the window. She spun around, bladed arm poised and gathering madra.
The shutter had come apart slightly, and one bright eye was peeking through. It was framed by a few locks of yellow hair and about an inch of smile. Lindon's shoulders slumped as he let out a resigned sigh. Is this common with the Underlord?
The face vanished from the window, and an instant later Eithan Arelius kicked in the door. "I'm sorry to disturb you, children, though I couldn't help but overhear every word."
Yerin's spirit may have been drained down to the bone, but she still couldn't believe she hadn't sensed someone as powerful as an Underlord a mere ten feet away. At least he couldn't have been there for more than a few seconds, or she would lose trust in her abilities completely.
"How long have been listening?" she asked, not relaxing her bladed Goldsign.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "For about...four weeks now," he answered. "As much as a treasure Lindon here is," placing his hand on Lindon's shoulder. Then his other hand snaked out and grabbed Yerin as well -she stopped her bladed arm just before it stabbed him. "But I'm not looking for a single treasure. I want the set. You're not looking to break the set up are you, Yerin?"
Yerin exchanged looks with Lindon, and though she gave no outer sign, it was as though her heart unclenched. She wouldn't have to scrape by on her own after all. At least not for a little while. And gave Eithan a shake of her head.
"So, we're a set," Lindon said.
"Sounds like we are," she responded. She gave him a little smile, and he rubbed his head sheepishly.
Eithan cleared his throat.
"Well," he said, "one half of this set is supposed to be embedding bindings into constructs."
Lindon bowed. "Apologies, Underlord. I thought Yerin might need a familiar face when she woke."
"That's kind of you, and of course I have no objection to kindness. If you think kindness might keep you alive. In one year. When a Highgold is decorating the walls with your insides."
Lindon's head snapped up, focused on Eithan. "Honored Underlord, thank you for your consideration, but I must beg you for guidance. How can I defeat Jai Long in one year? Thanks to the Jai ancestor's spear he'll be Truegold by then. If not stronger" Lindon's tone becoming accusatory.
"Under the right circumstances, it's possible for an ant to fell an ancient tree," Eithan responded. "So, it's certainly possible. But this will be the..." He hesitated. "I was going to say, 'the worst year of your life,' but you're very young. Let me put it to you this way: if you can hear my name at the end of this year without screaming until your lungs bleed, I haven't done my job properly."
Lindon paled a bit but seemed to be relieved at the same time. "I thank you for the kindness, Underlord." He bobbed his head to Eithan, then to Yerin, and left the cottage. Presumably to work on his Soulsmithing.
Eithan watched him leave; arms folded. When the door shut, he chuckled. "I do enjoy his enthusiasm."
Yerin watched the Underlord the same way she might a venomous Remnant rising from a corpse, thinking. Though it may not have been the sharpest move, she spoke up. If he was going to turn on her, better to know now than live with a knife at her back. "You can say what you want about ants and trees, but I'd contend Lindon can't win against a Truegold. Not one as skilled as Jai Long in a year."
Eithan held up a single finger. "A Truegold or better. Remember that he holds the spear of his ancestor now. But otherwise, you're correct: Lindon certainly will not win. He cannot. And yet he must fight anyway. It's exciting, isn't it?"
The yellow-haired man's cheerful demeanor had always scraped her against the grain. She'd somewhat gotten used to it during her two weeks of training with him, but now the old irritation was worming its way back like a splinter beneath a fingernail. And anger came with it.
"So, you're setting him up to bleed," she said, without bothering to hide the accusation.
He drummed his fingertips together. "In a remote range if mountains at the southern edges of the Blackflame Empire, their lives a small sect of earth artists known as the Deep Eye School. And they are artists in the truest sense of the word; their stone sculptures sell for millions on the open market. To train in their Path, Deep Eye disciples spend years examining the aura of every rock and every boulder on the mountainside. Only when they've found the perfect material will they begin to sculpt."
He moved his hands as though holding a block of stone between them. "Once, I had the good fortune to visit them and observe their process. To me, it seemed as though they spent all day staring at rocks. So, I asked them what they were looking for. And they answered me: they were looking for the most beautiful flaws."
Yerin kept her voice flat. "In this story, Lindon's a rock?"
"And he has an exquisite flaw. He was born weak. He has learned to get by through sheer willpower and hard work, training and pushing himself beyond his limits and conventional wisdom to scrape through a world of giants." He smiled in satisfaction. "If I wish to make him a giant, that is the flaw I must use."
"That's your intention, is it? To make him a giant?" She had been leaning toward joining his family -he hadn't been lying when she told Lindon that only a fool would pass by an opportunity like that- but now she understood his hesitation.
Eithan smiled too much.
"Sounds like you're aiming to give us both a gift," Yerin stated, cycling madra to her Goldsign. She didn't plan to use it, but it gave her a sense of control. "I don't like gifts when I don't know the why behind them."
His smile took on a wistful hue, and he stared into the distance over her shoulder. "Why?" he repeated. "That's an elusive beast, and one that's difficult to pin down. Let me simply say that being born with too little power is not the worst problem one can have."
She knew where this path was headed now, and she withdrew the steel arm on her back. Her master had given her a similar speech, long ago.
"Fate is far worse on those born with too much," he said. "In the Empire, I've heard it said that only one in a hundred Lowgolds ever makes it to Highgold. The same holds true between Highgold and Truegold. Between Truegold and Underlord? One in a thousand." He gestured as though spreading a fact before her. "By definition, each advancement means you leave behind everyone you know until, eventually, you've surpassed them completely. That's the very nature of the sacred arts; it is the definition of success."
That was a fact she knew well. She may be little more than average now, but that wasn't where she started out. Nor was it where she would end up.
Whether the heavens were kind enough to grant her mercy or not, she wasn't destined to stay mediocre for long.
"I'll admit that's been my experience," Yerin allowed, "but my master used to say that no Path is wide enough for two."
He'd lost his smile somewhere along the way, and he was giving her a look of such intensity that she wondered if she was seeing him for the first time. "And that is exactly the problem I wish to solve. I have been looking for people to walk with me every step of the way."
"Where to?" she asked.
"To the end."
He let that hang in the air, resonating with honest yearning like a pure musical note. The end of the sacred arts. It was the definition of a myth, the unattainable goal sought by every Path.
"You think Lindon can keep up?" He had his story about a celestial visitor, but Yerin would think it impressive enough for a lifetime if he hit Truegold someday. He's one step away from Lowgold and has will unlike anyone she has seen -with martial skill to match, but his understanding of the sacred arts is practically nonexistent.
Eithan gave a little shrug. "He's a gamble, I'll admit. But if it pays off, then I'm more worried about you keeping up with him."
Yerin stared at him; a small part actually worried about that being true.
"Unless, of course, you come to terms with your...unwelcome guest."
She kept her hand from moving to the blood-red parasite she kept wrapped around her waist like a belt. He knew. He'd known, and he invited her anyway.
"I already had a master," she said at last. "I'm not calling you that."
"Eithan will do fine," he replied. And smiled.
Goldsteel tongs poised, Lindon knelt over the carcass of a twisted wolf.
The dreadbeast looked as though it had been subjected to dissection and decay already, its skin bloody red with spots of diseased black, but it had looked that way even before death. It was cobbled together from mismatched parts, a botched and diseased creation.
He might have passed out from the smell if not for the perfume-soaked cloth wrapped over the lower half of his face, and even so he tried to breathe through his mouth.
Lindon had already made his incision down ribs of the creature, pinning flaps of the skin back to get a look inside. He'd had to saw through a layer of meat and tendons, and his gloved hands were speckled with foul blood.
Now he tried not to choke on perfumed air as he took a deep breath to steady himself.
Fisher Gesha loomed over him, a disapproving presence. Gesha was possibly the oldest person he'd ever seen, like a shriveled pile of wrinkles packed into a sacred artist's robes. Her grey hair was tied into a tight bun on the top of her head, and eight legs of mechanical Forged madra stuck out of the bottom of her robes, lifting her high enough to see over his shoulder.
"Carefully, now, carefully," she directed. "You hit the binding at the wrong angle, you'll chip it like a teacup."
Lindon dipped his head slightly in lieu of an apology, then slid his hand into the wound.
Back home, he'd cleaned meat from a hunt, but this body had started to rot even before its death, and Lindon struggled not to gag.
He could only get two fingers past the ribs, but they quickly ran into a mass of sharp, solid edges, as though someone had glued broken glass into a fist-sized bundle of shards. He hardly brushed the binding with his fingers for fear of shattering it.
He withdrew his hand most of the way, holding open the incision.
"In a Remnant, the binding would be easier to remove," Fisher Gesha told him, still watching from the side with hands clasped behind her back. "No muscle to cut through, hm? Simple, simple, simple to remove. But dreadbeasts keep their souls in their bodies, nasty little things, so they leave no Remnants. Their techniques grow in them like this, alongside their organs."
She was trying to cram as many lessons into him as she could before Eithan took him way, so that the Underlord couldn't say she'd been neglecting his education. While Lindon appreciated the effort, it was something of a distraction to have to listen when he was trying to remove a delicate piece of Forged madra from a corpse.
Inserting he tongs, he got a solid grip on the binding. Madra could react unpredictably with physical objects, but goldsteel was a unique substance. His tongs looked like ordinary gold until the light caught them, and then they flashed pure white.
Goldsteel could get a firm grip on virtually any kind of madra, which was why it was often used for Soulsmith tools and defenses against hostile Remnants. He held the binding firmly in place, careful not to squeeze too hard and shatter it.
Then he slid two fingers back into the dreadbeast, next to the trapped binding. He pinched a bundle of slick muscle and tore it away from the binding. It was like pulling apart wet paper.
He would have been able to tear meat so easily only a week ago, before advancing to Iron...Jade. It's odd even to him how he went from losing consciousness as a Copper and waking as a Jade. He'd always had the finger strength to tear away flesh like that, but it was more like tearing apart warm bread before. And even factoring that the dreadbeast was dead, so it no longer Enforced itself with its own madra supply, it was effortless. Now, he actually has to hold himself back from accidentally using too much strength.
His abnormal advancement has his body Enforcing itself automatically, taking more madra the greater the effort he out forward. At fully strength, flooding his body with all his madra, he could, for a short time, match a Highgold in physical prowess. But it took way too much madra when doing so. It's like his body is too much for even two full-sized Jade cores to handle. Hopefully advancing to Lowgold will fix that.
But Lindon was getting ahead of himself. He needs to focus on the task at hand.
After he had ripped free every connection from the binding to the surrounding body -and tilted his tongs a few degrees in every direction, to make sure it could move freely- he gradually slid the binding out.
It was a ball of jagged spikes, the yellow of its material barely visible beneath blood and bits of tissue.
He wasn't sure how the madra of such a binding would interact with the physical body, but he still winced at the sight. This had been inside a living creature. It must have caused agony every time the beast moved.
Then again, the binding may not have Forged itself into existence until the wolf died. And it wasn't as though Lindon cared for the suffering of a dreadbeast anyway. They were mindless beast that only sought to devour others, even each other if given the chance.
He dropped the blood-soaked binding onto the tray that Fisher Gesha had prepared for the purpose, then something caught his eye. He turned back to the wolf's body, inserting the tongs once again.
There was a glimmer of something behind the wet space where the binding had once rested, a speck of white too bright and clean to be bone. He pushed some of the muscle away, though he found himself leaning at an awkward angle to get around the ribs.
The white object was a tiny spiral no bigger than his thumbnail, but it was warped out of shape, like a half-melted wax seashell. The white was speckled with a rainbow of other colors -and, of course, drenched in blood- but he reached the tongs in for it.
At the first touch, the binding dissolved like chalk in rain.
Fisher Gesha smacked him on the side of his head. It was a blow that would've killed anyone below Iron. He just rubbed at the spot in discomfort, the bruise never forming due to the healing property of his Bloodforged Iron body. Though, he did feel some of his madra drain into that spot.
"You don't touch madra you know nothing about," she warned, shaking a finger at him. "Very dangerous."
Lindon bobbed his head to indicate he's heard her, but he couldn't just leave it alone. "But honored Fisher, I believe I saw one of those before."
In fact, he suspected he had two in his pack. His white spiral bindings were large and pristine, whereas the one in the dreadbeast had been small and shot through with other colors, but he though they may be the same crystalized technique. The same technique that had gone into the Jai Ancestor's Spear, allowing it to steal madra.
She slapped him again, on the other side of his head this time. Honestly, he could have dodged her strike, but when he'd done so the first time she tried while teaching him, she used her Fisher technique to hold him still and hit him twice as hard and twice as often. He was better off just taking the one blow.
"You've seen one? I have seen a thousand. Spent my life hunting these woods, you think there are surprises here for me?" She jabbed a finger in the direction of the corpse. "When a dreadbeast eats an animal, the meat goes to its stomach. When it eats a Remnant, the madra goes there."
Lindon brightened. "If this can steal and process madra, like the Ancestor's Spear does, doesn't that make this a treasure? Every dreadbeast has the material of a new spear!"
He was working himself up with every word, envisioning himself standing in an arena against Jai Long with a white spear of his own. And a core bursting with stolen madra.
Gesha brushed her hands off on the front of her robes, though she hadn't touched anything. "In my grandmother's day, they tried such a thing. Used bindings to make weapons and take power from the ones they killed. But it did to men the same things it did to...them. Everyone who used such weapons became monsters, hideous and deformed." She shuddered. "If we could make the spear of the Jai ancestor ourselves, why would we prize it so highly, hm?"
Clearly, she didn't know what he'd taken from the Soulsmith foundry at the top of the Transcendent Ruins. "But Fisher Gesha...I have the notes from the ones who made the spear." He watched her as he spoke, anticipating her shock.
Without changing expression, she reached into the pocket of her outer robe and pulled out a wooden document case. "You mean these notes? Yes, you left them out the other night. These are ancient, you should be more careful with them."
He would have reached for them if not for the gore on his hands. "I'm sorry, I was overeager."
"Mm. These are brilliant; they will provide you with years of study and inspiration." She tucked them back into her pocket. "Someday. First, you must learn the basics."
Disappointment tightened into panic -he had wanted to use knowledge of the spear as a trump card against Jai Long. "If I may speak openly, honored Fisher: I was hoping to create a weapon according to those notes."
"If an infant wished to forge a sword of his own, should his interest be encouraged? Hm? No. I will return these to you when you have learned to stand on your own feet as a Soulsmith, and not before."
Lindon wanted to argue, but he was unlikely to earn anything more than another hit on the head. And he knew that, deep down, she was right. His understanding of Soulsmithing was only just becoming basic, let alone well enough to make any real use of those notes made by ancient Soulsmiths that were the best of their era. Besides, the smell was getting worse every second he knelt over the dreadbeast's corpse.
Reluctantly, he let the topic slip away.
He dropped the tongs onto the tray next to the one binding they had secured, then staggered away to take a deep breath. They had left their belongings many paces away, to avoid the mess and stench -Lindon's carried in a bulky pack that he normally wore on his back, and Gesha's in a sealed chest of polished wood.
Lindon stopped to remove his bloody gloves and rinses his hands at a station he had set up for this exact purpose. With a wisp of is spirit, he activated a blocky blue construct that he'd nailed to a tree.
Blue liquid trickled from the box, madra Forged into water by a binding inside. Not real water, but anything would do to wash off this tainted blood.
It was only a crude device, barely worth calling a construct at all, as Gesha had repeatedly reminded him. But it worked, and water madra was common here in the Desolate Wilds. as the disciples of the Purelake School outnumbered most everyone else in the region.
Given that most of the nearby trees were at least spotted with black corruption if not entirely black, and the wildlife seemed to share the affliction, Lindon could see why pure water might be a valuable enough commodity to support a powerful School of the sacred arts.
When he'd cleaned his hands, Gesha had already rinsed off the binding and stripped away the extra muscle, leaving the Forged madra exposed: a spiked crystal of yellow madra, streaked with layers of deep red and pale orange.
Most other Forged madra tended to be one solid color, but this chaotic blend seemed to suit the dreadbeasts. They gave off a riot of conflicting auras, as though different powers warred within them.
Lindon thanked Fisher Gesha as he reached for the tray. "Are you sure you want to guide me so far? Rinsing a binding for me, that could be considered holding my hand."
It was only intended as a light joke. Those had been Eithan's words when he sent Lindon out to train his Soulsmithing with Gesha: "Don't guide him too far, if you wouldn't mind. I don't need someone who can't walk without his hand held."
Thus far, Gesha had taken the Underlord's instructions seriously, refusing to even carry her own trunk out into the forest and making Lindon haul it himself. But she'd seemed to relax as they'd hunted over the last two days, so he thought a small joke might ease the remaining tension.
Apparently, he'd judged wrong.
Her face darkened, and she shoved the tray at him with enough force that he stumbled back. Despite her age, she was still a Highgold, and he was only a Jade. He'd just barely held his own against Kral until his madra ran dry, and she's much more skilled and experienced than he was. Gesha would never make the same mistake of failing to kill her opponent and drop her guard like that.
"You want to report me to the Underlord, hm? You want to waste his time? Well, see if I help you any further!" She turned to shout at the air, as though she suspected Eithan was hiding close by and listening. "Not a finger more, you see? Not a breath!"
"Forgiveness, honored Fisher, forgiveness. This one intended no offense."
"Offense? No offense but see if I risk landing in a boiling kettle with the Underlord just to help you. If a dreadbeast comes up to nibble your toes, see if I pull you out of the fire. 'Told me not to help him,' that's what I'll tell him." In a quieter voice, she added, "...and I told you to stop with 'this one, that one.' That is what offends me."
Lindon gave her a shallow bow and then turned to her trunk, throwing it open. On the top level were all her most common Soulsmith's tools save her drudge, on which she stood. The spider-construct had identified the location of the binding in the dreadbeast's body, and it would take much of the guesswork out of building a construct, but he wouldn't have access to a drudge until he built one himself.
The tools all had components of goldsteel or halfsilver, the gold surfaces flashing white, and the silver ones embedded with stars. They weren't made entirely from the exotic metals, but there was still enough inside the trunk to count as a fortune back in Sacred Valley. Here, where the materials were even more rare, they might qualify as a sect's treasure. He was lucky the Fishers had allowed Gesha to take them out...although, with Eithan Arelius standing behind Lindon, they may not have had a choice.
Before selecting his tools, he ran his madra through the binding. It drew from one of his two cores, using it to launch a technique -if it'd been back before Eithan expanded them to full Jade size and quality it'd have nearly drained one dry. A knuckle-sized bolt of golden light blasted from the binding, tore through the leaves and earth, and smacked into the tree, chipping away a piece of bark.
"Striker binding," Gesha said immediately. "Aspects?"
"At least earth," Lindon answered. The color reminded him of earth aura, so he went with his instincts. He could feel that there was more with his spiritual sense, but he didn't have the experience to know what those were. "Maybe force? Some wind? If you could take a look with your drudge, we could know for sure."
"Not for sure. A drudge only checks for what you tell it to check for. There is no substitute for experience. Now then, what would you do with this binding?"
A construct, essentially, was a puppet with a single technique embedded in it. The binding was the technique. Scripts could tweak the specifics, but the bulk of a construct's abilities were determined by the power of the dead matter in its shell and the binding at its heart.
Lindon reached into his pack and slid out a book Gesha had given him only three nights before: The Combination of Spirits. It was written by hand, rathe than printed by construct like most books from Sacred Valley, but he found the observations of ancient Soulsmith teachers fascinating. "I haven't had time to study in depth, but I had some inspiration. You see, here it mentions a Striker construct that won't activate until a certain amount of time passes. You could put one circle on an arrowhead-"
"Launcher," Fisher Gesha interrupted. "You think my question did not have a correct answer, hm? It does. The correct answer is: a basic launcher construct."
Lindon hesitated. "I'm sure that would work, but the binding serves the same basic purpose already." A launcher construct was little more than a container with a Striker binding in it.
As far as constructs went, launchers were boring. Nothing of what they did amplified or enhanced the binding's technique in any way. In Lindon's opinion, you might as well just keep a Striker binding in a script-sealed box and take it out when you needed it.
Gesha reached into the pocket of her outer robe and pulled out a second book: Soulsmithing for Coppers. On its cover was a picture of a smiling tree holding hands with a friendly-looking Remnant.
"You forgot one of your new books, hm? Lucky, I grabbed it before we left."
She tossed it to him, and he forced a smile. "Thank you for correcting my careless oversight, Fisher Gesha."
"Mm. You'll find instructions for a launcher inside."
Lindon peeled open the book, flipping past overly large illustrations of children putting simple constructs together. It was a grating reminder that he had first Forged madra only a few weeks before.
Technically, he supposed he was at the level of these children, but he was pushing himself in every other aspect of his scared arts. Why did he have to start from the beginning only here, as a Soulsmith?
If he was being honest with himself, he knew he had to with Soulsmithing. Master Shigure had emphasized the importance of mastering the every, basic, menial step when forging as a blacksmith. Talent and hard work can speed this learning process along, but under no circumstances should anyone hoping to master the craft of forging should skip a single step. From finding the best materials to getting the exact right heat of the forge, every step is vital when creating a masterpiece. Only individuals not worthy of being called Smiths skip step in their training and understanding.
Soulsmithing works under those same basic ideals. If he wants to be more than an amateur Soulsmith, he has to move forward one step at a time. Mastering even the basic creation of boring launchers.
He knows this, but it still grates on him to be moving so slow. Besides, he already knows he can make a launcher, so he's really not learning anything by making it.
But Gesha's stern gaze did not relent, so he sighed and walked back over to her trunk, removing the claw of an earth-Remnant, which still twitched with life if he held it too close to the ground. It would serve as the ideal body for this weapon.
With a goldsteel scalpel, he split it open, placing the binding within.
He ran his spirit over the loose construction, letting his power drift into the dead matter. With focus and a negligent effort of will, he took control of the Remnant pieces.
The claw began to shine again, like it had when it was part of a Remnant. Lindon felt when his Ki-laced spirit -it took a while for him to realize it, but his Ki now flowed with his madra subconsciously- filled the dead matter and the binding equally, empowering them both.
Then he fused them together.
The claw shrunk, compressed, and reshaped itself according to his will. The binding melded onto the substance of the claw, sealed inside so it was all one piece. As this happened, his madra, carrying his Ki, shaped the internal matter so that the barrel of the yellow rod had a spiraling grove to increase the velocity of the rock-hard energy when fired by adding rotation to it. The outer shell -which was mostly a straight yellow rod tipped with claws- shifted the backend to curve down with an ideal grip to fit one's hand and the claws to mold into the shaft seamlessly, except one that rose to act as a sight.
All the Soulsmiths in Sacred Valley had been Forgers because the process of creating a construct was similar to Forging: you take control of the power and give it form. Lindon could have reformed the dead matter to look more like a sword, or a box, or most anything else, but he tends to allow the function of what he's creating, and its components guide his hand.
More than Forging ability, Lindon had learned, crafting a construct required compatibility. The power of the Soulsmith soaked into the power of the construct, and some aspects of madra did not blend well. In those cases, the Soulsmithing process could result in a useless product, or a deadly mistake.
Pure madra was compatible with everything, but it was also weak. It added nothing. Fisher Gesha's madra was attractive -as in, it literally pulled objects together- and that meant she could fuse dead matter to bindings with no trouble at all, and her madra was still compatible with most everything. There were a few powers she couldn't re-Forge without danger, but she had a drudge to identify exactly when those were present.
Pure madra wasn't the best for any given construct -it weakened the original power of the madra like water added to wine. But it did technically work with anything.
Lindon would take any advantage he could get.
Back in Sacred Valley, every Forger thought they knew something about Soulsmithing, because making a construct was fairly easy. But making one safe? One that performed as intended every time, and lasted for as long as possible?
You had to measure the dead matter and the binding precisely to avoid unexpected interaction, handle the materials correctly, dissect the Remnant properly, and know how to customize and tweak the functions with scripts afterwards.
Unless you were making a launcher, they're simple. It was why he was using his Kosaka forging method's secret process of infusing his Ki.
When he forges while infusing his will, Shigure had emphasize the need of adding one's intentions for whatever you're making. Like when he forged armor, Lindon added the intentions of protection and solidity. While forging a weapon, he added the intentions of destruction, sharpness, force and even death depending on the weapon he was forging.
It was what gave his creations that extra capability, resonating with a person's own intentions when using it. They all have a "weight" to them that had nothing do with their mass. It's like they are more somehow. More substantial.
With the yellow launcher he was creating, he added the intention of speed and destructive force so that the energy would fire out with more speed -increasing its weight- and hit with greater force.
Gesha nodded approvingly. "You move quickly, and with confidence. This is good. Shaped expertly for utility and comfort but a little heavier than it should be. Only another week or two, and we will take further steps."
He's not surprised that Gesha can't sense why the launcher is heavier. Her Willpower/Ki is just as weak and defuse as all the other Golds. It's natural that she just assumes he left behind too much unnecessary dead matter.
Still, he tried to keep most of the disappointment out of his voice as he replied, "A week?"
Gesha's hand struck like a hawk taking a mouse, slapping him on the back of the head. This time, it really stung. "Keep your eyes on the present, bit the future, hm?" Her spider legs shuffled, turning her back on him.
"Your instruction has been invaluable, honored Fisher," Lindon said, although in truth she hadn't taught him much at all before the last few days. I seemed that his endorsement from Eithan had promoted him from 'servant' to 'student.' "I bow to your wisdom."
She reached over her shoulder, resting a hand on the hilt of her hook. Like all the members of the Fisher sect, she carried a giant bladed fishhook as a weapon, sharp on the inside. He'd personally forged hers out of goldsteel -her original only being plated by goldsteel- and carrying the added weight of his Ki infused intention as both a weapon and a tool. He'd personally seen her dissect all sorts of Remnants with it. So, not only does need to cut to kill, but also to dissect for crafting.
"You wish to run before you can stand up straight," Gesha stated firmly. "You do not travel any Path by skipping steps."
He had skipped every step he could, and ever since leaving Sacred Valley, he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.
But he didn't say that out loud. Besides, he sensed it just shortly after Gesha did: there's a Remnant coming up behind him. It's why Gesha had rested her hand on her Hook's hilt, but she was waiting to act. Most likely as a teachable moment for him about rushing ahead too quickly.
Lindon turned around in a blur of motion, his left hand already letting one of his kunai fly straight towards the Remnant. Like all Remnants, it looked like a collection of brushstrokes, as though someone had painted it into existence. This one was purple, tall and sunken, with inhumanly long limbs and the gaping face of a fish. Its thin, webbed fingers were tipped in claws, and its blank purple eyes were fixed on Lindon.
Up until the halfsilver/goldsteel dagger punched between those blank eyes and clean through its skull. Bright sparks of violet essence sprayed into the air like blood, and the Remnant fell motionless to the ground.
Lindon heard a tssk sound come from Gesha. Probably annoyed at him for ruining her chance to emphasize her point.
Lindon faced Fisher Gesha and bowed over his fists. "Forgiveness, honored Fisher. I thought it best to remove the threat before continuing your lesson. And now we have a fresh Remnant to harvest."
Gesha's face is twisted in annoyance but still continues, "You have your eyes on the future. You stare only at your goals far away and are bound to miss the traps before your feet."
She tssks again while looking at the dead Remnant, realizing this will be a harder point to make now.
"This is a lesson for all sacred artists, not just Soulsmiths. A snake who tries to swallow an elephant will only choke. You are always trying to skip steps, yes? To cheat. This is carelessness, and it will lead you into trouble that you can't handle."
"I understand, Fisher Gesha," Lindon replied. "I am careless. I overstep myself, leaping forward when I should progress slowly and carefully. This one humbly thanks you for teaching him this important lesson."
"Not this one," she said. "Hm. So long as you have learned." Though she didn't sound convinced.
Which she was right to be. He had no intention of slowing down...except for Soulsmithing. He has no other choice but to move at her pace, but he'll try to move it along faster whenever he can.
Lindon had to spend one more night in the woods before he and Gesha returned to the Five Factions Alliance camp with the rising sun. He read as they walked, committing simple scripts to memory.
"Put that away and listen to me," Gesha ordered as they approached the camp walls. "You are no longer a Copper with one friend and no enemies. You should learn to conduct yourself as a member of a great family, hm?"
Lindon opened his pack and slid Soulsmithing for Coppers inside, resting it beside the Sylvan Riverseed's glass case. "I await your instruction."
Her mouth tightened and guilt flashed across her face. "I did not teach you well before Eithan Arelius took you in." He started to disagree -a polite fiction, because she really had been a terrible teacher before the past few days- but she cut him off. "It's true, and I'm not afraid of the truth. You were never my disciple before the Underlord picked you up, no matter what I told you. But I could never treat a member of the Arelius family so disrespectfully as to ignore them."
"Gratitude. Your instruction is appreciated, but I have no voice in the Arelius family. Nothing you say to me will reflect on them."
That wasn't entirely true, and they both knew it; before he was attached to Eithan Arelius, Gesha could have cut his head off in broad daylight and the passersby would have simply stepped around his bleeding trunk. Now, she'd have to answer to an Underlord.
But Eithan didn't have time to listen to Lindon's petty complaints. Lindon wasn't some spoiled noble's son with a doting father; in fact, he wouldn't be surprised if the Underlord cast him out of the family on a whim.
Gesha sighed. "This is a lesson for you, as you travel into the wider world. Reputation is a sacred artist's greatest treasure. If the Underlord hears that I have disrespected you, he will take that to mean that I do not respect him. You see? The powerful have no mercy for those who step on their reputations."
Their conversation stopped as they passed through the entrance of the guarded wooden wall and into the Alliance camp, walking down hardpacked dirt roads past buildings that had been hurriedly tossed together from raw lumber and bare stone.
They had a few moments before they were alone again, so Lindon had some time to think. Gesha was trying not to say it out loud, but Eithan frightened her. She was terrified that something Lindon said might lead to her execution.
Lindon knew that Fisher Gesha was a Highgold who could twist him into a knot without touching him, but she was still a four-foot-tall old woman who could have been his grandmother. His heart softened when he saw her careful and afraid. "I won't carry news back to him, I swear it," Lindon said. "He won't hear anything from me."
She gave him a grateful look, clearly relieved that she hadn't had to spell it out. Then she gave a brief chuckle. "He's an Arelius," she said dryly. "If the rumors are true, then he'll hear about it regardless."
Lindon laughed along, but she seemed half-serious.
That made him consider her fears again. If Eithan was really that dangerous, maybe he should reconsider accepting his invitation.
Then again, this could be the one area where he had more experience than Fisher Gesha.
Eithan may be an Underlord, with a level of power near his master -distantly, he powerful and around the Mid Class Master level, but not their equal- but he'd seen Suriel with his own eyes. He wasn't sure how far she ranked above an Underlord, but he was certain Eithan couldn't hold a candle to her.
"He hasn't descended from the heavens," Lindon replied, smiling slightly. "He can't see everything."
"Not everything," Eithan chimed in.
Lindon stumbled back, bumping into a wooden wall at the side of the street. More gracefully, Fisher Gesha hopped down from her spider-construct and sunk to her knees, pressing her forehead against the ground.
All around them, sacred artists of all ages dropped to the dirt as well. At first, only a few had caught sight of Eithan, but more and more people noticed. In only a breath, the sparse crowd of perhaps two dozen people had all fallen to their knees with heads bowed. Only Lindon and Eithan remained standing.
This was the Fisher section of the Alliance encampment, so most of the people were Fishers or their allies, but it was still disturbing to se all these people recognize Eithan on sight. Only a few days ago, Eithan had pushed through a bustling crowd a hundred times this size without interruption.
For his part, Eithan stood in the center of the road as though he'd waited there all along, though he certainly hadn't been there a moment before. His yellow hair fell past his shoulders, and his smile was broad and cheery. He kept his eyes on Lindon and Gesha, as though the strangers didn't exist. Today, he wore a teal outer robe embroidered with golden fish leaping and playing among the waves.
"Your unworthy servant greets the Underlord," Gesha stated, and there was a murmur of agreement through the crowd.
"Underlord," Lindon said, hurriedly sketching a bow of his own. "Forgive me, I was...startled."
Eithan brushed that away with a gesture. "There will be no forgiveness. To the blood pits with you!"
Gesha trembled on her knees, and Lindon laughed awkwardly.
The Underlord looked at them, gauging their reactions, and eventually shrugged. "Not every joke is appreciated in its time. Tell me, Soulsmith Gesha, would you mind if I borrowed my little brother here? Feel free to say no, although of course I will have your corpse mounted on a flagpole for the slightest defiance."
"The will of the Underlord be done," Gesha answered from the ground, her face still in the dirt. Her shaking had grown more noticeable.
None of the strangers dared to make a single sound.
Lindon passed a hand over his face. With a lowered voice, he pleaded, "Please, Underlord."
Eithan's eyes widened. "Am I to be condemned because she takes things too...no, fine, all right." He knelt at Fisher Gesha's side and spoke in a much gentler voice. "I beg your pardon, Soulsmith. Please rise and address me face-to-face." He raised his voice. "All of you, on your feet and on your way."
With the speed of Gold sacred artists, the crowd vanished. It was as though a breeze had blown them all away.
Gesha rose, but she did not face him.
"On my word as an Underlord, you will not be punished for anything you say here or have said today," Eithan said impatiently. "Now follow my instructions, Highgold."
She finally let out a breath and met his eyes. "Thank you for your mercy, honored Underlord. Tell me how I might serve you."
Eithan looked to Lindon. "You see how much faster it is when I just tell them what to do? It's infuriating. I don't want to phrase everything as a command for the rest of my life."
"It sounds hard on you, Underlord," Lindon responded carefully.
"Yes, the endless subservience and instant obedience wear on me. But if you call me anything other than 'Eithan' again, I'll have you sleep in a cave full of bats." He stroked his chin for a moment, considering. "You could call 'brother' instead, if you preferred. Yes that would be-"
"Thank you, Eithan," Lindon cut in.
"Hmmm. Well, as I was saying: Fisher Gesha, I must borrow your pupil for an hour or six. I'll return him to you in one or more pieces."
"As you will, Underlord."
"And I had something to ask you as well." Eithan drew himself up and addressed the old Soulsmith with full authority. "You will not be punished for any decision you make here, on my word and the honor of my family. We depart for one of my homes in the Empire very soon, perhaps today. I would be honored to have you accompany Lindon as his Soulsmith tutor, but you are free to decline and stay with your sect. There will be no repercussions of any-"
"I decline," Gesha said instantly. She didn't even look at Lindon. He hadn't expected any different, but it still stung.
Eithan clapped his hands. "A firm decision! Wonderful. Then, goodbye!"
He extended an arm to shepherd Lindon and turned as though to continue walking down the road, but Gesha had already scurried away. A wooden door slammed shut; Lindon wondered if she'd escaped into a random nearby building.
"For a woman her age, she really is spry. Good for her. Not everyone keeps up with their physical exercises as they get older, and a healthy spirit lives in a healthy body."
Lindon adjusted his pack, hitching it up on his shoulders. "I'd like a chance to bathe before I continue my training, if you don't mind. I've been in the forest for three days, and water is scarce."
Eithan tuned to him with an expression of obvious disappointment. "Do you think you'll be able to defeat a Truegold in a year with such halfhearted resolve? How much valuable training time do you plan to waste on baths?"
Lindon quickly bowed. "Forgiveness, please, I spoke out of turn."
"No, I was pulling your strings again. But you really shouldn't waste soap on yourself yet, you filthy mud-caked animal. After a day of this training, you'll be covered in seat. And probably some blood."
Eithan led him all the way across the territory of the Five Factions Alliance, the ramshackle encampment that had sprouted up after the Transcendent Ruins rose from the ground. The cobbled-together buildings of stone and lumber leaned up against the base of the Ruins like roots at the foot of a great tree.
Lindon hadn't been back inside since Eithan had rescued him from Jai Long's wrath. He fervently wished never to go back; fifteen days trapped in darkness brought up the one-month training session he'd lived through once before to sharpen his senses. Still, this shorter experience was deadlier because it was filled with lethal beast that wanted to eat him, and no one to save him or for the simulation to end.
The pyramid dwarfed everything else for miles around, like a mountain made of stacked blocks. Its bottom tier took up more space than the rest of the encampment, and its top tier scraped the clouds. Now that the Soulsmith foundry at the top was open, the scripts powering the Ruin had settled into equilibrium. They no longer had to draw vital aura from miles around; instead, it relied on a steady trickle from its immediate surroundings.
In Lindon's Copper sight, each block of the pyramid looked like a softly yellow-glowing cube of golden lightning. That would be the earth aura in the stone itself; the same power that ran through the ground beneath his feet, just far more concentrated. Whenever he looked down into the earth, he had the dizzying sensation of staring into a yellow ocean filled with glowing, crackling bolts.
Aura empowered the entire world with strokes of color: the wind blew hazy green, the sun's rays were a gold richer than the earth, and the broad lake next to the pyramid shone with vivid blue-green ripples. Each person was a mass of color with vibrant green and bloody red predominating. And with each color his spiritual Jade sense felt them each with impression of their composition. Even though earth aura looked like crackling bolts of yellow lightening, it still felt like solid, powerful earth.
It was like staring into a world of fractured rainbows with a mix of countless impressions.
Lindon had to close off his sense before his head began to throb. Focusing on any aura gave him information about that aura's aspect, so opening his aura sight was like staring into the sun and reading a hundred books at the same time. With his spiritual sense open as well, it was like they were pushing onto his mind all at once. A headache followed in seconds. It's a weakness he'll after to overcome if he wants to use these new sense's while in battle.
The thousands of sacred artists who had gathered to explore the benefits of the Ruins had started to drift away as soon as the pyramid stopped drawing in aura. Now, only three days later, half of these newly built buildings were abandoned. The dirt paths leading all over the Alliance encampment were all but empty, not choked with traffic as they had been only half a week before.
But news had already traveled fast. Everyone they spotted on the road bowed at the sight of Eithan, murmuring respect as he passed. Usually seconds before scurrying out of their way, lest the Underlord become displeased.
Eithan continued to ignore everyone, chatting with Lindon and occasionally stopping to sweep dust from a windowsill or snip a branch from a bush with black iron scissors he seemed to carry everywhere. He never glanced at anyone else, whether they bowed or not, and many of the strangers looked relieved by that fact.
Lindon knew better.
Eithan didn't look at them because he didn't need to.
They finally arrived at the end of Fisher territory, amid a collection of wooden buildings that looked as though they had been built in a day and abandon just as quickly. A bucket of nails rested on a half-finished fence, and a hand plane sat abandoned in the grass.
Eithan gestured to the biggest building, which smelled of fresh-cut wood and sat in a bed of sawdust and wood chips. "Behold," he exclaimed, "your new training hall! The crew started and finished it last night."
It was a barn. Fisher Gesha's foundry looked almost exactly the same, except this one was unpainted.
Why was Eithan having new buildings constructed? Weren't they leaving soon? At least he finally found out what he had the Fishers working on.
"I'm eager to see what's inside," Lindon replied diplomatically.
"Are you? That's strange. I designed it to look as uninteresting as possible." Eithan swept up the plane and the bucket of nails, placing them next to a plie of other tools. "I'm sure Yerin's reaction was much more entertaining."
Lindon resisted the urge to apologize, instead approaching the barn.
There was an average-sized door on the side, obviously made for foot traffic, and broad doors in the middle designed for livestock. Although if it was built only a day ago as a training hall, why would there be animals here at all?
After a second's indecision, Lindon hitched up his pack and hauled with both hands on the livestock door.
Yerin sat inside, legs crossed, with a white-bladed sword across her knees. She was roughly Lindon's age, about sixteen, but while Lindon had been raised among the comforts of civilization, Yerin looked like she'd grown up in a never-ending knife fight.
Blades had left their tracks in the pale scars in her face and hands, in the tattered edges if her coal-black sacred artist's robe. She cut her hair with her sword madra, so it ended in absolutely straight lines across her eyes and above her shoulders.
The robe tied around her waist was the red of spilled blood, but Lindon couldn't bear to look directly at it. Even his spiritual senses flinched back at feel of slaughter and blood emanating from it. There was something alive about that belt, as though it could slither away at any moment.
Her Goldsign grew from behind her shoulder, a silver arm ending in a blade like a scorpion's stinger. Even seated on the floor in a cycling position, she looked deadly, as though she were poised to drive into a battle.
She nodded a greeting to Lindon but addressed Eithan. "Daylight's wasting. Am I going back to cycling, or are we going to start hitting these guys?"
She jerked a thumb behind her, and Lindon took a glance over her shoulder. Except for the beams supporting the roof, the barn was wide open from wall to wall. And filling that space was a circle of eighteen wooden dummies.
They were only crude outlines of men: rough shapes of a head and torso, with boards sticking out like arms. They had no legs, only a single pole driven through the floorboards beneath them.
But what drew Lindon's attention, and made him walk forward for a closer look, were the runes carved into those boards. The dummies had been arranged all around a script-circle the size of the barn, and it was one of the most intricate circles he'd ever seen. There were two lines of script circling the dummies, one on the inside and one on the outside, and runes were packed small and tight; each symbol was only the size of his thumb. He picked out a rune he recognized here and there, but a circle like this was far beyond him.
A second circle, much smaller, overlapped at the far end of the barn. It was only big enough for a single person to stand inside, and a wooden podium rested in the center. Lindon guessed that those were the controls.
Eithan put his hands on his hips and looked over the eighteen dummies with the smile of a proud father. "Six Soulsmiths worked alongside the carpenters all night for this, and I have to say, I think they did a wonderful job."
Lindon could tell that the runes had been carved quickly, but he was still having trouble accepting that this had been done in one night.
"This is a traditional training method from my homeland," Eithan explained, walking over to stand by one of the dummies. "I've seen similar setups elsewhere, but I'm partial to this design. Yerin, did your master ever take you through one of these?"
"Master wouldn't let me draw my sword on a wooden man," Yerin answered with a shrug. "If it didn't bleed, it wasn't good enough for training."
"I suspect that, in a few years, you'll have drawn enough blood to satisfy even your master. No need to start too early."
Yerin looked pleased by the compliment, but Lindon was wondering what exactly the Underlord had planned for them over the next few years.
Eithan moved on. "These dummies are more than wood, you see. They are moved by small constructs inside and are used to practice basic steps in combat."
Yerin's face fell, her disappointment clear. Lindon wasn't far behind her, but he was holding back his reservations in the hope that there was more to the course.
Hand-to-hand combat is the one area that he surpasses even Yerin and even Jai Long. He's not so certain about Eithan; something about him feels similar to his masters, but he can't quite put his finger on what.
Eithan strode over to the podium at the center of the control circle, pointing a finger at Yerin while moving his other hand over the podium. "I know how you feel but be patient. I'm making a point."
The air between Eithan's hand and the podium rippled as he powered it with script. The smaller circle around Eithan lit up white, then the light flowed into the bigger circle. Soon, the entire barn was lit with pale runelight.
Suddenly, one of the wooden dummies spun on its axis. A previously invisible circle of runes lit up on its left arm -green- then in its lower torso -blue- then on its face -white. The lights faded away in seconds.
"Hit the circles as they light up. Simple, isn't it? If you do it correctly, and your strikes carry enough madra, the circles will stay lit instead of dying out. When all three circles on all the dummies remain active at the same time, you have won."
Air rippled between his hand and the controls again, and a deafening chime sounded from all the dummies at once. They each spun in place, and the three circles on their bodies continued to shine instead of dying out.
Eithan stepped away from the controls, though the circles in the floorboards remained lit.
The dummies stayed bright for a handful of seconds, their three rings shining before finally going dark.
"Yerin, if you wouldn't mind demonstrating for Lindon how the system works, I'd like to see you defeat the dummies. As quickly as possible, please."
Yerin stepped between two of the mannequins, tucking her sword-arm closer to her shoulder so it didn't catch on a wooden head. "I just have to hit them when they light up?"
"In the correct timing. If you miss one, the target will go dark again, and you'll have to start over."
She nodded, approaching a dummy. "How do I start?"
When she stepped closer, a green circle of runes lit on the wooden plank it used as an arm. Before Lindon had fully registered the light, Yerin had already struck it dead center. The arm swiveled back from the force...
...and the other arm came to life, swinging at the back of her head.
She caught the blow with her left hand, striking at the dummy's torso with her right in the instant the blue circle appeared. The wooden man bowed in the middle to deliver a headbutt, but she sidestepped as though she could see it coming, her sword-arm whipping forward to strike the white circle.
Before the chime sounded, signaling that she'd beaten the first dummy, she was already stepping up to the second.
Lindon had opened his copper sight and spiritual senses, focusing on Yerin and her attacks on the dummies. He'd watched Yerin fight before, but when she was in an actual battle, her movement seemed...rougher. More natural, somehow. This was smooth and practiced, like she was executing a routine for the hundredth time. That was to be expected, he could do the same, but the part that awed him was the perfect application of her madra to each strike. She used only the minimum amount madra necessary to lite the scripts.
From the flow of madra through her body to the perfect application of it in every strike, Lindon watched her spirit. It was so effortless and smooth, like it was moving itself in accord with her every move.
Before being pushed straight through Iron into Jade, he'd have not had enough madra to complete even half this course. Then there was the issue with how long it takes to focus his madra into strikes. He'll be lucky to finish the course at all with his current control of his madra. If it was just physical strikes, he be able to run through these dummies in a handful of seconds with his eyes closed. Honestly, if it wasn't for Eithan pushing him to fix his cycling problem while fighting, he'd never make it past the first strike.
"This is her first try?" Lindon asked, as Yerin stopped a separate strike with each hand while delivering a kick that lit up a green circle. He can't even use an empty palm through a kick with time and focus, yet she did it in an instant -in fairness, she was using much less madra than an empty palm. She'd taken down four dummies already.
"This much is expected," Eithan commented, examining his fingernails. "Jai Long could clear this course with his eyes closed."
Lindon slipped his hands into the pocket where Suriel's marble rested -a transparent orb about the size of his thumbnail with a single blue candleflame burning within. Its warmth comforted him, reassured him.
Eithan flashed him a smile. "Don't worry. The heavens are on your side."
Lindon started. Did Eithan know about Suriel? Lindon wasn't particularly afraid of the story getting out, since no one would believe it anyway, but how had Eithan found out? Had Yerin told him?
Could the Underlord read minds?
"...because the heavens sent you to me," Eithan went on. "That's nothing of not a miracle."
Slowly, Lindon let out a breath.
The eighteenth chime sounded, and all the dummies glowed softly. Yerin slid backwards and came to a stop in the center, her breathing a little ragged.
"Fifteen seconds," Eithan announced. "Not bad for your first time. The dummies are set to delay you more than injure you, but after a week or two, you'll go through this like wind through a forest."
"What's the fastest I can get?" Yerin asked.
"Twelve seconds is the minimum the script can handle. When you reach that, I'll have a better one built."
Yerin crossed her arms. "How fast is yours?"
"An excellent question. As I said, I grew up on a course very similar to this one, but recently I had the Arelius Soulsmiths build me a course set for two seconds."
She waved a hand at the surrounding dummies. "You could clear this in two seconds, if the script let you?"
Lindon wasn't surprised at that; Eithan is around the Mid Class Master level and they have more than enough skill and speed to do that. Yerin on the other hand looked skeptical.
Eithan laughed, "Couldn't your master do as much?"
"You are not my master," she answered with confidence.
He'd already moved over to the controls, and the colored circles on the dummies died down as the circle reset. "I am not, and I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet him. There aren't many who know him in the Blackflame Empire, but he has quite the reputation in the outside world."
The outside world. Lindon hadn't even seen the Empire yet, and he was already impatient to reach beyond it. The world Suriel had shown him was impossibly vast, and Eithan had seen more of it than anyone else Lindon had met. That alone was enough to make him thankful he'd joined the Arelius family.
The Underlord gestured to the circle. "Lindon. Pretend that I have given you this task to prove yourself as a new member of my family. Act as though these are not training dummies, but enemies, and I have tasked you with our defense."
Lindon looked past Eithan's smile. There was something hidden in those words, though he wasn't sure what. Nonetheless, he shifted the way he thought about the training circle.
If this were a real life-or-death scenario, he'd need more information.
He walked around the edge, glancing at the dummies. As he'd expected, the target circles weren't invisible; they were simply sketched lightly in the surface of the wood and difficult to make out at a distance. The dummy was ringed with other such scripts, carrying instructions and power from the circle on the floor. He'd have liked to look at the constructs within -even if he couldn't understand how such advanced devices worked, he at least might learn something.
Finally, his steps carried him next to Eithan. "Let me clarify, if you don't mind. As long as I light up the circles on a dummy, I have defeated the enemy?"
"Just so."
Lindon nodded. Then he reached a hand out over the controls and sent madra flowing into a command circle.
There were nine circles engraved on the wooden podium, and it took him a moment to find the one he wanted. The first made some dummies spin around, the second darkened the circle, the third had no reaction he could see, but the fourth worked. Eighteen chimes sounded at once, and all the targets on all the dummies lit up.
"Victory," Lindon declared, "for the Arelius family."
He bowed so that Eithan wouldn't hear any disrespect in his words, but Eithan only nodded. "Five seconds. He seems to have beaten you by ten, Yerin."
Yerin's ears reddened noticeably, but her tone was dry. "Well, cheers and celebration for him. Let's have him try it the right way, see if he can reach the end."
Lindon kept the proud smile off his face -this was no time for gloating. "No, that's not necessary, I know I could never keep up with you. And it seems like all the enemies are dead."
A smile did touch his face then, as he glanced at Eithan for signs of approval. Eithan's gaze had gone distant, and he stared into the wall of the barn for a moment before waking with a start.
"Ah, sorry. It seems company is on its way, so we'll have to work faster than I'd planned. Why don't you do as Yerin suggests, Lindon?"
Lindon's smile withered as though it had never been.
Lindon slid his pack to the ground and stepped into the ring. He calmed himself with reason -there was nothing to be nervous about. Of course, he wouldn't be able to match Yerin's time, but no one expected him to. She was Lowgold with years of experience in controlling her madra, and he was only Jade with barely a month of practiced madra control. They wanted to see him perform a training exercise, that was all.
This is an opportunity to grow in the sacred arts and help strengthen his madra control. It could also be the foundation for fully incorporating the Empty Palm into his martial arts. He's already got cycling his madra while fighting down, now this course will help him add using sacred arts with his martial arts.
The wide circle of runes on the ground glowed white, giving the dummies a somewhat ghostly cast. He stood in the center of the circle, taking a deep breath. He cycled his madra faster in preparation for battle, running his madra to his limbs, readying the Empty Palm technique.
"Begin," Eithan called, and Lindon stepped forward.
A green circle lit up on the inside of its wooden arm, and he struck it immediately with a low-powered version of the Empty Palm. The full use of the technique would drain his madra unnecessarily, but this was enough to inject madra into a script. The target brightened as he hit it.
Then the second wooden arm swung around to strike him in the back of the head, he blocked it with his left forearm, striking the dummies torso with his right palm in the instant the blue circle appeared. Just like with Yerin, it bowed in the middle to deliver a headbutt, but unlike her, he met its head with a knee blow, pushing madra through it, just barley lighting the script on its head.
He'd moved on to the next dummy as the first chimed, the next two blows hitting just as smoothly as Yerin's had, but the madra behind them being much shakier. The scripts still lit on second and third dummy, but the second circle on the fourth failed to light and the three previous dummies went dark. Lindon had already struck the third target and was moving on to the next dummy by time he realized that he failed.
Eithan was still grinning, and Yerin wore her own satisfied smile. "Good news!" Eithan proclaimed. "You've matched my time."
Lindon bowed to cover his flushed face, he hadn't even made a fourth of the way through. "Your pardon; I have forced you to watch an embarrassing sight."
Eithan leaned his elbows on the control podium. "I said I had a point to make. Yerin, which was the best way to clear the course?"
She gave Lindon a sidelong glance. "I'd still contend that facing it head-on is the best way."
"Why so?" Eithan asked. "Activating the controls accomplished the same result."
"Real enemies don't have control scripts, do they?" She glared at the wooden dummies as though she longed to behead them. "Can't lean for too long on a cheat. The top way, the solid way, is to make yourself string enough to cut through anything."
She spoke with such ringing confidence that Lindon found himself swaying. That was the path that had led her to powers beyond anything his clansmen had ever dreamed of.
He couldn't pick out anything she said that he disagreed with, but he knew that strength alone doesn't always guarantee victory. His masters had repeatedly told him that strength isn't the defining factor of every fight. Conditions can change all the time, altering the outcomes of a fight. There have been many instances where the stronger individual/party has fallen to the weaker adversary.
Lindon inclined his head to her. "You two are the experts, so please correct me if I speak out of turn. But in my humble experience, you cannot wait until you are stronger than your opponent to fight. Sometimes the game is rigged against you, and your only option is to flip the board."
Yerin gave him a blank stare. "You're my prime example. You saw you couldn't make it six feet in this world without a Goldsign, but your clan wouldn't let you train. What did you do? You walked right off. You've been fighting against stronger opponents since the day I met you, rigged game or no."
Lindon responded with equal surety, "And that's my point. They were all stronger, with more experience than me. Yet, I won. My masters said that strength alone doesn't decide who comes out victorious. Dedication, skill, drive and the will to not give can overcome the difference in power. Being the strongest doesn't mean you can't be beaten if the odds are pushed too far against you. You could be tired, sick, let your guard down -like Kral did- or run into an enemy that just wants to win no matter the cost."
Eithan hopped over, hooked one arm around Lindon's neck, and dragged him over to Yerin. He threw his other arm over her as well. She looked as uncomfortable as Lindon felt, but Eithan beamed down t them both like a proud father.
"You both have a piece of it, don't you? Yerin, you have to watch yourself so that you don't fall into a rut in your thinking. But Lindon...so do you." He ruffled Lindon's hair, which was uncomfortable and strangely claustrophobic. "In our big broad world, there's a certain difference in strength that no number of tricks or even willpower can circumvent. For instance..."
He grinned more broadly. "...at your current stage, the two of you couldn't give me so much as a headache even if you stabbed me in my sleep. Though I know you adore and idolize me, so let's give a more reasonable example: if you want to survive Jai Long in a year, you must learn sacred arts the right way. Even with the full support of the Arelius family, and Jai Long on the run from his clan, you'll at least need to reach Lowgold in a solid and proper manner so you can even hope of fighting Jai Long. He's not Kral, he'll not let his guard down out of ego and overconfidence. Nor will you find is martial abilities lacking like most of the so called 'sacred artists' you've fought thus far."
Lowgold. It was the sweet fruit that dangled out of Lindon's reach.
He's Jade now, leapfrogging through Iron, so Lowgold is obviously the next step forward. Once he'd longed for just Jade, and now he was there looking beyond it as if it was insignificant. Even once he reached Lowgold, he'd still have a long journey to match Jai Long.
"Thank you for the instruction," Lindon said. "I never intended to suggest that I wouldn't work hard. I'll train harder than Jai Long, harder than anybody."
"I forget how young you are," Eithan mused fondly.
Abruptly he released them, taking a step back and turning to face the door. "We'll resume this discussion soon, because our guest has finally arrived!"
Yerin frowned and out a hand on her sword.
"If you recall," Eithan went on, "you have yet to meet my family."
Lindon had wondered where the rest if the Arelius family was. Scouts from the Sandvipers and Fishers had spotted Arelius banners approaching weeks ago, and Lindon had expected to meet them by now.
Eithan extended hands to the doorway as though presenting a prize. "It is an honor and a pleasure to introduce...my brother."
The barn door swung open.
The man standing in the doorway looked perhaps ten years younger than Eithan, putting him past twenty. His hair was the gold of fresh wheat, which must have been an Arelius family trait, but his was tightly curled. He held himself with grace and poise, standing proudly with one hand on the hilt of the slender sword at his hip. A silver bracer covered his right forearm from his wrist almost to his elbow.
He did not wear the traditional layered robes of a sacred artist, but otherwise it looked like he had the same taste in clothes as Eithan: his shirt and pants were deep blue silk, stitched with intricate silver thread, and looked as though they'd been tailored for him only the night before.
He made eye contact with Yerin, then Lindon, nodding to them both.
Before he could speak, Eithan cried out, "Cassias! Brother! It's been too long!"
Cassias smoothly sidestepped without glancing at that Underlord, and Lindon wondered how often anyone managed to dodge Eithan.
"I'm not his brother," Cassias assured them, tilting his chin to say over his shoulder: "I am not your brother."
"Cousin Cassias it is, then!"
"Nor are we cousins, except in the loosest sense. Distant, distant relatives, we are."
Eithan didn't seem put off. "Well, we're like brothers, anyway. You should have come to see me more than two days ago. Did you have to spend so long playing with the Jai clan at the border?"
Cassias straightened, pivoted on his heel, and addressed his...'brother.'
"You saw what happened at the border, I'm certain. And I have my own questions about what I saw from you. If I'm not mistaken, you provoked a Jai clan exile and killed the heir to one of their vassal sects."
"Not me," Eithan stated proudly, turning to Lindon. "You'll note that young Lindon, here, was the one who brought down the Sandviper heir."
Lindon felt the attention in the room turn to him, and he almost flinched back. This felt uncomfortably like the Underlord was trying to shift the blame onto him. His earlier misgivings about the Arelius family returned in force, but he showed Cassias a smile and a shallow bow.
"I am Wei Shi Lindon, honored Cassias. Please excuse me for any inconvenience my actions may have caused you."
"Not at all, Lindon, not at all!" Cassias replied immediately. "I am more than aware of what happens when my family's Patriarch gets too...enthusiastic. You were caught up in his plans, and it is I who should apologize on his behalf."
To Lindon's astonishment, Cassias bowed deeply. "Forgive us, and do not hold this against our family. On my name as an Arelius, I will send protection for you when you return to your home. You need fear no reprisals from the Jai clan or the Sandviper sect."
{When you return to your home.} Did Cassias not know he was coming back to the Blackflame Empire with them, or was he trying to give Lindon a graceful way out?
Either way, the greedy part of Lindon wondered at the nature of the 'protection' he had mentioned. If Cassias was willing to part with a weapon or a high-grade elixir, Lindon might be better off taking them and making his own way...
Yerin pulled at the edges of her sleeve, shooting glances at Lindon every second or two as though checking his reaction, but Eithan laughed.
"You didn't watch us too closely, I see! Yerin and Lindon are coming with us. I have adopted them as outer member of the Arelius family."
Cassias straightened slowly from his bow, keeping a blank expression fixed on Eithan. "I...see," he said at last. "I apologize, Lindon, I was not...aware." He seemed to be struggling not to say something, his jaw tightening at the end of every sentence. "Did you inform the branch heads, Underlord? Did you receive their permission?"
"Time flows on, and plans must keep pace!"
"Plans," Cassias repeated, the word falling like a handful of mud.
"Which brings me to another subject," Eithan said, and suddenly his entire demeanor sharpened. Though nothing about him changed visibly, Lindon shuddered, the madra in his body shivering in its cycle. An Underlord stood before them now, not just Eithan. Yerin even took two steps back, gripping her sword -for comfort, Lindon hoped, and not because she thought she might have to use it.
Eithan continued; his voice still pleasant but carrying an underlying edge. "Your encounters with Jai clan at the border. Explain what happened."
Cassias glanced from Lindon to Yerin. "I would be happy to inform you aboard Sky's Mercy, if you'd like to-"
"We're among family here," Eithan replied softly. "Say it."
"Very well." Cassias relaxed, folding his arms and leaning up against the barn wall. He seemed more comfortable dealing with a businesslike Underlord than a friendly, playful one. Lindon could relate. "I was not only following you to bring you back. My father sent me with dire news shortly after you left."
"Then the Jai clan has seized our assets," Eithan finished, steeping his hands together.
Cassias' eyebrows lifted. "They have. In Serpent's Grave alone, we've lost the flame garden, three warehouses, the sword hall, and two of our medical contractors. Each time, they claim they're settling a private debt. They've sabotaged two major sanitation projects that I'm aware of, and eight full crews have vanished. We don't know if they were bribed away or...silenced."
Eithan spoke on the same lighthearted, half-joking tone as always, but the shivering sense of danger hadn't evaporated. "That's one city. What about the rest of Jai territory?"
"When I left, the worst of their actions were confined to Serpent's Grave. There have been a few unsanctioned duels between our people and the Jai clan, but nothing worse. Of course, that was a month gone."
"And the other clans?"
"The Naru have admonished the Jai clan for their actions, but the emperor's support will arrive as soon as a winner is made clear, and not before. The Kotai clan has yet to make a statement, but as long as we keep their streets and sewers clear, they won't even notice."
With every word, Lindon felt less and less prepared for this conversation. He had no idea who the major players were in the Blackflame Empire, no sense for the different clans. Or even the function of the Arelius family; Eithan had introduced himself as a janitor, but Lindon couldn't tell whether that was a joke.
"Where did they stop following you?" Eithan asked.
"Two miles east, one mile north. They were forced to break off pursuit, which allowed me to slip through."
Eithan closed his eyes.
Slowly, his smile brightened before his eyes snapped back open. "That puts a wrinkle in their plan, doesn't it?"
"We have a brief window to leave, and I humbly suggest we take it."
Eithan raised fingers to his chin, staring at something in the far distance, thinking. "Soon. I have to adjust to this new information."
Yerin's arms were folded and her Goldsign quivering. Judging by the look on her face, she wasn't happy about being left out of the conversation either. Lindon didn't want to stress his welcome by asking too many questions, but he strained under the weight of his curiosity.
Finally, Cassias remembered they were there. "The Jai clan was trying to prevent me from returning with the Underlord. They weren't bold enough to openly destroy a cloudship flying the Arelius colors, but they've made my life difficult for the past few weeks. If the Jai warriors down below hadn't called for help, I would not have been able to land."
"Called for help?" Yerin asked. "What's got their feathers rustled?"
"I was too high up to see clearly, but it's strange. It seems the were attacked by one of their own."
Lindon hit the rough board that served as the dummy's right arm, then its torso, then the head. The circles lighting up with each strike, and Lindon moving on before the chime of success went off. He's been running the course nonstop, the sun having long set, the barn lit by a single flickering candle that was starting to burn down. He could have used a scripted light, but it would have lasted for less time than a candle before needing to be powered again, and he wanted to conserve his madra.
He's been progressing farther and farther each run through the course. Thus far, he'd gotten to the tenth dummy before messing up the madra strikes. He did it by slowing down, ignoring the amount of time it'd take to finish to focus on getting the weakened Empty Palms to land correctly and fire repeatedly.
It's honestly been an infuriating endeavor. Lindon's been through far more difficult training courses back when he was eleven. If it wasn't for the need to hit the targets with enough madra to light up the runes he'd have finished this course on the first run.
Once more, just as he got on the tenth dummy his madra channels ached and his flow faltered. Pushing through, using his superior speed, reflexives and hand-eye coordination to just barely light up the final script, and move towards the eleventh dummy.
Lindon managed to get the dummies head script lit before the next low powered Empty Palm failed to hit with enough madra to light the arm's runes. With that, all the previously lit dummies went dark with his continued failure.
He went back to the starting circle, standing outside it as he breathed deeply, and keep the power cycling steadily through his madra channels. Centering his mind and focusing his madra for another run. He has emptied one of his cores and has just enough in his second for one more go before needing to cycle to recover his madra.
If Eithan hadn't pushed him straight through to Jade as he advanced to Iron, Lindon wouldn't have had enough madra in even one of his cores to complete this course. He'd have been hobbled further by needing to switch cores midway through the course.
He'd already had to stop enough times to replace broken pieces from when his body's new increased strength -empowered by madra- would escape his grasp. He has to keep madra flowing through his body, which automatically empowers it to land the Empty Palm with every strike. On the bright side, he's gotten a grasp on using the Empty Palm through kicks, elbow and knee strikes. Those were the ones that usually destroyed a dummy's limb, head or torso.
Cool air rushed in, and a door shut.
Yerin walked inside, only the silver blade over her shoulder and the red belt around her middle standing out against the shadows. "Training hard, or you have a grudge against wood people?"
Lindon hurriedly straightened himself, squaring his shoulders and smoothing his clothes. She'd seem him in worse states, but he didn't want to look like he'd exhausted himself against a bunch of wooden statues.
"Only working out a few things," he replied, leaning closer to one of the dummies as though trying to figure out its script.
She eyed him for a moment and then walked inside the circle, plopping down onto the ground. She leaned up against a dummy's support pole and sighed. "I'm the last one to tell you to stop working. Heaven's truth, I just got done with three hours of meditation cycling and two hours of technique practice. But even my master would say you need an easy day every once in a while."
"I've stopped to cycle two or three times," he defended, but then he wondered if that were true. "Maybe it was four times. Or...six?" How long had he been here?
He glanced at the candle, which was a half-melted lump of wax in the middle of the circle. The woman who'd sold it to him had sworn it would burn all night. Perhaps it had.
A break couldn't hurt, so he sat beneath the dummy next to her.
Without a word, she passed him a rag. He nodded his thanks, then began wiping the sweat from his head and neck.
"Trick to an Iron body," Yerin said, "is to recognize when you're tired and when you're not. Gets harder to tell the difference. You'll pick it up after a while, but until you do, you're more than likely to run your feet down to the nubs."
Lindon's eyelids did feel heavy, but the rest of his body felt fine. The few times his muscles started to feel strain those sensations faded almost as quickly as they came. Madra trickled steadily from his core, called by his Bloodforged Iron body to heal his fatigue.
"Is that so?" He looked at his hands, the steady trickle of madra flowing into them -like throughout his entire body since getting his Iron body- removing all fatigue and damage automatically. "Incredible. I really can't tell."
"That's how you run into more trouble than you can handle. If you ask me, you've got..." Something shivered through Lindon's spirit, and he recognized the touch of her spiritual sense. "...well, that's a puzzle and a half."
He'd seen Yerin walk into battle with a smile on her face. Now, after scanning him, she was frowning and mumbling to herself, staring at his stomach.
Though he had just toweled off, sweat broke out over his skin again.
Lindon dove into his own soul, almost in a cycling trance, clutching at his core with both hands. "What's wrong? What have I done? Did I cycle too much? Am I dying?"
"You're about a thousand miles from dying," she muttered. "As expected of an Underlord, I guess."
"Eithan? Did Eithan do something to me?"
"He handed you that Iron body, true?" Lindon didn't remember Eithan handing him anything, but he guessed it was true enough. "Unless I'm wide off the mark, it looks like it's keeping you fresh. You could work your body until your core's dry."
Lindon had felt the same thing already, but he had assumed it was a function of the Iron body. "Pardon my ignorance, but isn't that normal?"
"It's normal for the Undying Lizards of the Bluefire Desert. I hear it's normal for some plants." She jabbed him lightly in the stomach. "People get tired sometimes."
New possibilities bloomed in Lindon's imagination, and he had to resist the urge to start taking notes. "As long as I restore my madra, I could keep training? Ho often should I stop and cycle, do you think?"
"Whoa there, rein it in. If you could work all day and night, you'd be fighting Eithan in a year, not one little Jai Long. The spirit needs rest just like your body does. You don't want to strain your madra channels, I'll tell you that one for free."
She clasped her hands together and stretched them over her head. "You're a Jade, not a Remnant; you still need sleep. Food. Your spirit's a weapon, and you've got to keep it clean and polished. But you don't have to worry about pulling a muscle or collapsing in a heap. I'd kill you for that, if I thought I could take it off your Remnant."
Lindon chuckled uneasy, wiping his face with the towel again. So, he could work for even longer -which was already ridiculous due to his pink musculature- than most people. What was the limit? How could he tell? It was to know when he as running out of madra, but what did strained madra channels feel like? How much more time was his Iron body buying him, exactly? Will its regenerative ability effect his physical conditioning training? Fortunately, he already modified all his muscles to pink, but now he needs to start increasing the mass of them to go forward.
Lost in thought, he almost handed the sweaty rag back, but he caught himself at the last minute and tucked it inside his outer robe. He could wash it in the lake in the morning.
Lindon dipped his head in thanks and spoke carefully. "Gratitude. You've given me a lot to think about. But if you'll allow me another question: what are my chances? With Jai Long? Do I have enough time?"
"You've got no time at all," Yerin answered immediately. "Sleep or no sleep, if Eithan doesn't have something planned for you, then you're dry leaves to the fire."
The truth of that settled onto him, and Lindon knew Jai Long was more than skilled enough in martial ability to handle his own. That's not even factoring in his actual Path and skills in the scared arts with his obviously higher degree of speed and power. Jai Long is heaven and earth better than Kral was in every way, and Lindon just barely beat Kral because he let his guard down. Master Akisame had told him years ago that no matter how skilled the ant is, it can never beat the elephant. Just as Eithan said, there's differences in strength that can't be overcome through trickery or skill.
Lindon couldn't think of anything to say.
Yerin scratched the side of her neck, and in the dim light, he thought he saw her flush. "I, uh...sorry. Didn't intend to say it like that." She hesitated for another moment. "When I was Jade, my master didn't press me to fight a Truegold in a year's time. That's a rotten gamble, no matter what training he gives you."
Yerin knew he couldn't do it. That he was going to die in a year.
He started at the dummy across the circle because he didn't want to see the truth on her face.
"It's a gamble," he quietly agreed, "but it's one I'm going to win. You should never go into a fight believing you're going to lose. Being stronger doesn't mean you'll win. I'll put my everything into my training, preparation and squeeze out every last drop of willpower I have in the fight. I have to win so I'll keep fighting even if all I have left is my teeth."
Yerin gave him a weak smile, "You have the right spirit and you're on the path now, stable and true. In a year, you won't recognize yourself."
He agreed with her completely...mostly. His masters have always emphasized how training will never fail him. Even Suriel had told him that improving himself is the way to go to reaching the power of the strongest sacred artists in the world. But he filed a few plans away carefully in the back of his mind; like how Jai Long has enemies that he could pit him before the fight. Surely Eithan wouldn't mind if he prepared for continencies.
Lindon had just risen to his feet when the door slammed open, and Eithan marched in, carrying a lantern caging a burning star. It lit the barn like midday, making Lindon wince and shield his eyes.
Eithan saw them and paused, as though he'd just noticed them. "Oh, I'm sorry, I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Before they could respond, he added, "I was just being polite, I heard it all."
Lindon was going to find it hard to relax over the next year, if Eithan listened to every word he ever spoke.
The Underlord walked over to the melted candle and kicked it aside, sending a puff of smoke into the air and chunks of wax tumbling across the floor. He set the lantern in its place at the center of the course, then turned to face them with hands on hips.
"I will be truthful with the two of you: I'm facing a bit of a crisis here."
His demeanor was cheery as ever, but his smile had shrunk to nothing more than tightened lips. Maybe this was his serious face.
"We'll do whatever we can to help you, of course," Lindon offered, knowing that he could never help an Underlord do anything.
"You made a mess out of something," Yerin accused, her tone absolutely confident.
Eithan pointed to Lindon. "I will take you up on that offer, don't worry." Lindon's heart sank.
Now Eithan pointed to Yerin. "That's an uncharitable way to put it, but I can't say you're wrong. You know, I do wish I could tell the future. There are sacred artists out there who can, to varying degrees. It would make planning so much easier. And I don't expect you to understand this but seeing everything makes surprises so much worse. You always feel as though you should have seen them coming."
He sighed, flipping his hair over his shoulder. "That's enough of my problems, so let's talk about our problems. The Jai clan had all but declared war on our family."
"All but?" Yerin repeated. "Is it war, or no war?"
"If they declared it openly, the Emperor's forces would cripple the aggressor in a day. But the Skysworn stay out of the petty squabbles between clans. As long as the Jai pretend that's what's happening, the Emperor will stay clear."
Lindon had seen similar situations back in Sacred Valley, as the Wei clashed along the border with the Li, and the Kazan raided them both. He saw the problem immediately.
"They'll claim Jai Long."
Eithan nodded to him. "He and his sister were exiled here so that they could serve the main family without being underfoot and embarrassing. Has to do with his wrapped-up face." Eithan waved a hand vaguely around his own head. "They still won't take him back, but once the duel is over, they can pretend he was one of them all along. He wins? They take credit. He dies? We killed a Jai Highgold, and they'll use it as an excuse for open war."
He sighed. "And I thought all I'd have to do was write a letter..."
There was an obvious solution here, but Lindon proposed it carefully. "Not to overstep my bounds, but the situation has changed. Couldn't you tell the Jai clan that you changed your mind?"
Eithan braced one foot on the star-filled lantern and leaned forward. "One's word is the currency of the powerful. Reputation and honor are all that prevent us from slaughtering each other and keeping us operating with some degree of civility. What stops an Underlord from killing everyone weaker? Their reputation. What shields their family from reprisals and attacks? Their reputation. Many experts value their good name more than their life."
A dark pall settled over Lindon. Eithan wouldn't change his mind about the duel, then. That had been one of Lindon's final hopes.
"Besides, I still have a use for your victory," he added. "Jai Long's defeat will give me leverage, whether the clan claims him or not, so I would still prefer you fight. However, there is another option..." Lindon's dead hope flickered to life again. "...I can allow you to leave the family. Your actions would not reflect on my word if you weren't a subject of the Arelius."
Lindon turned to Yerin, who wore a troubled expression but said nothing. Would she come with him, if he left? She might, if he asked her, but would that be fair to her? He didn't know much about the Arelius family, but he knew they represented both a risk and an opportunity. Yerin could grow there, with the support of a well-connected clan.
For his part, anywhere outside of Sacred Valley was a land of limitless opportunity. The Fishers could advance him past Jade. He had other roads he could take.
But he'd be giving up the chance to be trained personally by an Underlord.
Eithan met his eyes, speaking earnestly. "I'll be as clear as I can: the Arelius family employs hundreds of thousands of people, and their livelihoods will be impacted by the results of this duel. If you stay, I will do whatever I have to so that you win. Even if it kills you."
Lindon shivered at the familiarity of that statement. His masters often referred to his journey towards becoming a master as being thrust from the cliff of master-class. He'd either become a master or die. Even so, he couldn't help but ask, "Killing me to win. How likely is that to happen, exactly?"
Eithan isn't his masters, and Lindon doesn't have even a fraction of the trust and faith he has for them as he does for the Underlord.
Eithan's smile broadened. "It's my last resort. I have every confidence that I can raise you to victory without destroying your future. I can't say you will enjoy the process, though. And I will catch you every time you try and run away."
Yerin still hadn't said anything since Eithan entered the room. She stood with one hand on her sword and one on the blood-red rope around her waist, as though considering her options.
"If you don't mind," Lindon requested, "I'd like some time to consider."
He knows that he needs the training, but the issue he needs to figure out is if he's willing to put his trust, his life in Eithan's hands. Then, there's the very real possibility of being killed by Jai Long. True defeat is death. It might be harder to reach the power he needs to save Scared Valley without the Arelius family's resources and Eithan's training, but he could still go at it slower. He has nearly thirty years, so, why risk his life so soon?
Eithan straightened, brushing wrinkles out of his turquoise robe. "Perfectly understandable, but I'm afraid we're running out of time as it is. We're leaving at dawn. If you would like to join us, looking around the Fisher territory for a tall building with blue clouds surrounding the foundation and Arelius banners hanging from the walls. That is our vehicle out of here, so if it's still there, so are we."
He executed a small, shallow bow in Lindon's direction and then started to walk off. Over his shoulder, he called, "I don't like to make decisions for others, Lindon...but I hope to see you in the morning."
The door swung shit behind him, but it fell into Yerin's hand. She hitched up her red belt as though to distract herself.
She still looked troubled, even as she spoke. "In the sacred arts, you don't want the clear path. You want the rocky one. The strongest aren't the ones who climb the highest mountains, but the ones who choose to do it one-handed and blindfolded."
She hesitated as though to add something else before shaking her head. "But it's a short distance between 'rocky' and 'looking for suicide.' I don't know what you should do. I...I don't know."
Then she left too.
