He was still working on the reports when he sensed the power of Blackflame blaze up. Cassias actually shouted and drew his sword, primed for battle, before remembering that the enemy was outside.
He manipulated the window, focusing on the Striker Trial—on Orthos. The turtle was going wild, spraying Blackflame madra in all directions, tearing up dirt and stone alike. He would exhaust himself in a few minutes, but if the contract wasn’t enough to restrain him, Cassias needed to call Eithan.
When he saw a figure in dark blue robes creeping closer to Orthos, Cassias first thought the window was malfunctioning. Lindon snuck up right behind the turtle, snatched his pack away—it had miraculously avoided obliteration—and dashed back toward the Enforcer Trial.
Orthos must have sensed his presence, but somehow, the turtle didn’t kill him.
Cassias let out a slow, heavy breath and returned to his table. Snatching up a fresh sheet of paper, he began a report to Eithan.
***
Lindon and Yerin didn’t attempt the Striker Trial again for a few days, instead hiding from Orthos. The turtle wandered back into the tunnels soon after venting his anger in the Trial course, but he didn’t go far. Lindon could feel him prowling in the nearby tunnels, like a predator waiting to strike.
He’d grabbed the Sylvan Riverseed and tried to use her to heal Orthos, but the turtle had tried to attack him on sight. So he’d stayed away, resolving to try again the next time Orthos regained his sanity.
Though Lindon stayed in his cave for three days, he didn’t waste the time. Instead, he tried out an idea.
He didn’t have the skill to keep Blackflame madra under control for as long as Orthos had. That was the result of years of practice, and Lindon wanted results now.
But it wasn’t as though he needed to pierce the clouds with his Striker technique. He just needed to hit some targets through an aura shield. So he asked himself: what was the minimum he needed to complete the dragon’s breath?
Lindon explained the process to Yerin as they finally snuck out of their caves and headed back to the Striker Trial. His pack was mostly empty this time, half-filled with a few necessities.
“I only needed something to hold the madra together for a few seconds,” he said as they stepped through the arch to the Striker Trial. “Once the madra is dense enough, it’s easier to control, and the dragon’s breath will go as far as I want it. So I came up with these shells: they’re made of pure madra, so they hold the Blackflame power in place just long enough before they melt away.”
The gray wall of aura boiled up, and Yerin scratched at her neck. “Cheers and celebration for you, but it doesn’t sound like you learned the Striker technique.”
“No, I did! I did, I’m just using some…props.”
She eyed him over one shoulder as she pulled her sword free. “You try out a technique for the first time in battle, and you’ll be walking away with your guts in your hand.”
Lindon reached into his bag, pulling out half a dozen blue-white globes the size of his hand. He set them on the ground as though they were made of glass; the slightest impact would reduce them to dust. Pure madra was not an effective weapon, even Forged.
“I’ve practiced,” Lindon said, though it had only been a few days. “Keep the spears away, and I can destroy the targets.”
“You might recall I don’t smile especially bright on cheating,” Yerin reminded him. “Don’t want you to take the wrong lesson.”
“I’m happy to practice the Striker technique when we get out of here. Once I get those scales, and you get your pill.”
She nodded to him. “We have a bargain.”
He stood, cupping an empty shell of pure madra in his hands, and they both faced the wall of aura. Three black blobs floated behind the hazy barrier, though they had been quiet so far.
The Striker Trial didn’t seem to respond to small movements, or the spears would never stop coming. Only large, quick motions attracted the course’s attention. Yerin stood perfectly still, Goldsign poised over one shoulder and white blade held off to one side.
Lindon clutched the pure madra shell in his hands and concentrated, sending a ball of Blackflame into the center. A dark stain showed through the semi-transparent madra, growing larger as he poured more Blackflame inside.
Always keep it spinning. Pack more inside. Keep it spinning…
His control slipped once, but instead of exploding, the half-formed technique ate through the inner layer of the shell like it was made of ice. The barrier was thinner now, but he continued pouring Blackflame inside.
After a few seconds, it melted through the outer bubble of madra, and Lindon was holding a rolling ball of Blackflame madra suspended between his palms. It was stable now, and much easier to keep under control; only while it was forming did it take concentration to stop an explosion.
“You close to done?” Yerin asked him, barely moving her lips. No matter how loudly they spoke, it didn’t seem to matter to the Striker Trial, but she had decided to stay cautious.
“Now,” Lindon said, and she stepped left. A spear shot out at her, and she slapped it aside, but another streaked through the air.
Lindon held the ball of black fire between his palms, raised it until it was level with one of the targets, and pushed.
A bar of Blackflame, thick as his arm, tore through the air. It streamed through the gray wall of aura, passing through the center target and blasting it apart like a wisp of cloud.
The other two targets both sent out Forged spears, and Yerin knocked them away, but more came. It appeared they were speeding up.
Lindon clenched his jaw as he watched the dissolving target. If it re-formed from this…
A gong echoed through the canyon. Maybe the same gong that had announced failure in the Enforcer Trial. And this time, the target didn’t re-form.
The spears were coming so fast now that Yerin’s motions were a blur. “Two…left…to go…” She forced out, in between blasting Forged weapons apart.
Lindon snatched up the next hollow ball of pure madra.
***
When the third gong sounded, Cassias stepped away from his paperwork. It had only taken them ten days for the Striker Trial, though he hadn’t watched their final, successful attempt; Orthos must have given Lindon some pointers.
Cassias cycled his madra, touched his spirit to the silver aura around his sword, and readied himself. The Ruler Trial was his true test; he would pour everything he had into this one. They would either give up, or he would be forced to admit that Eithan had been right about them.
When he moved to the panel, he left behind the two reports that had arrived today. Both regarded the city’s Underlords: