And third, his personal strength.
Another Silver Step, and he sent a head spinning onto the street, its metal hair striking sparks against the stone. Six more Steps later, he was out of madra, and there were six more bloodstains on the streets.
Of all the Highgolds who had tried to ambush the second-ranked Highgold in the Empire, none remained.
***
“This is what you get, trying to see new places at your age,” Fisher Gesha mumbled. A Lowgold Remnant sank into the flagstones in front of her, and she sheared its head off as she moved. She wanted to collect its eyes and check it for bindings, but her drudge was currently carrying her along the flagstones, and she certainly wasn’t going to run on her own two feet.
“Came to get a taste of the Empire, didn’t you? Came to teach a promising student. And where is he, hm? Tucked away in a mountain, isn’t he, not even thinking of Soulsmithing.”
A swarm of spider-constructs scuttled over the street around her, escorting her through the screaming city and up to a hatch in the ground.
She pressed a scripted key against the aura lock and used her madra to pull on a catch on the other side. This was a Soulsmith’s underground storehouse, meant to hold volatile substances, but it was the most secure location she knew of outside the Arelius shelters. Forget the shelters; a bunch of victims packed inside like weeds waiting to be plucked.
Gesha hopped down into the cellar, pulling the heavy doors shut behind her with strands of purple madra. She locked them, and then sealed them with layers of invisible threads. Then she Forged a few purple wires and physically tied it shut, positioning half a dozen spider constructs at the entrance.
Finally, she ran to the back of the storehouse and webbed herself to the ceiling.
“Wasting my time,” she muttered. “Risking my life. Too old for this.”
Withdrawing all her madra, she cycled power in a shell around her core, veiling her power.
Then she waited for the noise to end.
***
Jai Long and Gokren hiked over to Shiryu Mountain’s second peak, a handful of Sandvipers in tow.
Gokren ran a hand over his gray hair, slicking it back. “We’ll take the strong disciple together, then move on to the Iron.”
This was their task, entrusted to them by the Jai Underlord. Eithan’s pair of students would soon sense the uproar in the city, and would emerge from their training. Rather than gamble everything on a duel in the fall, eliminate the Arelius family’s new recruits here, in the spring.
Jai Daishou’s pride would take a hit if this plan became public knowledge, but Jai Long had to respect the decision. It may not have been the most honorable course of action, but the Patriarch certainly wasn’t underestimating his enemies.
Jai Long leaped from one outcropping to another. “Not together. I’ll kill the Lowgold, you handle Wei Shi Lindon.” The sword artist could live, but he didn’t want Lindon sneaking off.
Besides, she had traded blows with him before, even a full stage behind him. Her advancement could not have kept pace with his; he wanted to see how much stronger he’d become in the past half a year.
They landed by what Jai Daishou had described as the exit for the Blackflame Trials. An aura barrier covered the opening.
Gokren itched to break through—he had a short spear in each hand and was pacing back and forth, barking at his men for being too slow as they arrived.
On Jai Long’s orders, they all backed higher up the slope, so they could watch from a vantage point. Gokren had to pull himself away from the entrance, but he ultimately obeyed. Once everyone had spread out enough to cover any possible exit—even if they dashed out of the cave—Jai Long sat on a rock and began to cycle aura.
He could wait.
***
The sun’s last rays were drifting up the canyon as Lindon and Yerin knelt before the Ruler Trial’s tablet.
“Blackflame madra burned the body and the…mind, I’d say, although it could be spirit. Or dreams.” He tapped a picture of a screaming person grasping at his own head. “The point seems clear. Using Blackflame slowly ruins you, building up damage and eroding the soul, destroying your advancement, your sanity, and your lifespan.” He tried not to feel the Blackflame raging inside him, deadly and explosive, instead returning his focus to the ancient symbols.
“That is the price you pay for the…largest hammer? Ah, ‘greatest weapon.’ Blackflames rule by…one man on the battlefield?” He traced his finger between the symbol and a nearby picture of a man standing alone with flames in each of his hands.
“Last man standing,” Yerin said quietly.
Lindon shivered. That was impressively reliable, but somewhat grim for his taste. They ruled by virtue of having killed all their opponents. And this was core enough to their philosophy that they engraved it in their basic training course.
Well, he’d chosen this Path for its ability to win duels, not for its outstanding moral values. And he’d want the biggest weapon he could find if he had to fight the creature destined to attack Sacred Valley.
The next phrase was in more modern language:
The dragon conquers.
He said it aloud, and Yerin nodded along. “Ruler techniques conquer. Fits like a good boot.”
The dragon advances.
The dragon destroys.
The dragon conquers.
Orthos’ core was unsteady and had been for days, but the words resonated with his spirit. He was a sword rather than a shield, a force of destruction, and a jealous king.
That wasn’t a comfortable personality to share a soul with, but it described a weapon that Lindon could use.
Yerin nodded to the rest of the Ruler Trial. “Rather than that…these guys tickle your memory at all?”
Lindon had been trying not to look out at the field of opponents arranged for him in the final Blackflame Trial. There were ninety-nine dark, humanoid figures in the field, each clutching different weapons, and he sensed different madra from each of them. Ninety-nine mannequins with faceless heads.
Ninety-nine dummies, arranged in a circle.
The activation crystal was on a pedestal in the center, and Lindon had to use his Ruler technique to some degree before he could power the course. He wasn’t looking forward to it. The Striker Trial had only taken them ten days to pass, but based on how long it had taken him to fight eighteen dummies, almost a hundred would take…
…very probably the rest of his short life.
Lindon moved on to the technique section. “Dance of the Dragon of Emptiness,” he said.
“Not ‘Fierce’?” Yerin asked. “Nothing fierce about this one?”
Lindon shook his head, trying to remember a story that Orthos had told him months ago.
“Then I like it. Dance of the Dragon of Emptiness…what about Dance of Emptiness? Plain and stable. Doesn’t look like you have to do any dancing, though.”