“I knew I would need something to prevent you from running for your life,” he said. The truth was, this barrier would allow the passage of madra. He intended to skewer Eithan with Striker techniques while the Underlord couldn’t fight back.
Jai Daishou had spent most of his life building up a reputation of honor and respect that anyone in the Empire would envy, but as death approached, he found that saving face in the eyes of his peers had less and less appeal.
What could their ridicule do to him? Ruin his clan? His clan would fall apart the moment he was buried. Now, only results mattered.
The Jai Patriarch’s spearhead blazed like a white sun as he prepared a Star Lance. The other elders spread out around the dome, doing the same.
Eithan nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “Now there are no witnesses.”
A dull gray spark passed from the middle of the broom where Eithan gripped it, washing along to both ends. Soulfire: the signature of an Underlord. Where the blaze passed, the broom’s color darkened, remade in the fires of condensed vital aura. It would conduct energy almost perfectly now, and would be tougher than steel. All the best weapons were imbued with a Lord’s soulfire.
That was all within Jai Daishou’s calculations. And it was still just a broom.
Jai Daishou hesitated before launching his Striker technique. Maybe Eithan Arelius really was arrogant to the point of madness. The young Underlord had always seemed brash with the overconfidence of youth, combined with pride in his admittedly high natural gifts, but now…
No Truegold was a match for an Underlord, certainly. Soulfire itself, and the process of weaving it from vital aura, gave Lords powers that no Gold could access.
But it wasn’t as though a Truegold could do nothing. Where a lone wolf was only prey, a pack of wolves could bring down a tiger. Skilled as they were, these six Truegold elders working together could bring Eithan down on their own. With Jai Daishou added in, the Arelius Underlord was already dead.
He was just speaking out of pride, that was all.
Just pride.
***
As Lindon stumbled back through the Trial gate, slapping his hand against the script to reactivate the aura barrier, he tried to remember how many times Yerin had knocked him out of danger.
It had to be at least six by now, he was sure. It wounded his dignity, being kicked away like a wild dog, but if he had to choose between wounded dignity and a spear through the chest, he knew which he’d pick.
All those times, and what could he do when she was in danger? Nothing. Just run.
Hating himself, Lindon ran back into the Ruler Trial. His first hope was dashed when he realized Orthos wasn’t there; he was still nearby, but he could be anywhere in the Trial grounds or back in the tunnels.
A green flash of light shattered the aura barrier and the gray-haired Sandviper crashed through, a short spear in each hand. Endless Sword madra still flickered outside, so Yerin was fighting, and at least she didn’t have to face two Truegold opponents at once.
Lindon ran for the Trial entrance. If he could make it back to the Enforcer course, he could hide in the rubble of the columns that Orthos had left behind. Then—
A nail drove through his calf, and he went down. He caught himself with both hands and rolled before hitting the ground, so the green Forged nail intended to go through his other leg hit the dirt instead.
His Blackflame core was hopelessly empty, and his Bloodforged Iron body was draining pure madra to his calf like a bucket with a hole in it. He pinched the needle with two fingers—the Sandviper madra stung his skin like acid—and pulled it out.
Then he let his pack slide to the ground, turning to face his pursuer.
“My name is Wei Shi Lindon, honored Truegold,” Lindon said, spreading his hands. “As you can see, I’m only a Jade, and surely I have nothing to interest an elder of your caliber.”
“Sandviper Gokren,” he growled. “Kral’s father.”
When the spear came in, Lindon instinctively tried to form the Burning Cloak. Of course, nothing happened—he was cycling pure madra, and it had to be handled differently. But he clumsily Enforced his arms anyway, managing to knock the thrust off course.
The second spear followed instantly, and he had to step back to stop it. Which meant putting weight on his bleeding calf.
He tried to stop the scream, but when he faltered and took a spearhead to the shoulder, he screamed all the same.
Lindon covered his face with his hands as another technique came in, but the spray of needles covered him from head to hips. At first, he trusted in the power of his Iron body and his Enforcer technique to save him, but the strength of a Truegold overwhelmed him. Every wound burned with poison, and his body leaked madra trying to counteract the Sandviper venom.
His lungs locked up. He couldn’t get a breath. His madra channels flickered and went dark, the pain overwhelming him as his Enforcer technique broke.
Gokren was shouting something, face purple with rage, but Lindon didn’t hear a word of it. He was drifting away, his flesh distant, as darkness crept into the corners of his vision.
Orthos hit Gokren like a landslide.
The turtle’s roar shook the canyon. Foreign anger echoed in Lindon’s soul, and Blackflame power flared against acid-green light. Rocks cracked, men shouted, and fire crackled.
The fight continued, but all the other details faded with Lindon’s consciousness.
Time passed in a haze of pain as the ground shook beneath him. He came back to himself choking on a mouthful of dirt and ash. He was riddled with holes, blood still seeping out of him, and he was starting to shiver. But the Bloodforged Iron body had done its job; at least venom no longer crawled through his veins.
He spat out bloody mud and rolled his eyes in his sockets, craning for a sight of Sandviper Gokren.
Twilight had passed, the stars bright pinpricks against the dark.
He could see no one. He strained his spiritual perception, and sensed…
Nothing.
He tried again, taking deep breaths despite the pain, quieting his spirit as best he could. The world remained dead around him. He opened his eyes, staring beyond what he could see, looking to open his Copper sight and catch a glimpse of aura.
No color. The world was gray and lifeless, and his limbs now trembled with creeping cold.
Calming his panic, he focused on his madra. His core was drained, but he could fix that by cycling. He braced himself for the pain as he tried to push himself up on his elbows.
In the dirt, he saw his arms twitch. He felt nothing.
Panic rose into his throat again, throwing off his breathing, and he tried to picture the heavy stone wheel in his core. He didn’t feel anything; not a spark.
His Bloodforged Iron body had drained everything.