If not for Lindon, she’d be dead already; when she saw him catch a gap in Orthos’ defense and rush in to hammer it, she was prouder than a hen with six eggs. Good thing he was there, because he could take hits from Blackflame madra without dissolving like salt in water.
Orthos hadn’t gathered himself for a big show like that Striker technique that had pierced the clouds—and a good thing too, or he’d bring the canyon walls down—because he didn’t have the presence of mind for it. Best he could manage was belching a few black flames, which Lindon could swat away with his own madra and keep fighting. She had to meet each of those techniques with her sword, or risk losing an arm.
But every time Lindon did that, his power dimmed like a dying light. He was faltering, that was plain to see.
If she didn’t win this fight in the next two breaths, he wouldn’t get a third.
Smoke and red-tinged light rose from Orthos’ shell as he stomped around, swiveling his head to point at Lindon. The turtle’s jaw gaped, and his eyes blazed with what she’d call hatred.
There was a mountain of shell between her and Lindon, but there was one last thing she could try.
With all the strength of her Steelborn Iron body, Yerin hurled the sword between Orthos’ legs. It stuck into the earth beneath the turtle, buried up to the hilt, and Orthos didn’t notice.
Dead on target.
Yerin gathered all the sword aura she could pull onto her Goldsign, and even the edge of her fingernails. Sword aura showed its power in motion; when she swung them all forward, she struck with the Endless Sword technique.
Her Goldsign rang like a bell. Her fingernails echoed, tiny chimes, as they popped and sprayed blood into the air.
All the sword aura resonated in a twenty-foot radius around her, the technique spreading out in a wave and looking for other swords. When it hit her master’s blade, the ringing sounded like the gong that announced victory or failure in the Blackflame Trials.
Sword aura burst out of the buried weapon, a wave of dirt spraying everywhere, and blasted the turtle’s underbelly. She had been hoping to split Orthos from bottom to top, but she could feel when the aura didn’t bite. It slammed into his belly, lifting him six inches off the ground and making him roar…but it barely cut him. She’d gotten worse from sharp twigs.
In that half-second while all four paws were off the ground, she saw one more chance, but she didn’t have the strength to follow up on it. If she had her sword, sure. But she was unarmed, bleeding from all ten fingernails, and low on madra to top it off.
She opened her mouth to shout, hoping Lindon would catch this chance before it passed.
Before a sound left her lips, Lindon moved.
The months of training together finally showed their worth. Lindon, heavens bless him, saw the opportunity. He slid closer to Orthos and reached down, fist flaring with the black-and-red light of the Burning Cloak.
His uppercut caught the turtle on the edge of his shell, sending Orthos flipping upside-down.
The sacred beast slammed into the earth a moment later, spraying Blackflame madra from its mouth and roaring. Yerin clambered closer, snatching the hilt of her sword away—only luck had stopped him from landing right on the blade.
Another benefit of working with Lindon: she knew exactly where he’d be without looking.
She tossed the white sword into the air over Orthos, and Lindon—already at the height of a jump—snatched it out of the air.
His thoughts were the same as hers, she knew. They didn’t want to kill Orthos, because they’d have to fight his Remnant, but heaven strike her down if she could see a better way. Besides, Lindon could adopt the Remnant; he might not have been instructed through that process, and he may not have been quite ready for it, but that would be better than another fight to the death.
Lindon landed on Orthos’ belly, swaying like a man on the deck of a ship. He reversed the sword, raised it in both hands…
…and he switched cores.
His presence went from a fiercely burning fire to a calm, almost invisible lake. He was a Jade on a different Path.
And before he killed the sacred beast, something caught her attention.
When did he have full strength in both his cores?
She’d never noticed much of a difference, since he’d grown so slowly, and he only switched to his Twin Stars madra once in a blue moon. But he used to feel like half a Jade. Now, she’d never know he had a split core without scanning his spirit closely.
His core still wasn’t the deepest, but compared to how he was before, the difference was like heaven and earth. Just the core he was showing now wouldn’t embarrass a Jade back in Sacred Valley, and she’d eat her sword if his Blackflame core wasn’t a notch wider.
His cycling technique. Eithan taught it to him.
Lindon had never made a secret of that, but Yerin hadn’t given it two thoughts before. It was just a cycling technique; every Path had one. Lindon had complained about how difficult his Heavenly Whatever Wheel was, but he was new to the sacred arts. Everything was difficult to him.
She’d been jealous of the personal attention Eithan had paid him, but if she was honest, he needed it more than she did. But Yerin had never thought Eithan was teaching him anything great because—to cut right down to the bone—Eithan wasn’t treating them like real disciples. He hadn’t even told them the name of his Path.
But…what if he did think of Lindon as a disciple? What if he was actually passing along his sacred arts to Lindon?
Because if that cycling technique had made up for his lack of madra, it wasn’t some half-baked technique that Lindon had found in an old scroll. It was on the same stage as the cycling technique his master had passed to her.
She expected a fresh surge of envy, but what passed through her instead was relief. A large slice of a sacred artist’s future could be told from the quality of their Path.
You could get to Truegold without a perfect Iron body, but then your flesh wouldn’t survive the advancement to Underlord. Same story for spirits: without a solid Jade cycling technique, your soul would get shakier and shakier at each stage until you couldn’t advance any further.
The more solid your foundation, the further you could go.
When Eithan told them he wanted to take them all the way to the end, he hadn’t just been spitting in the wind.
Of course, they wouldn’t take one step out of the valley if Orthos’ Remnant killed them both. The fight wasn’t over.
Lindon pulled his free hand back for a strike and drove an Empty Palm down into the turtle’s midsection, and Yerin could feel the creature’s madra going wild. It screamed like an earthquake, so loud she had to cycle madra to her ears to stop her eardrums from bursting. It bucked like a ship in a storm, trying to shake Lindon off.
But it couldn’t Enforce its body anymore. Orthos’ quick, graceful movements were gone, and he was just a big turtle.
Lindon raised the Sword Sage’s blade and threw it to one side.
Yerin gaped at him. Every rosy thing she’d thought about him flew away and died.
Lindon’s knees almost buckled when he hopped off the turtle and hit the ground, and he braced himself against the side of Orthos’ shell for balance. “Forgiveness, but he doesn’t deserve to die here. And the Sylvan might help him.”
For once, the three voices in her head were all in agreement. Her unwelcome guest, her master’s Remnant, and Yerin all told her to kill the enemy before this idiot could ruin everything.
“I’m not saying to gut him for the thrill of it. You kill enemies, you hear me? If you don’t, they come up behind you and stab you in the back.”
Lindon looked ashamed, but he didn’t pick the sword back up. “I have to go get my pack.”