But it provided the opening Lindon had been waiting for.
As soon as she stopped, Lindon gathered a gray flame of his own from the quiet bonfire burning in his spirit. He funneled it into a twist of spirit behind his cores, a binding in the making. The location of his Soul Cloak technique.
The smooth blue-white aura around him turned almost tangible, like a waterfall flowing in reverse up his body.
Before she swung, Grace realized what he'd done. She poured soulfire into her own full-body Enforcer technique, but it was too late.
In one motion, he closed the gap between them and jabbed two fingers into her wrist along with a pulse of pure madra. It disrupted her strength, loosening her grip, and he took the weapon from her.
But he didn’t turn it to point the blade at her. He released the Soul Cloak, holding her sword out to her hilt-first.
Her purple eyes were wide with astonishment, her lips slightly parted. She took the weapon back absently.
“Lindon's victory.” The Overlord sighed. He was almost inaudible over Mercy cheering and Fury clapping.
Grace scooped up her sheath, slipping the weapon inside. Then she turned back to him and pressed both fists together.
“Thank you for the match,” she said quietly.
Lindon returned the salute.
Then Pride strode onto the stage. Shadow madra pulsed around him, and Lindon could make out a phantom image in the air behind him: a red book made of madra, its cover sealed with silver chains.
Rather than announcing the sixteenth fight, Fury remained quiet. Pride glowered at Lindon, his spirit unrestrained.
In a way, Lindon was more confident against Pride than against Grace. He had fought Pride twice and seen more of his Path both times. Dross was confident that his model of the young man was at least eighty percent accurate.
But of the four hundred and fifteen simulated matches Lindon had held against Pride, Lindon had won only two hundred.
Pride used exclusively Enforcer techniques. If he managed to move in close, he won. Lindon won only when he kept his distance and peppered Pride with dragon's breath.
They stood facing each other in silence as the defeated Akura members stared at them.
Pride drew himself up to his full height, his eyes moving to the viewing arena. His madra spun quickly, and Lindon started cycling for the Burning Cloak.
“Enough.” Charity’s quiet voice swallowed up all else.
Akura Fury looked to her in childish disappointment, but both Pride and Lindon drew up short.
“Wei Shi Lindon Arelius, step back,” she continued. “Your point is made. Let all see that I have made my selection, and it is final.”
Pride bowed, and then turned away, his every step heavy with obvious frustration.
Lindon looked up to the tower, uncertain. He had expected to fight Pride last of all, so this sudden change wrong-footed him.
Charity stood up, surveying them all. “I suppose now we should have the actual selection tournament.”
“Eh, I'm going to pick Grace or Pride,” Fury said. He hopped down from the thirty-foot tower, landing easily on the ground below, and then began to walk away. “Fight it out between the two of you. Best two of three matches, return to good condition in between each match, Charity's the judge.”
His figure blurred as he shot away.
[What an abrupt man,] Dross said.
Chapter 7
Lindon hadn’t seen Mercy much since arriving in Moongrave, but after the Akura clan acknowledged him as a qualified participant in the Uncrowned tournament, the situation changed. Now Charity required him to appear in public with members of the Monarch’s family to reinforce his new status. Since Charity and Fury were far too busy, that meant Mercy or Pride.
He had immediately chosen Mercy.
Delighted, she had taken the opportunity to bring him to a show. They now sat side-by-side in a theater box reserved for the Akura head family, looking down on the rest of the audience and on a broad stage. Onstage, sacred artists performed what they called ‘drake-dancing’; they rode serpentine lesser dragons through the air in complex acrobatics, narrowly dodging each other and a barrage of dangerous techniques.
The spectacle focused on the stunts, but the story engaged Lindon the most. The rider on the black drake was a fallen prince trying to regain his kingdom, but every step he took brought him further away from his true love.
An hour in, the director called an intermission, and the drakes landed. They carried their riders backstage to the sound of applause, and the audience’s murmurs rose to a dull roar.
Lindon immediately began cycling the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel.
Mercy cried out when she saw his eyes shut, and she clapped her hands in front of his face, startling him out of the cycling trance. “You really don’t take any breaks, do you?” Her purple eyes shone with amusement.
“Apologies, but I don’t have time for breaks.” The truth was, he was embarrassed at how easily he had been swallowed up by the show. For a few minutes, he had almost forgotten to improve himself.
Mercy turned her body in her seat, folding black-gloved hands on the arm of her chair. “I’ve never seen you voluntarily take a break. Even in the Skysworn, you were cycling or practicing until you collapsed. Do you not have any hobbies?”
Lindon thought of training as his hobby, but he searched for a more appropriate answer. “I used to work in a library.”
From Mercy’s face, that was clearly not what she wanted to hear. “What do you like doing?”
That felt like the wrong question, but it took him a moment to find the words to explain why. “It’s not about what I like. I’m years behind you and Yerin. I have to work harder to catch up.”
“Lindon, this isn’t a test. What do you enjoy?”
“I like Soulsmithing,” he responded. He was answering from the gut, but that was the most honest answer he could think of. “It’s satisfying to come up with something that works, because Remnant pieces never combine like you expect.”
Mercy leaned even closer to him, eagerly awaiting more.
“I enjoy research. Searching through volumes of information and pulling out just the pieces you need, then putting them together.” He shrugged, self-conscious. “It doesn’t sound fun when I say it like that, but that’s what came to mind.”
Mercy’s tone became overly casual. “What about your talks with Yerin?”
“Of course.” This time, Lindon didn’t need to consider his answer. “She’s always excited to train, and that makes me enjoy it more. Having to advance on my own these last few months has made me realize…”
He trailed off as the music started up beneath them. The director emerged back onstage and began to announce the second part of the drake-dancing show.
Without turning from Lindon, Mercy raised her hand, palm-out.
The director corrected himself mid-sentence. “Ah, it seems that the show will resume in just a few more minutes.”
The musicians lowered their volume. A few members of the audience glanced up at their box, but most people kept their eyes low.
Lindon stared at Mercy. It seemed there were more perks to being a Monarch’s daughter than he realized.
She lowered her voice to barely above a whisper. “So I’ve never asked, but now that we’ve got this chance to talk…what exactly are you and Yerin? Are you…” She twined her fingers together.
Lindon felt like every light in the theater had turned onto him.
“First I thought you were together,” Mercy went on, “and then after watching you and finding out you had both been adopted into the Arelius family, I figured you might have thought of yourselves as brother and sister. But the more I watch you…there’s something there, right?”
Excitement painted every inch of her face. The music stayed low, the crowd murmured, and the show wouldn’t start until Mercy allowed it to.