Reigan Shen reached these families just as they had begun their search for powerful Underlords. He was the victor of the first Uncrowned King tournament, and that fortune became the foundation for decades of conquest.
Now, the Monarch of the King’s Key Path has a reputation as a conqueror and a glory-seeker, an imperialist and a daring innovator. He is known to be generous to his people, but ruthless and cruel to all others. He is always looking for the next legendary deed that will spread his own myth.
So when he approached the four Dreadgod cults, promising them each that he intended to awaken their masters for good, they had no reason to doubt him.
Suggested topic: The life and death of Tiberian Arelius. Continue?
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Chapter 15
The competitors were kept in a waiting room before the main event. It was a small, gray room with only a pair of benches against the wall, a low table, and a cabinet.
Mercy engaged in a series of stretches on the opposite side of the room, but Lindon sat on the bench, cupping Little Blue in his hands.
The spirit stared up at him, her chimes full of confidence.
“It's okay if you're scared,” Lindon told her. “This will be dangerous. I'm not sure it's worth the risk.”
Little Blue stuck two fists in the air and whistled.
Dross didn't manifest because of all the foreign gazes around—Northstrider could probably see them from the other side of the world if he wanted to, so there was no guarantee he wouldn't glance into the waiting room with his spiritual perception.
But Dross still spoke into the Riverseed's mind. [We’re attached to a big human Underlord, aren’t we? Let him do all the fighting. That’s his job!]
Blue gave out a burbling sigh.
[What! I'll have you know that I have as much courage as any dozen memory constructs! Which is...hm, that would be none. Twelve times zero is zero. Well, I have more than that!]
Lindon leaned closer, looking into the Sylvan's ocean-blue eyes. “If you're scared, we can call this off. There are things I can try on my own.”
She gave him an unusually serious look and a single, resolved nod.
Without further hesitation, Lindon drew Little Blue into his soulspace. He could feel her revolving there, between his cores, curled up as though asleep.
[I am being serious now, though: don’t let her get hurt, okay? Or me, if that were to come up for some reason.]
Lindon snatched up his shield and slipped it over his left hand. He’d created it himself, with Dross’ help, from scrap materials and dead matter that the Ninecloud Soulsmiths had allowed him to use. It was made primarily from force madra, with an Underlord-level defensive binding and a few protective scripts here and there. It wasn’t compatible with his Blackflame madra or his hunger madra, so he couldn’t use it on his right hand, but he still found himself attached to it.
He had taken the bulk of the shield from a turtle-Remnant. It was a broad, stone-gray shell.
Orthos would have been proud.
The madra felt a little unstable, but it shouldn't cause any problems for him. If the shield was destroyed in this fight, but he managed to save Naian, it would be worthwhile.
At the touch of his madra, a sword hovered above him and behind his shoulder. It was a real sacred instrument, a masterfully crafted weapon covered in elegant script.
The double-edged blade was wide and tinged with just a hint of blue, its runes stylized to look like crashing waves. The hilt and guard were a pale green that reminded him of wind aura and carved with the image of powerful gusts.
Wavedancer was the weapon’s name, and it was a masterpiece. Its Archlord spirit was as graceful as its physical form, and it had no binding, so he could use it even as an Underlord. According to the description from its creator, it was meant to “Bend the swiftness and power of an ocean storm to the protection of its owner.”
It was a comforting presence behind him, using his madra as fuel to hover, but he didn’t feel the same connection to it that he did to the shield. Maybe it was because of its aspects of water and wind, or maybe it was that he’d made the shield himself. Regardless, he needed an Archlord weapon, and this had been the most suitable for him.
Dross took over controlling it immediately, so he didn't have to waste his concentration.
“Apologies,” Lindon said aloud, “but I can’t control what happens to Little Blue. I think it’s worth the risk. So does she.”
Dross grumbled. [Is this Blackflame your long-lost brother and you just never told me? Wait, now that I’ve thought of it, I actually do want to know the answer. He’s not. I know he’s not. Is he?]
In the ravaged twenty-five-year-old Blackflame, Lindon saw Orthos. Between what Orthos had been before meeting Little Blue and what he had become after Ghostwater, there was a world of difference.
Orthos had gotten his life back. Maybe Naian Blackflame could too.
Mercy pulled her hair back, tying it into a tail with a string of sticky black madra. Suu rested against her shoulder, her new lens hanging on her forehead over her left eye. The lens was her Archlord prize from the last round: a circle of scripted purple glass that enhanced her vision in half a dozen different ways. She wore a newly tailored version of the Akura team uniform, the high collar framing her face in bright violet and the cape sweeping out behind her.
He wore the same, his outfit broader and bulkier than hers. His halfsilver badge hung over his chest, though he'd been forced to leave his void key behind again. With the turtle shield on his left hand, Wavedancer hovering over his right shoulder, and Dross and Little Blue in his spirit...he was ready.
Lindon stepped forward into a script. Colors swirled in the runes for a while, scanning his weapons and soulspace for anything beyond his station, until it finally flashed white. He was approved.
He stepped aside while Mercy walked into the scanning circle, her purple eyes concerned.
“I can still fight him, if you'd prefer,” she offered.
He took a deep breath, working the fingers on his Remnant hand. “Gratitude, but I need to try. Besides, it's better if we have you in reserve in case I mess up.”
She laughed, but he hadn't been joking.
Once the script lit up for her, she moved past to join him. Distantly, he could hear the noise of the crowd and the voice of the Ninecloud Soul as she introduced the two factions.
He could do nothing else to prepare. He was as ready as he would ever be.
After a minute of silence, the heavy stone wall began to grind upward.
Instantly, a gust of wind and a rush of noise blew in. The dry air smelled of ash, and Lindon wondered why. The arena hadn't smelled like that the last time he'd been there.
When the wall finished opening, he saw what had changed: the arena was covered in dead trees.
The sandy stone that had been the arena floor before was now covered in a thick layer of white-and-gray ash. Dozens of brown, leafless trees rose from the ashes, dry and ready to burn.
The Ninecloud Court had prepared a battlefield suitable for two Blackflames.
“...led by the daughter of Monarch Malice herself, the Akura family!” the Soul announced, and the crowd roared in response. The colorful Monarch towers around the arena were once again packed with people, though the Akura crowd closest to him was muted. The shadowy veil around their tower deadened even sound.
Lindon and Mercy strode out in their plum-and-violet uniforms, with Lindon one respectful step behind the Akura heiress.
The rainbow light of the Ninecloud Soul spoke from above the arena, flashing with every word. Northstrider still stood in the middle, black-scaled muscular arms folded across his chest. His eyes were closed as he waited.