In a flash, she kicked off.
Using the soulfire she'd gathered, she pushed behind her, a simple shove against the wind aura that propelled her forward. At the same time, she fed madra into her Steelborn Iron body. It filled her with unstoppable strength.
Her movements would be a blur even to Underlord eyes, her sword an arc of blinding white as she swung for Eithan's throat.
Casually, he leaned backward. The cold blade passed over his nose.
She had already expected that. The three sword-arms on her right side shone brightly with her Enforcer technique: the Flowing Sword. They gathered madra and aura within them, becoming sharper and more powerful as long as she held the technique.
While she was still turning into the heavy swing of her sword, her Goldsigns swept at him like claws.
He slid to the ground, pushing against the floor with his right palm, which launched him past her blades. Only by an inch. The sword-arms caught edges of his hair.
But she didn't stop her turn. She leaned into it, spinning around, filling the other three sword-arms with the Flowing Sword as well. They extended as she spun, sweeping at him backhand.
She had always known that the first, heaviest attack wouldn't touch him. She had prepared three, each following the other with virtually no lag between them.
Yerin didn't see how he evaded the third attack, only that he did. Her spiritual perception was locked on him, and he ended up on his back foot.
She leaped into the air, flipping around to see him beneath her. Her feet met the ceiling and she kicked off, shooting downward, her Goldsigns still filled with the Flowing Sword. Her master's sword rang like a bell.
The sword-aura detonated into the Endless Sword, a storm of invisible blades exploding away from her. She had even poured soulfire into the technique, magnifying it far beyond what she could manage on her own, so the storm shook the entire arena. Scripts lit up all around the walls, protecting the bystanders from the wild, deadly aura.
She slammed into the ground blade-first, her Goldsigns spearing into the stone floor. The chamber rumbled with the impact, air screaming as her Ruler technique sliced through it.
She ended up on one knee, sword and six arms driven into the stone. She pulled them out, releasing the Flowing Sword. Silver light drifted into the air, flashing and crackling over the edges of her seven blades.
Eithan stood nearby, unharmed. He whistled.
“If I didn't know better, I’d think you had some unresolved aggression against me. Would you like to talk?”
Yerin ground her teeth. This wasn't enough.
The Akura clan would be preparing Lindon and Mercy for the Uncrowned King tournament in nine months. If she wanted to keep up with them, she had to break through her limits.
She dug into her spirit and touched her Blood Shadow.
Instantly, the parasite bloomed beside her, a copy of her in shades of red. It had grown in detail ever since she had started practicing the Sage of Red Faith's techniques for raising it; it looked just like her, if her eyes and hair and robes were all red, and her skin had a pink tinge to it.
It had been torn apart by the Seishen Underlady Meira only a week before, but Yerin had reluctantly given it the food it needed to recover. Her advancement to Underlord had affected it too, so now the Shadow was not only whole, but stronger than ever.
She still hated using it. Even touching its spirit with hers disgusted her.
But only a fool tossed aside a weapon.
The Blood Shadow often failed to follow her orders, but this time, it focused totally on Eithan. Its expression was serious, its perception locked on Eithan's. Six gleaming crimson sword-arms emerged from its back, and liquid red madra oozed from its palm and formed into a copy of the Sword Sage's weapon.
Eithan opened his mouth to say something, but neither Yerin nor her clone were in the mood to listen.
The arena echoed with cracks of thunder once again as Yerin and her Blood Shadow unleashed everything they had.
The Shadow came in, low and savage, and Yerin jumped over it. Eithan had to go high to avoid the parasite, and he found Yerin already airborne, plunging her blade at his chest.
Now that they were both Underlords, Yerin's Steelborn Iron body gave her the overwhelming advantage in strength. Even if Eithan used a weapon to block, the impact from her strike would launch him into the stone wall.
Without hesitation, or even losing his grin, Eithan smashed his fist into the flat of her sword.
Not only did it deflect her sword off-course, but he had shoved against the weapon, pushing him to the side. Adjusting his trajectory in midair.
Before he could land, her Shadow slashed upward with all of its blades and a host of Striker techniques. The razor-sharp crescents of blood madra caught him in a wave.
For an instant, Yerin thought she'd gotten him.
She wasn't worried about his safety. She couldn't be. If she held back against him, she'd never be able to push him to his breaking point. And she had to, if she wanted to ever catch up to him. Her master would have beaten him, even as an Underlord. She was sure of it.
Eithan shoved one palm forward, and pure madra blasted out of his hand in a wave. It was almost colorless, with the bare tinge of blue-white to it, and it wiped the Striker techniques from existence before engulfing the Blood Shadow itself.
The spirit gave a silent scream as it resisted, its form wavering and melting like wax before a campfire.
Eithan released his technique as he fell, landing easily next to the Shadow, which lay in a quivering half-melted lump.
Yerin had already released a Rippling Sword at him, a wave of deadly sword madra.
He wiped it away with a casual backhand, then began to clap. “Well done! I was trying not to use any techniques, but you backed me into a corner. I have a few pointers for you, as well as perhaps a few insights into your training going forward—”
He cut off as Yerin marched forward and seized him by the collar. Her anger burned hot.
“Serious, Eithan! Be serious!” She shook him as her Blood Shadow re-formed behind her. The spirit's anger boiled against hers, feeding her fury. “I don't have a Dross! I don't have a Sage left to light my way! All I’ve got left to help me is you, so I need you to stop holding back!”
Eithan's smile was calm. “As you wish.”
Yerin released him, taking a step back and steadying her breaths. “That’s more than nothing, then.” Her Blood Shadow felt like it wanted to tear Eithan apart with its teeth. Focusing her spirit, Yerin raised her master's sword.
Before she could make a move, every protective script in the arena lit up at once.
To her spiritual senses, the atmosphere grew painfully heavy, as if the air had suddenly turned to water. Her spirit screamed a warning, and she threw the Endless Sword up like a barrier, surrounding herself in sword-aura.
Her Blood Shadow exploded. Blood madra splattered all over the walls in a spray as though it had been struck by the hand of a Monarch.
Yerin had seen nothing. She had felt only a brief spike of pure madra.
Where was Eithan?
She cast her perception out for him, but she sensed nothing. She spun in place, hunting for him.
He was right behind her.
His smile was gone, his eyes twin needles of ice. His hostility was so thick she could taste it. A fist squeezed her spirit, and it was all she could do to keep her madra circulating. She gathered a Rippling Sword at the edge of her blade, whipping a quick Striker technique at him.
Eithan did nothing to stop it. The madra cracked against invisible armor that coated every inch of his skin.
He pointed his finger up, and only then did Yerin realize there was something above her.
She leaped back, but the seething cluster of blue-white stars against the ceiling followed her. She raised her sword, filling it with madra.