“Decide who fights,” he said, and Yerin heard stone grating on stone as the booth rose from the floor behind her.
“I’d be more than happy to draw swords on both of them,” Yerin said, “but they're your kin. I’ll follow your word.”
They had discussed their strategy already, but Eithan had directed her to focus on preparing for either fight. She had a plan against Veris and Altavian both, but he had dodged any questions about which of them would fight first. She assumed he wanted to decide at the last moment.
Eithan leaned over so that they were eye-to-eye, looking into her. A moment later, his hand blurred as he slapped her on the side of the head.
It didn't quite hurt , but she instantly responded by stabbing at him with one of her Goldsigns. He slid casually to one side.
She scowled at him. “You trying to get me ready to stab an Arelius?”
Eithan straightened up. “Just checking. I don't see it in you yet. Why don't you watch me first? It might be good for you.”
“I was ready to do that from the beginning! Didn't need a slap!”
“Next time, dodge it.”
Yerin grumbled as she walked back to the booth. They were both Underlords now. She didn't have to listen to him anymore.
...though she reminded herself that she still hadn't defeated him in a spar. Once she could beat him, then she could ignore his advice. And slap him on the head.
Yerin settled into the booth as the disembodied voice echoed through the arena: “The fighters have been chosen! Veris Arelius of House Arelius fights for the late Tiberian Arelius! And Eithan Arelius of the Blackflame Empire fights for Akura Malice! It's a civil war between these two scions of the same clan!”
Yerin could see the back of Eithan’s elaborate lavender-and-gold outer robe fluttering in the wind, his hair blowing alongside it. The image of him projected for spectators overhead looked supremely confident, as always.
She couldn’t see his opponent with her own eyes, but Veris’ giant illusory image floated in the air opposite Eithan’s. The Arelius woman wore loose-fitting pants and a shirt, all in the Arelius colors of dark blue, black, and white. She stood with her hands behind her back, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Lightning crackled in the air around her.
“Begin,” Northstrider said, and then vanished.
Veris’ eyes snapped open.
A sharpened lance of bright, crackling energy flashed through one of the alleys between the columns. The Striker technique looked like lightning hammered straight, and it pierced the air not where Eithan was , but where he was headed . He had dashed to the side, but Veris had anticipated that.
Eithan leaped on top of a nearby column as though he had planned to all along, and the Striker technique passed beneath his feet. He cast stars of pure madra to the opposite end of the arena, calling down a blue-white waterfall.
So far, so boring, at least for a fight between Underlords. They were fighting like a pair of archers in an exhibition, like they were trying to show off for the fanciest shot. In Yerin's estimation, Eithan should have closed the distance between them immediately and gone straight for the kill, knowing that his opponent favored Striker techniques.
A moment later, everything changed.
A soaring lightning falcon swooped over Eithan's head, let out a screaming cry, and detonated into a field of storm madra...fifty feet away from Eithan. At the same time, Eithan darted backward, dodging nothing, and let out a burst of pure madra into thin air.
While running, he drew his new scissors—the prize he had chosen from the last round. They were actually an Archlord sacred dagger with the ability to change its physical shape, so he chose the shape of his old weapon: a set of large black fabric scissors.
And these carried an Archlord binding. No matter how much madra he had, it would be difficult for Eithan to activate such a weapon at his advancement stage without tearing his madra channels.
He was using them for their other advantage, which he had proudly explained to Lindon and Yerin already. This weapon responded to Enforcement far better than anything else Yerin had ever seen him use.
He flooded the scissors with pure madra, and they burst into a dark ball of gray light. When he stabbed that weapon into Veris’ Forged falcon, the lightning technique crackled and burst.
Eithan wasted no time ducking into the pillars, still running.
The images of the two fighters hovered in the air over the columns themselves, and Yerin turned her attention to those when she could no longer see Eithan. They occasionally crossed techniques, with Eithan reflecting a ball of destructive energy or Veris' hair being ruffled by a near-miss from a burst of pure madra, but most of the time it was as though the two of them were fighting against invisible opponents.
The Ninecloud Soul’s beautiful voice sounded excited, its rainbow light glimmering from the center of the projected fight. “Our more advanced guests will have already noticed the complex back-and-forth dance between these two combatants. Each is predicting the movements of the other, attempting to corner their opponent by cutting off retreat. Anyone worried that one Arelius might hold back against another can rest easy!”
Yerin couldn't see any of that, and it frustrated her. As far as she could tell, they were playing around and taking it easy on one another. Her master had been no Arelius, and she was sure he would have followed this fight.
She extended her spiritual perception, trying to sense the interplay between the two, but all she could feel was the flashy back-and-forth of their exchanges.
Breathing deeply, she sunk deep into her spiritual senses. Rather than trying to see the fight, she tried to feel its flow.
For over a minute, she felt nothing. She tried to predict what Eithan would do next, and she got it wrong almost every time. But as she pushed her frustration down and just felt , she began to sense something.
It was like the spike of alarm she felt when someone was attacking her from behind, but softer and muted. A feather brushing against the back of her neck rather than a nail through her skull.
Jump, she thought, and Eithan leaped away from a crackling claw of madra that erupted from the ground beneath him.
He would loop around the outside of the arena now, trying to push Veris into a bad angle.
And so he did, running from the top of one squared-off column to another, gathering stars of pure madra in the air as he ran.
The fight progressed with both sides trying to pressure the other, but Yerin spent her time trying to memorize the feeling of this elusive state. She wasn't sure if it had to do with the instinctive skill of the Sword Sage's Remnant or her evolving spiritual perception, but she suspected both.
Eithan moved as quickly as he ever had in their sparring matches and used the four techniques she'd seen him use. He slid past every technique Veris sent his way, some of which almost cornered him.
She felt the turn in the fight an instant before it happened.
Veris slipped out from cover to launch a Forged hawk of storm madra at Eithan, and she lingered a beat too long. Yerin felt it.
That's the game, she thought.
Eithan's blast of pure madra clipped her shoulder, slowing her next Striker technique for only a second. From there on out, Eithan had the advantage, and she was on the back foot. In seconds, Eithan had her backed into a corner, driving his scissors up under her ribs.
The image faded away, showing golden characters. Though she couldn't read them, she knew what they meant: Blackflame Victory.
Yerin snapped back to reality, and she let out a breath. She felt oddly tired, as though she had been focusing intently for too long and needed a break. She had felt like she was letting her attention drift, and for only a few short minutes at that. Even her spirit felt a little strained.