Lindon waited for more, but Dross was quiet.
“But...” Lindon began.
[But what? That was all true.]
Lindon passed his spiritual perception through his body, feeling the glittering motes of ruby sand that now permeated his flesh. The Iron Heart had integrated seamlessly with his Iron body, but he still wasn't sure what that meant.
“I haven't noticed much increased healing in the simulations,” Lindon said.
[I've never seen an Iron Heart in action, have I? How am I supposed to know what it can do for you?]
“We should test it.”
The door opened just as he spoke, and Yerin strolled into the room. Her long hair streaming behind her like a black banner and the sword at her waist made her look like a warrior from a painting. Her silver sword-arms had been withdrawn, but she still looked ready for battle at any second.
“What are we testing?” she asked, walking up to Lindon. He hurriedly stood to meet her.
“My Iron Heart. It's finished bonding with my Iron body, but Dross can't show me what it can do, because we haven't tested it yet.”
[You have perfect timing!] Dross said to Yerin. [You can cut him for me! I only wish I could do it myself.]
“Sure,” Yerin said casually, gripping her sword. “A big cut or a bunch of little ones?”
Lindon had to slow this down before it went too far. “Hold on! I'm not the only one with a match coming up. Are you going to be all right against Mercy?”
Yerin frowned, glaring a hole in the wall.
“That...Monarch.” She was obviously afraid that saying his name would draw his attention, which Lindon thought was wisely cautious. “He did this to us on purpose. Makes me not want to dance to his song.”
Lindon fervently agreed, but he stayed silent to encourage her to keep talking.
“But this is a fresh chance,” she continued. “How often do you get to sharpen yourself against a friend without hurting them? My master used to say that you never really knew someone until you crossed swords with them, and I'm starting to take his meaning.”
“Apologies; I don't understand. I've never fought you outside of training, but that doesn't mean we don't know each other.”
Yerin looked up to the ceiling, visibly searching for the right words. “I’d say...I know the you I see, but how did that prince Kiro see you? How did Harmony see you in Ghostwater?”
[Last,] Dross said. [Harmony saw him last. ]
“We have to blunt our swords when we're training. Nothing wrong with that—I'm not trying to take off your ear, and I don't want dragon's breath in my eyes. But it means that we never get to use that last little bit, you know?”
She shrugged. “There's something honest about going all-out. Now that we don't have to worry about killing each other, I get to see everything Mercy's got. And I get to show her everything I can do.”
Yerin stood with perfect confidence, her master's sword at her waist, wearing a sacred artist's robe that was the duplicate of the one Lindon had first seen her in. But he saw now how different she had become. These robes were new, not tattered at the edges—her control had grown.
Her skin was smooth, the scars gone. The rope-belt of Forged blood madra she had once worn was missing, integrated into her spirit. Her hair hung past her shoulders, and her face had been sculpted anew during her advancement to Underlord. She looked more mature, a worthy competitor in the Uncrowned King tournament.
She was beautiful.
Her dark eyes turned back to him, and he jerked his gaze away, afraid to be caught staring.
“What about you?” she asked. “What if you had to fight one of us?”
Lindon still shivered when he imagined Naian's razor steel pushing through his guts. It had only been a few days. He saw the hole he'd burned through his opponents on the island. And not just on the island, either. Ekeri the gold dragon had been speared through by his dragon's breath and had eventually died.
Could he picture doing the same to Yerin, even if she would be resurrected by a Monarch immediately? Could he slice her in half with a bar of burning madra? Could he bash her skull in with his shield?
“I'm glad I don't have to,” Lindon finally said.
“This isn't the last round. If we all make it, you'll have to fight at least one of us in the top eight.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I will do it. But I don't have to be happy about it.”
“What's not to be happy about? We could all make it into the top eight of the Uncrowned King tournament!” She hesitated. “Uh...three of the four of us.”
That left a silence in the room. No matter whether Yerin or Mercy won, one of their journeys would end with the next round.
He didn’t want to think about it, so instead he walked up and squared his shoulders against the wall. “Let’s test the Iron Heart. Yerin, if you could just give me a little cut on the arm so I can see the difference. It used to take me...what, a minute or two to close up a small cut?”
[Three to four minutes,] Dross responded. [But the circumstances varied. If you intentionally cycled madra to your Iron body, it would be faster, and if you had more injuries it would be slower.]
“Okay, then. Three minutes is the time to beat. Yerin?”
Yerin drew her sword, leaning forward, her madra spinning. “Get ready!”
He held out his left arm and waited.
Yerin's fingers opened and closed on the hilt of her sword. The aura around the weapon stirred...and died again. She clenched her jaw.
“...apologies, is something wrong?”
“No!” She snapped, and her cheeks had begun to color. “I'm just...it feels strange just cutting you while you're standing there. Maybe if we were sparring...”
Lindon stared blankly at her. Dross manifested over his shoulder to add his one-eyed stare to Lindon's.
“We train against each other all the time,” Lindon said. “You've cut me many times.”
Although not often, now that Lindon thought about it. It was usually when she used the Endless Sword and it spilled out of her control.
“I know that! But that's a fight, that's different.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so.”
He wanted to be flattered by her concern, but he was only baffled. He had never expected this out of Yerin. What had brought this on?
“Shut up and just...I'll do it, okay? Hold still.” She took a deep breath, and then her sword rang like a bell. A small one.
His arm stung, and a razor-thin cut traced a red line about an inch long across his forearm. Blood began to bead at the end, and Lindon could feel his Iron body drawing pure madra from him immediately. He and Dross watched it intently.
After only a second or two, the end of the wound began to close up.
A single drop of blood ran down the side of his arm, and by the time it reached the other side, the injury had already closed.
[Four seconds!] Dross exclaimed. [That's a new record!]
“It took more madra than usual,” Lindon noted, but he was as excited as Dross was.
Yerin's ears were still tinged red, but she played it cool, adjusting her grip on the sword. “Another?”
“A few more this time, please,” Lindon held out his arm again.
“You don't want to wait for that one to heal first?” It was mostly restored, but the line of skin was still a tender scarlet, like a fresh scrape.
“Oh, that's not worth worrying about. Three would be perfect.”
Yerin didn't look happy, but she did as requested. The three cuts healed just as quickly as the first had.
[I'd like to see a deeper cut, but why don't we try out a different kind of injury first?]
“That's what I was thinking,” Lindon agreed. He had already cast his mind forward to the fight with Sophara. If he could heal this quickly, he might actually be able to take a hit or two from her Flowing Flame madra, which would be invaluable. This could be his chance, and he was eager to discover his limits.