Her heart swelled with pride.
Dark fire kindling in his palm reminded her the fight wasn't over. On instinct, she brought up her sword against his budding Striker technique. Though little energy remained in her limbs, her Steelborn Iron body made sure her swing was a vertical blur. She cut through the Blackflame fireball, breaking it, and before Lindon could conjure another, a red Rippling Sword flew at him from the side.
He turned to face it, and Yerin created space between them.
This was her last chance. He would outlast her in a prolonged fight; of course he would. He was a madra monster. Even his wounds would heal in time, though she wasn't sure if his Remnant arm would come back. Knowing him, he probably had a way to repair it.
She had to finish it now. She drew her blade back, pouring all her madra into one last technique. A second Final Sword.
A blink later, the Blood Shadow kicked Lindon away and began echoing Yerin. The crackling storm of energy was a blend of red and silver, but Yerin's was a silver so bright it was almost white.
Deep in her mind, it alarmed her that the parasite had a version of the Final Sword. Yerin had never shared that with the Shadow, and she herself had only learned it recently. The Blood Shadow had never practiced.
Those were thoughts from a nightmare, but they belonged later. She had a fight to win.
She was prepared for Lindon to sweep dragon's breath at them, but if he did, she could use the excess energy of the rising Final Sword to protect herself while the Blood Shadow finished him.
In that razor’s edge of time, she found her consciousness sinking into the elusive state she’d touched throughout the tournament. She could feel an extra force in her technique, one she had never felt from herself before. It felt like her master.
She had proven herself. She was going to win.
Then Lindon lowered his hand into a claw.
~~~
If Lindon strained his shield any further, it would break, and the detonation from its destruction would end him.
If he used Striker techniques to strike at one of them while they prepared their techniques, the other would move on him. So he released his shield and took the best option left to him.
The only secret he had kept from Yerin.
He lowered his left hand, and claws of Forged Blackflame madra formed on each of his fingers, until it looked like he was wearing a dragon's claw like a glove. A miniature Void Dragon's Dance swirled around it, dragon’s breath filled it like blood, and a focused Burning Cloak surrounded it all.
With the full power of his spirit and all his remaining soulfire, he forced all those techniques together.
Months ago, Akura Fury had shown him how to layer techniques. He had used that advice to improve the Empty Palm…and to work on one original technique of his own. He and Dross had spent too much time, far more than Dross wanted to, theorizing and simulating and practicing. It had taken him months to be able to Forge Blackflame madra at all, and even now he could only hold it together for seconds.
When he had taken in raw draconic madra from the black dragon, he had refined the technique again. And once more after absorbing the original Path of Black Flame from Naian.
The technique coalesced into a massive dragon’s claw that streamed black-and-red power. He lifted his hand, Forged claws battering him with heat and destruction, and looked across to Yerin.
She was laughing.
Yerin dashed forward, her Shadow following her a second later. Both of them dragged their devastating techniques with them.
As Lindon ran in to meet her, a serpentine stream of dark fire flowing behind him, he realized he was smiling too.
Two Final Swords struck his technique: The Dragon Descends.
Lindon's full power met Yerin's, and the stage ripped apart.
~~~
Akura Fury laughed and clapped as the wall-sized view fuzzed.
All the Akura Underlords were silent.
Charity herself was astonished. She glanced at her father, who was applauding so furiously that some of the Truegolds in the back of the room had to run from the sound.
She leaned closer to Fury, speaking lower so that the young generation couldn't hear her. “If I’m not mistaken, that was a touch of the Sword Icon. How is this the work of twenty-year-olds?”
Fury threw an arm around her neck, hooking her tightly, still laughing. “These kids are amazing, aren't they? I can't wait!”
She slipped away from him to preserve her dignity, but he didn't seem to care. Fury bellowed laughter, delighted at the prospect of new opponents.
More Truegolds ran from the room, hands covering their ears.
~~~
The view of the stage was obscured, and the projection for the audience disrupted by wild madra, but a Monarch's perception could not be blinded.
...and Sha Miara wasn't a Monarch at the moment.
She shook the Herald, Sha Relliar, by his outer robe. “What is happening? Show me!”
“You will see very soon,” her caretaker responded. He glanced down at her. “It looks like you face more competition than you expected.”
She pulled up her viewing slate so that her nose almost touched the image of Lindon and Yerin. “I’m sure I can beat them. But…do you think I can?”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
~~~
Mercy pointed from the blurred view to Pride, who sat sullenly, arms crossed.
“You see? You see?”
“...I didn't say they were weak.”
“Could you do that?”
“Enforcer techniques aren't that flashy. It's wasteful.”
“You couldn't,” Mercy said confidently, turning back to wait for the image.
Pride's jaw tightened, but after a moment he let out a breath. “Fine. Maybe he is good enough for you.”
“I told you!” she said excitedly. “I said they were...wait, what did you say?”
~~~
The Winter Sage chewed on a fingernail, her heart torn. Yerin was directly responsible for Adama’s death, but at the same time, she hadn’t abandoned his legacy after all. In fact, there had been just a hint of the Sword Icon in that last attack.
She had inherited Adama’s Remnant. Maybe that was all it was, in which case it wouldn’t happen again. But if not…
Min Shuei turned abruptly, interrupting her students, who had been hotly debating Yerin’s techniques. With no explanation, she left.
As soon as this round ended, she would see the Monarch Northstrider. She had to demand the right to tutor Yerin herself.
Before one of the other Sages did.
~~~
Northstrider watched the final clash of techniques one frozen instant at a time.
Of course, Yerin Arelius had achieved a reflection of the Sword Icon. Anyone with any authority of their own would take notice, but it was most likely an anomaly. Underlords could not sense the Way clearly enough to manifest an Icon. It was a demonstration of the sacred artist she might one day become, nothing more.
He was far more intrigued by Lindon.
This was the Truegold who had gone to Ghostwater and made it out with a mental construct. Northstrider had taken note of him already and found nothing extraordinary.
He was beginning to reevaluate that.
Lindon had grown too quickly. Each round he fought, he moved like a different person. Every time Northstrider thought the boy’s mind-construct would reach the end of its capabilities, he was proven wrong. In this battle alone, Lindon had managed to compete with the Sword Sage’s disciple by showing reaction and processing speeds that should have been impossible for an Underlord.
Yerin had called out the word ‘Dross’ just before Lindon’s performance spiked. He had thought it was an insult…
…but what if it was a name?