But Northstrider stripped far more power from Lindon than he lost. Flesh was torn from Lindon’s legs, though he endured the agony and regenerated them. Bones were shattered, blood flew, and Lindon’s spirit was in chaos. His soulfire dipped low, and his will lost its iron strength. Even the technique layered over his left hand wasn’t growing anymore; it was all Lindon could do to maintain it.
Northstrider almost didn’t want to continue. His disgust was too much.
Ordinarily, anyone tough enough to trade blows with him had the skill to back it up. A weaker opponent would have died already, but someone with proportional experience would be more of a threat.
This felt like bullying a child.
The oracle codex checked Fate and confirmed that the flow of events was heading without deviation toward a victory of Northstrider’s. There was virtually no other outcome.
Not that Northstrider needed a complex fortune-telling device to tell him that.
A serpentine blood dragon grabbed Lindon in its jaws and crashed into the ground, slamming him into a crater that grew deeper and deeper. The oracle codex showed Northstrider that he could follow up and tear Lindon in half, but he stopped in midair.
He hovered over the young man. Malice’s amusement was palpable, and she drifted down to join him, a mocking smile on her lips.
“How satisfying,” she said with a sigh.
“How did you let him beat you?” Northstrider asked.
“We already squeezed him dry today, didn’t we? It can’t be easy, juggling the labyrinth and a Dreadgod weapon while fighting Monarchs. Poor boy.”
She sounded delighted.
Northstrider looked down into the crater. Lindon’s cores were still bright, but madra capacity was only one aspect of endurance. If his body and will couldn’t keep up, he still couldn’t last.
“Surrender,” Northstrider called down.
Rocks stirred below. Lindon was holding onto the Blackflame claws in his left hand, and his spirit was still chewing away at the power he’d taken from Northstrider. He was a sack of bloody skin over crushed, misshapen bones, and his eyes rolled aimlessly as he tried to focus.
Malice giggled, but Northstrider didn’t feel anything but revulsion and frustration. He had warned Lindon repeatedly.
He’ll try an attack, the codex warned him, highlighting the danger. Northstrider dropped from the air. He slammed his foot into Lindon’s left wrist, and Lindon cried out.
His Blackflame technique shuddered like a candle on the verge of being extinguished. Lindon reached up and grabbed Northstrider’s leg with his right hand, attempting to Consume.
Northstrider didn’t allow it to happen.
The oracle codex scoffed. He’s too weak. Definitely. We’re in the clear. It showed him the future, spinning out in an unbroken line: Northstrider tucking away the Silent King Bow and binding Lindon in oaths.
Northstrider would have the labyrinth, the Dreadgod weapon, and Dross. With those together, he could finish his projects and challenge the Abidan.
Even he felt his heart move with excitement. He owed Lindon some gratitude for this foolishness. Without it, he might have taken—
Something tickled the back of his mind, and he returned his attention to the oracle codex.
Repeat what you said, Northstrider ordered.
Lindon’s Consume technique was too weak to feed on Northstrider. The Dreadgod arm pulled at Northstrider’s ankle again, but nothing came through.
I, uh, I said he’s too weak. What’s the problem?
The oracle codex was a calculation device. Not a person.
And it did not speak like one.
Oops, the codex said. Would you believe me if I said I’ve advanced in the middle of battle? No?
Northstrider would be a fool if he didn’t recognize the voice now. He pulled his leg away from Lindon…and found he couldn’t.
[Game’s up, Lindon,] the oracle codex said in Dross’ voice.
Lindon’s eyes snapped open, and his willpower wasn’t as exhausted as Northstrider had thought.
Suddenly, Northstrider realized Malice had been speaking to him, but he hadn’t heard it. Something had been blocking his ears.
“What are you doing?” Malice demanded. “Stop him! Why are you just standing there?”
Northstrider’s strength was flowing out of his leg in great rivers, pouring into Lindon. The Consume technique had worked after all, he just hadn’t felt it.
The Consume technique that he himself had taught.
“Release,” Northstrider commanded immediately, but Lindon spoke at the same time.
“Feed.”
Their workings wrestled against one another, but Northstrider knew his would win. He was the strongest, and that belief was founded on his unequaled authority.
He believed it until the moment Lindon’s working swallowed his, and the Consume technique devoured him from the inside.
Lindon released his leg for a moment, but only to stand and get a better grip on Northstrider’s neck. The Monarch resisted feebly, but Lindon had the lion’s share of his power.
Lindon’s body knitted itself together, wounds reversing themselves and bones crackling back into shape.
In Lindon’s left hand, his Blackflame technique roared to life. It blazed like a dark sun with razor claws, and it trailed a serpent of smoke-like power. As Northstrider watched through dazed eyes, the power took on more and more of the aspect of a true dragon. He could see its scales, feel the power of its claws.
And Northstrider saw something else. Flickering and fitful, an indistinct image began to appear in the air behind the technique. A twisting, dark, serpentine dragon. The Dragon Icon.
This wasn’t a true advancement. Lindon wasn’t fully manifesting the Icon, as he had never established the proper authority.
He was using Northstrider’s.
The oracle codex—under Dross’ direction—now showed him the real flow of Fate. After defeating him here, Lindon would turn to Malice and drive her off. The clash with the Weeping Dragon was still uncertain, but it became much less so with Northstrider’s stolen power.
Merciless and colorless eyes watched the realization in Northstrider. “To death or surrender,” Lindon said.
Northstrider struggled weakly. He would never surrender.
“Gratitude,” Lindon said.
Then a black dragon crashed down onto Northstrider and blasted him into the earth.
Malice flew back as the wall of dark fire exploded outward. Lindon’s technique didn’t just envelop Northstrider; it detonated in an explosion of infernal, all-consuming heat. She sheathed herself in armor and endured the tide.
Northstrider wasn’t dead. She could feel his presence far below. He was weak, possibly unconscious.
Lindon, on the other hand…
Blackflame madra splashed against the barrier around Sacred Valley like water against a dam and retreated. The tide left nothing but smoke in the air and miles of territory scorched to dust.
As ash fell from the sky, the Queen of the Ashwind Continent felt the first notes of fear echoing in her soul.
She had looked into Fate and not seen this outcome. His skill in shrouding the future was growing by the day.
Wei Shi Lindon Arelius drifted closer to her, and he blazed with Northstrider’s power. His right hand opened and closed, still hungry, and the white in his eyes shone with the same appetite.
She readied her bow, but she already saw the trap that had caught her.
The trap she had walked into, too confident in her foresight.
“Northstrider is not dead,” Lindon said. “And he didn’t surrender.” Blackflame kindled in his hand. “You’re not going to interfere in our duel, are you?”