Orthos grunted, still reeling from the impact of the foreign willpower.
Lindon left the cave, trying to prevent Orthos from picking up on his frustration. They had only started, but he still felt every second they lost.
By traditional logic, there was no way to force sacred artists through the Lord realm. The gold dragons had pumped Sopharanatoth as full as they dared, and it had led to critical instability in her spirit. All due to a lack of time.
But he had resources they didn’t, and he needed to rely on those. Hunger madra. The labyrinth. Treasures stolen from the Monarchs. Dross.
More importantly, he had a plan.
[Caaaaaalllllllmmmmm,] Dross drew the word out in such a strange manner that it didn’t feel very calming. [Settle dooooooowwwwwnnnn. Relaaaaaaaxxxx.]
Please stop.
[We have plans for this already. Rely on the plan. Trust the plan.]
They’re just not there yet, Lindon said silently. It wasn’t really the resources he was worried about. Orthos, Little Blue, Mercy, Ziel…he was still afraid they were coming along because he and Yerin wanted them to. None of them had the drive he did.
If he had been in Orthos’ position, then after Consuming his first Remnant, he would have begged for another.
[I feel compelled to mock you for your arrogance, but you’re not wrong. That’s almost exactly what you did when you first started using Consume.]
Lindon pushed down his doubt before it could leak through their connection and affect Orthos. As much as anyone, Lindon knew how advancing through the various stages of the Lord realm and fighting directly against the wills of others could help clarify yourself. Orthos would change and grow through this process. So would the others.
Walking this path would prepare them for the rest. He had to trust that. Trust them.
I need to focus, Lindon thought. Let’s do some Soulsmithing.
There were plenty of preparations still to make, and getting them done now would save him time in the long run. Plus, it would settle him down.
They still had time.
3
Reigan Shen didn’t do his own Soulsmithing. He had people for that.
But the skills of Ozmanthus Arelius, one of the greatest Soulsmiths of all time, still flowed through his mind and spirit. Instincts honed by years of practice, the insight of a genius, and decades if not centuries of weapons-crafting experience now lurked inside Reigan Shen. Now and then, he even felt a shadow of the human’s arrogance bubbling up.
It was the one thing he appreciated about the man.
The core binding of Subject One was too valuable a material for Reigan to trust to others, but it was also unique and irreplaceable, and thus unsuitable for amateurs. His teams of expert Soulsmiths had labored ceaselessly for days while he breathed down their necks, giving them direction filtered through the talents of his greatest enemy.
They finally turned it into the form he wanted, and they had certainly earned their reputations. If they weren’t fine craftsmen, he wouldn’t have retained their services in the first place. Even his memories of Ozmanthus approved.
The Wraith Horn—which was his current working title for the wide-mouthed trumpet made from Subject One’s binding—was carved with delicate swirls until it resembled a seashell. It looked like it had grown into the shape of a horn by natural forces rather than design.
It was a pure, smooth gray-white, like most of Subject One’s body, but Reigan could only admire its surface in brief stints. The treasure warped the air around it by the mere weight of its existence, so he usually had to keep it sealed away.
The Horn had several applications, as expected from the product of such a fine material. But one was of most interest to him at the moment. He could send a call through it, which would reach the other Dreadgods as though it came from the Slumbering Wraith itself.
Intelligent as they now were, they might be aware it was a trap, but this spoke to their instincts. They would follow its lure.
This was the leash he had placed on the Dreadgods. His current plan.
His first plan, to gain the power of a Dreadgod for himself, had been ruined by the very man whose Soulsmithing skill now infused Reigan’s spirit.
Reigan looked over the distant Sacred Valley and reflected on how much time and money he’d wasted.
If only he’d known who Eithan was. Reigan Shen would have been Tiberian’s best friend. He might have even followed the man’s plan; there were ways to turn forced ascension to an advantage.
But now wasn’t the time for regret. Now was the time for desperate survival.
He had no need to call the Dreadgods now. They were headed where he wanted them anyway: for Lindon and Yerin Arelius. No matter what else he did, he needed those two gone. His greatest nightmare was that they could return centuries later as Ozmanthus had, in disguise, but he suspected that had only been allowed because the Arelius Patriarch had disguised himself as one of his own descendants.
He needed the rest of them out of Cradle before they left any little humans behind.
Now the Weeping Dragon was going to do his job for him, but Reigan Shen needed to make sure everything went according to plan. Then again, this plan was already going wrong.
He couldn’t sense Lindon anywhere.
There was a barrier around Sacred Valley, projected by the great labyrinth, and he had expected Lindon to be waiting behind it. He didn’t sense as much, but that told him little. No matter what detection methods he used, there was always the possibility that Lindon had come up with a way to hide from him.
He had requested each Monarch tell him what Lindon had stolen from them, but no one had cooperated. They might even know where Lindon was, but they hadn’t shared that with him either. As far as he knew, Lindon could be almost anywhere and could have access to practically anything.
And from Reigan Shen, he had stolen the core to a pocket world.
Reigan had to assume that Lindon was tucked away somewhere in a space that had been time-warped to the extreme. Days could be passing every second.
In the worst-case scenario, half a dozen Monarchs could burst out at any moment. They could swarm the Weeping Dragon and from its corpse fashion a weapon to slay Reigan Shen.
That was monumentally unlikely. For one thing, they didn’t have Eithan leading them forward now, so they were far more likely to run into one of the thousand potential roadblocks to advancement.
If it was so easy to manufacture Monarchs, someone would have done it already.
Then again, Lindon had access to the labyrinth, with all its unexplored secrets. He had the unlimited consumption powers of Subject One, an unknown number of resources and hidden projects stolen from Monarchs, and—perhaps worst of all—guidance from Ozmanthus Arelius.
A feeling of smug arrogance drifted up from the Soulsmith inheritance inside Reigan, and he had to force it down.
As much as he tried to convince himself that advancing multiple people to Monarch at once was impossible, Reigan Shen had the uncomfortable premonition that it might really happen.
He needed to take action immediately, but first he floated in the sky for a long moment, considering his options.
Lindon would have preparations against attacks, and Reigan was more than familiar with the capabilities of the labyrinth. With that under his control, Lindon could have any number of nasty surprises ready and waiting.
What if Lindon wasn’t in Sacred Valley at all?
What if he was?
Reigan could break down the barrier Lindon had left around the Valley, given enough time, but was that the best way to pressure him?
He needed to corner Lindon. To run the young man out of energy, focus, and time. To exhaust him so he couldn’t face the Weeping Dragon.