Lindon recounted the evening, trying to avoid naming as many Monarchs as possible. He didn’t know that was necessary—he hadn’t been instructed not to tell anyone—but it was better to be safe.
When he finished, Eithan looked off into the distance, uncharacteristically serious.
Sword madra flashed around Yerin’s fingertips as she thought. Lindon felt blood madra surge within her spirit, so her Blood Shadow was mulling it over too.
“Mother won’t want too much out of you,” Mercy assured him. “You’ve done our family proud. I’m afraid it might be my fault that you two had to fight each other; she would have made whatever deal necessary to get me an easy match.”
She bobbed her head in apology, but Yerin waved her off. “If she paved you an easy road, then that’s one sure win. Two, if you count me and Lindon. She had to give something up.”
As one, they all turned to Eithan.
He was still staring off into the distance and fiddling with his scissors. “Yes, it would seem that I have been thrown to the proverbial wolves. Our situation has grown overly complicated. You two might have to fight for the fate of the Empire on your own.”
“I’m so sorry, Eithan,” Mercy said. “When are you fighting?”
“I have been instructed to prepare to fight tomorrow morning,” Eithan said, “but I’m certain you have as well.”
She nodded.
“Most of us remaining in the fourth round have, I would suspect, though regrettably I haven’t been able to check everyone. They wish to keep us unsure about our opponents. But now that we can be sure it isn’t randomly chosen…”
He snapped his scissors open and closed.
Lindon took over his line of thought. “Who is a guaranteed loss for you?”
“I just want to see somebody mess up your hair,” Yerin put in.
Eithan slipped his scissors away and pressed his fingertips together. “There are six people remaining in the competition who I would prefer not to fight. But there are only three, I believe, that the Monarchs would consider a definite loss for me.”
“Sophara,” Yerin suggested.
“She is the first. The second is in this very room with us.”
Mercy winced.
“And the third is the young woman we were just discussing.”
They were talking about Sha Miara as a competitor in the tournament, not as a Monarch, so surely this wouldn’t attract her attention. Also, she was restricted down to Underlord. But Lindon didn’t want to be the one to say her name.
“You tossing your sword away?” Yerin asked.
Eithan had spent much of his life in the Blackflame Empire, as Lindon understood it. Surely he would feel enough attachment to it to try to defend the Empire when its safety was on the line.
“To tell you the truth, I had intended to withdraw myself from this competition before taking an Uncrowned title. Too much notoriety would tie my hands. However, now…now I believe we might have an opportunity.”
Hours after returning to his room, Lindon was snapped awake by Dross’ voice.
[Hey. Lindon, hey. You should stop being asleep.]
Lindon shot up and conjured Blackflame before he realized he was in his own bed. His spirit was calm, and he sensed no threat. Little Blue mumbled sleepily from the flowerpot where she slept.
Lindon groaned. “What can I do for you, Dross?”
[I know you don’t like me waking you up, but you are really going to want to hear this. I may or may not have stolen some memories from Northstrider.]
The idea that Dross may have stolen something from a Monarch had Lindon in a sweat, but his interest was certainly piqued. “What memories?”
[You see, that’s the thing. I’ve spent the last few hours putting together some pieces, because I couldn’t take everything. A full memory from Northstrider would make me burst, I think. Just pop, and there I go. There were memories from lots of people in there, but I was most interested in the ones from Northstrider himself.]
Lindon forced himself to wait patiently. Dross would get around to answering his question eventually.
[I think I can show you his ascension to Monarch.]
Lindon instantly forgave Dross for waking him. And for everything he had ever done, would ever do, or might think about doing.
“Dross, I have never been as grateful for you as I am now.”
[What about all those times I saved your life?]
“Even then. If you could show me that memory now, I would be in your debt.”
[Oh, and you don’t even know the best part! We were right! Northstrider uses…well, that would spoil the surprise. Now, remember that this is more like a painting of a memory than a real memory. I couldn’t understand the true depths or powers involved, so I can’t pass those on to you.]
Lindon sat cross-legged in a cycling position. “Anything you can show me is appreciated.” Even a glimpse of ascension to Monarch could guide him for the rest of his life.
[All right, then, here we go. And pay attention to his madra, remember! His madra.]
Information requested: Northstrider’s ascension to Monarch.
Beginning report…
The Sage of the Hungry Deep tracks a rogue black dragon to the Everwood continent.
He normally wouldn’t get involved here, but the Monarch Emriss is abroad. She spreads peace and education all over the globe, so every decent person respects the sanctity of her homeland.
Only the vilest criminal would bring violence while her back was turned.
The dragon has been careful enough to move under a veil, but sloppy enough to leave a trail of devastated forests and villages in its wake. Northstrider follows it easily, promising justice to the survivors.
Wading through the destruction, too late to save the innocents, is enough to break his heart.
The closer he comes to his quarry, the more careful he has to be. Eyewitness reports can’t agree on the dragon’s size or gender, only its color, so he is wary about finding more than one.
He deduces that the black dragon must be equivalent to an Archlord, so while he has confidence in hunting one, he will have to flee from more than that.
He finds the serpentine black dragon coiling around a stone tower in the center of a burning town. Ash drizzles from the air as the serpent cycles fire and destruction aura.
It’s a disgusting creature in Northstrider’s eyes, a scavenger that feeds on corpses. He wants to kill it immediately, but there’s one problem.
This beast isn’t an Archlord at all. It’s a Herald.
None of the witnesses had the experience or the perception to know the difference, and Northstrider never expected a dragon to have the self-restraint to hold itself back to Archlord techniques.
He has walked into a trap.
As soon as Northstrider feels the dragon’s power in his spiritual sense, its black-and-red eyes snap open.
Fear shoots through Northstrider like lightning through his spine, and he stretches out to the Way. His only thought is to run somewhere, anywhere.
No sooner has the portal begun to form than the dragon’s willpower overwhelms his own. Blue light is snuffed out, space sealed shut.
And the Sage Northstrider swallows his fear, clenches red-scaled fists, and turns to do battle.
Dross’ voice interrupts the vision.
I’m sorry about this, but this is exactly where my understanding breaks down. They’re both using principles in their techniques that I can’t sense.
Lindon is no longer inside the vision, but a spectator of it. His sense of himself returns, and he watches the battle as though a passenger behind Northstrider’s eyes.
Though he can see only brief images, the battle is still full of useful information. One of Northstrider’s Enforced punches takes a chunk out of the dragon’s side, but black-and-red fire madra rushes to fill in the gap in the dragon’s body.