Without the ability to empower the soldiers, he could only guide them. At the moment, his most efficient tactic was simply to throw projections at Yerin, hoping to bog her down.

When Lindon barreled through the middle, diving through the forest of pillars, Cassias was caught off guard. But only for a moment.

If he could bring down Yerin early today, he could take care of Lindon without much care. So he diverted two soldiers to slow Lindon down.

Cassias was so consumed by his task that he forgot his original goal. He had grown up a genius of the Arelius family, its heir, and he had won virtually every competition he’d ever entered. Even giving up his position in the family to Eithan hadn’t felt like a loss so much as a trade.

But he wasn’t used to losing. After four months, even the idea of letting the children win on purpose had entirely faded away.

He needed to make them give up.

***

The two soldiers pincered Lindon, each driving a silver-gleaming sword at him from a different direction. On a previous run, they had pierced through his hand, and it had taken his Bloodforged Iron body a week to restore the damage.

But this time, Lindon wasn’t trying to reach the goal.

Any formation like this one had to draw power from the local aura, which meant it took time to recharge. The more energy he could draw out of it this time, the weaker the Trial would be for their second attempt.

Well, the weaker it should be. The theory was sound, but they’d never been able to challenge it twice in the same day before.

He smashed the seal down on a soldier’s head, Burning Cloak flaring around him. The projection burst apart, leaving a Forged sword to dissolve on the ground.

A sword pricked him over the shoulder blade, but with Blackflame madra roaring through him, he barely felt it. He turned with such speed that it wrenched something in his back, seizing that soldier’s face in his palm.

Lindon hadn’t learned any Striker techniques on the Path of Black Flame yet, but he’d worked with the power enough over the last few months that he’d grasped a few basic tricks. He could kindle a black fire, though it was loose and uncontrolled, only spraying a few inches from his hand.

In this case, that was enough. He gripped the soldier and sent Blackflame madra flooding into it.

This was the most primitive Striker technique possible; it was more like an Empty Palm than a hurled fireball, but red-and-black power surged into the soldier, dissolving it, burning it to gray essence in seconds.

Without hesitating, Lindon advanced. Between his Iron body and the Burning Cloak, his spirit was burning down quickly, and he had to make sure the course spent more energy than he did.

***

Cassias couldn't project new enemies fast enough to deal with Yerin. She had given up any idea of moving forward, pouring everything she had into shredding her opponents. Even some of the stone pillars had been shattered, collapsing in a pile of boulders.

There were some earth-aspect Ruler constructs built into the course that could rebuild those columns, but they would take even more of the course’s stored power. Even if Cassias provided madra of his own, rebuilding the battlefield wouldn’t be cheap.

But the Trial had built up enough momentum. Yerin was on the defensive, Lindon was forced back, and they were surrounded by gray soldiers.

Once again, it was his victory. They wouldn’t surrender the Trial after this, but they were one step closer.

As Lindon dropped the activation crystal and held up his hands, Cassias leaned back in his chair. They’d given up especially quickly today, despite causing more damage to the course than average. Maybe they really were getting frustrated.

He found himself a little disappointed. They had learned and grown as sacred artists over the last four months, and it really would be for the best if they quit and trained normally from now on…but part of him had been hoping they would succeed.

Cassias sighed and triggered the course’s repair function. The stored energy would dip unusually low, but two days of drawing on the mountain’s powerful aura would restore it. Even if they tried again tomorrow, he would be able to funnel some of his own madra into the course to make up the difference.

Once it was done, he slid the chair over to his desk and began his paperwork. He’d have the rest of the day to himself, and there were work orders to be filled.

***

After about an hour of cycling, Yerin walked over to Lindon’s cave. He was sitting with legs crossed into a cycling position, breathing evenly. His little pet Sylvan sat on his head, mimicking his posture and playing with his hair.

The spirit grimaced when she saw Yerin, giving her a suspicious look.

That was more than a little unfair, in Yerin’s view. She’d never drawn swords on the spirit, nor even said a harsh word. Maybe Yerin should feed her, like a skittish dog.

Lindon hadn’t reacted to Yerin’s presence yet, his breaths still steady and measured. In her spiritual perception, he gave off the warm impression of a cycling fire artist, with the added air of danger that came from Blackflame. His jade badge hung from a shimmering silk ribbon and rested against his chest.

Now that they’d spent so long running up against the Blackflame Enforcer Trial, he looked like a real sacred artist. He’d burned off the last bit of softness left from his clan upbringing, his frame hardening and filling out. He was covered by a layer of dirt and ash from their run of the course earlier, his hair messy, his sacred artist robes torn, tattered, and singed.

He showed a sharp difference from the boy she’d met in Sacred Valley. He still had a long stretch of road left to travel, but now she could actually see herself fighting alongside him. Not just in the Trials, either; when she thought of her own violent, uncertain future, she could picture him standing next to her.

Nothing but wishful thinking on her part. If odds played out, he’d be killed by Jai Long and she’d end up as a snack for her unwelcome guest. No sense in planning for anything else until the knives weren’t quite so close to their throats.

She kicked his knee, and he blinked awake. “Oi. Get Little Blue to scrub me clean, and then let’s go.”

He was still gathering his thoughts after having broken out of his cycling trance. Now that she looked for it, he was breathing a little heavy, and his skin had a light sheen of sweat. Whatever cycling technique Eithan had taught him, it must have some weight.

“Little Blue?” he asked.

“Can’t keep calling her the Riverseed. She’s got a face.”

Lindon lifted his eyes as though trying to see the Sylvan sitting on top of his head. “Ah, you’re right. We should name her.”

Yerin rolled up her sleeve and held out a wrist. “Call her what you want, but get her to hop on over here.”

It took Lindon almost a minute to coax the Riverseed onto Yerin, and she scurried off as soon as her job was done. Once again, even a spark of her power was enough to scrub Yerin’s spirit clean of the Blackflame aura buildup. On top of that, her spirit was peaceful and refreshed, like she hadn’t fought in days. Yerin couldn’t feel a particular aspect to the madra, but it was calm and soothing.

If only Little Blue didn’t hate her so much. Maybe it wasn’t her; maybe Sylvans could smell the unwelcome guest inside her.

Yerin adjusted her blood-red belt. Would only make sense, if spirits didn’t like that. Meant Little Blue had good taste, more than anything.