“Last man standing,” Yerin said quietly.

Lindon shivered. That was impressively reliable, but somewhat grim for his taste. They ruled by virtue of having killed all their opponents. And this was core enough to their philosophy that they engraved it in their basic training course.

Well, he’d chosen this Path for its ability to win duels, not for its outstanding moral values. And he’d want the biggest weapon he could find if he had to fight the creature destined to attack Sacred Valley.

The next phrase was in more modern language:

The dragon conquers.

He said it aloud, and Yerin nodded along. “Ruler techniques conquer. Fits like a good boot.”

The dragon advances.

The dragon destroys.

The dragon conquers.

Orthos’ core was unsteady and had been for days, but the words resonated with his spirit. He was a sword rather than a shield, a force of destruction, and a jealous king.

That wasn’t a comfortable personality to share a soul with, but it described a weapon that Lindon could use.

Yerin nodded to the rest of the Ruler Trial. “Rather than that…these guys tickle your memory at all?”

Lindon had been trying not to look out at the field of opponents arranged for him in the final Blackflame Trial. There were ninety-nine dark, humanoid figures in the field, each clutching different weapons, and he sensed different madra from each of them. Ninety-nine mannequins with faceless heads.

Ninety-nine dummies, arranged in a circle.

The activation crystal was on a pedestal in the center, and Lindon had to use his Ruler technique to some degree before he could power the course. He wasn’t looking forward to it. The Striker Trial had only taken them ten days to pass, but based on how long it had taken him to fight eighteen dummies, almost a hundred would take…

…very probably the rest of his short life.

Lindon moved on to the technique section. “Dance of the Dragon of Emptiness,” he said.

“Not ‘Fierce’?” Yerin asked. “Nothing fierce about this one?”

Lindon shook his head, trying to remember a story that Orthos had told him months ago.

“Then I like it. Dance of the Dragon of Emptiness…what about Dance of Emptiness? Plain and stable. Doesn’t look like you have to do any dancing, though.”

He searched the characters, trying to figure out how else they could be read, before the memory clicked. “Void Dragon’s Dance.”

Yerin slapped him on the back. “There’s the winner. That’s a name you’d be proud to put in a manual.”

White light flashed in the darkening sky overhead, and they both looked up.

Lindon extended his Jade perception, and was sure Yerin had done the same. He had the brief sense that the light felt cool and sharp, but that was all before it faded.

“A celebration?” he asked. The Wei clan had shone colored lights into the night sky at every festival and most holidays.

Yerin’s face went from distracted and curious to deadly serious in the space of a blink. “Get your pack, bring it here. We should put our backs to an exit.”

Lindon strained his perception, but he didn’t even get a vague sense of the city. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing’s sure yet,” Yerin said, “but it’s not a party.”

He turned to run back to the cave, but stopped before he’d taken a step. To his surprise, he did sense something. Something a lot closer than the city.

Orthos’ core quivered like a bomb on the edge of exploding.

His shock and outrage echoed inside Lindon—he must have felt the same things Yerin did. Whatever that was, it hit the turtle like a gong. His spirit shivered, teetering off balance for an instant.

Then it fell into rage.

“I’ll go back later,” Lindon said, worrying for the Riverseed. “Right now, we need to—”

A roar shook their little valley. Dirt trembled, and the walls shivered.

Yerin’s sword was in her hand, and her Goldsign buzzed with sword aura. “That’s your turtle?”

“Not at the moment,” Lindon said. Blackflame madra swirled within him in furious, explosive bursts, ready to be used.

A deafening series of crashes filled the canyon, and gray smoke rose between them and the Enforcer Trial. The stone pillars were collapsing as Orthos got closer.

He was crashing straight through the forest of columns on his way to them.

“Yerin,” Lindon asked, his voice surprisingly calm. “Where would you put Orthos’ strength, if you had to rate him?”

She leaned on the balls of her feet, ready to dash into battle. “Hard to weigh sacred beasts, but I’d call him Truegold.”

“That’s what I thought.” He swallowed. “Gratitude, Yerin. I would never have made it out of Sacred Valley if not for you.”

Her spirit flared, and silver aura condensed around her like a shell. “Wouldn’t make it out of this valley without me, either. Talk when the fight’s over. Eyes up.”

Lindon had never taken his gaze away from the approaching sacred beast, but he still almost missed it when the huge black bulk hurled itself through the arch of their Trial, body blazing with the Burning Cloak, red eyes shining with madness. If Lindon had been any less than fully focused, he wouldn’t have made it in time.

But a Burning Cloak of his own sprung up around him, and he dashed off to the side, kicking up a spray of dirt, everything from his ankles to knees screaming at the strain. His Bloodforged Iron body kicked in instantly, stealing more of his madra and sending it to his legs.

Yerin ducked so low she looked like she’d plastered herself against the ground, slashing up with her Goldsign and her white sword both.

Orthos kicked out, and both of her attacks met burning claws.

Then the turtle’s momentum carried him over her body, and he slammed into the earth, roaring and turning in an instant. Yerin was back on him, slamming an aura-assisted blade at his neck.

They traded six blows while Lindon took stock of his options.

He could go back to the cave and get the Sylvan Riverseed to try and cleanse Orthos. It might not work, but he’d intended to try whenever Orthos showed up sane again. But the pack was all the way back in the cave, and by the time he returned, Yerin could be dead.

He could try to lure Orthos out the exit. He could probably get the turtle to follow him, and then Yerin could knock him through the aura barrier to the outside. If he was trapped, he’d be harmless until Lindon could bring the Riverseed to heal him.

Of course, that was assuming he couldn’t just drill a hole with Blackflame straight through the stone and come right back inside.

Or…Lindon patted his belt, feeling the weight there. He’d brought his halfsilver dagger along to the unknown Trial. He gripped the hilt in a sweaty hand, flared his Burning Cloak, and dashed into battle.

One cut. If he could stab Orthos at all, the halfsilver would disperse his madra, and Yerin would have an instant to stop him. It might even be enough to relieve the pressure on his spirit and make him sane again.

When Yerin rolled in the air over his shell and came down behind him, Orthos turned to face her.

And Lindon leaped in, striking at the turtle’s tail. He could cut anywhere, with a halfsilver blade, and it would work just as well. The important part was that the metal contacted the madra.