Though if he couldn’t figure out Eithan’s Path, speed might not matter. The man could eat his techniques.

Eithan blurred and moved again, but with the Flowing Starlight running through him, Jai Daishou tracked his movements. He kicked madra behind him and launched, intercepting Eithan’s broom with his spear before the man could crush a fourth elder’s ribs.

They strained against each other for an instant that lasted three full breaths, the world around them crawling. Even the fastest Truegold elder seemed as though he was moving through water as he dashed madly away, the white lines of Flowing Starlight sliding over his limbs.

Jai Daishou had the full force of his body and his Enforcer technique pushing Eithan’s broomstick back, but the blond Underlord pushed against him just as heavily.

Eithan’s jaw was set, his one open eye blazing with fury, sweat trickling down his jaw. He trembled with the effort.

But Jai Daishou was using a legendary weapon forged by his ancestor. Eithan was using a broom.

He may have imbued it with soulfire, but every significant artifact had that treatment. The Ancestor’s Spear would have been tempered in soulfire many times.

Despite the difference in their weapons, Eithan was still holding him off.

His body is younger, but my spirit is stronger. He channeled a Forger technique, and a fan of needles longer than his forearm condensed over his head. One by one, they launched themselves at Eithan to break the deadlock.

A pulse of madra flooded out of the Arelius Patriarch’s entire body. Jai Daishou felt nothing on his skin, but his Forged needles melted like ice in the summer sun.

Finally, he got a good sense of Eithan’s power.

Jai Daishou shoved, pushing his opponent away, and spoke in confusion. “Pure madra? Who uses pure madra?”

“It has…its uses,” Eithan panted, leaning heavily on his broom and flashing a smile.

Now Jai Daishou had to make it out alive. He’d read a dozen theories about the mysterious Eithan Arelius’ Path, and all of them were wrong. Bringing this information back to the clan was the only way to bring the Arelius family down.

Worse, none of the Truegolds would have heard him. They were too far away.

Even so, despite what his perception told him, he still wondered if it was some kind of trick, maybe a Soulsmith’s device hidden on Eithan’s body. Eithan had Enforced an ordinary broom—even one washed in soulfire—to survive contact with the spear of an ancient Jai Matriarch. He had suspected madra of earth or force, to be so effective at hardening a weapon.

To do that with pure madra…it would be the least efficient technique possible. He must be gushing madra into that broom just to keep it from exploding.

All his senses told him Eithan was ordinary, if any Underlord could be considered ordinary. He was ranked eleventh, putting him near the bottom of all the active Lords in the Empire.

His only two extraordinary aspects were his senses—as expected of an Arelius—and, apparently, the depth of his madra.

That shouldn’t be enough.

Sudden fear tickled his spine and trembled in his gut. Fear that he hadn’t faced since he transcended Gold: fear of an unknown opponent. Fear for his own survival.

He stiffened his spine and burned that fear for anger.

He was the Patriarch of the ancient Jai clan. He would bow to no man. Not even in his own mind.

Even if it crippled him, he had to win tonight. Jai Daishou unleashed his full power, his core blazing, his Flowing Starlight technique shining in blinding lines on his skin. Even Eithan seemed to crawl now, and the young man’s blue eye widened in surprise.

Like every aspect, pure madra had its strengths and weaknesses. It was second to none for attacking and defending the spirit, but it had no ability to interact with the physical world.

Eithan had no power over the forces of nature. So he was helpless before the techniques of a Ruler.

There were no Ruler techniques on the Path of the Stellar Spear, but the decades Jai Daishou had spent perfecting his own sacred arts were not wasted. Stellar Spear madra was a blend of the sword and light aspects, so he focused on his spear, staring into the white-and-silver aura braided along its edge.

He seized that silver power, spreading the aura into a blade the width of an axe. He activated the aura, and it shone silver.

Like this, he could slice through a tree with no more effort than cutting tofu. And there was nothing Eithan could do about it: he had no authority over sword madra, and no way to stop a blade.

The Jai Patriarch had burned through too much of his madra too quickly, but this would end it. He thrust his spear with all his strength, though the aura-empowered blade would slice through Eithan’s body even if a child pushed it.

Eithan dropped the broom, which fell so slowly it seemed to hang in the air, and reached into the pocket of his outer robe.

Jai Daishou watched everything as though it played out for him at half speed: the silver blade of aura sliced through strands of yellow hair, piercing the silk threads of Eithan’s robe. The Arelius Underlord was leaning back, away from the strike, but not fast enough.

His hand emerged from the pocket. The silver blade drew blood from Eithan’s cheek, spilling red droplets that drifted lazily up.

Eithan sliced open the back of his hand as he slid it in front of his face, holding what he’d drawn from his pocket as though it were a talisman that could ward off the spear’s approach.

As Eithan held it into the path of the silver blade, Jai Daishou saw what it was: a pair of black scissors.

Ordinary scissors with long blades, of the sort a tailor might use to cut fabric. He sensed nothing unusual about them whatsoever—they weren’t even made of goldsteel. Just, as far as he could tell, iron.

He had to assume they had been washed in soulfire, which would make them stronger and allow them to conduct madra and aura more efficiently, but there was only so much an Underlord’s blessing could do to mundane materials.

The aura crashed into the scissors and, instead of slicing them in half, split like a wave running against the rocks.

Jai Daishou was so committed to his attack that he could only watch in horror as the blade of silver light split around the scissors, dispersing, spraying immaterial aura light to either side of Eithan’s face. A few more blond hairs fell to the ground, but no more blood spilled.

The spearhead reached the black blade, and Eithan gripped his scissors in both hands, shoving Jai Daishou’s full-power strike to one side.

As the Jai Patriarch staggered, the Arelius bent over, breathing heavily, scooping up his broom. “Close one,” he said, between ragged breaths.

He straightened with a tailor’s scissors in one hand and a janitor’s broom in the other, standing over the lord of a warrior clan whose spear had failed.

Jai Daishou wondered when someone would wake him from this nightmare. Even using soulfire, it was impossible to Enforce ordinary iron to that degree using pure madra. Impossible. It would empty Jai Daishou’s core three times over.

“Tell me how,” he demanded, looking up at his rival.

Then black scissors met his throat, and the pain blasted away his Enforcer technique. Time staggered back into focus.

Eithan considered a moment. “I’ll tell your Remnant,” he said.

***

Lindon found Eithan sprawled out on his back at the edge of a cliff. Yellow hair fanned out behind him, his blue robe looked like he’d fed it to a gang of dogs, and he was bleeding from half a dozen wounds that Lindon could see. Just out of reach of his outstretched hands lay a broom and a pair of scissors.