“Victory: Wei Shi Lindon Arelius.” The Overlord glanced up at the viewing tower.

Akura Fury nodded and stroked his chin, and Charity looked as impassive as ever. Mercy cheered.

“Second fight,” Fury called. “Akura Courage.”

Courage, it turned out, was the young Underlord with the six flying swords and the Striker techniques. He strode up full of confidence, fanning his swords out behind him.

Lindon had only fought him once and hadn't caught his name. He might have other secrets up his sleeve, because Dross' model of him was not as precise as some of the others.

But Lindon had trained against it ninety-one times.

His eyes burned black.

“Begin,” the Overseer called, and Lindon fired a finger-thin bar of dragon's breath over his opponent's shoulder. It burned a line across the top of his outer robe, and smoke drifted up from singed cloth. His flying swords still hadn't reached Lindon yet.

The blades froze in midair. Courage's purple eyes had gone wide with shock. Clearly, Lindon could have put that Striker technique through his throat.

“You're too slow to start up,” Lindon said simply.

“Victory to Lindon.” The Overlord sounded angry this time, so Lindon wondered if Courage was a close relative.

Fury stood and laughed again, preparing to call out the next match when Lindon interrupted.

Dross heaved a deep breath. [And now the foolishness begins.]

“Forgiveness, honored Herald,” Lindon said, “but I had a different plan in mind.”

He looked to the remaining Underlords, more than half of whom looked angry enough to storm the stage at any second. The Path of Black Flame continued burning through his spirit.

“I challenged all the Underlords here,” Lindon said.

Of the remaining fourteen Akura Underlords, twelve of them looked instantly to Akura Fury, waiting for his permission. Only two continued watching Lindon: Pride and his distant cousin, Grace. Pride looked ready to commit murder, but Grace watched him with distant confusion in her purple eyes, as though she were trying to figure out his angle of approach.

Fury’s wild laughter preceded the words, “Go wild, kids!”

Twelve people leaped onto the stage, and Lindon sharpened his attention as Dross slowed the world down.

Seven young men and five women in Akura colors sprinted for him, drawing weapons and kindling techniques. Sword madra flashed in a silver wave, Forged needles of venom flicked for his neck, and a spear sailed through the air.

Thanks to Dross, Lindon had time to consider his response.

Dragon’s breath seared into a girl’s leg as Lindon snatched the spear out of the air with the explosive movement of the Burning Cloak then hurled it back. Dross projected their movements onto his sight, like ghostly outlines of the future. Lindon fell in line with the projections as though following a dance he had long memorized.

He ducked a fan of sword madra while rolling to avoid a spray of poisoned needles and drilling a finger-thin bar of dragon’s flame through a boy’s shield. As he’d hoped, Charity or Fury called out whenever they considered someone eliminated, so he didn’t have to hurt anyone too badly.

As they grew closer, he poured soulfire into the Burning Cloak. It propelled his every movement with such force that it became hard to control, each step a leap and each punch launched like a cannon-shot. Without weeks of practice, he would have tumbled straight out of the arena’s bounds.

By the time they reached him with their weapons, there were seven remaining.

So quickly that it sent pain lancing through his spirit, Lindon emptied himself of Blackflame madra and switched to the Path of Twin Stars.

That transition was the most dangerous time, and in his predictions, this was where he failed most often. Without Dross’ calculations, he would have been ground into paste between a Forged fist, a body covered in the amethyst Akura bloodline armor, and a blast of force madra.

In the fraction of a second when the Burning Cloak dropped and the Spirit Cloak rose up around him, he slipped each attack by a hair’s breadth.

When the pure madra Enforcer technique filled him, the fight ended.

He broke two legs and three arms, cracked a set of ribs, and drove an Empty Palm into an armored chest. A glowing blue-white handprint five times bigger than his own struck at the same time, quickly Forged out of his Twin Stars madra and shoved into his opponent’s spirit.

Her spirit trembled, the armor shrank away, and she collapsed to her knees. Lindon stood, breathing heavily and focusing on his spirit to keep his madra under control. He was the only one standing.

Fury now sat on the railing at the edge of his viewing platform, legs dangling, leaning forward so that it looked like he could fall off at any second. But the tower was only about thirty feet tall; a fall from that height would threaten him no more than a stiff breeze.

Charity still showed no expression, but Mercy saw Lindon looking and clapped her black-gloved hands together eagerly.

Lindon never had to use more than three techniques against any single opponent. His madra channels were a little strained, having to use so many techniques in a row with no breaks, but he had plenty of power left. He had taken one shallow cut, a few impacts that would bruise if not for his Bloodforged Iron body, and a spiritual attack to his core that he had drowned with pure madra.

Nothing worth complaining about after an overwhelming victory.

[Don’t let me interrupt you with reality, but we’re not done.]

Dross was right. There were two rivals left.

“Next opponent,” the Overlord said wearily, “Akura Grace.”

Most of the young Akura Underlords would be considered attractive; they were physically trained and had delicate features, with the resources of the Akura family to take care of them. Even their battle clothes were finely made, and they all had bodies remade in soulfire.

Akura Grace was on another level. Her every movement was beautiful, her skin smooth, her long hair thick and dark. As she walked onto the stage, she met his eyes with a clear gaze, carrying a lightly curved saber in both hands. She drew the weapon in one elegant motion and set the sheath aside.

Lindon had fought her only once. She had challenged him and won without injuring him. He got the impression that she was really evaluating him, not taking out a grudge on him as the others had, and she had gone away disappointed.

Now she looked interested again, like her ancestor, Fury. She readied her sword.

She had no other constructs on her besides the blade, her sacred instrument, though of course she could have something stored in her soulspace or a void key. But he suspected she wouldn't. Like him, she was pushing to train herself, not to seek a lonely victory.

[My model for her doesn’t have a lot of testing,] Dross said. [Should we think about this a minute? That’s a good idea, let’s think about it.]

“Begin!” the Overlord called.

Grace's sword was already at his neck.

Lindon had back-stepped immediately, expecting the rush. She used a full-body Enforcer technique that shrouded her in shadow, and she moved with a grace that proved her worthy of her name. Her advantage in this fight was her weapon. Lindon had completed some basic Iron-level weapons-training courses provided by Charity, but he’d never found a weapon that he felt suited him.

Though that was a problem now. She channeled an Enforcer technique into her weapon, and a shadowy black edge expanded its length and width a few inches. It moved faster now, a dark blur, and its movements were harder to track.