But what would he do if he returned? Mercy lived here, and Yerin and Eithan were competing in the Uncrowned King tournament. If he left, he would not. The Blackflame Empire competitors had already been chosen.

“Sit,” Justice commanded, withdrawing his spirit back into a veil.

Lindon obeyed. This inspection would determine his fate, one way or another. He couldn’t hold back in the tests—an Archlord would know—but still, he hoped to fail. At least then he could return home and rejoin Yerin.

Unless Akura Justice made good on his threat and tossed Lindon in prison.

The Archlord reached out, and a long spike with jagged glass on the top floated over to him. “Hold out your left hand,” Justice said, and Lindon reluctantly did so.

He only had one real hand left.

“This device measures your lifeline.” The spike was over a foot long, but Justice pushed the sharp end into Lindon's wrist only enough to break the skin. It was only a minor sting, easily ignored. The top end of the jagged glass began to glow green.

“If you are not really under thirty-five, you should tell me now,” he said sternly. The green brightened. “The color of the light indicates your age, and it cannot be fooled. If it turns yellow, you will fail, and be charged with wasting family time.”

The green color stayed bright. In fact, it grew stronger.

“It seems you are eligible.” Justice gave no sign of any reaction. But he also did not withdraw the spike. “Now, the brightness of the light will illustrate how strong the lifeline itself is, and thus how resilient your life-force. I couldn't tell you how many young sacred artists have ruined their lifelines with elixirs or ill-advised bargains, sacrificing their future for short-term...gain...”

The light had only grown brighter and brighter.

Now it was blinding.

Justice finally jerked the spike out of Lindon's skin, and the light died away. One side of the Archlord's face twitched. He threw the glass-capped spike carelessly aside, but an invisible force caught it, and it drifted back over to its place on the wall. A deft manipulation of aura using soulfire, or so Lindon assumed. His spiritual perception was restricted, and even if it were not, using it in front of Justice might seem rude.

“Lifeline is...uh, adequate.” Justice scribbled something down on his tablet. “But your spirit is the most important.” The copper lobster claw floated over to him. “Your hand once again.”

This time, Lindon was even more reluctant to hand over his arm. Justice slid the metal around his flesh, and sparks tingled on Lindon's skin, but fortunately the claw did not snap shut.

“Two cores? Hmph.” Characters of blue light floated over the instrument, and Justice read them with a displeased look. “You aren't the first to try it, but they're always shallower than one alone. This tool will measure the capacity of your cores, and we'll see if your spirit is—Heavens above!”

He looked at the device. Swept his spiritual perception through it. Checked it again.

“Did I pass?” Lindon had confidence in the depth of his cores, thanks to the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel, but he was nervous that the Archlord's outburst meant he had discovered Lindon's Jade cycling technique. Eithan had warned him to keep it a secret.

“...you pass.” Justice made another note on his tablet. “So far.” He didn't reprimand Lindon for speaking.

The next six tests passed in silence. Justice had tools for gauging madra density, recovery rate, and stability, which all registered within acceptable limits.

Lindon had to step into the upright coffin, which crushed him with pressure from every angle, testing his physical strength. His blood was taken and examined for blood essence. A thorn-covered cap that pricked his scalp assessed his spiritual perception.

In those three tests, he scored above average. Justice praised him grudgingly, but nothing caused him to react like he had in the first two. He seemed to have recovered his equilibrium.

“Your basic capability has reached the standards of the tournament, which is no surprise, given that you attracted the Sage's eye.” He had seemed surprised enough a few minutes before, but Lindon said nothing. “However, potential alone is not enough. You must be able to draw out your abilities to their fullest extent. What good is an army of strong soldiers without a skilled general to lead it?”

He summoned a bucket-like tool from the wall nearby. Rings of script on the outside began to glow purple, and only when he reached up did Lindon recognize it as a helmet.

“Now we come to the mental tests,” the Archlord continued. “Reaction speed, memory, force of will, and resistance to incursion. These tests have disqualified many would-be geniuses, so I hope you are prepared.”

Within Lindon's mind and spirit, a voice spoke up.

[Oh, those sound like games!] Dross said. [I love games!]

~~~

That night, Akura Charity entered Justice's office to find him slumped over his desk, drinking.

When he did not rise to greet her and show proper respect to a Sage, she knew he was truly disturbed.

“Have you laid your concerns to rest?” she asked.

The old man stared deep into the wall, bottle dangling from one hand. “He's a monster.”

“I take it you approve.”

“Until today, I wondered why you did not recruit Eithan Arelius. When I met him, I suspected him of surprising depth. I understand now, but…”

Justice took a long drink from his bottle. The spirits spilling from his lips burned his beard. Smoke actually rose from the white hair. “Fate can be so...fickle. How many children like him have we ever seen, even in our clan? If I had such talent at his age...”

He didn't finish the sentence, but his expression grew melancholy.

Charity needed to cut off this line of thinking. Justice, a distant cousin of hers, had reached Archlord before she was born and been stuck there ever since.

“The heavens care nothing for our plans,” she said. “When they grant their gifts, we can only try to use them to our advantage. What did you think of his results?”

“He has cores like deep lakes and a lifeline like a thousand-year ancestral tree. Were those his only gifts, I would call him merely talented. Certainly nothing to rival young Mercy. But his mental tests...perfect scores in all categories. I've never seen anything like it. If he has the skill to bring out his full potential—”

“He doesn't. But he will.”

~~~

Yerin steeled her nerves as she faced her opponent. Her fingers did not shake, but she trembled on the inside. She was an Underlady now, but instinct told her this was a fight she still couldn't win.

Eithan, her opponent, stood on the opposite side of the Skysworn practice arena, running a comb through his long yellow hair.

The practice arena was a broad oval a hundred yards long and about fifty wide in the middle. Banded plates of scripted metal covered the walls, scratched and pitted from years of collateral damage. An enormous cloud with a flame at its heart adorned the floor—the Skysworn emblem.

Railings around the outside held Skysworn both in and out of armor. Many had gathered to watch a match between Underlords, especially two who were infamous.

Neither Yerin nor Eithan wore their green armor. She had found a black sacred artist's robe like the ones her master had worn, and Eithan wore an intricate many-layered ensemble of red with patterns of gold stars.