“Do not fight,” he said in words Lindon could understand, just above a whisper. “Back away.”

Lindon nodded, and together he and the man from Dreadnought City took slow steps back.

Pride darted forward.

The stranger's reactions befit an Underlord. A bright blue flame erupted from the tank on his back, and a hand bigger than his body reached out and caught Pride's approach. A Remnant hand.

There really was a Remnant in there.

The force of Pride's attack tore the hand apart, and Lindon felt the man's power shake, but then the orb in his hands flared to life. A bolt of blue light lanced from the center, spearing toward Pride's chest.

A gray light covered Pride, and the Striker technique glanced off, slicing branches from the canopy as it cut into the sky. His fist caught the Dreadnought citizen in the forehead, and with a black flash, the man's skull crunched.

Before he collapsed, the stranger dissolved to white light and vanished to wherever the dead waited for an hour.

He hadn't fully disappeared before a roar sounded from behind them.

[And there's his partner,] Dross said with a sigh.

A young woman with the same brown skin, eyes, and hair as the first Dreadnought City artist barreled through the jungle behind them. A silver Remnant's limbs surrounded her own; claws of madra covered her hands, paws her feet, and a snarling silver tiger head sat over hers. Both she and the spirit covering her had a look of fury in their eyes.

Lindon had no choice. The Soul Cloak sprung up around him, and he readied his Empty Palm.

The three of them took her on together.

Mercy fired an arrow at the woman’s feet, and while she altered her stride to avoid the Striker techniques, Pride sent a devastating punch into her side. She twisted to catch the blow on her Remnant’s arm, but Lindon was already driving an Empty Palm into her stomach. The blue-white madra covered her torso with a Forged handprint, and the energy cut through her madra channels and severed her connection to the tank on her back.

The Remnant popped like a bubble and she tumbled to the ground, rolling through the grass. She shouted and slashed at Lindon, but no claws followed the motion.

An arrow split her heart a moment later, and she vanished.

Pride stood triumphantly over the spot where her body had disappeared, pointing at the empty space. “He was driving us back into an ambush!”

Lindon stepped close enough that he loomed over Pride, emphasizing the fact that Pride's head only came up to his collarbone. He was so furious he felt like he was channeling Blackflame.

“Did you not know she was there? I saw her on the way in!” Well, Dross had, but that was the same thing. “How is it an ambush when we're together and they're split up? They just wanted to meet up without attracting attention!”

Spirits vanished all around them as beasts and sacred artists alike veiled themselves to approach.

Pride's eyes were hard as purple stones. “You almost pushed us into a trap. I saved us.”

“You turned us into bait! How are our teams supposed to get to us now?” They were already surrounded by enemies.

Mercy landed to the side, grabbing them both. “Let’s have this conversation while running for our lives, what do you think?”

They ran together, Pride and Lindon keeping their speed down for Mercy, who couldn't fly without her bow.

Lindon swept his perception behind him, and his breath caught at what he felt. There were at least seven, maybe eight or nine enemies behind them. Their veils kept him from identifying their exact position, their Paths, or whether they were sacred artists or beasts. If some of them had veiled themselves more thoroughly than others, there could even be more.

The worst of it was, they weren't fighting amongst themselves. They were chasing the Akura team as though they'd been put on a scent.

[That's what we get for standing out!] Dross said in a panic. [They think you're extraordinary! Quick, let me talk to them and I’ll let them know the truth.]

At that moment, Lindon’s spiritual sense lit up as he felt a column of light descend from the sky. He jumped up as he ran, grabbing a branch and pulling himself high so he could push through the leathery leaves overhead and take a quick look.

Only a hundred yards in front of him, a column of golden radiance descended from the clouds. A dot in the center had to be the crown. And it wasn’t alone; to its left and right, two more beams of light shone as a pair of crowns floated down.

Three crowns. Enough for a full team to advance to the next round.

Everyone would be headed for them, and he was caught between the prize and his pursuers. Trapped.

~~~

Yerin had fought against greater numbers more than once, but these weren’t a handful of back-country sect disciples who’d managed to finally advance to Truegold. These were five of the deadliest Underlords of their generation.

When the fight started, it was brutal.

The three Ghost-Blades slashed out, Forging spectral swords the size of cattle as they swung, and clearly they had trained together. Their attacks came at subtly different angles only a whisper apart, so there would be no avoiding all three.

As they struck, Yerin felt the walking fish of the Tidewalker sect conjuring bubbles of dark liquid madra. They held back, waiting to react as she did.

Last year, Yerin would have dealt with the Ghost-Blades’ attack and fallen for the Tidewalker follow-up. Maybe she could have survived the first volley, with the help of her Blood Shadow, but she would’ve lost in time. These opponents were too coordinated, too well-trained and too used to working together.

But she had a team of her own.

Yerin ignored the attacks and activated the Endless Sword. The three swords of the Ghost-Blades rang like bells, aura erupting from them like a storm and shredding their clothes and skin, drawing light wounds and knocking them around like hurricane winds. Even the Tidewalkers caught the edge of it, staggering back from the sting.

She attacked. Eithan defended.

He was in front of her before she saw him move, blowing the Forged madra apart with Striker techniques of his own. And from above, Naru Saeya launched a burst of green wind madra as the Ghost-Blades still reeled from Yerin’s attack. From experience, Yerin knew it would snare them and drag them off-balance—easy prey for a blade.

The three of them had reacted together, months of training crystallizing in action for the first time.

But the enemy had training of their own, and greater numbers.

A defensive construct on one of the Ghost-Blades activated a yellow shield that blocked Saeya’s Striker technique, so he stood strong as she dove in. The Tidewalkers refocused on her, Yerin whipped a horizontal Striker blade of her own at them to pull their attention back, and Eithan had to deal with further attacks from the other two Ghost-Blades.

They traded exchange after exchange in a quick second, Forger techniques blowing apart, Striker techniques tearing the leaves from trees, blades of aura grinding up earth. Stroke and counterstroke, attack and defense, from eight Underlords with no wasted time.

The air shook with continuous thunder. Yerin’s spiritual sense strained to keep up, and her channels burned as she quickly switched from technique to technique. A chain of explosions blasted the forest around them in one long roar, and in seconds the jungle around them was a clearing of debris and churned soil.

Yerin moved as quickly as she ever had in her life, blasting away a Striker technique aimed at Saeya, ducking aside so Eithan could get a shot at an enemy behind her, driving her blade at one enemy and slashing her sword-blades behind her at another.