Even so, they were outnumbered.

Naru Saeya was the first to slip, a little too slow to block as she raised her sword with a wounded arm. She winced, instantly taking a Forged blade to the chest. A quick flood of green madra blocked it, but it sent her flying into a tree and then to the ground.

Yerin covered her with a surge of the Endless Sword, but therefore she couldn’t cover Eithan, who had to focus on his own defense at redirecting a stream of water madra. Their formation collapsed, and then they were three individuals struggling to defend themselves.

Only a breath later, golden light streamed down from the sky. It poured through the leaves overhead; she couldn’t see well enough to see how distant it was, but it couldn’t be far.

Eithan reacted as though he’d known the crowns were coming, taking advantage of the momentary flicker in his enemies’ attention to let out a detonation of pure madra. His power swept over everyone, dense enough that it must have been reinforced with soulfire, and wiped away every active technique. Water madra fell apart, Forged blades vanished, Striker techniques died in midair, and Enforced punches fell limp on their targets.

The only one not affected was Eithan, who rushed toward one of the Tidewalkers to stab her with a sharpened stick, but the loss of madra had only disrupted her for an instant. She was already Enforced again, slapping him aside and stepping away so she and her partner could focus on them together.

Yerin could do nothing; it was all she could do to keep the Ghost-Blades from closing in on the wounded Saeya. The Naru helped as best she could, grabbing at them with her Ruler technique, but their enemies’ soulfire-aided aura control was enough to keep them safe.

Yerin was on the verge of bringing out her Blood Shadow—an ability she hadn’t yet revealed—when her spirit warned her, and she realized why Eithan had wasted so much madra on a split-second interruption.

It hadn’t been an attack.

It was a signal.

Black dragon’s breath lanced out from the trees. One of the Tidewalkers reacted in time to defend with a wide bubble of water madra, but the distraction allowed Eithan to land a blow on him. The fish-man’s eyes bulged, and he flew back, tumbling through the bushes. His partner ran after him a moment later, and the two of them lost no time before scampering away.

Eithan let them run, turning to the Ghost-Blades. A hail of black arrows pulled them away from Yerin, and an instant later, a short man with shining purple eyes dashed among them.

They slashed at him, but crystalline amethyst armor materialized only for the instant it took him to block their blows. He slid through, a whirlwind, catching one enemy with his fist and another with a foot. They defended themselves, but the impact of flesh on flesh sounded like thunderclaps.

Instead of fighting his way through to the Akura team, Eithan had called the Akura team to them.

Yerin speared the closest enemy through the back as Lindon arrived, shoving dragon’s breath point-blank into another Ghost-Blade’s chest.

The two of them dematerialized at the same time, but the third—the farthest one from her—had managed to make his escape.

Panting heavily, Yerin slapped Lindon on his shoulder. Despite knowing that death couldn’t touch them here, surviving still left her drunk with elation.

“Aren’t you a welcome sight!” Yerin said, but Lindon never stopped moving. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him. Mercy and Eithan were seeing to Naru Saeya, who had made it back into the air, and Akura Pride had already run ahead. He wrecked his way through the undergrowth like a bull.

“Talk later!” Lindon shouted as he tugged her along, and she cast her perception behind her.

When she felt the now-unveiled presences hunting them, she sped up until she was dragging him.

Chapter 13

It was a bloody fight around the crown. So to speak.

There was much less actual blood than in most of the fights Lindon had ever seen, as a lethal attack caused the victim to dissolve into light and rush away. Only lesser wounds left blood behind.

But it was chaos. They had reached the central crown, which had attracted the most competitors. And the presence of sacred artists had drawn beasts, so at any moment there could be sacred artists conjuring massive ghostly swords against monkeys, silver crocodiles snapping jaws down on flashing cages of lightning, or flocks of razor-taloned birds clashing against Forged techniques of crimson light.

Lindon and the others skirted the bounds of the fight. The first of their pursuers crashed through the woods behind them—one a half-human red dragon, another a female figure in a brown hood and a stone mask.

They couldn't ignore the battle and keep pursuing the Akura teams. Unfortunately, Lindon couldn't avoid it either. He evaded an emerald lance and a conjured spirit that raked claws in his direction, narrowly missing his chin.

Dross, Lindon thought, how many people are here?

[Seventeen, counting you. You can count yourself, can’t you? Of course you can. Sixteen. No, wait, that’s confusing. Seventeen. Wait, do I count?]

A quarter of the people who had started out on the island were left. The rest were either waiting their hour to return, going for one of the other two crowns, or waiting to see how the fight shook out.

Lindon stopped behind a tree, waiting for the others to push through the stray attacks as well. We're the largest group here, and we can’t keep waiting for our other teams to join us. We should regroup and push for the crown. Let them know.

Dross relayed the message, and in a few seconds they had all gathered. Mercy hung from the top of a tree, watching the fight with excitement in her eyes. Yerin stood closer to the battle than anyone, white sword in her hand and hair blowing in the breeze, occasionally deflecting a Striker technique headed their way.

Naru Saeya crouched behind a tree, the peacock feathers in her hair somewhat wilted, tending to her wounds. Eithan ran a comb through his long, blond hair as though he were in his own home. He snatched a flying knife from the air and used it as a mirror.

“Where's Pride?” Lindon asked.

[I told him!] Dross said. [You can't blame me!]

Mercy sighed and pointed.

Lindon found him between a richly dressed woman with flying swords hovering around her head and a young man in blue robes with rings of lightning crackling around his arms. The three of them exchanged attacks in a rapid sequence of blows that would have been hard for him to follow before he advanced to Underlord.

[Stormcaller,] Dross said, indicating the man in blue. [Cult of the Weeping Dragon. The woman is probably from Moonwater, the nation next door to Ninecloud.]

The Stormcaller shot a blast of blue-and-yellow lightning madra at the woman, who caught it on a globe of green madra in her left hand as she used her right to direct the swords against Pride. Pride leaped over one sword, back-fisted a Striker technique from an unrelated fight and kicked another sword aside. He had closed the distance with the lightning artist, but a floating metal shield appeared from the lightning artist's soulspace and deflected Pride’s punch.

“Sword girl,” Mercy shouted, and everyone attacked her at once.

Dragon's breath, the Rippling Sword, an arrow of shadow, a green pulse of wind, and a mundane knife flew at the woman at the same time. She defended herself well, taking only a cut to her leg from the knife, but their second volley finished her.