~~~

Yerin drifted through a dream.

The pain of her wounds didn't hinder her in her dream. Even the pain in her spirit, caused by strained madra channels, couldn't touch her.

She moved on pure instinct, without thought, letting her training and experience move her body. It was like letting her Remnant take over, moving her body like a puppet. The sensation might have been uncomfortable if she thought too much about it, but conscious thought would shake her awake.

The dream only faded when her opponent's madra did, as her sword passed through him and he melted into light. Then her peace retreated, and she could do nothing to hold onto it amid the rising tide of cheers from the crowd.

Her injuries slapped her all at once, and she stiffened involuntarily. She gritted her teeth against the agony from the cuts all over her body and the strain in her spirit. It was all she could do to tear off her blindfold.

Long scratches marred the rectangular columns, and she could feel sword aura drifting through the air.

As the Ninecloud Soul announced her victory, she stumbled back toward the booth where Eithan waited.

At a sudden thought, she turned around to look at the visions hanging in the air over the arena.

The model of her was blindfolded, but moved with perfect confidence. She blocked Altavian's sword with her sword-arms, destroyed his half-formed Striker technique with her sword, and took a hand off her hilt to land a punch on his chest. He flew away, and in the instant before Yerin's image followed, a small smile was visible on her face.

Yerin remembered that. She had felt both of his attacks and had known instantly what to do to counter them. It was like she had become water, pouring herself into a vessel, naturally flowing through any crack in his defenses.

From the outside, it looked different. She paused in her step, blood gumming up one eye and flowing from the injuries down her left side, to stare at the moving images. From the steps she took, to the way every blurring movement of her sword moved into the next as though she had planned it all out in advance, she looked just like her master.

She found it hard to breathe for a second, staring at herself. Seeing the reflection of the Sword Sage was a punch to the gut, and she wasn't sure how to unravel it.

Only a moment later, she shook her head and turned, continuing to walk away. She may have inherited the intuition of her master's Remnant, but that wasn't all she was seeing in that projection. There were her own ingrained instincts, which she had honed from years of diligent training and violent competition. And there was something else, that strange feeling that her spiritual perception had brushed across more than once now. Something deeper than the flow of madra.

It was bigger than her. Bigger than the Sword Sage.

And she was sure her master had felt it too. They looked the same because they were dancing to the beat of the same music.

Today, she had learned to hear it a little more clearly.

Her body and spirit jolted, and for a moment she felt her body and spirit stretch, and then the pain was gone. So suddenly that it startled her. The Monarch had restored her to pristine condition, as though she'd died and come back.

She covered the rest of the distance to the spectator booth in one leap, landing in front of Eithan.

He greeted her with laughter. “That must have been a wonderful feeling!”

“What is it?” Yerin asked. And, she wondered, how had Eithan been able to teach her about it?

Eithan's blue eyes flashed with joy as he said, “Your ticket to victory.”

~~~

Sixteen young Underlords gathered in front of Northstrider, and he surveyed them all with features that may as well have been chiseled from stone.

“The nature of the fourth round changes based on how many of you survived round three,” he told them, and constructs all over the arena echoed his voice. “The round begins in one week. It is the final elimination round, designed to reveal the eight of you who will be honored as Uncrowned.”

The crowd roared, but Northstrider continued speaking without care. “As it happens, there are exactly sixteen of you. I have therefore decided on the best way for you to prove yourselves: single-elimination solo combat.”

The crowd rustled, partially cheering, partially muttering.

“I have already chosen your opponents,” he went on. “I selected the most appropriate enemy for each of you to demonstrate your skill and resolve.”

His invisible will passed over the competitors, sharpening their gazes, drawing their focus completely to him.

“Attend me, for this is the shape of the final selection round. After this, the true Uncrowned Kings will be revealed.”

~~~

“Ziel of the Wastelands, chosen of mine. You face Therian Nills of the Stormcallers, chosen of Reigan Shen.”

Ziel wished he had his hammer next to him. It would have been a comforting weight.

Without it, his hands slowly curled into fists as he stared across at another kneeling youth: a man in his mid-twenties, or so he appeared.

He wasn't the only Stormcaller in the top sixteen. Besides the one he'd eliminated in the second round, the other two cultists had both survived. In fact, six of the sixteen remaining competitors belonged to Reigan Shen.

It was a powerful statement, showing the world how strong the Monarch of the King’s Key had made his new allies. The Dreadgod cultists would surely shake the foundations of the earth.

But not this one. This one wouldn't make it any further.

Ziel only regretted that he couldn't kill his opponent for real.

~~~

“Sha Miara of the Ninecloud Court, chosen of the Luminous Queen. You face Blacksword of Redmoon Hall, chosen of Reigan Shen.”

Sha Miara pointedly refused to look at the young man with the dark sword across his back. Just to rile him up, she pressed her fingers to her lips as though stifling a yawn.

It was all a show. She couldn’t wait to crush him. It wasn’t dignified for a Monarch to compete with her lessers, but she never got to have any fun.

She was glad she wasn’t facing the Redmoon girl. Miara would still win, but she wasn’t ready for a challenge yet. She wanted to savor one more easy victory.

The challenging fights would come soon enough. Once she was Uncrowned.

~~~

“Eithan Arelius of the Blackflame Empire, chosen of Akura Malice. You face Yan Shoumei of Redmoon Hall, chosen of Reigan Shen.”

Shoumei stopped glaring at the Blackflame boy she'd met in Ghostwater and turned her attention to the yellow-haired clown who never stopped grinning.

She knew of him. The Blood Sage had spoken of him, after the report of Longhook's death had been confirmed by the sect oracles.

Her Blood Shadow stirred as she stared at Eithan Arelius. It hungered for him. Maybe, if it feasted on enough of his blood, it would inherit the famous Arelius bloodline ability.

Whether it did or did not, Shoumei eagerly looked forward to her match. She would get to prove herself in front of the whole world by destroying the person who killed Longhook.

Eithan gave her a beaming smile.

~~~

“Akura Mercy of the Akura clan, chosen of Akura Malice...”

Mercy sat up straighter, eager and just a tad worried. She hoped to be matched against one of Reigan's Dreadgod servants, or even Sopharanatoth. The gold dragon would be a difficult fight, but no one left in the competition was weak.

There was a chance that she could eliminate Sophara from competition, which would make the top eight much easier. And it would send a strong message on behalf of her family.