That left a silence in the room. No matter whether Yerin or Mercy won, one of their journeys would end with the next round.

He didn’t want to think about it, so instead he walked up and squared his shoulders against the wall. “Let’s test the Iron Heart. Yerin, if you could just give me a little cut on the arm so I can see the difference. It used to take me...what, a minute or two to close up a small cut?”

[Three to four minutes,] Dross responded. [But the circumstances varied. If you intentionally cycled madra to your Iron body, it would be faster, and if you had more injuries it would be slower.]

“Okay, then. Three minutes is the time to beat. Yerin?”

Yerin drew her sword, leaning forward, her madra spinning. “Get ready!”

He held out his left arm and waited.

Yerin's fingers opened and closed on the hilt of her sword. The aura around the weapon stirred...and died again. She clenched her jaw.

“...apologies, is something wrong?”

“No!” She snapped, and her cheeks had begun to color. “I'm just...it feels strange just cutting you while you're standing there. Maybe if we were sparring...”

Lindon stared blankly at her. Dross manifested over his shoulder to add his one-eyed stare to Lindon's.

“We train against each other all the time,” Lindon said. “You've cut me many times.”

Although not often, now that Lindon thought about it. It was usually when she used the Endless Sword and it spilled out of her control.

“I know that! But that's a fight, that's different.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so.”

He wanted to be flattered by her concern, but he was only baffled. He had never expected this out of Yerin. What had brought this on?

“Shut up and just...I'll do it, okay? Hold still.” She took a deep breath, and then her sword rang like a bell. A small one.

His arm stung, and a razor-thin cut traced a red line about an inch long across his forearm. Blood began to bead at the end, and Lindon could feel his Iron body drawing pure madra from him immediately. He and Dross watched it intently.

After only a second or two, the end of the wound began to close up.

A single drop of blood ran down the side of his arm, and by the time it reached the other side, the injury had already closed.

[Four seconds!] Dross exclaimed. [That's a new record!]

“It took more madra than usual,” Lindon noted, but he was as excited as Dross was.

Yerin's ears were still tinged red, but she played it cool, adjusting her grip on the sword. “Another?”

“A few more this time, please,” Lindon held out his arm again.

“You don't want to wait for that one to heal first?” It was mostly restored, but the line of skin was still a tender scarlet, like a fresh scrape.

“Oh, that's not worth worrying about. Three would be perfect.”

Yerin didn't look happy, but she did as requested. The three cuts healed just as quickly as the first had.

[I'd like to see a deeper cut, but why don't we try out a different kind of injury first?]

“That's what I was thinking,” Lindon agreed. He had already cast his mind forward to the fight with Sophara. If he could heal this quickly, he might actually be able to take a hit or two from her Flowing Flame madra, which would be invaluable. This could be his chance, and he was eager to discover his limits.

He squared his stance, looking to Yerin. “Punch me as hard as you can, if you don't mind.”

Yerin slammed the sword into her sheath. “I need a break,” she said shortly.

“Oh, of course. Apologies.” She had only used the Endless Sword a few times, but she had her own match to prepare for. He couldn't selfishly monopolize her time.

“What about your Diamond Veins?” Lindon asked. He had been jealous of her elixir—it felt like he was always being held back by his madra channels.

Still facing away from him, she rolled her neck, loosening up. “I can take bigger swings with my techniques than ever before. It’s not too soon, either. Now I can work on hitting harder.”

“Do you need to? Your Path whittles them down, and then you finish them by hand.” No Path could do everything. The Path of Black Flame needed to be able to punch through strong defenses, but the Path of the Endless Sword didn’t. At least as far as he could see.

Yerin fished around in her pocket and tossed a dream tablet over her shoulder. Lindon caught it out of the air and activated it immediately.

The Sword Sage is a wiry man with messy hair, half-lidded eyes that make it look like he’s falling asleep, and tattered black robes. Six sword-arms hang limp from his back, and he draws his white sword back. He’s about to step forward in a lunge.

He faces an animated mountain of steel and stone, a human-shaped armored puppet-construct taller than ten men. The earth aura and force madra radiating from the construct project the idea of invincibility.

The tip of the Sage’s white blade shines like a silver star as he pulls it back. Lindon has an instant to sense incredibly concentrated aura, madra, and soulfire gathering to a point.

In one smooth move, he stabs forward and unleashes his technique.

A silver-white Forged sword pierces perfectly through the construct. It is there and gone like a strike of lightning, but it erases a column through the center of the massive puppet.

The Sage turns, sheathes his sword, and yawns as piles of metal and stone crash to the ground behind him.

Lindon pulled himself out of the dream, breathing deeply. Yerin noticed.

“You see me doing that?” she asked.

“I can’t imagine how anyone does that.” It was beautiful, the synchronized blend of spiritual movements. No waste at all. And the Forged sword was so perfect that it was more beautiful than his Archlord Wavedancer; it was as though he had created the ideal sword from madra and aura.

Yerin extended all six sword-arms, flexing them in the air. “Well, that’s the target I have to hit.”

Lindon hefted the tablet. “He was higher than an Underlord when he did this. You have time.”

“Tell me the last time you listened to someone who told you to take your time.”

That struck home. It was disturbing to look at himself from the outside. From his perspective, Yerin did have time, and rushing things could hurt her. He wanted her to take it one step at a time.

But he could relate to the urgency she felt, and it would be hypocritical to suggest someone else slow down.

Instead, he manifested Dross.

The one-eyed purple spirit appeared above his palm, blinking in the light. [Hey! I was watching your embarrassing memories!]

“Can you simulate something for Yerin?” Lindon would have to ask about the embarrassing memories later.

Dross stretched his mouth into an expression of extreme discomfort. [Eeeehhh…thanks to Charity’s madra, I probably could, but you can’t imagine the headache. And it won’t last very long. Also, I don’t want to.]

“Gratitude,” Lindon said. “Can you model the Sword Sage’s technique we just watched?”

Yerin straightened up, eyes wide, and scurried closer. She looked to Dross with expectation.

[I speak straight into your mind and still you won’t listen to me.]

“Please, Dross,” Yerin said earnestly. “This could give me new wings.”