An aura blade from the Endless Sword kicked his shield to one side, and the point of her sword came straight for his throat.

He poured soulfire into the Soul Cloak.

Immediately, the nimbus around him raged like whitewater. He moved without thought, slipping her stab, ducking the follow-up attack from her sword-arms, anticipating and blocking her counter-strokes with his shield and Wavedancer.

Wind whipped around them as they traded dozens of blows in a breath, Yerin looking for an opening, Lindon closing off every angle. He ran, and she followed, and they clashed again, sending peals of thunder throughout the arena.

It couldn't last.

He was running low on soulfire, letting it flow into the Soul Cloak. His pure madra was being drained by the Cloak and by his Iron body, which had to constantly heal him. Her every blow cost him another chunk of power just to endure, and if he blocked or dodged any attack less than perfectly, he would be chopped in half.

The Flowing Sword technique on her sword grew stronger and stronger with every exchange, shining more brightly silver as it wrapped more strands of madra and sword-aura around itself. Soon it would slice straight through his shield.

And Yerin's spirit was growing more and more chaotic.

She was angry.

“Fight me!” she shouted.

It was all Lindon could to do hold on. He jabbed his shield at her in a half-hearted swipe, but she brushed it aside with a look of disgust.

Before he could fully recover, she kicked him in the chest.

He managed to get his shield between them, but the impact still sent him flying backward. Once again, he had to scramble to land on his feet, shield forward. He was out of breath, straining to keep his madra under control.

[...I'm not some sort of human behavior expert, but I think she wants you to fight her,] Dross said.

Lindon couldn't muster up the energy for a response. He resented Northstrider, who had put him in this situation. Why did he have to fight Yerin at all? They had almost been selected as Uncrowned together.

Yerin hadn't followed him. Face twisted in anger, she drew her weapon back with both hands.

Here it came. The technique they had developed together and named together. Their adaptation of the Sword Sage’s strike, which they had designed to be her decisive ending strike.

The Final Sword.

To his Copper sight, she was a metallic sun. Sword-aura gathered in a storm around her, whipping her hair and robes. The Enforcer technique on her sword expanded until she held a silver torch, and she glared at him as she braced her stance.

Lindon released the soulfire of the Soul Cloak, sending it into the shield instead. The protective Forger binding in the weapon activated, creating a transparent barrier between them. Fueled by his pure madra and his soulfire, it might be able to take the Final Sword...but the shield would break, and he wouldn't be able to recover quickly. Yerin still had her Blood Shadow, too.

He had already lost.

Yerin would be mad at him for a while, but this wasn't his fault.

Instead of driving her blade forward and sending the Final Sword flashing at him, Yerin leaped. She carried her heavenly silver blade with both hands, raising it overhead to smash it down on him.

He kept his eyes open, bracing himself for the brief flash of pain before defeat.

“DROSS!” Yerin roared.

Time came to a halt.

Information requested: how to drag Lindon out of self-pity.

Beginning report...

Yerin hangs in the air above Lindon, expression furious, Final Sword cocked behind her head. She’s beginning to Forge its power into the shape of a massive blade, and her six sword-arms are poised like stingers.

Lindon sees himself, crouched there, hiding behind his layered stone-colored turtle shell. A blue-and-green scripted sword hovers nearby, ready to dart in and protect him. A transparent dome covers him, but it looks fragile. He doesn't see determination in his own eyes, he sees...doubt. Hesitation.

Weakness.

How do I fix a broken Lindon? I think mine needs replaced.

“Fighting her will hurt us both, Dross,” Lindon says. He cannot speak in his own voice, but Dross understands him. “It will be better if she wins.”

Yes, is this the Soulsmith? Can you transplant a Remnant spine into my sacred artist?

“I'm not going to hurt her. It isn't worth it.”

You're hurting her now!

Lindon hesitates, bringing his attention back to Yerin's expression. Anger was her response to pain.

“I’m giving her what she wants.”

She wants you to listen to her, Dross says. His mental voice is quiet.

Lindon has no response.

She wants you to see her full power, and she wants you to trust her to handle yours. She wants to see the real Lindon, not…is it too much to call you a cringing wreck? That sounds like too much.

Lindon watches her face. Yerin has been angry with him before, but never so disappointed.

He wants her to be happy with him. Proud of him.

He wants to show her how far he's come.

Now, are you going to show her?

Lindon lets out a mental sigh. “I thought you didn't understand humans.”

I don’t understand any of this. But I do listen.

Lindon steels himself. For the first time, he turns his mind to the problem in front of him. To defeating his rival.

“If we're going to do this,” Lindon says, “then we're going to win.”

Report complete.

~~~

“DROSS!” Yerin roared, the Final Sword taking shape around her blade. It looked like a massive madra replica of her weapon, complete with hilt and guard. It was hazy at the edges and translucent, not as smooth or complete as her master’s, but she could sense its power even so. And now she was turning it against Lindon.

She was furious. Furious with Northstrider, first off, because pitting them against each other had been a sneaky trick. That was the move of a coward and a thief, not a Monarch.

And every second the fight crawled on, she grew angrier with Lindon. In his other fights, he had been amazing. She wanted to fight that Lindon. She wanted to test herself, to see if she could measure up, and to show him what she could do. In a fair world, they would have only faced each other after they were both Uncrowned, but who lived in a fair world?

When she had seen Lindon against her in this arena, she had been bitterly disappointed, but also excited. Where else except this tournament could they fight without holding back?

She had hoped he would feel the same way.

Yerin fell, plunging her massive technique down on Lindon's shield. The bright silver-and-white light of her technique Forged into a heavenly sword that crashed into him like a deadly wave. Madra screamed as the two powers clashed, sending off blinding sparks, and the ground rumbled with the force.