Mercy's anger faded as quickly as it had come, as it usually did. “I would call that cruel. And no matter how you look at it, you put two Underlords against two Truegolds. That's not a fair competition.”

“You were there.”

“I don't count,” Mercy said bitterly. There was a lot to enjoy about her exile from the family, but it was tough to relish the feeling of helplessness. And yet, if she were to take advancement resources from Lindon and Yerin, she would feel like a rich woman robbing a pauper.

“Of course you do,” Charity said. “And the Truegolds acquitted themselves well. If the roles were reversed, with your friends at Underlord and their enemies at Truegold, how do you think their skirmish would have gone?”

“Yerin and Lindon would have left them in pieces,” Mercy said with a sigh. They could be ruthless, at times, but no more so than her own family.

Charity reached up to run a hand down her owl's back. Maybe the spirit was more than a technique after all, because it leaned in to the motion, cooing softly. The rain passed straight through it. “Kiro has a noble bloodline and the finest tutors his nation can afford, but he is at the end of his mentality and his talent. He may reach Overlord someday, but barring a substantial evolution, that will be his limit. Meira's talent and skill are exceptional, but she is blinded by obsession. She has created chains in her own mind that are difficult to break. I would like to use them to push your teammates to advance, which would fill my quota. Or perhaps they will be pushed to the brink instead and exceed my expectations of them. Who can say?”

“It seems like a lot of suffering,” Mercy said, looking out over the tents full of wounded. The rain had slackened slightly, and the food Eithan's servants brought had done much for the atmosphere. And maybe for the injuries; Mercy heard fewer groans now than before.

“They compete because there is a limited opportunity, and everyone wants it badly enough to spill blood for it. Not because I make them.”

Mercy looked at her skeptically. That was not a strong argument. “When you throw a steak between two starving dogs, is it their fault for fighting over it?”

She turned, brushing water from her forehead, and looked in the same direction: at the many tents. “I concede that I may have leaned too hard on your friends in part because of your relationship to them.”

Another thorn jabbed into Mercy's heart. She wanted to be outraged, but she wasn't entirely surprised. That was as much Mercy's fault as Charity's; the Sage could afford a heavier hand, because Mercy could embrace her former power and save Lindon and Yerin whenever she wanted. Mercy's mother would encourage such tactics.

“Therefore,” Charity continued, “I acknowledge that I owe you a favor. Call it in as you wish.”

Mercy looked up to the other woman in surprise, watching Charity's flawless face looking down on the mortals in front of her. A favor from a Sage was no small matter. This had to be a concession on Charity's part.

“Thank you, Aunt Charity.”

“The boy still owes the family for Harmony. I can't let that go entirely, and he may be useful.”

“I understand,” Mercy said. As long as Charity took a strict stance, to show that the Akura clan can't be opposed lightly, Lindon could be let off with nothing greater than a proverbial slap.

Mercy had thought the Sage would melt back into thin air at that, and so she was surprised when the other woman spoke. “You were young for the last Uncrowned King tournament.”

“I was eight,” Mercy said, smiling at the memory. She had spent most of the tournament in the head family's floating platform, watching a projection of the fights. She hadn't been interested in the fighting at all, and had spent most of the time trying to catch a glimpse of her mother. Who, she later found out, had never come in the first place.

“This will put the last one to shame. All of the current Monarchs will be in attendance.” Charity looked deeper at Mercy, as though to ensure that her message was clear. “All of them.”

Mercy shook. It was hard enough for her to get an audience with her own mother. She didn't know if anyone alive had ever been in the presence of all the Monarchs at once.

“What's happening?” Mercy asked.

“The movements of Monarchs are beyond even my understanding, but something last year disturbed the flow of fate. Many things that we once thought were certain are no longer so. One Dreadgod has risen early, and the others are stirring.”

Charity's purple eyes shone through the rain. “We have no records of the last time all four of them rose together. It resulted in the eradication of the previous generation of Monarchs.”

That was too heavy for Mercy, and fortunately far above her level. So she kept her tone light. “Good thing we're having a tournament to keep everyone’s spirits up!”

At the moment, Charity looked as though she had never heard a joke in her life and wasn't looking forward to the first time. “War is coming. If not with the Dreadgods, then with each other; now that the future is uncertain, there is no trusting anyone. This is our chance to demonstrate our power and to raise up a new generation of warriors.”

“...I was only joking,” Mercy muttered.

“We must at least fill one spot in the top eight of the individual matches, to show that our next generation is as strong as that of the others. That is no small order. That would be a challenge even for you at the height of your power, because you can be sure that the others will do everything they can to put forth the winning candidate. This is also a chance to take power from the others, in the form of the prizes. If we do not hold to at least that standard, it will mean losing territory. We will have less of a voice in the operation of the world. And perhaps it will mean a loss to humanity as a whole.”

Charity was nothing if not vigilant against the non-human factions, but Mercy understood why. The Akura clan were not the only Monarch faction on this continent; they shared it with Seshethkunaaz, King of Dragons. His territory was a lawless jungle where the weak were food, and only strength reigned.

Not somewhere where human civilization could flourish.

“You only need three!” Mercy said brightly. “Between the Blackflame Empire and the Seishen Kingdom, there must be three that won't embarrass us. And who will care about the vassal states, anyway? There are plenty of extraordinary talents in my generation of the family.”

“There was one extraordinary talent in your generation,” Charity said.

Mercy coughed and shifted her eyes.

“Your mother won't say so, but she regrets letting you go. When she did, she thought we had plenty of time and that a journey on your own would be good for you. We no longer have such luxury, but she cannot revoke her given word.”

Charity was none-too-subtly trying to guilt Mercy into embracing her destiny and returning, and it was working. At least a little. It hurt to think that she had pushed her responsibility on others.

“How's my brother?” Mercy asked.

“He feels that his sister abandoned him,” Charity said, the owl on her shoulder giving a whistle. “He is in pain, and he has let that pain drive him to try and fill your shoes. In doing so, he has worked tirelessly, and has finally reached Underlord.”