Not that it mattered for her. The swords he held in his hand would bury her well enough.

He turned his helmet toward her, adjusting his grips on his weapons, and the bottom fell out of Yerin’s stomach. This was it. She always figured she would meet her end in a hopeless fight.

Then Meira extended a finger and screamed, “Kiro!”

Yerin felt hope again.

Daji turned away, running the other direction, but she couldn’t relax. Daji was going after Lindon. Even if Lindon could hold his own against one Underlord, he wouldn’t stand up against two any better than she would.

She pulled harder on her spirit, though her madra was getting dangerously low, her channels aching and strained. A little more, and maybe she could hit the Underlady hard enough to matter. Her Blood Shadow sensed the same opportunity, and though it must be running dry just like Yerin, it pushed harder too.

Yerin’s knees buckled.

She fell, bracing herself against the floor with her hands. Her Endless Sword technique faded, and rather than pushing against a strong wind, Meira staggered forward.

Yerin’s vision doubled, and she was seeing two of her master’s sword lying on the ground, then four, then six.

She turned her sense inward.

Her lifeline was gone.

Instead of an unbroken line of green running down her spine, it was like a faint wisp of green gas. She had gone too far, and now she was out of time.

But the fight wasn’t over.

With the last dregs of her strength, she stumbled to her feet, raising her master’s sword. She couldn’t let Meira get away…

Meira wasn’t running. She had sensed Yerin’s condition and turned, scythe spinning up.

Yerin’s Blood Shadow snarled and rushed in, firing a blood-fueled Rippling Sword Striker technique, but Meira batted it aside. Yerin moved in, lifting her white sword, though it felt a thousand times heavier than normal.

Only minutes ago, she had thought she was ready to die, but now everything was different. Now, she was an inch away from Underlord.

She was too close to give up now.

Her Blood Shadow swept a sword at Meira, but the flaming blade of the scythe cut into its side. The spirit shrieked, stumbling back. Yerin prepared her own sword.

Then the aura swept down the hall as Lindon started to advance.

As soon as Yerin sensed it, she moved. Meira would be distracted. This was her chance.

Sure enough, the Underlady shifted, her attention moving to the other battle. To Kiro. She let down her guard for an instant.

Yerin tumbled forward, sliding her sword through the gap in the woman’s helmet as she passed.

She ended in a heap on the other side of the hallway, out of strength, as Meira screamed and clapped a hand to her eye. Yerin wanted to follow up with another attack, but this time something caught her attention: a shimmering silver display that she hadn’t seen before. It looked like a blacksmith’s shop, packed full of spears, axes, knives, and blades of every description.

Natural treasures of sword aura.

Using her master’s sword like a cane, Yerin pushed herself to her feet. She shoved her way over, inching forward one step at a time.

Life madra erupted from Meira. It formed a pillar connecting her to the ceiling, and then the top of that pillar bloomed. Spreading outward into leaves and branches.

Meira stood in the center of a towering tree of life madra, her scythe dangling from one hand. She hovered a few inches off the ground, more fragments of her armor plinking to the floor.

The ruin of her eye healed in an instant, flesh knitting itself together, and she wiped the blood away with her hand. She was the image of a furious Underlady, and without a word, she raised her hand.

Yerin scooted closer to her Blood Shadow, which was growling in defiance. She had only seconds left to live—she didn’t know how many, but it wouldn’t be long. She was almost out of madra and options.

But she stirred the last of her spirit and held on.

~~~

From a crouched position, Lindon triggered the emergency wind barrier in his Skysworn armor. Kiro staggered backwards, crossing over into the dream display, and then went limp. His mind was out of his control.

[I envy him,] Dross sighed. [Now, you should hurry. Dragon's breath would drill through that armor eventually, but it’s not like murdering him will help you beat the other two. You should advance.]

Dross' combat report had been harder to follow this time. It had involved more steps, and each one could have gone wrong in a dozen ways, but it had worked. Lindon had survived, and Kiro was trapped in a display.

The effort had left him strained and exhausted. His madra channels had been in better condition, his body trembled with effort, and his Remnant arm was a mangled, useless mess that bled white sparks of color into the air. But all of those problems could be solved.

Then he heard a wordless shout from down the hall.

A helmeted Seishen Daji sprinted at him, his armor dimly glowing gold at the joints, a sword in each hand.

Bloody swords.

At the sight of him, Lindon felt an instant of fear. Not for himself.

The second prince had been fighting Mercy.

The fear turned to anger, and he used his void key. The cannons were not the only weapons he'd prepared for today. He would see if the younger brother could stand up to the same punishment as the older.

Daji pointed his swords, and then Strings of Shadow grabbed him around the arms and shoulders, pulling him around the corner.

Lindon stared, blinking at nothing, for a frozen moment.

[Looks like she's fine,] Dross said. [Onward, to Underlord!]

Lindon reached into the void space, seizing the bundle of natural treasures he'd arranged for his advancement, spilling them out onto the ground. Hastily, he sat down, calming his spirit and reaching out.

The unity of aura came easily now. He felt connected to the displays around him, like deep pools out of reach, and the soulfire inside him trembled. He spent a moment breathing, cycling, steadying the connection.

From his soulspace, he pulled the Archstone, placing it on the ground in front of him. His Remnant arm dangled from his elbow, twitching occasionally, growing weaker by the second. He had to grab it with his left hand, placing the right palm on top of the Archstone.

The arm’s binding was unstable. He could use it maybe one more time, and the longer he waited, the less likely he would be to succeed.

The time had come.

“I follow my Path,” Lindon said, “so I won't be worthless anymore.”

For an instant, his perception expanded, so that he touched all the aura in the vault. Just for a moment.

The transformation began.

Soulfire flooded out of him, passing through his clothes and armor without harming them, consuming the natural treasures piled around him. The gray fire swelled until he blazed with it. Then it focused in on him.

Everywhere the soulfire passed, he was reborn. Remade. His madra channels were rebuilt even as they burned away, his bones strengthened and reinforced, impurities in his spirit cleansed. It wasn't painful; it felt like being scrubbed clean for the first time in his life.

He couldn't move his body well, but he could still control his spirit.

He triggered the hunger binding in his arm, then thanked the heavens when it worked.

The power in the Archstone churned like water swirling down an unplugged drain, funneling down into his arm. The limb flooded with power, far more than it could normally hold, but Lindon kept the binding going. Only an instant later, the stone cracked, shattering into pieces.