When her left hand was burned by Flowing Flame madra, she didn’t feel it. She took out Sophara’s eye.

Quickriver gave her a shallow cut across the ribs, but she scored a deeper one.

They traded slashes and Striker techniques, swinging faster and stronger than Yerin had ever imagined back when she was only Underlord. She relied on the Moonlight Bridge to dodge when she needed to, but she often didn’t, moving as little as possible.

Ruby had recovered and was preparing a technique of her own.

Yerin had Sophara on the verge of defeat.

Then Yerin’s consciousness fuzzed.

The state of perfect concentration fled, and pain came screaming into its place.

Yerin hadn’t realized how much she’d been sliced to ribbons. She looked bloodier than Ruby ever had.

While Yerin was still shocked, Sophara’s Archlord weapon ignited.

When Yerin’s head came off, the last thing she saw was that same smug look on Sophara’s face.

25

“You’re chipped in the head if you think I should keep leaning on a technique I can’t control,” Yerin insisted.

The Winter Sage gripped her hands together, taking deep breaths. “It is not a technique. It is a connection to greater power, and a state of mind. Most Sages do not have this…long intermediary period, you know. They gradually touch their Icon, but they manifest it quickly.”

“Most Overladies cannot consistently tap into an Icon either,” Charity pointed out. “Even those who become Sages. What you’ve done is extraordinary, Yerin, but it is incomplete. You need to either discard it or push it to completion, right now.”

“Oh, that’s stone simple then. I’ll just finish it up.”

“I know that is not a fair request of someone below Archlord,” Min Shuei said. “But it is your best chance of victory.”

Yerin felt like the walls were closing in. Half an hour had never felt so short.

She had given Sophara everything she had, and it still hadn’t been enough. The worst of it was, Sophara hadn’t given it everything. The Dragon King’s Totem, her prize from the last round, still hadn’t made an appearance.

So, reluctantly, Yerin dropped to a cycling position and stretched her master’s sword across her lap.

She searched for the Sword Icon, but it was hard when she heard her own voice coming from Ruby’s mouth.

“I’d contend I should give it a try too,” the Blood Shadow said. “Can’t bleed worse than we did already.”

The Winter Sage huffed. “There’s no point. Just cycle.”

“Your madra is not a reflection of the Sword Icon,” Charity explained, though she had taught this concept many times before. “You are hunger and blood as well as swords. Besides, spirits cannot touch Icons, only living humans can. It’s hard enough for Heralds, who are only half spirits.”

Yerin sensed frustration in Ruby’s silence.

“Your job is to sacrifice yourself to buy time,” the Winter Sage said.

Then Yerin shut them all out.

Memories of her own movements, the feel of the Sword Icon, and the Winter Sage’s training wove in her mind with the image of her master moving. The sword codex, given to her by Emriss, flowed through her.

She let go of her fear, her anxiety, her attachment to victory.

Yerin left it all behind and pursued the heart of a Sage.

When she walked out again for the second fight, her every footstep was to the rhythm of sword authority. The aura sang as it whispered around her, and rang in a constant chorus. Everything was within reach of her sword.

Rather than hearing Northstrider’s announcement to start the fight, she felt it.

Ruby winked out of existence and appeared in front of Sophara, their battle crashing over the landscape, and Yerin could feel where it was going.

She stepped in easily, cutting Sophara across the elbow.

It was supposed to sever her arm, but the dragon’s arm stayed where it was. Blood sprayed. The unexpected couldn’t sway Yerin; she was deep in the music, and she could sense her next move.

She knocked aside Sophara’s tail and her blade, with soulfire empowering her Flowing Sword. The tip of the tail flew off.

Ruby’s Endless Sword opened cuts all over Sophara’s body.

Quickriver pierced Ruby’s chest.

Yerin drove her own sword through the dragon’s back, but the dragon tore Ruby to bloody pieces as she did.

Then spiritual and physical power clamped down on Yerin’s blade, locking it inside Sophara’s body.

The Sword Icon told her to run power through her sword and pull it free, so she tried, but she was too weak. It took her an instant too long, and Sophara was too strong. Yerin missed the beat of the music by a hair.

Burning madra the color of a sunset swallowed her body whole.

Charity was pacing up and down the waiting room when Yerin returned. “Forget the Sword Icon,” she insisted. “It’s doing nothing but making us more vulnerable. Until you can manifest it fully, it’s giving you the wrong advice.”

“That was so close!” Min Shuei insisted. She was arguing with Charity, not with Yerin. As though Yerin’s opinion didn’t matter.

“If my memory’s true, it took even less time for her to bury me the second time,” Yerin said.

“But you almost killed her. Sword artists evolve through combat; this is your time!”

The Winter Sage’s voice was earnest, her expression sincere.

Ruby hunched over in the corner, silent.

She carried the Heart’s Gem from the Blood Sage around, cycling its blood aura. It couldn’t improve her much in this short time, but every little bit could help.

Her despair weighed down Yerin’s own spirit.

They were going to lose.

Whatever Malice’s plans were to save Fury, would they extend to Lindon and Eithan? Would they even extend to Mercy?

And what would happen if Penance was used on Malice instantly?

Everything had come down to Yerin, and Yerin was about to break.

“Could you leave us to talk?” Yerin asked.

The Sages turned to her in astonishment.

“There’s no time!” the Winter Sage insisted. “We can guide you through this.”

“Please,” Yerin said. She knew that Min Shuei would listen if there were tears in her eyes, so she tried to bring them up. It was easier than she’d thought.

“Please,” she repeated.

“We’ll be back in five minutes,” Charity said.

But they both left.

Ruby was looking toward her, her red hair and eyes bright in the dark, and Yerin wondered if she knew what was going through Yerin’s head.

If she did, she should have looked happier.

Yerin stilled the trembling in her own hands. She pushed years of nightmares to the back of her head.

“If you swallow my spirit and take my body,” Yerin said, “can you win?”

Ruby watched her quietly for a moment.

“You thinking Northstrider can split us up again after?”

Yerin held on to that hope, but it still wasn’t a risk she wanted to take. What if he couldn’t? What if he could, but he didn’t? Even if he could, what could Ruby do while she had control of Yerin’s body?