Her techniques would need refining now, with the introduction of blood madra. She supposed she wasn’t really on the Path of the Endless Sword anymore, which sent a pang of regret through her.

She tried to sense the Sword Icon, and she heard not a whisper.

But her madra felt…boundless.

Her channels were more real in her mind’s eye than ever, and she could feel them in her actual body. Her core sat below her stomach, and power filled every inch of her.

It wasn’t exactly like advancement; her madra hadn’t gone up a level in quality. It was more like all the restrictions of Overlord had been removed. Yerin didn’t understand it fully.

So she needed to test it.

Instead of using the Moonlight Bridge, she decided to run to Northstrider’s side.

It took her one leap.

The air tore as she passed through it, and she came to a stumbling halt next to him in a storm of wind.

“That one’s on my account,” she said. “Not used to my new legs.”

Sophara looked like she’d just seen her children murdered in front of her.

“We have a problem,” the Monarch said, and Yerin’s heart leaped into her throat. “The Uncrowned King tournament has a rule against advancing past Overlord. Archlords cannot compete. Neither can Heralds.”

Yerin’s stomach froze.

“But you have not advanced,” he went on. “We have no rule for this.”

“What does that mean?” Sophara demanded. “Let me fight her!”

Northstrider didn’t look to her. “You have no input here. We are about to either disqualify Yerin or declare her the winner.”

Yerin’s heart was getting whiplash. “Run that back for me.”

“There is no such thing as an Overlord Herald,” Northstrider said. His stony face quirked into a small smile. “Until now.”

She had never seen anything like a smile on him before.

It was unnerving.

He looked from one Monarch tower to the other, presumably tallying votes. “It seems we have a tie. As the arbiter of this contest, I should not break it.” He looked up. “Kiuran of the Hounds, we could use the judgment of the heavens in this matter.”

There came a halfhearted blue flash, and then an irritated-looking heavenly messenger appeared in the center of the arena. “Can you not settle something this simple on your own? Let them fight it out.”

Sophara’s tail lashed. “Yes. I have not shown everything I can do.”

Northstrider turned to her. “Let the will of Heaven be done. Sopharanatoth of the gold dragons, are you ready?”

Sophara’s shield drifted above her, and she snapped Quickriver into the form of a short, broad sword.

Yerin started cycling madra into her Flowing Sword, and she was shocked at how quickly and easily the madra flooded into her weapon. It glowed red-and-white almost immediately, blazing with power.

Northstrider shook his head. “Release your technique, Yerin.”

Suspicious, Yerin did so.

“Still your madra.”

Yerin wanted to protest, but she did as instructed. She hadn’t been forced to do this on any other rounds.

“If you start at the same time as she does,” Northstrider explained, “the fight will be too short.”

Yerin didn’t know what to say to that.

The Monarch stepped back. “Now…begin.”

Dragon’s breath shot toward Yerin in a wave, and she used the Moonlight Bridge to appear behind Sophara. She put madra into her Steelborn Iron body and swung.

With ghostwater speeding her reflexes, Sophara turned and caught Yerin’s blow on her own sword.

She went flying into the distant ceiling.

Yerin had already started her follow-up swing, so finding no opponent was a shock. A moment later, she shook herself out of it, using the Moonlight Bridge to follow.

As she fell, Sophara began to gather gold light into the image of a dragon over her head. Yerin felt dangerous power in that, so she sent a Rippling Sword at Sophara.

It crashed into Sophara’s Imperial Aegis and knocked the shield aside.

The second one cut Sophara in half.

Yerin found herself falling to the sand as Sophara turned to white light and dispersed.

Yerin blinked.

Northstrider reappeared before her. “A Herald’s spirit and body are one. You can use your power freely, and your own body can shift to spiritual or physical form. Like sacred instruments that can be stored in a soulspace.”

A black orb appeared on his shoulder, and her spirit shivered. She got the impression that it was scanning her.

“You will not be a true Herald until you advance to the peak of Archlord the traditional way, but you can think of yourself as being…more than any other Overlord.” He looked into the black orb as though checking something. “It’s fascinating. The Blood Sage will do anything to examine you. I would advise you not to let him.”

That was advice Yerin didn’t need.

But the fight wasn’t over. She gestured vaguely to the waiting room on the far side. “So they’re just going to let me beat on her two more times?”

“The Dragon King, as you can imagine, is less than satisfied by this turn of events. I have been hiding his anger from you.”

Yerin felt a wave of something pass from Northstrider, as though he tore down an invisible curtain, and then an overwhelming anger crashed like a wave around her. Anger…and helplessness.

“There is nothing he can do with the Abidan and six other Monarchs here.” Northstrider murmured. “Nothing to do with all his power, all his wealth.”

His smile was like the cracking of stone. “Poor little dragon.”

Tension held the atmosphere in stasis as enemies filled the air over the Sky’s Edge fortress.

Lindon had to withdraw his spiritual sense, as the pressure of so many hostile spirits was grating on him. His own nerves were bad enough.

[There’s no point in worrying,] Dross said. [How can worry help? Look at me! I’m not worried.]

Lindon didn’t respond.

Five seconds later, Dross continued. [It’s a strange human thing, worrying. There’s no point to it, like I said. What will happen if Yerin loses, anyway? I have so many scenarios. Some of them aren’t too bad!]

More than just dragons flew through the air. The sacred artists from the Dreadgod cults hovered above them too, ready to attack at news of Sophara’s victory.

Even Fury drifted over the fortress, hands tucked into his pockets. He didn’t look as lazy or as unconcerned as he had before, looking to each of the four Herald spirits around him as though he couldn’t wait to fight.

Four.

Lindon focused on his breathing, and he had to focus twice as hard when he saw a flickering violet star appear in front of Fury.

A messenger construct.

What did it say? Lindon asked Dross desperately, but Dross had already begun a dull response.

[Sophara’s won twice, and there’s a delay in the third fight.]

Lindon’s heart crashed.

[Maybe a delay is a good thing! Maybe she’s…advancing.]

A rousing cheer went up from every direction outside their forces. The enemy was spreading the news far and wide.

A few stray Striker techniques crashed here and there around the fortress, though the only ones likely to do any harm were annihilated by a casual flick of Fury’s hand.