So he decided to respond out loud. Northstrider already knew about Dross, so overt secrecy was unnecessary. “How would Yerin do against him?”

[You know, they have very similar powers, I don’t know if you noticed. It would be close, but Yerin would win. Unless she showed the extra spike of power she showed at the end of your fight, and then it would be easy.]

Yerin frowned. “I’d beat him without it, though.”

[Oh yes, of course.]

“Then I don’t need it, true?”

[I can’t speak to that. I can’t comprehend the nature of Sage powers yet, but I doubt you would have beaten Lindon without them. You remember, when you tapped into that power to kill Lindon. I mean beat him.]

She mulled over that.

They hadn’t talked about Yerin’s burgeoning Sage senses since their match. Yerin stewed in silence for a while, and he couldn’t tell if she was upset or just trying to recall the sensation.

“I don’t even know much about Sages yet,” Mercy said. “You’re supposed to focus on traditional advancement until Archlord. But they say Lords can do miraculous things when under stress. Sages are the ones who learn to control those miracles.”

Lindon had done some research of his own into that topic. There were plenty of works in the Ninecloud records speculating about a Sage’s power, but all the ones written or recorded by Sages themselves did not discuss the nature of their abilities.

The dream tablets that depicted Sages using these “miraculous abilities” were beyond his ability to read. That, or they recorded only gaps where that power should go, as had been the case in his stolen memory of Northstrider.

But he was certain he and Dross would figure it out, given time.

Yerin grunted, but she didn’t say anything.

Down in the arena, the match was almost over. Yan Shoumei had thrown out Ruler techniques to get Blacksword to come down, had stretched her Blood Shadow as far as it would apparently go, and had tried hitting him with Striker techniques.

Every time, he had thoroughly crushed her with a barrage of his own power, but he was clearly running low on madra. After using so many techniques in a row, Lindon would still have madra left, but his channels would be strained to their limits.

How would I do against him? Lindon silently asked Dross.

[That, ah, depends on a few factors,] Dross responded, and Lindon hoped the spirit was keeping their conversation quiet. [He’s very strong, and he has a more effective range than you, so you would have to take it in close. But, if he doesn’t have any more tricks hidden, you would certainly win.]

Dross’ presence swelled in Lindon’s spirit, and Lindon got the impression that the spirit’s chest was puffed out in pride. [You have me.]

Which was a relief, but it also chafed a bit.

Dross was implying that, without him, Lindon couldn’t beat Blacksword in a straight-up fight. At least, not for certain.

Then again, what was wrong with that? At this point, the man from Redmoon Hall was virtually guaranteed a spot among the Uncrowned. There was no shame in being slightly worse in combat than one of the eight most combat-capable Underlords of their generation.

Or so Lindon repeated to himself over and over again.

Blacksword’s strain showed on his face and in his spirit. He had gathered all his madra for a final volley, and this really would be his last. After this, Lindon doubted the man’s soul would be in good enough shape for a simple Enforcer technique.

Yan Shoumei looked worse. She nursed grievous wounds all over her body, though it was difficult to see most of them beneath the Blood Shadow she wore as a cloak. Her face was bruised and bloody, one eye swollen shut, and she stared up at Blacksword as though at her executioner.

He raised his sword.

She screamed.

Lindon heard it in his spirit as well as his ears. He flinched, and so did almost everyone in the crowd. Somehow, her scream sounded like a chorus of Remnants, and it drowned out the entire audience.

Misty red madra filled the arena.

And the projection of the match disappeared.

Lindon, Yerin, and Mercy all sat up at once. As far as Lindon understood the constructs involved, this couldn’t happen. The recording and projection constructs were made of Archlord madra and were almost undetectable, not to mention resilient.

But that was nothing to his astonishment when he felt the Akura tower tremble beneath him.

Not just the tower.

The entire arena.

“Northstrider, you think?” Yerin asked softly.

The arena was supposed to be able to handle a contest between Heralds, much less Underlords. One of the Monarchs must have gotten upset about their view being interrupted.

Only two or three seconds after the projection ended, the view returned. The red haze over the battlefield began to thin.

Yan Shoumei stood there, wounded and panting, her red robes exposed but her Blood Shadow no longer visible.

It was eating Blacksword.

Little Blue squeaked and covered her eyes.

The Shadow had swollen into a monstrous form, fifteen feet tall and built like a cross between a heavily muscled man and a bear. Its fingers were unnaturally long, with sharp claws on the end, and it had the ears of a rabbit and the maw of a wolf. It was covered in the suggestion of fur, but spines rose in a row from along its back.

Every inch of it was blood-red.

It dug into Blacksword’s chest with its muzzle, feasting. In the center of a bowl-shaped crater that covered two-thirds of the arena floor.

They had only a second to take in the sight before Blacksword and his gear faded to white light. The monstrous Blood Shadow roared at having its meal interrupted.

“Victory,” the Ninecloud Soul announced, “to Yan Shoumei of Redmoon Hall, chosen of Reigan Shen.”

The audience didn’t cheer. Lindon caught mostly confused murmurs.

[Do you want to know how you stack up against that?] Dross asked.

Lindon did, actually.

Later, he said.

He was about to go comb the records for any information he might have missed on Yan Shoumei.

Seven matches into the fourth round, and seven of the Uncrowned had been selected.

Among those selected so far, only three Monarchs were represented: Ziel for Northstrider, three from the Dreadgod cults for Reigan Shen, and three for Akura Malice.

So four on their side, who would avoid releasing the Dreadgods on the Blackflame Empire if they won. Four allies, and three enemies.

But really it was four against four.

There was one match left, but there was no suspense in it. Yerin, Mercy, and Lindon had gathered to watch, and Lindon had a moment to wonder where Eithan was. He hadn’t seen the man at any of the matches, and had barely seen Eithan at all this week.

Then again, there was no need for him to stay in the stands. He could watch from anywhere.

The Ninecloud Soul announced the names of the fighters as they strode out to see each other, though there was no surprise at the matchup since only two competitors remained.

“Kenvata Nasuma Juvari of the Silent Servants, chosen of Reigan Shen, you face Sopharanatoth of the gold dragons, chosen of the Dragon King!”

Kenvata—or Juvari, Lindon wasn’t sure which was her family name and which her personal one—was a short woman in a plain white robe. A shawl covered her head, and between that and the cloth wrapping her mouth, the only visible parts of her were her dark eyes.