But the Blood Sage had lost his name entirely. She wondered if he had forgotten it himself.

When a slow red rivulet ran down the edge of his thumb, Red Faith hurled a glob of blood madra at her.

The Striker technique took on the aspect of a bird, shrieking and diving at her, imbued with the will of the Bleeding Phoenix.

Her white sword split it in two.

The halves began to re-form, gathering into two smaller birds that would continue to attack, but they froze into half-shaped lumps and shattered, fuzzing away to essence.

The righteous anger she’d felt at being attacked faded as the attack did, turning to amusement. She gave him a contemptuous smile. “You almost stained the carpet.”

He returned to chewing on his thumb, but this time he was more agitated.

And while she could never know what was going through his head, this time she was prepared when his hand made a claw. All the blood aura in the room clenched, and a pain shot through her body.

Ready or not, she had little time to defend herself. He was still among the oldest of the Sages.

“Break,” he commanded, adding authority to his Ruler technique.

But she spoke at the same time. “Stop!”

Pressure came from inside and outside her body as his technique tried to crumple her into a ball. Meanwhile, he was frozen in place. A droplet of blood from his thumb hung suspended in the air.

He struggled as she did, each pushing against the other in a silent struggle. The air trembled between them.

Even vital aura was frozen by her will, so his Ruler technique couldn’t progress any further, but she still had to pit her will against his command. Otherwise reality itself would break her.

At the same time, he was having his own struggle. His whole body, including his heart and lungs, had been stopped at her word.

This wouldn’t finish either of them. They would break out of this stalemate, complete their next techniques, and then—

Their authority was overwhelmed in an instant, and they were both released.

Min Shuei glared at the Blood Sage, furious that he would attack her, but she sheathed her sword. There would be no further combat.

Red Faith evidently didn’t agree, because he threw himself at her like a wolf, an Enforcer technique already blazing on his hand and drowning the room in red light.

She spat on his forehead.

Her spittle landed, but his technique didn’t. He was locked in place by the same working she had used earlier, only this time it was backed up by greater authority than hers and greater command over blood aura than his.

Northstrider’s door slid open and he walked out, a huge muscular man in mismatched rags. Golden eyes glared at the Blood Sage. “You know better than this.”

Red Faith’s technique died out, and so did Northstrider’s restriction. The pale man fell, but he landed easily on all fours.

“People think Sages can’t be defeated by sudden attacks,” the Sage of Red Faith said quietly, “but of course they can. Was it likely? No. But no one wins a bet without taking a chance. Perhaps the Winter Sage thought she was safe in your waiting room. Perhaps she was simply slow today. If I had been successful, you would have had no other option but to allow me to tutor Yerin Arelius.”

Min Shuei had heard him speak before, but it was always a shock to hear him say anything other than guttural snarling. She wasn’t sure if he was as intelligent as he sounded, or if he was only imitating his former self.

“There was your reprisal to consider, but you cannot afford to throw away a Sage before the Uncrowned are trained, you would face consequences yourself from my Herald, and I now have the backing of a Monarch whom even you cannot offend. Especially when he may win a heavenly weapon of execution. So I was safe.”

Northstrider waited for the entire monologue to come to an end without any expression on his unshaven face.

The Blood Sage ended with, “I have the right to train Yerin Arelius. She has cultivated her Blood Shadow with a technique I created myself. She is, in a sense, my disciple.”

Min Shuei could take it no longer. “She is the Sword Sage’s disciple, so a sword Sage should train her!”

Technically there were three Sages of their generation who had manifested the Sword Icon: the Sage of the Endless Sword, the Sage of Fallen Blades, and herself. Among them, the only one that used the title of the Sword Sage was Adama, the Endless Sword, though it could apply to any of the three.

“You have your own competitor in the Uncrowned, with her own Blood Shadow,” Northstrider said to Red Faith.

“Yan Shoumei needs no more of my guidance. She walks a different road than I, and I have taught her all she needs to know.” He took one step closer to Northstrider, hopping from one foot to the other like a bird.

“Yerin Arelius has laid the foundation for something extraordinary. This could be a breakthrough, not just in our understanding of the Phoenix and Blood Shadow advancement, but in how we all reach Monarch. We have an opportunity here to revolutionize the sacred arts, and I know you are not the sort of fool to let politics blind you to that chance.”

Northstrider nodded once.

Then he punched the Blood Sage.

His fist struck the man in the chest, and the air ignited with the force. The room exploded, the walls cracking, the window shattering and the chairs blasting to splinters. The building shook, and Min Shuei’s ears rang. She had flown through quieter thunderstorms.

The Blood Sage was launched through the empty window in a blur, fading to a speck in the distance.

Northstrider had literally punched him out of the city.

Delighted, Min Shuei laughed and applauded. “That was even more satisfying than I imagined.”

“He thinks only in terms of life and death. He knew I would not kill him, so he thought he was safe. Fool.”

Northstrider gestured, and order reasserted itself. Shards of glass in the window flew back together, the damaged floor and ceiling repaired with visible speed, and the splintered chairs rebuilt themselves.

“I have consulted with the Akura family,” Northstrider said, standing in the center of the whirlpool of debris. “They have given their consent. You are to train Yerin Arelius.”

Min Shuei bowed at the waist. “Thank you, Monarch.”

The ceremony introducing the Uncrowned was held in the arena as usual, but it had a very different atmosphere than normal. It reminded Lindon of Sacred Valley’s Seven-Year Festival, or of the celebrations that filled Ninecloud City while the tournament was in progress.

The eight towers that held the audiences of the various Monarch factions remained in place, but the arena floor had been replaced with a pool of shimmering light that slowly shifted from one set of colors to another.

Eight Underlords hovered on rainbow Thousand-Mile Clouds above that surface. The chosen Uncrowned each drifted in front of their faction’s tower, which made for a lopsided distribution.

Two men and a woman drifted in front of Reigan Shen’s tower: his three fighters.

Each layer of the Shen faction’s audience tower was decorated for a different Dreadgod, and of the four, only the Silent King had no representative remaining.

Brother Aekin of Abyssal Palace wore a dark stone mask, roughly carved with thin slits for eyes and a suggestion of a snarling mouth. He was unremarkable otherwise, wearing hooded sacred artist’s robes of the same slate gray.