Next to him was Calan Archer, a muscular man whose sleeves were cut short to show the scripted rings around his biceps, which crackled with blue-and-gold lightning. He was a sandy-haired man with a square jaw and a scar across one eye, and he gave off a serious air. He represented the Stormcallers, the cult of the Weeping Dragon.

Finally, there was Yan Shoumei of Redmoon Hall. The girl still stood like a specter in her red robes, black hair falling over her face in a veil.

[Don’t you think it’s funny that the Dreadgod cults managed to get three spots?] Dross noted. [They’ve never even competed before! Was it Reigan Shen who made them that much better?]

Lindon wondered about that often. Had the Dreadgod followers always been so strong, or had Reigan Shen’s support given them wings?

These three of Reigan Shen’s representatives had performed well throughout the tournament, and until the last round, Lindon would have said that Yan Shoumei was the weakest of them.

Lindon wouldn’t have been certain of his odds against either of the men, but Dross had suggested that he would win three out of four matches. He should have been able to beat Shoumei every time…except for her new, enhanced Blood Shadow. Now even Dross couldn’t tell.

Were the other two hiding their strength as well, just like Yan Shoumei?

That was enough to worry about on its own, but they still had an ally. Drifting alone in front of the dragon tower, Sophara wore gold and jewels and loose cloth that left her midriff bare. Lindon thought she looked more and more human every time he saw her.

She tilted her chin up as she stood on her Thousand-Mile Cloud, surveying the audience as though she stood above all Lords.

[Is it still arrogance if you can back it up?] Dross wondered.

Across from her, she faced another team of three side-by-side.

Mercy was dressed in her finest Akura uniform again, though she didn’t carry Suu. No one carried any visible weapons during the ceremony. Eithan’s fancy dress was back, and his robes were bright ocean shades that didn’t seem to represent Arelius, Akura, or the Blackflame Empire.

Lindon wondered what that meant. Knowing Eithan, it could have been a subtle coded message. Or it could have been that Eithan felt like wearing blue and green.

Yerin wore her standard black uniform, her dark hair flowing behind her in a gentle breeze. She didn’t wear her master’s sword, but her six silver sword-arms stretched out.

Her eyes stayed on her enemies.

Lindon felt another stab of regret. There they were, the three of them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. He should be up there with them.

And as soon as this ceremony ended, they would leave. Taken away by Sages to train.

Leaving him alone.

Off to the side, Ziel stood in front of Northstrider’s audience, slouched as though he would fall over without something to prop him up.

Eight people fighting for Penance, the heavenly weapon. Four who would support sending the Dreadgods home, and four who would oppose it.

What could Lindon do to influence the outcome?

[I don’t want to say there’s nothing you can do,] Dross said. [I really don’t. I’m focusing so hard on not saying that.]

The Ninecloud Soul introduced each candidate one by one, and only when she finished did she start the ceremony proper: the addition of the Broken Crowns.

“The Broken Crown,” the Soul explained, “has been the symbol of the Uncrowned King tournament from the beginning. This Divine Treasure, implanted in the souls of these eight young warriors, will immortalize them and symbolize their strength. It will let others recognize them as agents of their Monarch. It will serve as eternal proof of the glory they have earned on this battlefield.”

There were wild cheers around the audience as the Ninecloud Soul continued, and the first rainbow cloud drifted to the center of the arena. It was the first to have earned her position among the Uncrowned: Yerin.

Lindon had done his research, and the Broken Crown conferred no additional power. The constructs were colored based on the madra of the representative’s Monarch, and they couldn’t be faked. Or removed, except from a Remnant.

They were essentially a signature unique to the Uncrowned.

As Yerin closed her eyes and nine-colored light swirled around her, black madra Forged itself over her. The actual Divine Treasure was inside her spirit, but it projected a dark crown—larger than her head—with a crack running down the center.

Black represented Akura Malice’s shadow madra, so Eithan’s and Mercy’s would look the same. As Northstrider’s representative, Ziel would receive a Broken Crown the red of blood madra, Sophara’s would be gold, and the three Dreadgod cultists would each have the white of Reigan Shen.

[You know, it’s a shame no Silent Servant made the top eight. Juvari would have had two white haloes. I wonder what that would have looked like.]

The ceremony continued in order, with the Ninecloud Soul reintroducing and celebrating Eithan’s accomplishments—though Lindon noticed she skated over the name of his fourth-round opponent.

While the ceremony went on, Lindon stewed in worry.

If you averaged both sides, four against four, then the two teams were roughly equal.

But the enemy had Sophara, who seemed unbeatable in a duel, while Yan Shoumei’s monstrous Blood Shadow was too much of a mystery.

It pained him not to be able to help. He wanted to do something, but the only thing he could think of was his old standby: pushing for advancement.

At least he had a good idea of what it took to reach Overlord.

He and Dross had worked steadily to analyze many accounts of Overlords regarding advancement, as well as testimony from Mercy and Eithan, among others. There was another revelation required, just as there had been for Underlord, but Lindon would cross that bridge later.

For now, he only had to accumulate power.

Underlords could only advance when they had condensed their soulfire, filled themselves with it, and pushed their madra to the peak of power that their souls could contain. That meant steadily refining and training themselves, usually for years.

One had to be at the peak of Underlord to trigger the advancement to Overlord, at least if you ever wanted to advance again, and peak Underlords were almost always older. That was one reason the age limit for the Uncrowned King tournament had been set to thirty-five.

Which had made Lindon wonder more than once how incredible Ziel had to have been, to reach Archlord at such a young age.

Among these Uncrowned, there was only one even close to the limit of the Underlord stage: Sophara.

And maybe Eithan.

[It’s still hard to read that guy. Do you think he revealed some secrets to us as a way of hiding more secrets?]

Lindon didn’t think so, but he couldn’t prove it.

In order to reach the height of Underlord himself, Lindon needed resources. Over the next month, while Yerin was gone, he wanted to focus entirely on advancement.

And he had one idea that wouldn’t leave him alone.

[Northstrider’s hunger techniques! Sure, that might get you to advance in a month. But I don’t know how to use them. Did you figure them out while I wasn’t looking?]

Of course he hadn’t, but he was becoming convinced that together they could. If he could drain all the power from others, then all he would need to advance was an endless supply of enemies.

Like, for instance, the enemies that might be found on a Dreadgod battlefield.