But if Reigan Shen bought him off and Yerin or Mercy won, Eithan would profit twice.

And if they didn’t…well, it was possible that Eithan would have lost anyway, and at least he had a luxurious consolation prize.

“Why would I break up the world’s greatest collection?” Eithan asked, with exaggerated horror. “No, I prefer my weapons made to order. Give me the Soulforge.”

He held a flower up to his nose and inhaled while the Monarch’s jaw worked. “…you’re not even in the top four.”

“Oh, would you prefer to have this conversation after I’ve knocked out one of your fighters?”

Even Eithan didn’t know the distribution of the next round, but given that it was reached by the agreement of the Monarchs, he could guess. Eithan wouldn’t be fighting any allies. Which meant a three out of four chance he was matched against one of Shen’s team.

Unless it was Yan Shoumei and she managed to defeat him, his position would only be stronger after this round ended. They both knew it.

There came a growl from deep in Shen’s chest that rumbled out and shook the table. Shen was perhaps the only Monarch who could make a replacement for the Soulforge, which was the only reason he was considering Eithan’s request at all.

Eithan respected that Shen didn’t try anything foolish, like pretending the artifact was irreplaceable. Any false position he took would only make Eithan more determined.

“This is the last concession I will make,” Shen warned.

“You agree to this and my other conditions, and I will swear on my soul to throw the next match,” Eithan promised. “Except…there is one final thing I do require.”

“Speak, but I will bend no further.”

“Clothes,” Eithan said. “I need new clothes.”

Information requested: Tiberian Arelius, the Storm King, Patriarch of House Arelius and the fallen ruler over half of the Rosegold continent.

Beginning report…

Path: Raging Sky. Most “storm” Paths are really only lightning Paths, but the Path of the Raging Sky harvests water, wind, and lightning aura in balance with one another. As an interesting side effect, practitioners can adjust their madra to bring one aspect or another to the forefront, so that it can often feel like facing three different Paths—one of water, one of wind, and one of lightning—rather than a single, unified set of techniques.

When Tiberian Arelius was young, he was often called a “perfect sacred artist.”

Not only did he have unsurpassed talent in the sacred arts, mastering each technique with grace and skill, but he never stopped working. He was honest and straightforward to a fault, keeping his power under control, showing perfect deference to his superiors and gracious mercy to those beneath him.

The previous Arelius Monarch was only a distant relative of his, but she ascended with peace in her heart when she realized she could leave their House in Tiberian’s hands.

He brought House Arelius to a new era of prosperity, maintaining a tense balance of peace with their rival and neighbor, House Shen.

Until his youngest advisor, a prodigy of their House, came forward to propose something more than an alliance. This advisor had violated family tradition and protocol to raid the tomb of their founding Patriarch, the original Arelius.

From this tomb, he brought relics of an unknown nature.

[WARNING: information incomplete. Continuing report.]

With these relics, the advisor was able to convince Tiberian to embark on an ambitious project: the elimination of the Dreadgods. The same task that resulted in the Dread War and the death of the previous generation of Monarchs.

As a first step, Tiberian approached his neighbor, Reigan Shen and proposed an alliance.

Shen responded with violence.

True battles between Monarchs are rare, and this one destroyed much of the Rosegold continent. In the end, even the Weeping Dragon was drawn in, and Tiberian was struck down.

Leaving House Arelius leaderless and in ashes.

Suggested topic: the fate of House Arelius.

ERROR: topic unavailable. Report complete.

In a snowy village protected by the Frozen Blade School, Yerin did battle with a demon.

The spirit was originally the Remnant of a man on a Path that combined sword, blood, and destruction madra. He had caused such havoc a hundred years ago that his Remnant had been sealed. Originally, it was as a sort of posthumous punishment.

But, as the Winter Sage had told her, it had become something else over time. The family in charge of the Remnant had fed the Remnant—which was originally Truegold—scales and spirits, and equipped it with a pair of long, sickle-like curved swords.

Now, it exhibited a power not unlike an Underlord, and they had used it to threaten their business rivals for several years. Under the protection of this creature, dubbed the Demon of Twin Blades, their business had prospered.

The Frozen Blade School hadn’t intervened as the spirit hadn’t harmed any innocents or even killed very many people. Until recently.

Yerin stood on the edge of a flat rooftop, which had been mostly ravaged under the impact of the Demon’s madra. Moonlight gleamed down over its long, silvery scripted blades, each of which contained cold power that weighed on her senses.

The Demon itself resembled a gorilla, painted in a complex color like a deep blue mixed with ashes. Its eyes blazed yellow and hot from within a head like an inhuman skull, and its knuckles scraped the ground. It was as dense as any other Remnant she’d ever seen, so that if she’d been forced to rely only on her bare eyes, she might not have known it was a Remnant at all.

It threw its head back and howled, and the world around it drained of color as it called all the aura from nearby to obey its Ruler technique. Sharp, jagged blades—like obsidian knives—began to Forge themselves into the air around her, and the two techniques pressed in on Yerin from every direction.

Yerin wasn’t really paying attention.

Her spirit screamed danger, and she listened to that instead, pushing her perception deeper. She had fought part of this fight with her eyes closed, trying to hear the elusive tune that had guided her in her fight against Altavian Arelius.

The Winter Sage insisted that she could chase it down through combat, and Yerin was trying, but it was like trying her hardest to remember something she’d forgotten.

She needed to be calm. To stop trying so hard and let it come to her.

When blades of aura and madra surrounded her, pressing in on her as though she were wrapped in razors, the sense of danger grew too much to endure.

And then she felt it.

A spark of madra passed from her hand down to her sheathed sword, and her blade rang like a bell.

The Demon of Twin Blades lost its hands at the wrists. When its swords hit the roof, it looked down as though trying to process what was happening. Its techniques destabilized, and then she lazily swung her blade through the air without looking.

A Rippling Sword slashed like a crescent through the night. A flat shield of madra appeared in front of the demon and it leaped backwards, but Yerin’s Striker technique had felt more…right…than her techniques usually did.