The old man hesitated, but his men were bound and he was surrounded by Underlords.

Lindon put his hunger madra hand on the man’s head. From Lindon’s pocket, Little Blue channeled madra into him.

He drained power from the man, cycling the Heart of Twin Stars as he did so.

A rush of different energies flowed into Lindon, and he and Dross separated them together, processing them according to the Heart of Twin Stars. But unlike when Lindon had tested this on Remnants and dreadbeasts, this influx hit him like a runaway horse.

The priest convulsed and fell backwards, and Lindon let him go. It was taking all his mind and spirit to control the technique.

Soulfire and pure madra streamed into his spirit, blood essence suffused his body, and yellow-and-brown madra vented from his arm. The earth around him shook in response, but by far the most disturbing were the memories.

For a moment, Lindon’s point of view doubled. He was standing over the priest and he was lying on the ground, wondering what the young Underlord had done to him.

He wished his son was safe, dreamed that the treasures unearthed by the Dreadgod would be enough to take him to Overlord, and wondered when he could go home.

Then he realized he was in an unfamiliar body. It was taller, broader, younger, with pure madra flowing powerfully through it and the arm of a Remnant. Pure madra didn’t respond to any of his cycling techniques—

[Whoops, hang on. I was supposed to handle the memories, wasn’t I? I’ll filter them and give you what you need to know, that’s my fault.]

Suddenly Lindon remembered who he was again—but he struggled to control his own body. Someone else was moving his madra, trying to move it in a pattern that would never work for the Path of Twin Stars. It was as though he’d pulled the man’s Remnant into his body.

But now that he remembered himself, Lindon put an end to that immediately.

He crushed the remaining will with his own, flexing his fingers to prove to himself that he was back in his own body.

His team stared at him with various degrees of horror. Pride had lines of black and gray running down his body as he cycled two different Enforcer techniques at once. Naru Saeya snapped her fingers. “Lindon. What did you do?”

He waved a hand, only then realizing that he was covered in sweat. “Apologies for worrying you. I’m fine. We should leave before they find us.”

The Overlord was no doubt on his way, so they all loaded themselves up onto the small Akura cloudship and drifted away.

But the rest of the team didn’t stop looking at him strangely.

His team would have preferred that he kill the man rather than drain him, but Lindon needed them to understand his Consume technique if they were to help him. They had all seen him absorb Striker or Forger techniques, but it had to be disturbing to witness him siphon power from another living sacred artist.

They had to wonder if it would happen to them.

He had hoped they would let it go, but they still demanded explanations once they were all aboard the cloudship, so he explained: “I can steal power. It’s not a complete technique, though. It still needs work.”

Naru Saeya made a fist as though she wanted to grab his neck with it. “And that works? You can just…take someone’s advancement?”

“It’s more complicated than that, but…” He was too excited to downplay his achievement. “It works! I gained weeks worth of advancement in my pure core just from what I did back there. It can replace cycling and then some. I gained a little soulfire too, and my body’s stronger, although—”

Saeya cut him off with wind madra across the mouth. “Teach me,” she demanded.

“Ah. Well…apologies, but I have pure madra.”

“I could still use it on wind artists.”

“The hunger binding is part of me now.”

“I’ll give up an arm.”

Dross projected into all of their minds. [That’s a wonderful idea! Now, the way we have it worked out, you need a soul Enforcer technique to sort the madra, an advanced Sylvan Riverseed to purify it, and a mind spirit without peer to sort the residual memories. Oh, and your body needs to be sturdy enough to handle an influx of blood essence without tearing itself apart. But I fully encourage you to try! Maybe you’d survive!]

Saeya gave Lindon a look, which he didn’t think was fair. It was Dross that had spoken.

“I understand, thank you. You don’t have to take that tone.”

[What tone?] Dross asked, baffled. [It’s a splendid idea! I, for one, am delighted that you would risk your body for research.]

“It can’t be that unique,” Pride said. “You should give your notes to the clan Soulsmiths. We have plenty of dreadbeast bindings; this might be the development that gives us an edge over our enemies.”

“Of course!” Lindon said brightly. “I’ll trade you for the complete blueprint of your Book.”

Pride glared at him.

The Maten twins were quiet, only exchanging a glance, and Grace appeared to be working something out in her head.

Akura Douji and Courage muttered to one another in the back. They were trying to speak too low for him to hear, but he caught enough to figure it out.

They thought he would come for them next.

Lindon watched until they noticed his eyes on them, looking up. Then he bowed over pressed fists.

They looked at his right hand and shivered.

That night, Lindon spread Daji’s armor pieces out over a table. He’d built the table, and the entire hut surrounding it, himself.

He didn’t want to stay inside the Seishen Kingdom’s encampment, but he didn’t particularly want to stay with the Akura clan either, so he’d used timber from the many flattened homes in Sky’s Edge to build himself a shelter.

He’d included six redundant layers of scripted protection against dreadbeasts, and through sheer luck he’d positioned the hut to the south while Abyssal Palace had appeared from the north, so he wasn’t close to the enemy.

His hut was basically a giant box made of logs, but at least it was as secure as he could make it.

Fisher Gesha would be proud of him. She’d always said that if a foundry looked more like a palace than a barn, the Soulsmith was showing off.

He moved his perception over the armor and sketched a diagram…but his spiritual sense had been stopped for five minutes. As had his pen.

His Remnant hand was trembling.

Dross peered at it through one purple eye. [Hmmm…I’m keeping the memories locked up tight. None of them could be doing this, because I wouldn’t let them.]

“His oldest son was born during a thunderstorm,” Lindon said.

[Well, they’re all locked away except for the ones that aren’t, obviously. Once I have them sorted out, I’ll slip you the ones that have to do with the sacred arts. But it’s not the memories messing with your arm, it’s some sort of animating force. It feels like your arm is coming to life.]

Lindon suppressed it. “Can we stop it?”

[Ah, but hear me out: what if we evolved it to the next level? We brought me to life, and look how helpful I am! Imagine how much less lonely I’d be if there was someone else in here!]

Consuming part of the Abyssal priest’s sacred arts had been incredible for Lindon’s advancement, but he was discovering the cost of pushing himself to the brink.