It was that interference that had almost made him discard the idea of the armor entirely, but after a number of experiments, Lindon had finally had an epiphany.

He’d been thinking about the suit of armor all wrong. Like it was a system that unified many constructs with different functions.

That was a dead end. There was a reason why not every sacred artist fought with fifteen constructs at all times, beyond the obvious difficulty and expense. A weapon with the full force of the spirit behind it was always more powerful than one operating independently or with just a trickle of madra.

Lindon’s armor wasn’t a collection of weapons.

It was one weapon.

Madra flowed through every piece of the armor in an uninterrupted network, and when it completed its circuit, six full-body Enforcer techniques activated at once. All compatible with one another. All resonating.

He and Dross had tested hundreds of defensive Enforcer techniques before coming up with this combination.

It would put great strain on his body and spirit, and it would drain his madra dry. But for a few minutes, Lindon would be invincible.

Gold light poured from black armored plates, and Lindon leaped forward.

13

Maraan, High Priest of Abyssal Palace, was approaching one hundred years old. He had given up all hope of reaching Overlord decades earlier, thanks to a spiritual injury when he was a young man, and had dedicated his life to training future generations.

Even so, it was a point of pride that he hadn’t lost a duel against anyone else at his own stage in twenty years.

When he’d landed a clean blow with his staff on Lindon Arelius, he had enough experience to know it was over. He wouldn’t need a second strike. His Staff of Condemnation added great weight to his attacks, and he had complete mastery over his Embrace of the Titan Enforcer technique. New Overlords were often surprised that they couldn’t endure one of his swings.

Until the young man had blocked it.

Then a black helmet covered his face, and Maraan felt something he never felt from an Underlord: danger.

Maraan had seen to the early parts of Brother Aekin’s training. He kept up with news from the Uncrowned King tournament, so he knew who Lindon was. He just hadn’t paid the boy any special attention.

That was starting to feel like a mistake.

He swept the Staff of Condemnation in from the side, but an Archlord flying sword deflected him. He hadn’t had the time or attention to spare to activate the binding in the staff, so the sword was enough to stop him.

By that time, gold light was rising from the seams of the young Underlord’s armor. It felt like half a dozen sacred artists all Enforcing themselves at once.

Maraan’s wariness grew to full-blown alarm.

This was obviously a suicidal technique. No Underlord’s body, spirit, or mind could afford the burden of so many powerful techniques at once. If most of them were bindings embedded in the armor, that would only make the burden worse.

Era, the Truegold priestess and his second-in-command for this post, brought out a simple construct like a writhing birdcage the size of her two hands. She hurled it down, and he quickly recognized her good judgment.

Just in case, he pulled the same construct from his own soulspace, throwing it down at the Underlord’s feet and jumping back out of the way.

Pillars rose from all around the armored Underlord as the Ruler technique in the construct pulled the rocks and loose grit and hardened them into a stone cage. At the same time, bands of earth madra were Forged around the outside, and the pillars themselves were Enforced.

Maraan breathed more easily when he saw that the young Underlord was still standing there, gushing madra from his armor. The power for which he’d damaged his own soul had been too much for him, and now it was all he could do to control it while standing still.

Their Deep-Fathom Prison constructs were quite complex, not to mention expensive and difficult to produce. They were designed to trap Underlords, and with two of them layered on top of one another, the pillars formed an almost solid wall.

“Good work,” Maraan called, but Era was doubled over and panting. The Deep-Fathom Prison was an Underlord construct and would be difficult for her to activate.

Maraan circled around so he stood between the prisoner and Era, lazily cycling his next technique. He had intended to kill this young man from the beginning, both to teach the Akura clan a lesson about taking Abyssal Palace lightly and to study his arm, which appeared to be made from pure hunger madra.

Now he could finish Lindon off at his leisure, or just wait until the suicidal techniques took their toll.

“Acolytes retreat!” Era called back down into the canyon.

“No need for that,” Maraan said, though he didn’t say it loud enough for the acolytes to hear. He couldn’t contradict his second in front of them. “He’s quite—”

The armored Underlord punched through both prisons with one blow.

Stone and madra blasted forward for hundreds of feet. If Era had been standing in their way, she would have been shredded.

Maraan’s years of experience did not go to waste. He spun, activating his Staff of Condemnation and fueling the Embrace of the Titan with soulfire. The butt of his staff slammed into the black breastplate in a blow that would have collapsed a castle wall.

It was like throwing a fistful of straw at a bull.

Lindon crashed into him, but Maraan stood his ground. His soulfire-fueled Enforcer technique blazed around him, the yellow image of the Wandering Titan solidifying as the will of the Dreadgod itself lent him its strength.

He stood with the solidity of mountains as he pushed against this young Underlord.

Pushed…and was shoved back.

His shoes slid across the stone, and as he dug in, drawing on his earth madra to make himself heavier and more solid, he continued to move. Even the stone beneath his feet began to crack.

The boy had given up the nimble movements he’d shown before, and he hadn’t launched a single Striker technique.

But he didn’t need to. Maraan’s muscles strained.

That flying sword of his flashed at Maraan’s back, and Era managed to deflect it with a Striker technique, but it only banked around for another attack.

Lindon drew his fist back, and Maraan felt his own death approaching.

At the risk of damaging his own channels, he poured all the madra he could into another Striker technique.

The Eruption Ring technique had been modeled on one of the Dreadgod’s powers. It released a wall of madra all around, shoving enemies back, and with great control it could be focused in one direction.

Maraan blasted a solid wall of force and earth madra in front of him to give him some space.

The wave of yellow power splashed over the armored man like water.

He crashed through the Eruption Ring with his fist swinging.

Maraan held up the Staff of Condemnation and focused all his effort on his Enforcer technique, but when the punch landed, his vision whited out for an instant.

His back crashed into the side of a plateau. He made a crater in the rock.

His Embrace of the Titan faded.

His mask cracked in half.

He stared blankly forward, too dazed to feel pain or much of anything. A black visor turned to him, and then Era was there.

Her expression was hidden by her priest’s mask, but he could feel the desperation in her spirit as she leaped up and wrapped her body around him.