The truth remained: he didn’t want to lose.

Ziel reached out to the shield to his left. It looked like a steel castle wall, with elaborate designs that made it worthy of being carried into battle by an Archlord. The shield had been his prize from the second round, but he couldn’t hold it in his damaged soulspace, and carrying it along with his hammer strained his Enforcer technique, so he hadn’t bothered using it until now.

Maybe he was a hypocrite to start caring about the fights this late in the tournament, but so what? Let him be hypocritical.

He strode out of his waiting room for the rematch against Brother Aekin, huge hammer propped up on his right shoulder and over-sized shield covering the left side of his body. He had to use the Stone Anchor just to carry them, so his soul already ached, but he set those concerns aside.

It was time to see how much of his former self still remained.

Northstrider looked him up and down. “Welcome to the tournament.”

Ziel nodded to the Monarch and faced his opponent. If Brother Aekin was a real enemy, how would Ziel face him?

It was easier to remember than Ziel had expected.

Northstrider waited until Aekin’s full-body Enforcer technique covered him in translucent yellow madra like armor. Only then did he command them to begin.

Against Ziel’s expectations, Aekin leaped back, conjuring a ball of golden light and stone fragments in his left hand as he held his hammer in his right. A combination Striker and Ruler technique.

Ziel Forged six circles at once.

One wrapped around Aekin, choking off the energy coming from him.

Two hung over Ziel’s weapons like haloes, lightening them so they were easier to carry.

Two more appeared around Ziel, strengthening him.

And the final script, the biggest of all, appeared over a pendulum the size of a house swinging nearby. Multiplying its force.

Ziel’s spirit felt like it was tearing in half, but he pushed through.

Aekin’s technique faltered before he broke the ring of script around him, but the pendulum tore free of the chain holding it up and crashed into him.

The Abyssal Palace cultist stood as firm as a fortress, denting the metal ball as it crashed into him.

Until Ziel arrived, slamming his hammer down onto the pendulum. Aekin was crushed to the ground beneath it, and Ziel Forged another script on the ball to shove it harder into the earth.

A column of yellow light blasted up from beneath it, shoving the ball to the side, but Ziel had already moved. He stood in front of Aekin, shield raised to catch the cultist’s wild swing.

Ziel’s counterstroke landed with another green circle, multiplying its force.

Aekin crashed into a cylinder that pumped in and out of the ground, denting it so severely that it bent in half.

Several of Ziel’s circles had fallen apart—most only tended to last a few seconds—but he re-Forged the ones around himself and added another circle to his feet. It launched him forward as though thrown by the hand of a Monarch, and he slammed into Aekin shield-first, knocking the Palace priest deeper into the metal column.

His body was mangled and bent, but members of Abyssal Palace modeled their Path after the Wandering Titan. They were all but indestructible.

But now he was trapped.

Ziel’s spirit was fresh torture, but he felt alive. He felt like himself again.

His next hammer-blow tore the entire cylinder apart.

Its top half crashed to the ground behind him with a sound like a collapsing house, and Brother Aekin’s body tumbled across the arena leaking blood.

The crowd’s cheers were deafening, and Ziel thought he heard people chanting his name. He remembered this feeling. Life crept back into him, as he hadn’t felt in years. The exhilaration didn’t cancel out the pain, but it made the agony more bearable.

Aekin’s arms and legs were broken, his neck hung at a strange angle, and the light in his mask was flickering, but he hadn’t died. His Path emphasized endurance, but Ziel would end it here. He may not have the power of an Archlord anymore, but there was no substitute for skill.

He raised his hammer, Forging a circle around it.

The green runes fuzzed to essence before they were half-complete, and the hammer fell from his numb fingers.

He stared at it for a long moment, uncomprehending, but then the Stone Anchor Enforcer technique dropped. His shield was too heavy for him, tugging him off-balance as he tried to keep it upright with his whole body weight.

His spirit had failed him.

No matter how much he endured the pain, his soul was still shattered. Determination alone didn’t let you run on two broken legs.

Aekin’s hand raised, and one last technique formed between his fingers.

Ziel closed his eyes.

As a ball of madra and flying rocks tore his head apart, Ziel chastised himself. He knew better than this.

He should never have forgotten who he was.

When Ziel came back to life in his waiting room, he left his hammer and shield sitting where they were.

Northstrider restored him to the condition he’d been in before the match started, so his spirit was no more strained than usual. He could have carried both weapons back, but he couldn’t muster the energy to care.

He’d come back for them later. Or the Ninecloud Soul would bring them to his room, or Northstrider would, or maybe no one would and they would sit in that room forever.

The hammer held years of memories for him, but it was hard to remember why he should care.

It took him too long to realize that someone was standing in front of him, smiling broadly and wearing an outer robe of turquoise and thread-of-gold.

Eithan Arelius was competing in an Akura vassal team, but he was still a member of the Arelius family. He may have come here on behalf of House Arelius, or he may have had goals of his own.

Ziel just kept walking.

“I see you found some inspiration during the second match! Good for you.”

Ziel didn’t respond, but Eithan fell into step beside him.

“It is a shame that you weren’t able to receive your prizes for this round, but I may have an alternative offer for you.”

It didn’t surprise Ziel that House Arelius had something else in mind, but it did somewhat surprise him that they still needed him for anything. Now that he was out of the tournament, why would they care what happened to him?

“You know, there are a handful of people left with the knowledge to perform the Pure Storm Baptism, they just don’t have the resources. However, thanks to some fortuitous circumstances and a few carefully laid plans, I happen to find myself in possession of both!”

Ziel turned and examined Eithan carefully. His smile was too bright.

“No, you don’t,” Ziel said at last.

He kept walking.

“Ah, but what if I did? I can’t restore the original power you lost, of course, but I can turn you into quite an extraordinary Underlord.”

“So you’re telling me that you have the materials for the elixirs—”

“My private garden is being prepared as we speak.”

“—and a refiner skilled enough to make them—”

“That part is still a work in progress.”

“—and the skill to perform the procedure—”

“I give great massages, too.”

“—and lightning madra of sufficient power. Without Tiberian Arelius, that leaves you scales from the Thunder Fairy, the Storm Sage, or the Weeping Dragon itself.”