His Jadeclaw Rings exploded backwards again, the lightning struck the sand, and her madra-clad sword clashed with the dragon. She clearly had to exert herself to destroy his technique, but he was too busy pressuring his artery to throw another one.

How had she done that? He had a good grasp of the range of her Endless Sword technique, and he’d been far from any source of sword aura.

Now he had a time limit.

Before he bled out, he had to win.

The first of his two Divine Treasures activated, and a white eye of Forged madra appeared hovering over his head.

The eye allowed him to map madra flow in his opponents, and he saw what he expected. Her madra was going to her Iron body and to the Enforcer technique making her sword glow as she finally sliced through the dragon.

The second she did, she re-focused on him, building up a Striker technique.

That was the opening he’d been waiting for.

He activated his second Divine Treasure, and a ring of light appeared behind Yerin. She wouldn’t see it, and it was difficult to sense. Even if she did feel it, she wouldn’t know what it was. Spatial transfer was his ultimate trump card.

Only a breath later, he appeared in that circle a foot from Yerin’s back, ready to unleash a Dragonblood Thunderbolt at point-blank range.

As soon as he appeared, a sword swept through his head.

The Winter Sage threw her head back and laughed proudly. “I told you he would show up behind you! Didn’t I tell you?”

“That was a help and a half,” Yerin admitted, “but don’t polish yourself up too much.”

The Sage looked like she’d just won a championship fight herself.

Mercy punched Yerin’s arm. “We should have left everything to you all along!”

“A closer shave than it looked. At the start of it, I could feel the Sword Icon. But whenever I have to push myself, it shakes me out.”

For the first few seconds of the battle, Yerin had felt perfectly in control. She had known exactly what to do against Calan’s first moves.

But she hadn’t been able to break his Forged dragon in one slash, so she’d focused her spirit on it and therefore lost her concentration.

She’d only been able to win so quickly because the Winter Sage had scanned Calan Archer, sensing that he had a spatial transfer artifact and predicting that he’d use it to move behind Yerin.

It wasn’t one of his prizes from the tournament, and he hadn’t used it in previous rounds. It must have been a gift from Reigan Shen.

As soon as Yerin had sensed strange madra gathering behind her, she’d spun and struck without holding back.

It had still been close. If she’d been half a second too late and he had shoved one of those dragons into her back, she would have been the one melting into white light.

“It’s only natural that you can’t hold on to a Sage’s mentality,” the Winter Sage said. “You’re only an Underlady.”

“What good is a sword I can’t grip too hard?” It was disorienting to get shaken out of a state of concentration in every fight. Eventually, that was going to cost her.

“Using it to any degree of consistency at your level is nothing short of extraordinary. When you reach Archlord, you will be Adama’s true successor.”

Mercy gave Yerin a look of exaggerated confusion. “What’s to complain about? You won. You won!”

“Now let’s go do it again,” Yerin said. She wore her usual attitude like a mask, but her heart was tight.

She was so close to achieving her master’s dream. To prizes beyond her imagination. Every step forward meant there were fewer people in the world who could threaten her.

But she was close to defeat, too.

And she didn’t feel any closer to becoming a Sage.

Lindon believed she could win, so did Mercy, so did Min Shuei, and she still might let them down. One of the enemy Monarchs could end up with a weapon of heavenly death.

And it all came down to her, right now.

“Not a worry in the world,” she muttered.

A door popped open to the waiting room. Not the exit; the entrance.

Lindon stumbled in.

It looked like he’d been leaning on the door and hadn’t expected to get it open. Constructs hung from the wall like a deer half-gutted, and the sealing scripts on the door had been scratched up. His Archlord flying sword hung over his shoulder; he must have used that.

To break in and see her.

Yerin’s spirits lifted, and she had to hold back laughter as the Ninecloud Soul manifested as a beam of rainbow light. “Contestant Lindon, you cannot keep doing this. We thought the increased security this time would teach you a lesson.”

Lindon pressed his fists together. “I did learn quite a bit. Gratitude.”

Yerin’s laughter escaped, and Mercy joined her. The Winter Sage’s face paled.

“Next time, you will be charged for the cost of repairs and punished according to Ninecloud City law,” the Ninecloud Soul insisted.

Lindon inclined his head as though he understood, but immediately afterward he turned to Yerin. “They told me I couldn’t come see you.”

“Are you insane?” The Sage demanded. “What if you distract her? Yerin, look, focus on me! Don’t lose the trance!”

She tried to grab both sides of Yerin’s face, but Yerin pushed her away.

Lindon looked horrified that he might have ruined her chances.

“She sounds the horns at every breeze,” Yerin assured him. “This is where you should be.”

There were tears in the Winter Sage’s eyes, and Yerin couldn’t tell if the woman was hurt or worried. Or proud. Yerin found no point in trying to figure out the source of the Sage’s tears.

But then the exit door began to slide open, and Yerin really did need to re-focus herself. She spun around, gripped her sword, and took several calming breaths to keep her madra moving easily.

She extended her senses into the aura gathering around her blade, finding that it helped her focus. The aura wanted to move in a certain way, and she had to quiet herself to hear it.

“This can be it,” the Winter Sage whispered. “Let the Icon show through you.”

Yerin’s delicate focus wobbled. Wasn’t she the one telling everybody to leave Yerin alone? Now why was she whispering in Yerin’s ear?

The battlefield was a clash of sword and storm aura, with thunder rolling overhead. Yerin felt like she heard something as she passed the sword blades rising from the ground, like the distant ring of metal.

She kept her eyes closed, using only her perception to guide her to stand opposite Calan.

Northstrider asked if they were both ready, but he would know when she was prepared. She sensed inside herself—the orderly flow of sword madra, the dormant Blood Shadow lurking inside, the flow of power between herself and her master’s blade—and she extended that perception outward.

Thoughts tried to crowd in: what if she couldn’t touch the Sword Icon? What if she lost the fight? Everyone was counting on her.

She pushed them all aside and stretched out her perception. She stopped watching herself, sensing everything else. It felt as though she’d moved herself from her body; she couldn’t even tell if her madra was cycling correctly.

It was hard to escape her panic. This went against her every instinct, but she stretched out to the world around her as she had when she was advancing to Underlord.