“There’s not much spirits can do to me in a spiritual realm,” Lindon assured her. “But, if you don’t mind me asking, where exactly are we?”
“Inside my Book, but you knew that. This is the fifth page. The home of the Dream of Darkness technique.”
He nodded as he looked around. “Ah, so that’s why there’s Overlord-level madra here. So why did you end up here when your armor broke?”
“I had it open too long.”
This was embarrassing to admit, but he was standing literally inside her soul at the moment, so it was only fair that she open up a bit.
“After the tournament, you and Yerin advanced. I had to lean on the book to fight Sophara, and the more practiced I got, the easier it was to keep the page open. That’s how it works when you’re close to advancing. So I just…kept it open.”
She shifted, not meeting his eyes. The unnatural fear that had gripped her had faded, and now she was just tired. And a bit ashamed.
As expected, Lindon caught her meaning immediately. “Your advancement wasn’t stable.”
Mercy nodded. When she had faced down the Titan—and that was a memory fresh enough to send another tremble of fear through her—it had crushed her armor quickly. Too quickly.
Her unstable spirit had collapsed, and the Book had filled in the gaps. Unfortunately, the imbalance resulted in her consciousness being tied more to the fifth page than to her own body.
“Apologies. I should have left this conversation for later.” He extended a hand to her. “Let’s leave.”
“I’m not sure you can just—”
“Release,” Lindon commanded.
The Book vomited her up instantly at his order, and her eyes snapped open. Her body ached, real air harsh in her lungs, and she saw Lindon sitting peacefully at the side of her bed. They were aboard Ziel’s cloudship; all the rooms in it looked alike.
“That was fascinating,” Lindon said eagerly. “With your permission, I’d love to study your Book more closely.”
Mercy put a hand to her chest. Inside, her Book was recharging from its expenditure of madra, and the burden on her spirit had greatly lessened now that she was released.
And now that she was only an Underlady again.
She could feel heat in her face, and her shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry. I thought I couldn’t help you unless I could keep up.”
“I would welcome it if you did advance, of course. But whether you do or not, we’re planning on exploring the labyrinth. I’d love to have you with us.”
Lindon looked as though he understood, and she suspected he did. She gave him the weak shadow of her usual smile, and Lindon returned it more heartily.
Then, after a little more chatter in which he made sure she didn’t need anything further, he left her alone.
She couldn’t stop wondering if they really needed someone who couldn’t even reach Overlord.
Mercy was not used to being self-conscious about her lack of advancement. Quite the opposite. As a girl, she’d regularly wondered why she was so much faster than her peers.
Now, she wasn’t sure she could advance if she needed to. That bothered her more than she wanted to admit.
Only then did the full impact of Lindon’s proposal dawn on her.
Explore the labyrinth?
That meant defying the law of the Akura clan, which had declared this territory off-limits. Lindon and Yerin had been granted substantial liberties, but this was a decree directly from Mercy’s mother. There had to be a reason for it.
Mercy started to sweat again. She kicked off the sheets.
Not only did she need to work on her advancement, but she had to throw her Aunt Charity off the scent. The Heart Sage could smell lies.
So she would have to be very, very careful not to lie.
Ziel’s spirit hadn’t felt truly comfortable in years, but these days, it was like he was borrowing someone else’s madra. Sparks ran along his madra channels, fresh from the latest stage of the Pure Storm Baptism, and he was still recovering from the effects of the suppression field around Sacred Valley. Not to mention the exertion of a fight against a Dreadgod.
He planned on staying inside his house aboard his cloud fortress, motionless, until he had healed.
He had spent no effort on decorations or customizing his housing, so his bedroom was a room with a bed in it. That was all. If he needed to keep his belongings somewhere, they could stay in his void key or sit on the floor.
Likewise, he lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling and waited for the discomfort to fade.
Or so he intended. But he grew bored.
He rummaged through his void key with his perception, but he found nothing that could entertain him. The best he had kept were dream tablets demonstrating scripts or techniques.
Ziel had once told his students that if they had a spare moment to themselves, they should spend it cycling. He cursed himself. There were immersive tablets that would allow him to experience any kind of dream he wanted, and all of them would beat lying there staring up at his ceiling.
He wished for any distraction, and then he heard a knock at the door.
Ziel revised his wish.
Any distraction except a visitor, he thought.
The person knocked politely but persistently, and Ziel finally reached out and felt their spirit. When he sensed who it was, he dragged himself to his feet and out to the front entrance, where he opened the door.
Lindon loomed outside, his broad frame taking up the entire doorway. He ducked his head and his wintersteel badge dangled in front of him.
“Apologies for bothering you, but do you have a moment to talk?”
“I’m busy.”
Lindon started to apologize again, which pricked Ziel’s conscience. Lindon was too earnest, to the point that it made Ziel feel guilty lying to him.
“Never mind, I was lying,” Ziel said. “Come in.”
That should be enough explanation. He turned around and left the door open so Lindon could follow him.
“Gratitude. I don’t think I’ve been on a proper tour of your fortress.”
Ziel braced himself for polite compliments about his bare, boring house, but then Lindon continued.
“Does yours have the same foundational scripts that ours does?”
Ziel considered that it would be downright rude to refuse a curious student’s question. “Mostly. It was solid enough—the Court does good work—but I had them add another layer of concealment. Then I laid an encryption circle of my own around the whole cloudbase.”
It was the first and only modification Ziel had made to his home. If he kept the Ninecloud Court scripts as they were, then the Sha family would have ward keys to all his security.
That shouldn’t be a problem, since he had never been an enemy of the Ninecloud Court in the first place, but he wouldn’t allow them the ability to deactivate his cloud and let him plummet from the sky if he could help it.
Granted, any Monarch could do that regardless of what scripts he had in place, but that he couldn’t help.
Lindon squinted at the floor as though he could see the buried scripts below. “Fascinating. Do you mind if I…”
Ziel gestured his agreement, and Lindon extended his own perception to admire the scripts. Strictly from a security perspective, Ziel ought to have prevented anyone from seeing the exact layout of his protective scripts, including Lindon.
But it came back to a similar situation to that of the Monarchs. If Lindon really wanted to kill Ziel, he could, and an extra layer of encryption wasn’t going to slow him down.
Lindon muttered to himself, and Ziel expected him to pull out a pad to take notes. Or to summon that mind-spirit of his.
Then Ziel remembered that Dross was gone, maybe for good, and his heart squeezed out one small drop of pity.
“Gratitude,” Lindon said at last. “I appreciate the chance to learn from a master.”