And the seasons slid slowly by.
Reigan Shen tore through a crowd of slavering ghouls made from hunger madra with a sword that blazed like the sun.
His body was so weak as to be worthless, and he had lived among the suppression field for months. He was panting and sweaty, caked in filth.
But Reigan hadn’t always been a Monarch. He had fought his way up, just like the others. And he had forgotten nothing.
The ghouls hungered for his blood essence, for his madra, for his lifeline, for his authority, for his soulfire—for any source of energy he had on him or in him. He gave that energy to them in his attacks, flooding them with power from the edge of his blade, slicing them in half with a weapon of golden sunlight.
He left chunks of hunger madra dissolving on the ground behind him. Some of the other half-formed spirits stopped to feed on the essence flowing out of their comrades.
Reigan Shen finally found his way to a stretch of wall.
This had once been a door, but centuries ago, it had been filled in and sealed off. Never intended to be opened again.
There was no key to this door any longer, and the wall was almost indestructible.
But almost indestructible was no obstacle.
Shen deactivated the sword, noting as he did that the red-gold blade was starting to warp under the strain. Using powerful sacred instruments in this environment was terrible, and his heart ached at the waste.
There was almost no such thing as a true Monarch-level construct. Monarchs died so rarely that weapons formed from their bodies or Remnants were considered final life-saving treasures. There might even be more Abidan artifacts on Cradle than Monarch weapons, though no one would be able to prove that.
But this sword had been made by a Monarch and intended for use by Monarchs. It was a work of art, and outside of this maze, it could cleave mountains.
He placed the tip of the sword against the wall with great reluctance. The prize was worth the cost, but that didn’t make the cost easy to pay.
“You will be used for a great purpose,” he said to the weapon.
Then he activated the binding at full power. At least, the full extent of power it could manage down here.
The Song of Falling Ash shone with fire, light, and destruction. Its bright light filled the hall, illuminating the stone…but failing to pierce through.
The walls here had been invested with authority to make them inviolable, but this sword was the true product of a Monarch, made in the Soulforge and imbued with his will to break.
And, weakened though he may have been, Reigan Shen was a Monarch as well.
“Begone!” Reigan Shen commanded.
The authority on the wall shattered…and then the wall did.
A wave of flaming power dissolved the broad stone wall, leaving a hole big enough to pass a cloud fortress through. The Blade of Falling Ash was twisted and half-melted, its physical shell now leaking madra.
Reigan Shen sheathed it anyway. He could repurpose its material, and the masterpiece of a Monarch Soulsmith deserved more than to be thrown away.
Then again, this labyrinth might be the best place to dispose of such works. No one knew how many genius Soulsmiths had put their life’s work into this place.
And nowhere was that more evident than in this room. Behind the wall, he found a massive chamber filled with blue crystals. But perhaps “crystals” was the wrong word; though they seemed to be solid, they flowed like rivers over every inch of the walls and floor.
This was madra Forged naturally and infused with aura for years. This material would be perfect to make priceless treasures, but Reigan Shen couldn’t afford to open his void space more than necessary. He would risk destabilizing the rest of his collection.
In the center of the chamber, several hundred yards from the entrance, was a shining sphere the size of Shen’s entire torso. It looked like a perfectly round sapphire, and it emitted a thick beam of blue energy into the air.
Inside that ball of blue, lightning crackled every few moments. When it did, corresponding sparks flickered through every river of crystal in the entire room.
Reigan Shen felt the envy grip him as he watched the sphere at the heart of the room. The Storm Core. The impossible treasure born from the Weeping Dragon’s power.
Just taking this for himself and leaving would solidify his status as one of the greatest Monarchs in history. But, of course, he wasn’t content with just being one of the greatest Monarchs. And if he left this project half-finished, he would be forced out of this world in a matter of weeks.
He had to be quick.
For this exact purpose, Reigan Shen had prepared a special container. He pulled a rectangular metal case off his belt and approached the Core. The case was empty, having been designed solely to carry this item.
Just like any other spatial artifact in this environment, it would decay quickly every time he used it here, but that was no problem. It was disposable.
This container only had to open twice: once to put the Core in, and once to take it out again. Then its purpose would be fulfilled.
Reigan Shen had his perception stretched out as he approached the Storm Core, but he felt no hostile presences among the overwhelming power of water and lightning.
Not until a blue lightning bolt crashed down on him.
Weakened as he was, the Striker technique should have killed him instantly. Instead, a golden shell of earth and destruction madra appeared over his head, taking the brunt of the attack.
The shield was made to last, and should have taken ten to fifteen such blows, but it shattered after only one. The ring that hosted that binding went dim on his finger.
This place truly devoured treasures.
The shield ring had bought him enough time to see his opponent: a huge stormcloud, crackling with sapphire lightning, with two limbs molded to resemble a pair of thick arms. A natural spirit, formed from the Storm Core’s power.
And no doubt guided by some script buried here to protect the room. The people who sealed this place off had never intended to return.
Those ancient Soulsmiths were more than capable of crafting living weapons that could do battle with Monarchs, so if this thing could exert its full strength while Reigan Shen was veiled, he would have been annihilated in a breath.
But the suppression field was an even-handed curse. No one could escape it.
Thus, the spirit was only on his own level. And no opponent of the same level could defeat the Lion Monarch.
Drawing a pair of launcher constructs, one in each hand, Reigan Shen began the battle.
Far above the battle in the labyrinth, the Holy Wind School had begun to return to the slopes of the mountain they called the Greatfather.
When they felt the mountain begin to shake again, some panicked, thinking the Wandering Titan had decided to return. Others dismissed it. They were only aftershocks.
When the shaking died down in mere hours, this crowd felt themselves vindicated.
The very next day, a Copper child sent to fetch water said that Greatfather’s Tears were lower than they should be. No one listened to her.
Three weeks later, when they discovered that the Dragon River was starting to dry up, they blamed the change on the Dreadgod’s attack. The Valley had been reshaped by that monster, and besides, at least they were better off than the Golden Sword school. Their mountain was still intact.
So they continued their lives as the power in their water faded, day by day.
The Sage of Red Faith was not the most precise when it came to spatial transportation under his own power. He preferred using a tool, and this was one more benefit of his cooperation with Reigan Shen: the lion had plenty of tools to spare.