Eithan let them run, turning to the Ghost-Blades. A hail of black arrows pulled them away from Yerin, and an instant later, a short man with shining purple eyes dashed among them.
They slashed at him, but crystalline amethyst armor materialized only for the instant it took him to block their blows. He slid through, a whirlwind, catching one enemy with his fist and another with a foot. They defended themselves, but the impact of flesh on flesh sounded like thunderclaps.
Instead of fighting his way through to the Akura team, Eithan had called the Akura team to them.
Yerin speared the closest enemy through the back as Lindon arrived, shoving dragon’s breath point-blank into another Ghost-Blade’s chest.
The two of them dematerialized at the same time, but the third—the farthest one from her—had managed to make his escape.
Panting heavily, Yerin slapped Lindon on his shoulder. Despite knowing that death couldn’t touch them here, surviving still left her drunk with elation.
“Aren’t you a welcome sight!” Yerin said, but Lindon never stopped moving. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him. Mercy and Eithan were seeing to Naru Saeya, who had made it back into the air, and Akura Pride had already run ahead. He wrecked his way through the undergrowth like a bull.
“Talk later!” Lindon shouted as he tugged her along, and she cast her perception behind her.
When she felt the now-unveiled presences hunting them, she sped up until she was dragging him.
Chapter 13
It was a bloody fight around the crown. So to speak.
There was much less actual blood than in most of the fights Lindon had ever seen, as a lethal attack caused the victim to dissolve into light and rush away. Only lesser wounds left blood behind.
But it was chaos. They had reached the central crown, which had attracted the most competitors. And the presence of sacred artists had drawn beasts, so at any moment there could be sacred artists conjuring massive ghostly swords against monkeys, silver crocodiles snapping jaws down on flashing cages of lightning, or flocks of razor-taloned birds clashing against Forged techniques of crimson light.
Lindon and the others skirted the bounds of the fight. The first of their pursuers crashed through the woods behind them—one a half-human red dragon, another a female figure in a brown hood and a stone mask.
They couldn't ignore the battle and keep pursuing the Akura teams. Unfortunately, Lindon couldn't avoid it either. He evaded an emerald lance and a conjured spirit that raked claws in his direction, narrowly missing his chin.
Dross, Lindon thought, how many people are here?
[Seventeen, counting you. You can count yourself, can’t you? Of course you can. Sixteen. No, wait, that’s confusing. Seventeen. Wait, do I count?]
A quarter of the people who had started out on the island were left. The rest were either waiting their hour to return, going for one of the other two crowns, or waiting to see how the fight shook out.
Lindon stopped behind a tree, waiting for the others to push through the stray attacks as well. We're the largest group here, and we can’t keep waiting for our other teams to join us. We should regroup and push for the crown. Let them know.
Dross relayed the message, and in a few seconds they had all gathered. Mercy hung from the top of a tree, watching the fight with excitement in her eyes. Yerin stood closer to the battle than anyone, white sword in her hand and hair blowing in the breeze, occasionally deflecting a Striker technique headed their way.
Naru Saeya crouched behind a tree, the peacock feathers in her hair somewhat wilted, tending to her wounds. Eithan ran a comb through his long, blond hair as though he were in his own home. He snatched a flying knife from the air and used it as a mirror.
“Where's Pride?” Lindon asked.
[I told him!] Dross said. [You can't blame me!]
Mercy sighed and pointed.
Lindon found him between a richly dressed woman with flying swords hovering around her head and a young man in blue robes with rings of lightning crackling around his arms. The three of them exchanged attacks in a rapid sequence of blows that would have been hard for him to follow before he advanced to Underlord.
[Stormcaller,] Dross said, indicating the man in blue. [Cult of the Weeping Dragon. The woman is probably from Moonwater, the nation next door to Ninecloud.]
The Stormcaller shot a blast of blue-and-yellow lightning madra at the woman, who caught it on a globe of green madra in her left hand as she used her right to direct the swords against Pride. Pride leaped over one sword, back-fisted a Striker technique from an unrelated fight and kicked another sword aside. He had closed the distance with the lightning artist, but a floating metal shield appeared from the lightning artist's soulspace and deflected Pride’s punch.
“Sword girl,” Mercy shouted, and everyone attacked her at once.
Dragon's breath, the Rippling Sword, an arrow of shadow, a green pulse of wind, and a mundane knife flew at the woman at the same time. She defended herself well, taking only a cut to her leg from the knife, but their second volley finished her.
Which left Pride to pour madra and soulfire into one huge blow against the Stormcaller. The lightning artist managed to get his shield in front of him in time, so the strike launched him into the jungle. At which point he must have fled, because he didn’t show up again.
Pride did not acknowledge them. He dove deeper into the fight.
“He has the right idea.” Naru Saeya pushed up to her feet. “Eliminate as many as we can.”
As she said it, a further light streaked down from heaven. Now that the battle had destroyed many of the trees in the area, the sky was clear, and Lindon could see the golden column stretching between the sky and the earth. It wasn't close; it seemed to be falling at a distant end of the island.
Dross, how long has it been since the first crowns appeared?
[Six minutes exactly,] Dross said. [Well, not exactly . As closely as I can estimate. Is the error in the timing of the crowns, or in my calculations, or in your fleshy human brain?]
“Well, that's a wonderful chance,” Eithan noted.
Now that there was another crown, the competitors who were interested in an easier battle had started to slink away. Even those who wouldn't have a chance to reach this distant crown would leave, because now it was clear that more crowns would appear every few minutes. Only those close to actually seizing this prize stayed behind.
The fight closest to the crown was a three-way battle between two blood artists in black leather and misty red veils that looked like Goldsigns and a woman who was clearly a member of the main House Arelius. Her long, yellow hair was tied back into a braid, her blue eyes were bright, and she wore tailored green pants, a ruffled pink shirt, and a short green jacket. The Arelius crest was sewn in white on the back of her jacket.
Bright sparks crackled on each of her knuckles, and Lindon thought they must be the beginnings of a two-handed Striker technique until they never went away. Her Goldsigns, then.
[House Arelius, though even you could tell that. The others are disciples of Blood-Chorus; he's one of the warlords controlled by the Eight-Man Empire.]
A Forged red wolf leaped from one of the blood artists. The Arelius woman pierced it with a lance of crackling light, but a gust of bloody rain landed against her and started to burn through her skin. She screamed, stumbling back, but still put up a shield to defend herself.
When she saw Eithan, she brightened and shouted something. Once again, Lindon felt as though he almost understood, unsure whether it was another language or a thick accent.
[She wants him to help,] Dross explained.