This small organization had taken advantage of the influx of strangers into the capital, drugging people in the bar overhead, taking them downstairs, and then killing them for their Remnants. Some of the Remnants they sold to local Soulsmiths.
Others, they had used for parts.
They had been very careful to only abduct those without any family or connections, so their operation may have gone unnoticed by the Skysworn had Eithan not passed by this street the day before.
Now, Yerin singlehandedly suppressed the room with the Endless Sword. Whenever one of them reached for a weapon, an invisible knife sliced across his skin. If one tried to move, chips of wood would fly up from a nearby table. Though she said not a word, the message was clear: she had them all prisoner.
Meanwhile, Lindon—his eyes blackened—instructed the criminals to stay quiet and to keep their madra under control. They were to be detained and brought to trial. Orthos loomed behind him, blocking the main entrance and adding weight to his every word.
Mercy, meanwhile, was perched on the building across the street. Her bow was drawn, a black arrow nocked, as she watched and waited for a fight to break out.
It would, Eithan knew. He could see the signs too clearly.
As the murderers shouted and threw themselves into the hopeless battle, he stopped paying attention. He reached back into his void key—by habit concealing it as reaching into a pocket—and withdrew a pipe.
He packed it and tamped it down as Yerin flew into the middle of the opponents, throwing them away from her with pulses of tightly controlled sword madra.
The Sword Sage had really stumbled across a buried treasure. If only he had survived, he might really have been able to pass on his unique Sage techniques to his student. Eithan would have to make sure he honored the man’s memory by serving his disciple well.
Though nothing ever went as smoothly as it should.
He’d meant for the dream tablets to be only one part of her gift. Nine or ten months ago, he’d commissioned Lezaar—the most accomplished refiner of the Arelius family—to craft him a very specific pill. But he had been ousted as Patriarch before the pill was finished, and hadn’t returned since. As far as he knew, the rare and valuable ingredients he’d put into making this miraculous elixir might have gone to waste. Or the pill might have been taken by someone who would never appreciate it.
He caught his frustration before it bloomed into anger, instead pulling out a scripted fire-starter and lighting the pipe. He didn’t need the fire-starter, strictly speaking, but he enjoyed using it. The script lit up one rune at a time as it spiraled down the wooden script, pulling in red fire aura as it did so, culminating in a burst of sparks when it reached the end. So satisfying.
With nowhere to go, the smoke curled against the ceiling. He turned his attention to Lindon.
He was relying almost entirely on Blackflame, using his pure madra as a backup, which was a shame. But he couldn’t handle Eithan’s techniques yet. Despite having practiced the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel for a year and a half, he did not have the madra reserves yet. Nor could his spirit handle them before his channels and core were reinforced by advancing to Underlord.
Of course, there were still other things Eithan could teach him about the use of pure madra. But he was spread out too thin as it was, trying to master two Paths, Soulsmithing, the madra in that arm of his, and the upgrades to his body and soul that he’d found in Ghostwater. By watching him move, it was obvious to Eithan that Lindon had found a way to enhance his mind, which had pleased Eithan enough to make him dance a little jig. Privately.
Eithan breathed out another mouthful of smoke. No, giving Lindon more to do would be counterproductive. What he really needed was time to adjust to the abilities he already had. But no matter how many times he told Lindon as much, Lindon took it as an excuse.
Aboveground, Lindon smashed through a shield of madra and hauled a Highgold murderer up by her collar. Orthos stomped down on a man who tried to flee, Mercy put an arrow through a hand that tried to stab Yerin in the back, and Yerin sliced a spear in half.
He smiled around the pipe. They moved with a confidence beyond their age. He couldn’t have been prouder of them.
And he couldn’t wait to see where they went from here.
Only one of the murderers escaped; the lookout. Eithan’s students had never seen him. He had waited underground, veiled and peeking through a trapdoor. After seeing the Skysworn devastate his partners, he had scurried downstairs, pulling a scripted seal from his pocket.
He was muttering to himself, a crazed smile on his face, as he approached the vault. His last resort. Eithan could see the thoughts written on his face: he was going to release their secret weapon. The puppet construct they had created for emergencies. Stitched together from Truegold Remnant parts, it had not been crafted by a true Soulsmith, and as such it was all but uncontrollable. He couldn’t direct it; he could only unleash it.
The murderer placed the seal against the vault door, and the greater script on the door shone brightly. Interlocking metal gears began to turn, and the door slowly ground open.
The man laughed triumphantly as the vault was revealed, but his laughter slowly faded.
He stood face-to-face with Eithan, who sat on a padded chair in his Skysworn armor, calmly smoking. Behind him, a monstrous puppet-construct continued to dissolve into motes of rising light.
Eithan blew smoke into the man’s face.
Chapter 5
A few busy days later, Lindon and the rest of the team landed on Starsweep Tower to find Cassias Arelius waiting for them.
He was flanked by two Truegold Skysworn, who must have escorted him to the top of the tower, but his bearing made them look like his attendants rather than his guards. He was only a few years older than Lindon, his curling hair the same blond as Eithan’s. Rather than sacred artist robes, he wore a pressed shirt and pants of dark blue with silver trim, and he stood straight as Starsweep Tower itself. His hand rested on the hilt of a thin, silver sword that he wore at his hip.
He glared at Eithan as the team landed, but he still spared a bow for the others. “Lindon, Yerin, Orthos. It has been too long. Your squad leader has been ignoring my messages.” He shot another angry look at Eithan as he turned to Mercy.
“I apologize, young lady. I am Cassias Arelius, and if you’ll forgive me, I’d say you must be Akura Mercy.”
“Pleased to meet you, Cassias!” She bobbed an unsteady bow. “Thank you for lending us your Patriarch. He’s always taking us to interesting places.”
If Yerin had said the same thing, it would have been sarcastic.
Cassias looked surprised, and glanced over to Lindon and Yerin. “Yes, ah, that brings up what I’m here for. But first, Lindon and Yerin, you’ve…advanced. Of course you have. Congratulations to both of you.”
He didn’t sound congratulatory, but weary, as though he suspected Eithan of pushing them far too hard. He had expressed concern for them before.
But Yerin accepted his praise proudly, straightening her spine and lifting her chin, her sword-arms extending.
Lindon bowed to Cassias in response. “Gratitude. We have been fortunate.”
“I truly hope you’re taking care of yourselves. Both of you. But I’m here because you haven’t taken our Patriarch away from us. Eithan forfeited that title months ago.”
Lindon shifted uncomfortably, stealing a glance at Eithan. Yerin was staring at him openly, waiting for a response, and Mercy made a face that suggested she’d rather not be hearing this. Orthos let out a long breath of smoke, and through their bond, he felt resigned. Like he’d heard his most troublesome child had caused a problem once again.