Burning his madra for a burst of strength, Kiro shoved himself away from Lindon, taking two steps back. The Blackflame didn't pursue him, burning with that cold light, waiting for Kiro to make a move.
Watching him.
Kiro held up his sword and shield, keeping the fear from his voice. “Who are you?”
Lindon's eyes started to bleed black-and-red again, the pale haze around his body fading away. “You came looking for me.” Coming from that face, the words felt somehow like a threat.
“Are you the grandson of the last Blackflame Emperor?” Kiro had come up with all sorts of theories ever since Charity had pointed out Lindon's existence. “Are you a secret weapon of the Naru family?”
He didn't entirely expect an answer, but sometimes pride got the better of sacred artists. Maybe Lindon would let something slip.
And he had to know. There was no way a Truegold that fought like an Underlord could come out of nowhere.
“Who sent you after me?” Lindon asked. “Tell me that, and I will gladly tell you about myself.”
He spoke pleasantly, even politely, but Kiro's spirit warned him. He extended his senses to the aura around him.
The darkness of shadow aura had retreated before a slowly swirling tide of smoldering red. The Redflower family wagon was still burning. Still releasing aura of fire and destruction.
And Lindon had been gathering control of that aura the entire time. It was spinning slowly, all around him, like a newborn whirlpool. And like the Night Wheel overhead.
Kiro had no time to say anything, only time to react. He threw himself to the ground, ducking under his shield, activating the Titan's Blade and covering himself in a shield that he poured soulfire into.
As he did, Lindon clenched a fist and activated the aura.
Kiro was consumed in swirling black-and-red fury.
~~~
Yerin dashed at the gray-haired woman, whipping a Rippling Sword Striker technique at her. The wave of sword madra and aura exploded forward, slashing a groove in the soft forest floor, and Yerin ran in its wake.
Mercy suddenly emanated the power of a Truegold. Yerin didn't have to turn to feel her conjuring an arrow on her string, and an instant later that arrow blasted toward the Underlady.
The woman raised her blazing green scythe, then pounded it against the earth.
Black roots shot up from the ground like Striker techniques. They wove thick as a web in front of the life artist, burning with the vibrant energy of Lord-level madra.
Mercy's arrow shattered into specks of shadow on the first root. Yerin's wave of sword madra cut through the first layer, but broke on the second.
Yerin hit the wall of roots herself and kicked off, flipping back to land on her feet.
The roots retreated to reveal the woman's face. It was so blank as to be a mask. “I am Riyusai Meira, keeper of the Seishen royal garden. Tell me now: where is Wei Shi Lindon?”
Yerin used the Endless Sword technique, activating the aura around her body and her six Goldsigns. They erupted into a storm of uncontrolled slashes; Yerin didn't bother focusing on making her technique like the wind. She didn't need one specific cut, but a host of aura blades to slice through a forest of brambles.
Mercy lowered her bow and actually responded to the Underlady.
“No!” she shouted.
And that said it all, really.
Meira reversed her grip on her scythe, leaning forward like she was about to use quarterstaff techniques. Yerin had trouble thinking of a scythe as a practical weapon, but the difference in power would make up for that.
“Where is he?” the Underlady asked.
The pressure from her suddenly flared, green light wrapping around her feet, and she dashed forward.
A blink later, Yerin was staring into empty gray eyes from five feet away, with a fiery green blade sweeping up from below.
Yerin jumped to the side, lashing out with the Endless Sword as she did so, and there was a sudden heat on her sword-wrist. Then a chill.
The green flames of the scythe had brushed past her skin. Without even cutting her, it had taken away a chunk of her life aura.
She didn't know much about her lifeline, but she didn't want to lose any of it. It represented the power of her life force itself. Had she lost a day off her lifespan? Or would she be weaker for the rest of her life, if she didn't replace it? She didn't know.
But she wasn't about to take a solid hit from that scythe.
She opened her Copper sight for an instant, bearing the pain that came from opening it in the Night Wheel Valley. She caught a glimpse of a green ball of liquid-looking green life aura hanging in the air where it had been chopped away from her. Meira's scythe swept after it, still hungry, looking for more of Yerin to cut.
Yerin activated the Endless Sword.
The silver aura around her sword rang like a bell, sending force resonating out. Yerin controlled it, directing it like a gust of wind, so an invisible blade struck the haft of Meira's scythe.
The Underlady's blow was knocked backwards, but Meira spun with it, reversing the scythe and bringing the butt of the weapon up toward Yerin's chest. One of Yerin's sword-arm Goldsigns swept up to intercept, and another lashed forward, sending a Rippling Sword technique at her opponent like a deadly crescent moon.
With one sweep of her scythe, Meira knocked the Goldsign aside, crushed Yerin's technique, and forced Yerin back a step. Her strength wasn't too much greater than Yerin's—her Iron body obviously specialized in something different—though she had been reforged in soulfire.
But Yerin wasn’t alone.
Mercy stepped up, radiating the power of a Truegold, firing black arrow after black arrow into the enemy. They seemed to blast from the surrounding shadows, impacting Meira’s wrists like ink stains. They didn’t seem to hurt the Underlady, but they slowed her down, forcing her to spend time and madra burning them away.
Yerin let madra flow into her sword. “So you know, you should keep away from that scythe.”
Mercy gave her a sidelong glance. “I planned on it.”
Light flashed like a green sun rising.
Meira stood, surrounded by a vibrant aura, her blazing scythe held in both hands. Around her, vines rose from the ground; some of them looked to be black roots manipulated by a Ruler technique, whereas others were clearly Forged of life madra.
“Where is he?” Meira asked again. “Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Whereishewhereishewhereishewhereishewhereishe?”
Her gaze was no longer dead. Now it was feverishly hot.
More vines, both black and green, shot up from the ground. The pressure around the Underlady grew stronger and stronger.
“She's got one too many cracks in her head,” Yerin muttered.
Mercy poured all her spirit in to a single arrow that grew darker and darker as it absorbed layers of shadow madra. “Would you mind keeping her off me?” Mercy asked, voice tight with strain.
Would have been easy enough if their opponent wasn't a Lady. A tidal wave of plants slammed into them with the force of an Underlord soul, and Yerin pushed her Endless Sword as hard as she could. An invisible wall of sword aura churned the physical roots to mulch like a thousand spinning blades, but the bright green vines of madra were unaffected. They slithered through like hungry snakes, and Yerin had to slash and spin with her white sword and her six Goldsigns, keeping them away from Mercy.
After only a breath or two, Yerin was about to be overwhelmed. She pushed herself harder, but her madra channels were strained, and she was moving too fast.
Finally, when she could hold no longer, she leaped out of the way.
Purple eyes shone as Mercy faced the enemy, a black arrow thrumming with power sitting on the string of her bow. The weapon, taller than Mercy, was woven from slick black strands knotted like vines. Its violet-eyed dragon’s head sat in the center of the bow’s shaft, the arrow emerging from the dragon’s mouth. This was the weapon Mercy had inherited from her Monarch mother. She called it Suu.