The spirit was originally the Remnant of a man on a Path that combined sword, blood, and destruction madra. He had caused such havoc a hundred years ago that his Remnant had been sealed. Originally, it was as a sort of posthumous punishment.
But, as the Winter Sage had told her, it had become something else over time. The family in charge of the Remnant had fed the Remnant—which was originally Truegold—scales and spirits, and equipped it with a pair of long, sickle-like curved swords.
Now, it exhibited a power not unlike an Underlord, and they had used it to threaten their business rivals for several years. Under the protection of this creature, dubbed the Demon of Twin Blades, their business had prospered.
The Frozen Blade School hadn’t intervened as the spirit hadn’t harmed any innocents or even killed very many people. Until recently.
Yerin stood on the edge of a flat rooftop, which had been mostly ravaged under the impact of the Demon’s madra. Moonlight gleamed down over its long, silvery scripted blades, each of which contained cold power that weighed on her senses.
The Demon itself resembled a gorilla, painted in a complex color like a deep blue mixed with ashes. Its eyes blazed yellow and hot from within a head like an inhuman skull, and its knuckles scraped the ground. It was as dense as any other Remnant she’d ever seen, so that if she’d been forced to rely only on her bare eyes, she might not have known it was a Remnant at all.
It threw its head back and howled, and the world around it drained of color as it called all the aura from nearby to obey its Ruler technique. Sharp, jagged blades—like obsidian knives—began to Forge themselves into the air around her, and the two techniques pressed in on Yerin from every direction.
Yerin wasn’t really paying attention.
Her spirit screamed danger, and she listened to that instead, pushing her perception deeper. She had fought part of this fight with her eyes closed, trying to hear the elusive tune that had guided her in her fight against Altavian Arelius.
The Winter Sage insisted that she could chase it down through combat, and Yerin was trying, but it was like trying her hardest to remember something she’d forgotten.
She needed to be calm. To stop trying so hard and let it come to her.
When blades of aura and madra surrounded her, pressing in on her as though she were wrapped in razors, the sense of danger grew too much to endure.
And then she felt it.
A spark of madra passed from her hand down to her sheathed sword, and her blade rang like a bell.
The Demon of Twin Blades lost its hands at the wrists. When its swords hit the roof, it looked down as though trying to process what was happening. Its techniques destabilized, and then she lazily swung her blade through the air without looking.
A Rippling Sword slashed like a crescent through the night. A flat shield of madra appeared in front of the demon and it leaped backwards, but Yerin’s Striker technique had felt more…right…than her techniques usually did.
His defense might have been enough to deflect one of her normal attacks, but this time it passed through with no resistance and sliced him in half.
The Demon fell to pieces, and Yerin stood with her eyes closed, spiritual perception drilling deeper, trying to remember this sensation even as it drifted off.
This was her way forward. As she advanced, it would become easier and easier to sense.
Her Blood Shadow squirmed inside her, restless, hungry for both action and power, but Yerin forced it down. Soon, she wouldn’t need the Shadow at all.
Noise penetrated Yerin’s trance, and for the first time she paid attention to her audience. Down on the snowy streets beneath the building, several dozen people had gathered. They raised torches or rune-lights or techniques against the darkness.
And when the Demon of Twin Blades fell, their voices rose in a shout of excitement. It wasn’t quite a cheer, but a wave of cries that broke into chatter and a few individual calls.
Yerin wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but she felt like she was supposed to do something. She waved her white blade down to them.
The sound from the crowd redoubled, and this time it was definitely a cheer.
Well, that didn’t feel too bad.
The Winter Sage had been sending her out to fight with her sword, insisting that this would help her become a “symbol” of swordsmanship and thus get closer to the Sword Icon.
She wasn’t sure if popularity or fame would help with that. Did Icons care how well-known you were?
Yerin picked up the two weapons the Remnant had been carrying—no sense in leaving them for anyone else—and hopped down to the street. The people cheered and shouted out questions, but they also backed away from her. So they liked her, but they didn’t want her to get too close.
That was how people had treated her master, so she wasn’t too bothered. She used the bubble of space around her to make it to the end of the street, but her good mood faded quickly when she noticed another group that the people of the town were avoiding.
The Sage of Red Faith and his students.
The Blood Sage crouched on the street like a frog, looking up at her from his hunched position. Red paint tracked down from his eyes like bloody tears.
A wave of revulsion ran through her, and even her Blood Shadow surged up in willingness to fight.
Beside him was another figure that looked like they haunted children every night at midnight: Yan Shoumei. Her black hair hid half her face, and her one visible eye was too wide. Her sacred arts robes hung loose around her.
Their third companion, Calan Archer, was the only one who wasn’t likely to frighten anyone away. In fact, he had a fine figure, with broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a handsome face. His Goldsign ruined it all, in Yerin’s estimation, because the scripted rings of living lightning marked him as a member of the Stormcallers.
Putting a good-looking man in a Dreadgod cult was putting a dress on a hog. Didn’t make it any less a pig.
Just seeing the three of them was enough to ruin Yerin’s excitement over her progress. She almost wished they would make a move on her; not only would the Winter Sage not rest until she had her revenge, but if they attacked one of the Uncrowned in Akura territory, they’d have a Monarch and a heavenly messenger to contend with.
But she still wasn’t looking to die, so she dropped the Remnant’s swords and cycled her madra. The crowd took another few steps back.
Yan Shoumei scowled at her and let out a furious whisper. “Didn’t your master teach you better than to fight in a town? Someone could have been hurt.”
The words threw Yerin’s brain into a spin. Was a member of Redmoon Hall lecturing her about collateral damage?
Shoumei walked up to a trio of little girls in the crowd nearby, going to her knees and speaking in a soothing tone. “It’s going to be okay. The demon is gone, and we won’t let anything happen to you.”
She still sounded like a witch trying to lure them to their deaths.
The girls stammered something and scurried back, scrambling to put some adults between themselves and the evil-looking Underlady. The adults didn’t look any more at ease than the children did.
Yan Shoumei hung her head, and Yerin could see the depression and disappointment radiating from her back.
Yerin reminded herself to stay on her guard. She couldn’t feel any sympathy.
“You all found a spine and a half if you’re after me here,” Yerin said, hoping the crowd would sense an incoming fight and leave. “The Sage won’t lie down easy when she finds out you’re here to hook me.”
Yerin wasn’t sure if they were here to hurt her or to persuade her to their side, but either way the Sage of the Frozen Blade would be furious.
The Blood Sage wet his lips. “Min Shuei drove me off when I first arrived, and then she appealed to the Monarchs several times to have me removed. She went to Northstrider, to Akura Malice, and to Reigan Shen. They are all aware that I am here, and they will allow me to remain as long as I behave myself. Your Winter Sage is not so tolerant, but she is distracted at the moment.”