Which would greatly favor Yan Shoumei’s opponent.
The Ninecloud Soul was wrapping up her introduction. “…and facing the prodigy of Redmoon Hall, we have a prodigy in his own right: the exile separated from his homeland and fighting for the glory of a new Monarch. Eithan Arelius!”
There came the faint sound of applause, though Yerin could only hear it because of the projection. The Monarch platform blocked all outside sound.
A stone door lifted, and out came…not Eithan.
Two Remnants, like chubby golden phoenixes, soared out of the waiting room. Rainbows streamed behind them, and they cried in a chorus that seemed like it couldn’t possibly come from any less than a hundred throats.
Eithan drifted out, floating not on a Thousand-Mile Cloud but on a platform of shimmering light generated from diamond shoes. His robes were five shades of gold, sewn with images of dragons and phoenixes and tigers in even more gold. The robes glowed, too.
He held an ivory pipe encrusted in jewels, and it must have been two entire feet long. When he held the pipe out to the side, the smoke drifting up from the bowl spelled out letters in the air.
“…do I want to know what that says?” Yerin asked.
“It’s his name,” the Winter Sage said icily.
Mercy choked down a laugh.
A gold-rimmed glass lens sat over one of Eithan’s eyes, and a crown of shining crystals hovered over his head. As he came to a stop, shimmering white wings of light spread from behind him.
It was the ugliest, most unnecessary thing Yerin had ever seen.
Northstrider stood with his arms crossed between both fighters, and while Yan Shoumei looked confused, the Monarch gave Eithan a sharp glare.
“I did not call for a clown,” he said.
“Really? I could have sworn I heard my name.” Eithan took a puff of the pipe and blew out the smoke, which formed the shape of a star in midair. “It’s an important occasion, so I thought I’d dress my best.”
Northstrider turned to Yan Shoumei. “Will this distract you?”
Shoumei was still examining Eithan the way she would a mysterious creature of unknown origin, but she shook her head.
“Very well,” the Monarch said. “Then…begin.”
He vanished, and so did the barrier separating them.
Eithan adjusted the lens over his eye. “I say, I hope you’re prepared for a real tussle. Yes, a knuckle-scraper. Put up your—”
Shoumei threw one Striker technique, a simple nest of bloody whips that struck Eithan in the chest.
Eithan didn’t defend himself at all. The madra tore through him, and Yerin knew what the technique would do. It was easy enough to block or avoid, but blood madra affected bodies directly; undefended, the Striker technique tore his heart in half.
He and all his clothes dissolved into white light.
There was a moment of silence from the crowd, and then jeers that grew louder and louder.
“…victory in fight number one goes to Yan Shoumei,” the Ninecloud Soul announced. “Has Eithan Arelius underestimated his opponent, or did he intend to give up the first fight for a more stunning victory later?”
Yerin turned to the Winter Sage for an explanation, but she was grinding her teeth together so hard that it looked like she was chewing strips of invisible leather. Frost had begun growing on her chair, and wild sword aura slowly tore rips into the fabric.
Yerin turned to Mercy instead.
“They bought him off,” Mercy said with a sigh. “The Abidan specifically mentioned it as an option. I still don’t understand why. Are they hoping the richest faction will win?”
“They’re not looking for a recruit with no spine,” Yerin said. “If you can be bought, why would they want you?”
That felt right to Yerin, if maybe incomplete. It wasn’t as though she knew what motives drove the heavens.
“Well then, we know he’ll allow it. But I hope…”
She glanced up to the top of the room, where a mass of darkness and dense spiritual power waited.
That was the seat of Akura Malice, and while none of them could tell if the Monarch was actually inside that cloud of shadow or not, she would certainly be watching from somewhere.
If Eithan had thrown the match while fighting in Malice’s name without warning her, the Monarch wouldn’t be happy.
The heavenly messenger might personally intervene to stop reprisals, but Malice could still find a thousand ways to make Eithan’s life miserable.
To Yerin’s own surprise, she found herself hoping that Eithan had gotten permission for this. Normally she would say that Eithan had earned whatever he got by acting like a fool, but this time she was afraid for him.
A few minutes passed before Northstrider announced the rematch.
The fourth round had been single-elimination duels, according to Northstrider’s preference, but the fifth round gave each competitor the chance to show more of what they were capable of. The winner of each match would be the first to win two fights out of three, with half an hour in between each fight for the fighter to adjust their strategy.
When that half an hour ended, Yan Shoumei walked out to the center of the arena as before. The battlefield had changed slightly, with the obstacles rearranged. Some of them moved along tracks, while others looked insubstantial or like blobs of shifting liquid.
Eithan rode out of his waiting room on the back of a blazing white Remnant that resembled a skull-headed horse.
He galloped out, leaped off, and flipped in the air as the Remnant trotted back to the room behind him. When he landed, he spread both his hands wide.
“Well, my worthy opponent, you may have caught me off my guard once. But I assure you that this time, you will face my full fury!”
“Begin,” Northstrider said.
Yan Shoumei lashed out with a Striker technique again, but this time she didn’t go for a quick kill. Whether she was trying to make Eithan suffer or to avoid the potential of falling into a trap, she lashed her blood madra at his legs.
As soon as the technique made contact, Eithan exploded.
Simple constructs strapped beneath his clothes detonated at the touch of blood madra, annihilating him in an instant.
“Victory to Yan Shoumei,” the Ninecloud Soul said with a sigh.
Eithan re-formed in his waiting room laughing.
Reigan Shen would have preferred it if he hadn’t flaunted his bribery, but that was all the more reason to do it. Malice wouldn’t like it either, but Eithan had pacified her before the match began.
He wasn’t entirely happy about his deal with Malice. He now owed her a favor, paid at a time of her choosing, which was too much of a potential liability for his liking. What if she held on to that token until he advanced to Monarch?
But some jokes were worth it.
It was at that moment that he realized how cold it was in his waiting room. He had been brought back to life without a stitch of his clothing.
“This doesn’t seem fair!” Eithan called. “Northstrider!”
He knew the Monarch could hear him.
Oh, well. The clothes had been expensive, but Reigan Shen had paid for it all. He reached into a cubby for his void key, only to find it missing.
It would be back in his room, he was certain—it was beneath a Monarch to steal from an Overlord. Then again, it was also beneath a Monarch to strip an Overlord naked.
Eithan looked toward the door and sighed. “On the bright side,” he said aloud, “at least I look fantastic.”
Yan Shoumei marched toward the Akura waiting room, seething.
She had been told to expect that Eithan would throw the match, and she would take any victory she could get. She wasn’t here for honorable combat.
Even so, Eithan had been supposed to make it look like a real fight. This brought her no respect at all, and it made her look like he could have destroyed her and had chosen not to. She was certain she could have won the fight even if he had given it his all, and part of her still resented that the Monarch had no faith in her.