Ruby didn’t melt and flow back into Yerin’s spirit, but while Yerin was pulling, Ruby started to push. Her own will flowed into Yerin, trying to take over Yerin’s body as Yerin fought to take her spirit.
It was so much harder than Yerin had expected.
Her every instinct was to reject intrusion from an outside power. Even without her consciously directing it, her spirit fought against Ruby, trying to push out the Blood Shadow.
Ruby was the same; her madra fought against Yerin’s command even when Ruby wasn’t controlling it.
It was only then that Yerin appreciated what Charity had meant when she’d said that there was no better willpower training than fighting a Blood Shadow.
Every time the Shadow tried to take over Yerin and Yerin resisted, it was a direct clash of wills. Yerin grew stronger as she resisted.
But the opposite was true too.
Their years of fights had sharpened Yerin’s will, but they had also sharpened the spirit that would become Ruby.
And all that sharpening against one another had perfectly prepared them to work together.
After a few endless seconds of intense struggle, their wills snapped into place. They wanted the same thing, after all, they were just coming at it from different angles.
Red madra began to flow through Yerin’s channels in reverse.
And her silver madra let it happen.
At that moment, the door burst open. The Winter Sage marched in, fury and terror whipping the air around her.
“Stop!” she shouted, and reality responded to her authority.
Yerin and Ruby froze.
Their spirits froze.
Even the air froze.
Together, they recognized what would happen if this continued. The Winter Sage would separate them, afraid of what they would become, and then they would go into the third fight no better prepared than in the second.
They focused on her working, and together they pushed against it.
An unseen force snapped, and their madra flowed freely again.
The Winter Sage gasped, then set herself to try again. Yerin clenched her jaw, and Ruby made the same motion. If they had to keep resisting a Sage, they would lose control of their fusion.
Charity threw out a hand. “Stop! Don’t take away what chance they have!”
Reluctantly, painfully, the Winter Sage backed down.
Yerin returned, looking back to Ruby. New memories flowed into her now—records of Sophara that Dross had given her, wielding the Endless Sword to protect an unconscious Lindon from a sea of dreadbeasts, Lindon holding her hand as she tried to fall asleep.
There was no resistance, but Yerin felt grief and regret flow from Ruby along with her madra. Her time had been too short.
Then it was her grief. Her regret.
And what was she sad about, anyway? She wasn’t going anywhere.
Madra soaked into Yerin’s channels, her spirit, and stained the bright silver a vivid crimson.
Her body tore itself apart, but there was no pain. She dissolved into silver-red light…and she felt a chance.
She had to Forge herself back together.
But her old body wasn’t quite…right. It didn’t represent who she was anymore. She had some choices to make.
She hadn’t liked bright red hair, but it had become part of her. Maybe one lock. Her eyes…she didn’t really want eyes so similar to Fury’s. Then again, when she tried to change them to Yerin’s black, she found it easier to keep them as Ruby’s red.
She didn’t mind what color her eyes were anyway.
She could make more dramatic changes to her body, but she didn’t need them. She liked the way she looked. It was her, and now there were enough changes to represent the new her.
One change, though, she didn’t have any control over.
When her body returned, condensing into reality, she extended all six of her Goldsigns. They still had a metallic gleam, but now they were a bright, vivid scarlet.
Two spiritual perceptions swept through her as the Sages checked her.
“Heavens above,” Charity breathed.
The Winter Sage’s eyes filled with tears.
Then other spirits scanned Yerin. Though most weren’t close by, she recognized them.
The Monarchs.
At some point, the door had opened completely, but Northstrider hadn’t moved her outside. Instead, he stood in the center of the arena with his arms crossed.
Experimentally, Yerin examined herself. She didn’t feel so different. She remembered being Ruby, but it didn’t feel like being a different person. Just…herself in a different mood. Or in a different light, maybe.
Her techniques would need refining now, with the introduction of blood madra. She supposed she wasn’t really on the Path of the Endless Sword anymore, which sent a pang of regret through her.
She tried to sense the Sword Icon, and she heard not a whisper.
But her madra felt…boundless.
Her channels were more real in her mind’s eye than ever, and she could feel them in her actual body. Her core sat below her stomach, and power filled every inch of her.
It wasn’t exactly like advancement; her madra hadn’t gone up a level in quality. It was more like all the restrictions of Overlord had been removed. Yerin didn’t understand it fully.
So she needed to test it.
Instead of using the Moonlight Bridge, she decided to run to Northstrider’s side.
It took her one leap.
The air tore as she passed through it, and she came to a stumbling halt next to him in a storm of wind.
“That one’s on my account,” she said. “Not used to my new legs.”
Sophara looked like she’d just seen her children murdered in front of her.
“We have a problem,” the Monarch said, and Yerin’s heart leaped into her throat. “The Uncrowned King tournament has a rule against advancing past Overlord. Archlords cannot compete. Neither can Heralds.”
Yerin’s stomach froze.
“But you have not advanced,” he went on. “We have no rule for this.”
“What does that mean?” Sophara demanded. “Let me fight her!”
Northstrider didn’t look to her. “You have no input here. We are about to either disqualify Yerin or declare her the winner.”
Yerin’s heart was getting whiplash. “Run that back for me.”
“There is no such thing as an Overlord Herald,” Northstrider said. His stony face quirked into a small smile. “Until now.”
She had never seen anything like a smile on him before.
It was unnerving.
He looked from one Monarch tower to the other, presumably tallying votes. “It seems we have a tie. As the arbiter of this contest, I should not break it.” He looked up. “Kiuran of the Hounds, we could use the judgment of the heavens in this matter.”
There came a halfhearted blue flash, and then an irritated-looking heavenly messenger appeared in the center of the arena. “Can you not settle something this simple on your own? Let them fight it out.”
Sophara’s tail lashed. “Yes. I have not shown everything I can do.”
Northstrider turned to her. “Let the will of Heaven be done. Sopharanatoth of the gold dragons, are you ready?”
Sophara’s shield drifted above her, and she snapped Quickriver into the form of a short, broad sword.
Yerin started cycling madra into her Flowing Sword, and she was shocked at how quickly and easily the madra flooded into her weapon. It glowed red-and-white almost immediately, blazing with power.
Northstrider shook his head. “Release your technique, Yerin.”
Suspicious, Yerin did so.
“Still your madra.”
Yerin wanted to protest, but she did as instructed. She hadn’t been forced to do this on any other rounds.
“If you start at the same time as she does,” Northstrider explained, “the fight will be too short.”
Yerin didn’t know what to say to that.
The Monarch stepped back. “Now…begin.”
Dragon’s breath shot toward Yerin in a wave, and she used the Moonlight Bridge to appear behind Sophara. She put madra into her Steelborn Iron body and swung.