The Champion

Second Circle

Book fourteen of

“The Way” series

By Mike Ignatov

Copyright © 2025 Mike Ignatov

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictionally. All resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Introduced by Valeria Kornosenko

Translated by Sanja Gajin

Edited by Maciej Bogucki

Hello dear reader!

My name is Mike Ignatov and I am glad to introduce you my fantasy wuxia series THE WAY.

If you’ve never heard about my story, welcome and read from the beginning >>>

CLICK HERE

A raging fire devoured the world of the Ancients. Where once great cities stood, now there’s nothing but ruins submerged in the sand.

But even in this endless wasteland, there’s a place for life and hope. However, those who find new life here value nothing other than strength.

Enjoying his childhood, he paid no attention to the world, its secrets, or to those around him. Little did he know that his ignorance would be his undoing. Now, as an outcast looked down upon everyone, he has to endure humiliation as he stares into the eyes of the one who took everything from him. Life had taught him that the strong wouldn’t hesitate to stab the weak in the back.

But what if he became one of the strong? How much power would it take to avenge his father’s death? How much power would he need to bleed dry the bastard that took everything from him? Would the others learn their lesson, or would they, too, seek to get their revenge?

Enjoy your reading…

Contest

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Epilogue

Chapter 1

For a breath, I was in a void, then the world seemed to blink, and I found myself alone, waist-deep in water.

There was solid ground under my feet, visible through the nearly clear lake. Above me was the sky with the sun setting or rising, while all around was a marsh. And behind me, a huge, empty blue circle outlining the Pathway Array.

For three breaths, I stood in silence, listening to my surroundings through the Combat Meditation and the sluggishly flowing water.

And then I threw up my hands and laughed.

Yes!

“Take that you mad spirit! I’m back!”

So much about years of unending and desperate fighting and thousands of dead cultists.

It was almost a shame that the madman couldn’t know what was going on outside his den. But no matter. One day, I’d come to the gates of the City of a Thousand Levels and tell him the news myself!

Oh, the face he’d make...

I lowered my hands and turned to the map. Before me, the inscription “Crossroads of a Thousand Lotuses” unfolded.

I took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to be in a hurry. To stumble now, this close to my goal... It’d almost be funny.

Shaking my head, I erased the Decree. Trying to enter the Sentinel domain while posing as a cultist would be suicide.

After a moment’s thought, I removed my mask as well, parting with Atria with whom I had unwillingly become one.

“Much better.”

Now, for the token...

Formations.

The Hall of Contemplation.

The world blinked again and the water disappeared. I found myself on a dry stone floor, and instead of the endless daytime swamp, there was the semi-darkness of a vast underwater hall.

I was in the right place.

In the center of the hall was a round lake, from the depths of which shone a Heart of the Elements. A mud path, leftover from my last visit, led to the edge of the lake. Water still dripped from me, wetting the pattern on the stone and the blue circle beneath my feet.

I looked up at the ceiling. It was darker here today than last time. The water outside the dome was almost black. Apparently, it was night-time there now.

Hopefully, it was just the dusk and not another snake. The memory of the storm, the rampage of my element, was still rattling around inside me. If this wasn’t the best moment to touch the Heart and finally destroy what was left of the Darkness in me, I didn’t know what was.

I reached for the Bag. Anywhere else, I would have gotten the Flag and asked the specter to keep watch while I meditated, but to do it in the secret vault of the fallen Empire would be foolish.

No one had been here for decades. It was a place the Sentinels had kept specifically for me. I wasn’t sure why. It was something to think about later. When I was a Leader of Warriors.

“Three years, Viost? I did it in two, just as Klatir wanted. Seems he has more faith in my abilities than you do.”

I pulled one of Fatya’s artifacts out of the bag. The Fisherman’s Gills. A weighty little round thing that made you forget you needed air.

I didn’t know how it worked, but as long as I wore it, I could breathe underwater. So long as I didn’t open my mouth too wide. Otherwise, my guts would get flooded.

I stepped off the edge of the lake and plunged into its bottomless depths, clutching another amulet to my chest, this time of ancient make. A heavy medallion that allowed a Master of Decrees to create bicolor seals. I didn’t intend to seal the Heart. That’d do me no good. I just needed the artifact to sink like a stone to the bottom of the lake.

I didn’t know what the other Masters would say if they saw me using such a valuable and unique artifact as a mere weight. But for me, the most important thing was the result. It just so happened that these two artifacts were the heaviest among my belongings.

Unsurprisingly, I overdid it.

Less than five breaths later, I was already as deep as I needed to be.

The artifact disappeared inside the Bag, replaced by another, much lighter one.

Underwater, the Heart looked very different. I didn’t know whether it was the closeness to it or that the water distorted its shape, but it seemed like its outline was disappearing, as if it was trying to become one with the water in which it was born.

I floated nearby, daring not to come closer, and shut my eyes.

The currents flowed past me, telling me about the unfathomable depths from which some of them had risen and to which others aspired. All of a sudden, this tiny lake seemed like it could rival the expanse of the Sea of Itrea.

The currents rising from below remembered how they had been trapped there, and whispered to me that if I dared to plunge into them, they’d crush me to a pulp, regardless of my strength or our kinship.

I believed them. I heard in their murmurs the echoes of the mad power of the sea that I had experienced in the storm. What was one human, even if they were close to the Heavens, in the face of the elements?

I opened my eyes and looked up at the Heart.

It had everything.

The cool, viscous, suffocating touch of mist.

The dragging, barely perceptible movement of a swamp ready to swallow you whole.

The tinkling drip of morning rain.

The opalescence of a rainbow against the flowing shimmering foam.

The roar of a mountain river.

The bubbling of a forest stream.

The benevolence of the first spring downpour, bringing life to the thirsty wasteland.

The coolness of an evening lake where the stars were drowned.

The salty morning breeze of the sea.

The roar of a waterfall tumbling over an abyss.

The infinity of the sea.

The crushing power of the ocean, in whose embrace even an Immortal was nothing but a speck of dust on the waves.

I felt it all.

I felt everything I had ever seen or experienced in my life.

I felt it all and a little bit more.

I had never seen giant whirlpools in the sea, or even imagined that such a thing could exist. But now, as the Heart’s radiance pulsed before me, pulsed within me — I saw it. I could feel it. I could feel it sucking in a huge ship, pulling it deeper and deeper with each churn.

I was that whirlpool. I wanted to drown that ship and the hundreds of people running on its deck.

I was the rain that fell on the forest and wanted to nourish the dry earth, the morning dew that met the sun, the newborn spring, and the musty puddle that the thirsty jackal drank from with greed.

I was the deep blue sea. I was the heavy gray cloud above it.

I was the geyser reaching for the sky, and I was Legard.

I was the element and I was the Walker.

And then I saw myself inside the Heart.

My body seemed to be permeated by the Water. The darkness of my body was replaced by a soft blue glow and the meridians were filled with sluggish blue ribbons.

Previously, I had planned to create as many Pearls as my body could hold to create a supply of Water to fight for the Tau-Cha-Kron node. But now I knew that becoming a Leader with the help of the Heart rendered that unnecessary.

I dispelled the single Pearl with but a wish. In one moment, it was there, thick, indestructible, holding the Darkness, and then it was gone.

I watched the Darkness for a few breaths, but it didn’t even think to peek out of its hiding place. If I saw so many ribbons of an alien element around me, I wouldn’t dare to attack them either.

But that wouldn’t help the Darkness today. The time when I couldn’t even allow myself to touch Tau-Cha-Kron was over. Today, I’d reclaim my body. Today, every node on my meridians would be mine and mine alone.

Instead of hundreds of elemental threads around Tau-Cha-Kron, there were thousands. The soft blue glow gave way to a blinding light. Ripples, streams, mist, waterfalls, drops, jets, and every other image of water I could think of intertwined there, sliding close to each other, penetrating each other, becoming denser and denser.

Here were the thin rippling brooks, there were the currents of a river, the bowl of a lake, and over there was the impenetrable thickness of the sea.

I smiled.

It was time.

My element surged and roared at Tau-Cha-Kron, bursting its boundaries, seizing the pitiful shreds of Darkness in its embrace, and a moment later, swallowing it up, crushing it in its grip.

If the Darkness struggled, I didn’t see it. And if it destroyed any manifestation of my element, I didn’t feel it.

The waves continued to fill the node. Swollen to many times its normal size, it swallowed it all. Rivers, streams, raindrops, mists, waterfalls, rivers, and lakes. Everything I had seen in my life, everything I had felt on my journey to the Heavens, everything had a place in my new focus.

And I, remembering Tizior’s advice, continued to search for all the memories of water in me.

And beyond it.

The borrowed images of the giant whirlpool and the rain falling into the sea also found their place in the creation of my new focus.

I diligently poured elemental threads into the node, greedily absorbing them from the Heart and the bottomless lake that surrounded me.

After two long years of darkness, the Tau-Cha-Kron node began to glow blue.

But that wasn’t enough for me.

Tizior said that I had to push my limits. That I had only one chance, and that it was up to me to make sure that my second focus was of high quality.

Quality over quantity, he said.

So I gave it a try.

The azure hue changed to a dark, somber blue. Like the sea before the storm or... the night sky.

The threads froze, unable to find room in the future focus, and then spilled out, swirling around in a whirlpool. I pushed some more, tried to fit more into it. A single drop, stream, or wisp of mist, anything at all.

Nothing.

I grinned. The limit had been reached. In another ten or twenty breaths, a second focus would appear in my body, making me a Leader of Warriors.

But those breaths passed, and then the same number of breaths followed, and the gloomy dark color of the Tau-Cha-Kron node didn’t seem to change.

I clenched my teeth.

Was this the price of Tizior’s advice? Could I have really trusted an old cultist to tell me everything? Could he have hidden poison in his words, omitted something important so that my attempt would fail?

I remembered all the times when Truth shimmered sleepily over the old man and shook my head. No. Tizior left nothing out. When he said he told me everything, he wasn’t lying. Not to me, not to himself.

Which meant that I was missing something.

But what?

How could I create a focus based on my understanding of Water? Every Walker, even if two people walked through the same rivers, had a different understanding of it.

Either I was missing something, or I lacked the necessary experience.

One by one, I began to go through my memories. Of my life, of everything I had to do with water. From the very beginning. From my very first memories. From the Wasteland. From Zero.

Suddenly there was a place in the node for the memory of thirst. Of coming home at night with an empty jug. Of the first attempts at meridian tempering and the blue threads floating in the air. Of jumping into the river. Of the greedy dried earth in the vegetable garden. Of the water barrels in the courtyard of the dormitory, my favorite place for contemplation. Of the water in the brooks in Ridge’s forests, so pleasantly cold to the wounds.

There was also a place for Vilikor’s talk about ice and snow.

The fragile sensation of water frozen in a strange equilibrium slid forward to the dark sphere.

But I didn’t stop there.

One after another, memories of days gone by flashed through my mind. The City of a Thousand Levels with its waterfall and ice pavilion was replaced by life by the sea, its sunrises and sunsets, its salty winds, and then...

And then I suddenly remembered the streams of blood in the square before the palace of the Beetles’ patriarch. I remembered how they had pulsed beneath my feet, how they had intertwined in the puppet, how their throbbing had warned me of danger...

And forward to Tau-Cha-Kron slid this sensation of blood beating in my ears in time with my heart, and immediately the node swelled in size, taking in more and more elemental threads from the maelstrom around it without losing its depth of color.

I didn’t allow myself to marvel at it, concentrating on not letting this chance go to waste and pouring into it everything in my body and everything I could get outside of it.

Finally, it was over. The node stopped growing, absorbing almost everything around it, causing the storm to thin out. It formed its boundaries, swirling with the currents within and creating the second focus, and then it froze, despite the streams of elemental threads I tried to pour into it.

Satisfied, I finally allowed myself to think.

Tizior had told me about it. It was a common occurrence for someone who had gone through all the stages of creating an elemental focus. But he also told me that I shouldn’t hope for such a thing with my swollen Tau-Cha-Kron node, that I already had a vessel that exceeded all reasonable limits in size.

Perhaps it was the fact that the old man’s experience didn’t include the use of a Heart. Neither he nor any of his disciples had ever encountered such a treasure, and they couldn’t even imagine how many secrets it contained.

Even I, who had seen several Hearts up close, who had seen Zotar use it for development, who knew that it could Ascend a score of Walkers into the Heavens, had no idea how much elemental power it held.

For the simple reason that a Warrior who was only trying to find his way as a Master wasn’t capable of fully experiencing his element, let alone using it. He could only let it pass through him, catching hints of its presence, movement, and essence, and keeping it all within himself to begin the path of the Master of Spirit, able to use techniques continuously with the support of his element.

I exhaled.

The moment of rest was over.

It was time to continue, to use my new element for the first time. Not in the way I had become accustomed to over the months and years. Not circulating through the meridians, invoking Unity, not spilling out of me, poisoning my opponents.

This time, I had to use it in a way I hadn’t done since the First Circle. Send it from the focus outward to infuse the nodes. New nodes of new meridians whose origins I could clearly see in the focus.

Well, not really. The half of them that led to the old energy channels I didn’t even have to try to distinguish. The focus had swollen so much that it almost touched the nodes closest to it, and the shorter meridians leading to them had become miniature reservoirs at the edge of the focus.

It was through them that I injected the elemental threads near the end, so now they looked more like frozen whirlpools than the meridians of the first focus.

I also held the memories of all those Leaders who had written down their understanding of Roak’s techniques. I had seen where their elemental meridians began dozens of times.

All I had to do was adjust them for the size of my surprisingly vast focus, look a little closer, and remember the school and my first opened spiritual meridian node.

“New level, new rules, right, old man?”

The threads in the meridian rippled, pressing against the focus, spilling beyond the boundaries of their container.

The Water wasn’t just trickling out but seemed to sprout a new meridian, manifesting more and more clearly in the darkness of the body with each passing moment.

A Leader usually didn’t have a Tempering stage, where the meridians hardened and became clearer and clearer. Just because the elements had been circulating in my body for two years didn’t mean anything. This stage was different.

The elemental focus was huge, and the threads quickly completed their journey. The darkness of the body blossomed into a ghostly, shaky node, and the azure ribbons plunged into it like a bottomless well.

It was before me as I was before the Heart.

Allowing myself a moment to smile at the comparison, I pushed the threads from the focus to the next node and began to create a new meridian.

Each of the first elemental constellations of my Roak set required fifteen open nodes. Different ones.

For now, I could only concentrate on one meridian, one constellation, one technique. What I intended to do was repeat the Warrior Ascension process and open nodes for only the techniques I needed.

Still, I was curious...

The first node for the Roak’s Tread took me a hundred, maybe two hundred breaths.

The second node, which I started to open for the Claw, took a little longer.

The third was another Tread node, and it took me almost a thousand breaths to open it.

The fourth was again for the Claw and it took almost two thousand breaths.

It was enough to grasp the essence, but I couldn’t resist a grimace of disappointment. The complexity of the opening process increased very quickly. Tizior had mentioned it too, but I didn’t expect such a rapid increase in difficulty.

Although...

Maybe I was too biased.

When I looked back at my past as a newborn Warrior, I opened less than ten nodes in the school overnight, in twelve thousand breaths.

But then I had the help of an Ascension potion and barely had time to infuse the meridians with the spiritual energy that was swelling in my focus.

Here and now, I had the Heart.

The influx of elemental threads from outside was almost nonexistent. At least compared to the waste of the two bottomless wells of nodes I was filling. The focus was emptying. No matter how big it was, it still had a bottom.

I sighed in frustration, realizing that I had long days, weeks, and months of painstaking work and long meditation sessions ahead of me.

Right now, I could have used the elemental abundance of the Lands of Itrea. But that was there and this was here...

The full elemental focus was enough for six nodes.

For a moment, I was annoyed that I only had four nodes for the Tread and that two had been wasted so far, but I quickly suppressed the feeling.

I opened my eyes and could barely keep from shouting with joy, remembering in time that I was in deep water. Or rather, I was reminded of it by the constraining discomfort of wet clothes.

Surprisingly, it was as if the pressure on my shoulders didn’t exist. I raised my arm. It moved with difficulty, overcoming the resistance of the water, confirming that it was still there. But I no longer felt even a hint of discomfort from being in its depths.

When I realized I couldn’t see the Heart, I turned around. I exhaled in relief. There it was. Tiny, faintly glowing.

I had gotten carried away. Absorbed in myself and my struggle to create an elemental focus, I had pulled more out of it than I intended.

The birth of a Heart of the Elements was an incredibly rare event. It was easier for it to replenish what had been lost than to build itself from scratch.

I didn’t want to be the only one to benefit from this place. Ten, twenty, fifty years from now, another Sentinel should have the opportunity to become a Leader here.

I was glad to see the Heart survive my greed.

I slid closer, enjoying how naturally I now floated, or rather pushed the water currents out of my way. I held out my hand as if to take the shimmering blue Heart in my palm.

“Grow and greet my Sentinel brother or sister when they come seeking your help. Forgive my haste, but know that you’ve brought me closer to the Heavens.”

Then I looked down, listening to myself, to the currents, to the water.

There was a bottom. But it was too far away.

Even if I tried to reach it, I was certain that I’d fail. Not enough bodily strength to hold that insane thickness of water on my shoulders.

Not yet at least.

I surfaced, climbed out of the lake, and collapsed on the stone floor, staring mindlessly at the vault.

It was dark. It was dark when I went in, and it was still dark when I came out.

Good.

Fatigue set in, and my eyes closed on their own, defeating the willpower of a newborn Leader of Warriors. 

Chapter 2

I woke up with a realization.

I was a Leader of Warriors!

I jumped up and looked around. As I gazed into the brightness of the hall, I laughed and threw up my hands.

It was a great shame that I was here alone and had no one to share my joy with. I wished my mother were here. Or Leila. It’d be interesting to compare our achievements. I could only try to imagine how much stronger she was now...

Sooner or later, we’d be together again.

I took my time getting up, changing my clothes, which dried on me and piled in strange folds.

Only then did I begin to examine my new powers and myself.

The elemental focus was amazing. It happened to be almost as large as the dismantled Pearl. A huge, faintly glowing ball in my head, taking up almost all the empty space between the nodes of the spiritual meridians.

If I were to use Spiritual techniques to their fullest, I’d run out of energy in the first focus sooner than the threads in the second. Compared to Tizior, my elemental reserve was six times greater than his. I wish I could see his face when he found out.

With a smug smile, I poured the element out of my body. Obedient to my will, it began to transform around me, first flowing like mist, then twisting into threads, then cutting the air with sharp drops.

The result, the culmination of my training, was dozens of water serpents circling me.

I desperately needed someone to test them on.

I also had to refill the elemental focus. These little tests of mine had used up what little energy had been accumulated in it.

Not here. I looked around regretfully and repeated to myself. Not here. The Heart was already weak and exhausted. It wouldn’t do to take away the crumbs swirling around it.

I walked around the Hall of Contemplation for the last time. It was getting brighter and brighter beyond the dome, where morning was clearly turning into afternoon. The glass itself was clear and clean, as if it hadn’t been abandoned for nearly four hundred years. But the water was murky. It wouldn’t be possible to contemplate and enjoy the view from here.

But twice I saw a serpentine shadow in the water.

It’d be a good opponent to test my strength, but I’d rather my enemy be weaker, but more numerous, to compare what was more deadly — threads, fog, or water snakes?

Standing in the middle of the blue circle, I turned around and bowed deeply, putting my fist to the palm of my hand.

“Thank you for your help. Someday, I’ll return and tell you stories of my journey.”

Why not? I was still a Sentinel, albeit of the lowest rank. But I was sure that’d change, and that my kinsmen could move freely between the Circles.

I reached for the token and chose my destination.

The Crossroads of a Thousand Lotuses.

A moment later, the sky above me was dark once more and I found myself waist-deep in the swamp water.

I reached out to the Pathway Array and saw the same two places the portal had offered me in the Lands of Itrea.

Or rather, on an island not far from the shores of those lands. But it didn’t matter.

Plains of Dawn.

The Steps of the Weeping Waterfall.

I wished there was a way to cross there, but there was no point. It wouldn’t get me any closer to the lands of the Heavenly Sword.

“Pavilion of the Seventh Sage,” I requested.

“Destination blocked for arrival.”

Same as before. Perhaps that was a good sign. Since it was inaccessible, it meant that the Academy was still maintaining its Pathway Array.

I looked around, trying to figure out which way was north.

“That way... I think...” I squinted at one of the shimmering stars. “Probably...”

But first, meditation.

The water was too deep to sit down in this part, so I stumbled a few steps forward and hid my head under the water.

“Why did I even bother with a new robe?”

The Destroyer was on my lap, holding me down and keeping me steady. Fatya’s amulet was still around my neck. I had no intention of drowning right now.

I didn’t need to see — the water showed me everything in a radius of a few hundred feet. No matter how muddy it was outside the Hall, no matter how swampy the marsh, water was still the foundation of it all. It pierced through the silt and mud and found its way to me, carrying the slightest movement.

No Snakes though. A pity.

There weren’t enough threads, especially considering the size of my focus. Now I had a different view of the law that forced those who reached the next level of Ascension to move to another Circle.

It wasn’t a whim to show off.

It was a necessity.

For a Master of Spirit, the amount of elemental energy in the Second Circle was enough to progress.

But not for a Leader of Warriors.

I sat there, immersed in my element, but there were only a few threads of its essence that I could absorb and infuse into the second focus. It would’ve been enough for me to braid a medium-length meridian earlier, but in the second focus, it barely covered the bottom of a small puddle.

No wonder Klatir had forced me into the Second Circle on the threat of death. Trying to Ascend in a place with little heavenly energy was a form of punishment. That was what the prison Circles were for after all.

That was why they took away talented individuals. For them, such a life was a waste of time. Although Yarim, the young Mad, didn’t even notice that he was wasting his time here.

I went over my achievements in the Trial I took in Mirage.

Focus size: average.

I smiled smugly. In Mirage, in the Sentinel Hall, I drank a small Focus potion. After that came many perilous journeys, trials, and battles, and other potions and spirit stones to replenish my energy. A small potion wouldn’t cut it for the second focus. My wounds, the burned years, and the misfortunes turned out to be a blessing. Or rather, with the help of many people, I was able to turn everything around.

Ascension talent: low.

Yes and no. Compared to Yarim, I was a pebble next to a gem, but compared to others, I was Ram Vilor himself.

Elemental affinity: low.

Not anymore. Since the Hall, I had been drinking ancient potions like water to mend this.

Energy recovery speed: low.

This was my biggest problem right now. If I were any better at it, the scarcity of heavenly energy would be less of a problem. I’d be able to absorb more and recover faster.

Comprehension: high.

And to think I had considered this unimportant. Without it, my arsenal of techniques could be counted on the fingers of one hand. The further down the development path one went, the more time it took to learn techniques. It was no longer a matter of days or weeks, but months. The further one went, the pickier one had to be, choosing what to keep and learn and what to put aside and forget forever.

And it was with this as the foundation that I’d build my own path to the Heavens.

“And last but not least...”

Fighting spirit: uncategorized.

I knew how to kill, yes. And I wasn’t known to shy away from a fight. On the contrary, I enjoyed them.

What did Klatir tell me? That good times bred weak people? I wondered if Saref would have received similar marks had he been given a chance to pass this Trial. Would we have scored similarly?

It didn’t matter. I couldn’t and shouldn’t waste time on things that could’ve been. What mattered was that I was now aware of my weaknesses. It remained to figure out how to fix them.

Elemental affinity seemed easy enough. As for the energy recovery rate... I could probably find some potions in the Order’s stocks that would fix that. But until I returned to the Order, I couldn’t know for sure.

For now, I had no choice but to improvise.

I started to get up when a new thought came to me. I froze and sank back down, submerged once more.

“Talent? Your own path? And what makes you think this will be a stroll in the park, Legard?”

I had a talent that allowed me to find my own way to victories rather than copying others’ solutions. It wasn’t exactly easy, though. I used the same spiritual power to create Forms and Circles. And I was successful at creating both. But I was sure that if I had used different spiritual forces, I still would have succeeded.

When it came to physical combat, I really didn’t need to Ascend further. But the rest... The rest left a lot to be desired.

I still had to spread my arms to use the Cycle, or the Form would fall apart. One thing was clear, I had to train more. Using the other Forms as well.

If only Ascending added new hours to the day...

But even the Cycle didn’t make the Snake appear. During these two years, the place of the Crossroads’ Guardian hadn’t been assumed by a Beast of similar strength. But such was life. There were plenty of fish in the sea, as it were.

The tricolor Dream brought another discovery. Or rather, a confirmation of an earlier observation.

The thief’s mark indeed turned paler when I pulled one of the strands shackling it to the Decree, indicating that Viost’s power within me was running low.

I still didn’t understand why such an elaborate method was employed in Herb Ridge. Killing an intruder on the spot would’ve been easier, quicker, and required less effort.

Unless this was a failsafe against accidental killing? But from what I had seen, I wouldn’t say that the sect patriarchs and leaders of the Free Cities cared much about the careless wanderers, dead or alive.

Either way, the mark had turned out to be a good thing, allowing me to find my way home, or rather, into the Second Circle, and to learn more about my Decrees.

And since I had wasted an irreplaceable resource on the weak swamp Beasts, I’d try to get the most out of them.

The Dream symbol disappeared from the nearest creature, which looked like a giant leech with teeth as long as my finger.

It was only a Warrior. The difference of two levels allowed my spiritual energy to put enough pressure on its body to literally squeeze the life out of it. Or scorch and crack its core.

I shook the shimmering dust from my palm, shoved the disemboweled carcass into my Bag, calculated my energy expenditure, and cast Dream on the next Beast, a Poison Frog.

It was struck by an elemental thread. And my elemental poison worked without fail. Barely a peak Warrior, the Beast convulsed in the water, then fell silent.

The next one received a face full of elemental mist.

Only the Masters could resist my mental pressure and elemental poison, strong enough to get within striking distance.

Some had the common sense to try to escape. But not after I used a tricolor Decree on them.

Next time I really ought to try to create one with the Beetle artifact. It’d be good to practice my powers, but since I didn’t know how to replenish them yet, I’d be smart to conserve them.

The thirtieth or fortieth Beast was hit by a water snake. It wasn’t the first time that I had alternated between all the elemental forms in this training. Only this time, the result was different than expected.

The Master Swamp Rat, whose fur and glands were prized by the Artels, usually failed to defend itself against the water snake, and the serpent entered it unhindered. For one breath, nothing happened, but then the rodent began to convulse. Two more breaths and it was dead.

That alone was unusual, but as I approached to retrieve the carcass from the water, I froze in amazement.

There was a reddish spot around it in the clear water. It was as if the Rat had been hit by some kind of technique rather than elemental poison. Blood oozed not only from its mouth, but also from its eyes, ears, and every orifice in its body.

As I began to disembowel the corpse, I realized that it was bleeding inside as well. Its belly was filled with red, as if the elemental poison had eaten away at its insides somewhere.

From then on, I only attacked with the serpents.

All of my opponents suffered from the effects of the elemental poison to one degree or another, but they were stubbornly determined to kill me and lived to die to a technique or the Destroyer.

It took more than fifty more Beasts before another one perished like the Rat.

Only this time, it didn’t bleed. It was hard to bleed with what was frozen in your veins.

I stood waist-deep in water and stared dumbly at the carcass, which had sprouted icy needles. They slowly melted in the warm water.

How?

How was this possible?

My element was Water, not Ice. Vilikor had advised me to try to extend my understanding of the element a little further, but had I succeeded?

Could the sudden recollection of her ice pavilion during the creation of the second focus have accomplished that?

I didn’t have any other explanation.

Memories of Ice and the Blood Puppet seemed to push the creation of the second focus, becoming the little I lacked to shape its boundaries and basis.

But was it only them? How was that possible?

Toward morning, I tested everything I could as often as I had the patience and the threads, changing my training location three times and using the Cycle and the Fury of Beasts three times.

The oddities happened on their own. I couldn’t control them. They manifested with threads and fog and drops and... Basically, every elemental form I could think of. Only it happened to them rarely. Once in a hundred or two hundred attempts.

With the serpents, it happened more often. One in thirty or fifty snakes would kill its target. But only if the Beast was no higher than the middle of the Master stage. None higher than that ever succumbed.

The effects I noticed were three. Either they suffered internal bleeding, which was most common, the Water in their bodies froze, or the blood tore their bodies apart with scarlet ice needles. This happened less often.

I began to remember the battles with the Leaders that I had participated in or witnessed. Saref and the Dark One, the cultist and Narash Saul, the old man and the Beetles’ patriarch, the Blood Puppet and myself.

Ah, but Tizior wasn’t just an old man anymore. He was Elder Tizior now. He had kept his promise, and I was in the Second Circle. And I’d do right by him to call him by his name and show him the respect he deserved.

But back to the matter at hand. Did those fights show any particular strength of the Leaders? Other than the fact that their element poisoned everything around it?

I was most interested in the fire snakes, the bane of my existence. They were very close to my water serpents. But it was still a technique, one that manifested itself in this almost living way. Just like the birds that Narash had created with the artifact, just like the birds that Tizior had intimidated me with.

No, that was wrong. Neither the Dark One’s snakes nor Tizior’s birds hit me. I didn’t even know how they were supposed to work. And I wasn’t going to find out anytime soon, even if I got my hands on the techniques.

No, the strange aspects lay in the elemental threads that could surround the Leaders at will. But I didn’t know much about that either. In the battle with the Dark One, I successfully resisted them. In the battle with the cultists on Haven’s walls, I was nowhere near the point where dozens of people died from a single blow. I guess the puppet couldn’t do anything either...

I lost my train of thought again. It couldn’t, yes. And those blood pulsations I felt in the square? Was it because I noticed them, felt them, that they were related to me? And what happened to me when one of them touched me? Did my blood boil after that? Was that why it hurt so much?

Some questions had to be left unanswered as I didn’t examine the wound. Nor did Tizior suggest that such a thing could even be possible. I guessed I’d have to find the answers myself. Good thing the Order had plenty of Leaders to question. I just had to get to them.

Once again, I didn’t leave as soon as I decided I was done exploring my new powers. Just because I was now a Leader of Warriors didn’t mean that I could abandon the routine.

For starters, there were nodes that needed opening.

I had more than enough energy in my focuses. I’d survive with the second one only a third full...

Meditation brought another discovery. It now required more time. I probably spent a small incense stick running a meridian from an already opened node to a dormant one. And that, in addition to time, required elemental threads.

Unnecessary expenses. Extra time. But could I do anything about it? No. I had no choice but to accept the rules of this stage. Many weeks and months of meditating and infusing the threads into the nodes and meridians lay ahead of me.

And not just new nodes and meridians. I restored the elemental weave on the energy meridians and then added the spiritual energy weave on the elemental meridians.

This masked my stage so well that Fatya even thought I had a cloaking technique. And she was very offended that she couldn’t trade it with me for a synergic one.

By now, I was accustomed to hiding my true strength, tricking everyone who met me into underestimating my abilities.

Back in Frost Ridge, when I first came up with this trick, I used it to speed up the opening of the nodes. I was sure that if I had wrapped the newly opened sections of the elemental meridians with an elemental braid, I would have reduced the elemental losses and accelerated the opening of the nodes.

But I remembered very well what such an acceleration had brought me to the last time. The delay, the fragility of the body that the Sage’s apprentice in Frost Ridge described as glass-like.

And so, there’d be no elemental weaving on the elemental meridians. There’d be spiritual and soul energy on the second, longer elemental meridian. I used two strands of Viost’s reserve, or rather, the thief’s mark. I wasn’t sure what exactly this braiding would do for me, though. Hide my power? Probably. Assist me? I wasn’t sure.

I wasn’t even sure if the Order’s Leaders would be able to answer that question for me. The teachers at the Academy didn’t give such advice on Ascension, and even Ramas, I remembered, was surprised by the braid and wondered how I had created it.

Was this just another manifestation of my talent? I was a sort of steward of the Order, one of its few Walkers to have risen to the rank of Leader. Of course, the Order wasn’t a sect, but could I be given a personal disciple or at least an assistant?

Could I teach them this method of weaving, show them how to do it, help them weave their spiritual meridians, and then watch their level change and progress in techniques, physical strength, and so on?

When I realized what I wanted, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

It wasn’t enough for me to meditate, open nodes, worry about old and create new techniques, and other things I didn’t have enough time to do, yet I wanted to put another yoke around my neck in the form of a student. Maybe I should become the new head of the Academy and solve other people’s problems day after day, teach dozens of students, and deal with their Ascension instead of my own?

But the Academy teachers didn’t really spend much time with their students. How many times a week did I see Xilim? And how many times a year did Shandri even come to the classroom?

There was a lot to think about. But I wasn’t sure it was worth the time or effort. I became a Leader sooner than Klatir and Viost had expected. But that didn’t change anything.

Once you reached a new stage, you realized that there were few resources left for further Ascension. I doubted I’d be staying in the Second for long. It was a wonder Viost hadn’t appeared yet.

Klatir had made me Ascend even earlier. I was wasting my time here. Even in the heart of the swamp, there weren’t many water threads around.

And so, there was no point in thinking about becoming a teacher at the Academy. Klatir didn’t want my help in the Second, not in the Order of the Heavenly Sword.

I had no clue how to contact either of them though. The journey through the Lands of Itrea changed me, made me see the Sentinels and the Empire differently. Not enough to follow the path of the Dark One, or to agree to Izard’s proposal, but enough not to seek a meeting with the Sentinel responsible for the Order’s lands.

Just like me, he had changed, and he was no longer fond of the Order. I’d let him look for me himself, while I continued his second task of making the Order stronger. I just needed to find out any news about the Order and reach it.

I stood up and put my hand on the Bag.

A moment later, I could only vaguely see the swamp; it seemed to have faded into the background of my vision, becoming ghostly, barely perceptible. The contents of the Bag opened before me, clear and distinct. As well as the weapon rack, long empty since I had returned Saref’s sword.

My flying sword was secured in it now. It seemed even bigger than Saref’s – it was as tall as me, but barely two palms wide.

Just wide enough to stand on.

While it lacked elemental threads, the Second Circle had enough heavenly energy to allow for flight.

“That’s the kind I need, right...?”

I’d have to test it. I couldn’t just look at a flying sword and flop around in the swamp day after day, could I?

Another moment and my storage room disappeared. My hands trembled as they took on the weight of the huge blade. Heavenly metal wasn’t easy to create.

This heavy thing would fly with me on it?

A moment of disbelief and amazement flashed and faded, and then I ran my palm against the edge of the sword, staining it with blood and binding it to me.

Chapter 3

Left!

Damn it!

Feeling myself slipping off, I reclaimed my balance, straightened up, and forced my sword back.

“I must go left, left of that cloud on the horizon.”

Left.

I bent my knees again, as gently as I could, and took a few breaths, but the sword still jolted, vibrating under my feet, swinging more than I needed to.

I cursed again.

Smoother, smoother turn! Blasted thing!

The damned artifact! For all the others, you didn’t even have to do anything — defense protected you, cloaking made you invisible. But this one — look! You had to use your body to steer it! And the old man called himself the best artificer in the Lands of Itrea!

I bit my tongue with curses and swears. Tizior wasn’t to blame for the sword’s strange behavior, I was. Or rather, my mediocrity in Cognitive Meditation. It’d be a good idea to compare my flying style with that of a Leader less talented in learning techniques than me, but who didn’t have my flaw.

It was a small miracle that the old man... I bit my tongue and corrected myself once more.

It was a small miracle that Elder Tizior had bothered to make sure that even an ignorant wanderer like me could use his gift. The sword clearly had something akin to an inscription on it, which began to take effect as soon as I bound it to myself with blood.

In any case, I could infuse the sword with my power and even feel it as a part of me. Unruly and disobedient, but still a part of me. I suppose it made sense. I didn’t learn to swing a spear or a sword right away either...

All right. I knew how to turn.

Time to learn how to gain altitude...

It was just a matter of leaning back a little...

Damn it!

I had only tipped backward but the blasted thing shot up like a frightened bird!

It was a good thing my feet were glued to the blade from the moment I stepped on it. Otherwise, I would’ve plunged down into the swamp, while the sword would have continued to fly toward the sun as long as it had enough energy in it.

It drew the energy through my legs. It was enough to fill the meridians, and the body would send it down to my feet on its own, feeding the sword and keeping it floating. It had an energy supply of some sort, I assumed. And if not, then it was probably drawing power from the world around it.

And if it really needed energy from three Sources at once to fly, then it was no wonder that in the Lands of Itrea, the asscrack of the Alliance, as Fatya liked to call it, ordinary Walkers didn’t fly. Heavenly energy was so scarce there that even the most talented couldn’t keep the swords in the air.

But that didn’t stop those who became Leaders from using their personal power to get around that restriction. And while I didn’t see the Spider warden rushing over to the Beetle residence, I did see the genius of the Tiger Sect, Raigwar Shattering Storm, flying without a sword. Not to mention that Tizior flew me to the center of the storm and then to the island.

But the opposite was also true. For example, if I were in the Third Circle, where the density of the heavenly energy was the highest, the flying sword might not need the energy supply or me. The energy-imbued air would hold it up.

Probably...

I wouldn’t be able to test it myself for a while. When would Viost find me and force me into the Third?

Although...

My gaze slid down to my hand. The very hand that had recently worn the dragon ring.

Who said I needed Viost to move through the Empire? I had just completed a journey to the Sixth Circle and back. I was literally choosing which Circle to go to a few days ago.

The cultists could only go through the breaches in the Pathway Array to the Second Circle. But I wasn’t a cultist!

I looked up, checking the symbols above my head. The contract I had made with Tizior was no more. The scroll had probably been destroyed, turning into the color of ash, and my energy reserve had been moved into the more familiar imperial symbols. Begrudgingly, I had to admit that the Alliance’s Decrees were more perfect, as the fight with the Beetles’ Master had clearly demonstrated.

And just because I had learned how to create and enforce their Decrees didn’t make me a cultist. I was a Shen, a Sentinel of the Empire with a very unusual ring in my Bag.

Technically, I was only those things in name...

The temptation to return to the Crossroads and try to go, if not to the Third Circle, then at least to the Fourth or the Fifth was so great that for a dozen breaths, I just floated in the air, flying nowhere, lost in thought.

I overcame this silly desire. Now was not the time. I had to return to the Order. I’d test the dragon ring later.

It was foolish to think what would give me a greater opportunity to Ascend. An independent life, the Academy, or Tizior and the uncharted Lands of Itrea.

The Order was my faction. My friends, my comrades, my fellow students, my fellow teachers, my Academy, Reika, my men... They were all there. I’d go to them first, make sure they were okay, and only then would I consider a new journey.

My enemies were also there. Namely Ketot, who, before my eyes, killed someone whom I considered a friend. As a boy, I killed for less. As I grew up, I came to believe that justice was my path.

Tola, sadly, was no longer at the Academy. The bitterness of his beloved’s death hurt him so much that he lost himself and went astray.

I wasn’t him, but the time for my revenge was getting closer and closer. Perhaps I should even hope that Viost would find me as late as possible.

“Disirians, a traveling Leader will soon be in your lands. Are you ready for him?”

In the meantime, he’d do well to learn to fly faster.

And, preferably, with more grace.

I put a little more power into the sword, and it moved forward almost steadily.

“A little bit more...”

The air whistled out of my way. It was more comfortable to fly on the sword than to use the Dash. I didn’t know what Tizior had done to it, but it was as if I were covered with a protective technique, so the wind didn’t ruffle my clothes or hit me in the face. I had to push away the annoying thought that the blade was using my energy for this, wasting it.

It didn’t matter. The point was to see how fast I could fly.

So I put more and more power into the artifact.

It would’ve been fine, but the faster it went, the harder it was for me to stand on it and keep my bearing.

Flying toward the cloud wasn’t the smartest decision, because it didn’t stand still either, but I had no other landmark. All around me was the swamp. Even from this height, I could only see the marshy green. Not a single forest or a mountain top in sight!

No, wait...

“What’s that on the left?”

To the left.

“Steady! Steady, you damn piece of iron!”

“Higher! To the right! Slow down! Higher, higher! To the left!”

A moment later, I was flying toward the ground, desperately cursing the stubborn sword, my haste, and artifacts in general.

The sword and I drew two separate arcs.

I took a moment to decide whether to reach for the blade and stand on it again or to forget about flying and concentrate on landing.

I chose both.

First, I Dashed back to the sword, caught it by the hilt, and sent it into the Bag, and then I leaned out, gazed into the rapidly approaching mud below, and chose the moment to use the speed I had gained by Dashing back.

I made it.

Almost.

I had never fallen from such a height before. The Dash pushed me through the narrow air and away from the swamp, but it was a little weak. I didn’t even notice the tiny moment of immobility; I was immediately thrown into the swamp, my head stuck in the mud.

The faster you hit the water, the more unfriendly it was to you. And the fact that you were a Leader who had learned its essence didn’t change anything.

One thing I could say for sure: reclaiming the sword in the air was a very good decision. I couldn’t even begin to guess how long it would’ve taken me to find it, or how deep it would’ve sunk into the mud at the bottom of the swamp.

I jumped up, standing on the surface of the swamp with the Water Step, and slid to the side. The muck underneath my feet couldn’t be called clean water, so I washed my face with the flask. And then I thought.

Why did I fall?

I had turned the sword too sharply. Excited about my new abilities and artifacts, I got a little bit carried away. I had tried to order it around. Through my uncertainty, I only made it worse. The sword wobbled, confused about where to fly. But why did it throw me off like an angry horse? How did my feet detach from the blade?

Perhaps...

I was distracted from my thoughts by a rather unusual sensation.

I didn’t hear any sounds. I didn’t feel the tingling that usually followed Epiphany, nor did I sense the warm wind of Combat Meditation. I felt the agitation of the swamp, muddy and thick with silt.

Someone was rushing here, disturbing the water with their touch.

I turned around and peered into the distance, matching what I felt with what I saw. Walkers. Masters. They were rushing toward me, using a similar technique to the Water Steps. Or maybe it was the same ability.

I stayed where I was. It’d be foolish to hide from people from whom I could learn where I was, what had happened in the Circle during my journey, and what was going on in the forests of the Academy through which lay the path to the City of a Thousand Levels.

Besides, what could they possibly do to me?

However, after a few breaths, my peace of mind was shattered.

A strong man in dirty light armor emerged from the thickets. I knew him, but I couldn’t remember his name. He met my group at the edge of the swamp... When was that? Two years ago? Two and a half?

But it was a long way from here to the edge of the swamp, almost as long as it took me to fly here from the Crossroads.

I grimaced in annoyance. Was I so bad at determining direction that I flew the other way even when I saw the sun?

I took out the token and selected the map Klatir had placed in it.

“Here are the Crossroads... Here’s the road to the Order’s lands... The sun should be... Here. And I probably fell... Here.”

That seemed about right. I was almost facing the right direction, except that I should have turned right.

Probably.

I missed Starag, who helped me find my way last time. But Starag wasn’t here and never would be. He was laid to rest in the square before the Alchemy Pavilion in the City of a Thousand Levels.

“Who are you? What are you doing in our territory?”

I flicked the ghostly map that obscured my view of the Artels with a quick movement.

“I forgot your name,” I said instead of replying.

The Artel just frowned.

“What? Who are you?” he demanded again. “What are you doing here?”

“I see you don’t remember mine either. Then again, why would you care about people you were planning to kill?” I grinned and asked with a sneer: “Maybe so you can run away from them when you meet them again?”

“Kill? What are you talking about? We’re honest Artels and...”

Suddenly, one of his men approached him, put his hand to his ear, and whispered:

“Chabol, something ain’t right here.”

Easily discerning the whisper, I nodded.

“He’s right, Chabol. And you are his stronger and smarter brother, aren’t you?”

The one behind Chabol’s back turned pale and whispered again, even more quietly:

“He’s too weak to have gotten so deep into the swamp on his own.”

It was interesting how your sense of the world changed as you Ascended. One of the most important differences between a Leader and a Master was that by learning to use all the nodes of the Master meridians at the same time, the Leader could fill his entire body with energy and maintain the Veil. One wish and the mist of power was no longer in a hurry to roll back to the first focus.

Chabol twitched his hand and gave a silent command. His troops, who had gathered during the conversation, mostly Warriors who used artifacts of some kind rather than techniques for walking on water, jumped to the side, clearly intent on attacking me at the next command.

I felt nothing. There was no steel between my shoulder blades, no wind of danger warning me with a warm breeze that I should step aside.

They were too weak to pose a threat to my life.

I shook my head and grinned.

“Honest Artels who sic Frogs on travelers?”

Chabol’s eyes widened.

“Kill him!” he shouted.

All he could do was throw up his hand. Many of his men couldn’t even do that much.

And all because of one word.

“Halt.”

But that was only the front, the surface. A seal, fifty paces wide from one edge to the other, covered them all instantly. And the ancient symbol that I had spoken aloud appeared there just as quickly.

“You—”

“Silence.”

I grinned again.

“So this is how honest Artels do business. When my group survived the poisonous creatures and I captured your man, Chabol, my men offered to return and punish you. I refused, preferring to leave you to your fate. Now it seems that the Heavens have brought us together again to show me that you’re still a disgrace and a stain on the Artel name.”

I was silent for a moment, looking at Chabol, who tried to shout something but couldn’t resist the Decree. The monochrome imperial edict. His body and mind were too weak.

“Die.”

Two dozen men collapsed into the swamp. Sighing, I looked at the corpses. Had they all meant to attack me? Had they all obeyed Chabol’s order?

Did it really matter?

Maybe not all of them. The one who stood behind Chabol was obviously smarter than his brother-in-arms. He had stopped him last time, and this time he had correctly deduced that a weakling couldn’t have come here on his own.

What did that change?

Nothing.

If they didn’t attack me, they’d attack someone else. They were all weak men. Unable to defend themselves. None of them was surprised by my story about the Frogs.

They knew.

So I didn’t have to wonder if I had done the right thing by killing them.

I wondered how many lives I didn’t save by not killing them when Chabol tried to keep us out of the swamps.

I tore the Bags from their bodies with indifference. Could there be anything in them, in an insignificant band led by a weak Master, that could interest me? It’d be a waste of time to even go through their contents. If Reika were here, she’d gladly do it on my behalf.

I grinned, remembering how she never missed a chance to collect trophies. What did she use to say?

“Vost says you should always bring home trophies!”

Or did he? Her eldest brother was the one who always talked about the bravery of running away. He couldn’t have advised this. Maybe it was Zvar, her second brother, the one who liked to tell stories?

I shook my head and grinned.

It didn’t matter. The seventh brother followed all advice, no matter who gave it. First brother, third brother, the Sentinels, or a cult leader with a short and unfortunate past.

Reika must have changed in the time I hadn’t seen her. Before, she didn’t know how big the world could be, didn’t know that the dream of defeating her fourth brother was no dream. By this point, she had been a disciple of the Second Circle’s strongest faction for two years. She was a talented Walker. Not as bright as Yarim or Tola, but a talented individual that the Order wouldn’t be stingy with.

Was she still so obsessed with collecting trophies? I’d like to believe that she hadn’t changed in that respect.

As memories and thoughts stirred, a swift, flexible shadow emerged from beneath the duckweed.

My body acted on its own.

Chapter 4

I raised my arm and the Snake’s venomous teeth closed on the impenetrable shell of my armor. There was a distinct gnashing sound, as if the teeth were also made of metal. A moment later, I threw the creature a few paces away.

As it drew an arc in the air and landed in the marsh, I wondered how I was going to defend myself against my equals.

Should I hang a Decree around me, as I had been able to do for a long time, or should I surround myself with the threads, as a Leader could?

The answer was obvious. Hadn’t I recently been worried that I wouldn’t have time to test and improve my skills?

I poured the threads out of the focus, turning them into a mist that filled the surrounding air, seeping into the mud I was wading through, spreading ten paces around me, enveloping me with an invisible poison.

I walked on, forcing myself to let go of the memories of Reika, to focus on what I needed here and now. I remembered what had caused my fall and thought about how to keep my sword balanced at high speed.

And also...

No, no.

I hesitated.

Should I return to the city where they sold me Moon?

Who knew how many people had paid for quality weapons from this blacksmith and died in battle?

I pushed the thought aside. It was too petty. I could get to the point where I wanted to exact punishment for the bad or cold food I had been served at some roadside eatery.

While I was arguing with myself and imagining my next sword flight, the cloud of elemental poison left a trail of death behind me: dead Frogs fell out of the duckweed, leeches thrashed in the mud, reeds withered, and whitefly leaves curled.

Even such a thin fog sometimes showed the strange properties of my element. A stain of blood would soon taint the marshy water, then a few reed stalks I passed would be covered with tiny icy needles.

And for all that, this fog required almost no energy. Or rather, I hadn’t yet noticed that the amount of threads in the second focus was dwindling.

But I could clearly see that it was indeed better for the Warriors of Spirit not to approach Masters of Spirit, because it’d be fatal for them. The same applied to weak Masters. Only when they had learned to protect themselves from the elemental poisons, to suppress them in their bodies, could they risk and try to attack a Leader with a weapon. And I’d advise neither Kirt nor Gaval to linger long in my cloud of mist. One strike and they’d gone before my element corroded their spiritual defenses.

No wonder it took more than a hundred Warriors to defeat one Leader.

And...

Could this be the reason why the knowledge of techniques in the so-called Prison Circles was limited to synergic techniques? With them, Warriors, and even more so Masters, had a better chance of trapping a Leader and killing them.

Still difficult, but much more possible than just trying to get within striking distance and attack with a weapon.

Most techniques had a range of fifty or so paces. Combat Meditation covered a hundred.

I stopped and concentrated. Elemental fog began to spread from me, poisoning the swamp and all who lived within its thickness. Thirty, forty, fifty paces... Six, seven, eight, nine... One hundred.

I couldn’t say that it was easy to hold a fog cloud of this size. The second focus was nearly empty. But it was still possible, even for a weak Leader like me.

However, I had a talent for Decrees and techniques. Maybe it’d also help me hold a cloud of this size. It’d be good to compare my abilities with Shandri’s.

One thing was for sure, however, and that was that any Leader was deadly to Warriors. They couldn’t get close, not even to hit them with a technique.

I remembered how I had gotten angry in the City of a Thousand Levels and nearly poisoned everyone around me by releasing my element together with my spiritual energy.

I’d have to be careful about my temper. I shouldn’t vent my anger in the middle of a town. I’d hurt not just the negligent blacksmith, but all his neighbors as well.

How often did I get so angry with someone?

I drew in the mist of power and paused to disembowel the dead Beasts. It was time to see if I could make up for the mistakes made during the flight.

And also to see if I could stand on my sword as well as Tizior.

I Dashed into the sky and soared a hundred paces above the swamp in a heartbeat.

I fumbled in the Bag, found the sword on its stand, grabbed it, pulled it out, and let it fall beside me in that brief moment when I was no longer flying up, but not yet falling.

A fraction of a second, and I was plummeting down, barely able to hold onto the sword, one foot slipping because I didn’t have time to put my energy into it. Only my other foot stuck to the polished steel, allowing me to hold on and straighten up.

I swore, realizing that I was as graceful as a newborn deer on ice. I threw the sword not under my feet, but a little to the side, a palm away, and nearly fell off into the swamp.

Flying...

I cursed, realizing that I had killed all the Artels without remembering to question them. What was this? Haste? Anger? Carelessness? Or had my memory gotten so bad with the breakthrough to the Leader stage?

Sighing, I realized that there was no way to correct this mistake. I would have to continue to rely on myself. 

“So the Crossroads seem to be there... I’m here... The sun’s over there... And I know that I’m in the middle of the swamp...”

Only this time, I’d inject the energy into the sword carefully and slowly.

I honestly tried not to give in to the urge to fly as fast as possible. I tested my power cautiously, learning to change direction and altitude, to slow down and accelerate sharply, without losing control and falling.

It didn’t take long to see the results. Frankly, flying the sword was much easier than maintaining Unity. Even before the sun began to sink toward the horizon, I dared to accelerate even faster than before the fall.

I was flying, enjoying the view of the ground from a height only birds could reach, wondering what kind of roads were unfolding below, and then I suddenly realized that something was wrong.

I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

It took at least a hundred breaths before it hit me — a strange sensation between my shoulder blades. Not the sting of invisible steel, but a coldness that seemed to seep into my bones.

What was it?

I slowed to a stop, scanned the forest ahead, and, gritting my teeth, thought about turning around.

There was a man flying right behind me. He was standing exactly the same as I was on my sword.

Relief washed over me.

As soon as I turned around, I heard a voice in my head.

“You have violated the borders of my faction. Halt where you are and state your name and business here, brother.”

I stared at him.

“No,” I thought to myself.

The pursuer sighed heavily.

“It’s indecent to ignore your interlocutor.”

I concentrated and seemed to manage to push my thoughts in his direction.

“I don’t see how that matters. I’m only passing through.”

“I insist.”

“And I refuse.”

I had no desire to entertain his whims.

I wasn’t a fool. The coldness between my shoulder blades wasn’t a sign of welcome.

It could only mean that the man on the sword had come after me with an intent to kill. And he hid his desire. Carefully and tirelessly, managing to get close while I was practicing sword flight.

I didn’t know what I did to him, what annoyed him, and why he would even think it a smart idea to attack another Leader, but only the fact that his anger slipped through the cracks of his calmness gave him away and warned me.

Lesson learned: you still had to look around when you were flying.

But did he really think that he was capable of killing me?

I looked over my shoulder, my grin unkind, and imagined creating a tricolor Decree over the pursuer.

But nothing happened. The man was still smiling slightly, almost benignly. Did he not feel the danger emanating from me?

I gritted my teeth.

What was going on?

I slipped my gaze into the token, flipped through the long list of enemies available for training, and cursed aloud.

A Master of Decrees at the peak of the Master of Spirit stage.

I hadn’t killed a Leader back then after all. I had killed him with a Decree only because the borrowed power of the pill had exhausted itself and his Ascension level had reset. Then that Lord of...

I cut myself off. Now was not the time.

Fine, I had other Masters of Decrees on the list other than the one who had served the Beetles...

Somewhere around here...

“There we go.”

A Leader of Warriors with three stars.

I focused, existing at the same time both on the sword hundreds of paces above the ground and on the token’s cliff, opposite my opponent. I stretched the tricolor Decree over the old man and grunted as it collapsed on my shoulders with an unbearable weight. Gritting my teeth, I wove “Death” into it.

Nothing.

The seal broke and the old man rushed toward me, making me wheeze.

“Halt!”

This was my world and my token, so he could do nothing but obey me.

I straightened my back and tried again, only this time using the cultist tricolor Decree.

The result was the same. There was nothing I could do against a stronger opponent.

I cursed again, breaking the silence of the cliff, and returned to the real world.

Just in time.

No matter how hard I tried, I kept failing to learn to control both worlds equally well at once. Every time I peered into the token, it was like I was splitting my attention and focus into two parts. And the more I demanded from the token, the deeper I dove into it, the more concentration it took. It was one thing to check the maps or the list of techniques, but it was a whole another to duel someone on the clifftop.

While I was testing my skills, I was clearly putting less energy into the flying sword — the pursuer was getting closer. Then again, I wasn’t flying at full speed and he was clearly a more experienced flyer. I had no chance of getting away from him.

But why would I even do that?

I turned around again and looked at the stranger’s smiling face. An Imperial. A leader of one of the Second’s numerous factions. And a Walker intent on killing his peer.

I was wrong. He had allowed his killer intent to seep out on purpose.

Heavens be damned, I had had a safer journey through the Lands of Itrea!

I stared at him, imagining his Decree becoming mine and me killing him.

Nothing.

His lips didn’t even curl in effort, maintaining the false smile.

“At least satisfy my curiosity, young man.” His voice invaded my mind again. “Which faction do you belong to?”

From a brother, a fellow Walker, to a young man? Did he see my face?

I grimaced, wishing I had worn a mask when I left the Hall of Contemplation. Maybe that was why he didn’t recognize me, because it was the first time he saw Legard? And of all the people to see my face, it had to be a Leader. Though why would Legard be concerned about a strong opponent? He was already sought after by three different factions. The Sauls, the Tamims, and the Singing Swords. What was another one?

Or maybe I was wrong and my attempt to scare him off succeeded?

He felt my intent stab him in the back and decided to be more polite, trailing ever so gingerly behind me?

I turned away, checking the direction I was going in, trying to squeeze all the speed I could out of my sword without toppling over. Something was wrong. Before the fall, I could pick up speed more quickly, piercing through the air without any resistance, but now I felt like I was trudging through muck.

Reaching out to the pursuer’s mind was easier the second time, even with my back turned to him.

“Shouldn’t you introduce yourself first?” I asked, buying time.

“I am not the one trespassing.”

“I didn’t know that the sky was subject to boundary divisions.”

“You are ignorant then.”

“And you are annoying.”

“You are also very rude.”

I laughed.

“Are you pulling my leg, brother? I was minding my business when you came up here, stalking me like a prowling Beast, and started harassing me with questions, prying into my privacy.”

The pursuer didn’t answer.

I looked over my shoulder again, assessing the distance between us. Had another step been added to it? I couldn’t tell. Why was he even trailing after another Leader? Second time today that I ran into someone and they wanted to kill me. Was it a coincidence? I doubted it.

How do you even decide to attack a Leader without stopping to think that it’s a bad idea? This was the peak of Ascension in this Circle, after all. Having just one Leader in your faction could tip the scales of power in your favor. Killing one was a violation of the law and a sure way to spoil relations between the factions, provoking a catastrophe equal to the Wild Times or a Calamity.

At that moment, my eyes fell on my left arm, which I put aside to keep my balance. The once beautiful robe looked more like a rag used to mop the common room floor in a cheap inn, dirty and worn. The hand itself looked the same, covered in dried stains.

“You look great, Mister Leader of Warriors,” I thought bitterly. “A true representative of the supreme power of one of the factions of the Second Circle.”

I was foolish not to change my clothes after climbing on the sword. But I forgot. Also, I might not have been able to do it while standing on the blade a hundred paces in the air.

Was he really after me just because I didn’t look like a proud and talented disciple of some faction’s chief? Did he feel safe toying with a vagabond without Soul Jades, Spiritual Voice Jades, and other artifacts that could give away his identity?

I looked around again.

The man didn’t seem like he cared at all. I could be Ram Vilor himself and he’d still look at me with condescension.

I could see only two explanations for this — either he was sure that I didn’t possess such artifacts, which was true, or he had a way of avoiding retribution. Maybe he wasn’t from around here, like me, or maybe he was counting on no one seeing his face. When Tizior was preparing me for the invasion of the Beetles’ stronghold, he gave me a whole lecture on the various types of jade artifacts. Normally, you couldn’t do much against these things, unless you had special training. And if my pursuer was a talented artificer or a formation expert, he could make it so that neither the Spiritual Voice Jade nor the Soul Jade could reach their beacon, wherever it was.

I cursed loudly and turned to the token, to the map.

If Six Creeks were on this side of the swamp, and the swamp had already been replaced by the forest underfoot, then I was indeed intruding on the lands of the Dark Hollow faction.

With a frown, I put the map down and looked back, glaring at my pursuer again.

It was a faction I was familiar with. It was where Hati was born, the Array maker who murdered people in the Battlefield with his gang. The Hollows were also the ones who put pressure on Vilikor’s family and killed their relatives when they refused to join the Livats, a family of scribes, not artificers or formation experts, but that didn’t mean anything.

“You’re a Livat, aren’t you?”

The man raised his eyebrows, changing his expression for the first time.

Bullseye.

“Your Ascension path is a mud road,” I hissed.

The smile faded from the man’s face.

“You should be held accountable for your insolence. Land and explain who you are and what you are doing in our domain.”

I nodded.

“Right away.”

I slowed down, putting less energy into the sword and slowing its flight, slowly closing the distance between the wretched Livat and me. I could see his Decree seals from fifty paces away. I could spread mine even further, but my opponent’s Ascension level rendered my talent useless. I needed his seal. I needed time to steal it. So I’d approach him slowly and speed up as soon as I saw his Decree or contract.

My ruse didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are cunning. Where did you get your sword? Where did you Ascend?”

I didn’t say a word.

I needed him to come closer.

Closer...

Annoyingly enough, with every step I took, the steel stabbed me deeper and deeper in the back.

“Damn it, Tizior, couldn’t you have attacked me with all your might when I met you at your manor? Did you pity me so much that now that I’m a Leader, I’m still so weak and easy to kill?”

Maybe my anxiety was because we were flying high above the ground and one mistake could cause me to fall? I doubted it. I still knew how to perform the Dash. I’d be able to dampen the fall and walk away with a twisted ankle at worst.

Suddenly, I heard the pursuer whispering:

“Can... see... us...?”

The answering whisper was unfamiliar to me.

“Yes.”

“From... prepare...”

I froze with a realization. The steel stabbed deeper and deeper, foretelling my demise, for I was flying straight into an ambush.

Did I trade intelligence for power? I was more careful than this!

I turned sharply and stared into the treetops ahead as if I could see something, then leaned to the left and poured as much energy as I could into the flying sword.

A loud roar came from behind me.

“Halt!”

It was as if the trunk of a Heavenly Giant had been attached to my sword. I was supposed to dash forward, but instead, I slowly fell to the left and down.

What was going on?

Who was doing this?

I straightened and looked over my shoulder, expecting to see the glow of a technique or artifact in my pursuer’s hands, but I saw nothing. His hands were empty and still slightly apart for better balance.

Not only was my sword not flying faster, not absorbing my energy, but it was wobbling with difficulty from side to side, as if it was moving through unyielding mud.

But I managed.

Slowly, I began to turn. Ahead and to the right of me, another flying sword and another Leader soared out of the forest into the sky. Fifty breaths later, I had two pursuers, the first a little further away, the second a little closer. This one turned out to be an old man with a refined and kind face. He’d be more suited for helping Ramas hold lessons than for flying around and killing random Leaders.

For a moment, I was annoyed. The Dark One could fly around with ease. No one had ever seen him, not even the Sentinels knew anything about him. He’d fly through the lands of the Saul family and the Order of the Singing Sword to his dungeon without a soul noticing him. But the first time I stood on my sword, not only they noticed me, they tried to kill me. My own people. Imperials. Was there any justice in that?

I curled my lips into a grin. Maybe the sky really was divided here and anyone who crossed the border became an enemy? But how could a random passerby know that?

I was also surprised to hear the conversation behind my back, which was definitely not intended for me.

“Are you even trying?”

“I’m having fun. You ought to try it sometimes. You look like someone had stuck their flying sword up your—”

“Hold your tongue.”

“Like you held your killer intent? He was oblivious until you came along. As soon as you appeared, he sensed something and turned around. I’ve been trailing him for half a day, Ravut. He was none the wiser until you came along.”

“You think too highly of yourself, Ortius, to talk to me in such a tone. Despite your talent, I can still bend you over my knee like a child. And deprive you of your annual allowance.”

“Forgive me, elder. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“That’s better. Now try again. Make him stop.”

“I can’t. His sword is... odd. It doesn’t seem to obey me entirely. Or maybe something happened in the swamp. He killed those Artels way too quickly.”

“All I hear are excuses, Ortius. Try your best.”

“I’m trying! It’s just that his sword is very fast. You were right, elder. It’s wasted on a crook like him.”

Unable to stand it, I turned around, first to the left, then to the right. If the young man was only grinning, then the old man was sneering.

“Young man, you’d better listen. You’ve already insulted our faction by trespassing on its borders without warning. Halt your flight and apologize. Submit an offering on behalf of your faction to redeem yourself and move on.”

I was so surprised by the audacity that I didn’t even bother with telepathy.

“What are you on about?”

The old man frowned.

“Looks like we’ll have to teach you a lesson, brat.”

I turned away, trying to understand. Was it normal that I could hear them talking among themselves? Judging by the way they were speaking and the things they were discussing, I shouldn’t have been able to do it. You’d have to be stupid to disclose your plan right in front of your victim. But I heard it. And I heard snatches of their conversation when the old man was still hiding. But at least I now finally knew why the sword was disobeying me.

Damned be that Hati, he could’ve at least told me that there was a Leader skilled in the art of making Arrays in his native faction.

He’d put an Array on my sword. The same way Hati had tried to stop me by restraining me and not letting me breathe. This one just worked differently. I hadn’t even heard that you could disrupt an artifact’s functioning.

I really ought to stop being surprised by these sorts of things.

Back then, in the Battlefield, I managed to make a dent in Hati’s Array and regain my freedom.

How difficult could it be to make my disobedient sword speed up if I poured thrice as much energy into it?

Chapter 5

I couldn’t make my sword go faster. It was a waste of energy.

But Ravut could.

Every five hundred breaths, his sword would gain momentum, shortening the distance. Four times he tried this trick to make me turn deeper into their lands. Four times I turned anywhere but where they wanted me to go. I didn’t know where we were or where we were going, but I knew for sure that the Hollows weren’t below us.

I also knew for sure that my focus was bigger than that of an average talented Leader. And judging from the conversations I kept “hearing” behind my back, the old man wasn’t among those gifted individuals, so his focus was nearly showing its bottom. Mine had been barely tapped into despite the fact I’d been using it even before they came running after me.

This Ortius was wrong to think that I knew something about Arrays. I knew a lot about Decrees, another one of the first professions, but that still allowed me to resist his commands. Another explanation for my not being driven where they needed me was that the sword beneath my feet wasn’t only unusual, but was made by a talented and very powerful artificer.

I heard Ravut’s angry and barely comprehensible hiss in my head again.

“Enough! I’ve had enough of this!”

Only this time he wasn’t just chatting with Ortius; the heat struck my back, making me turn left, down, and then to the right. But it didn’t help; the elemental bird still caught up with me and stabbed me in the back.

The heat of danger gave way to pain. The bird had pierced my Shell, my Veil, and my amulet’s defenses.

I turned and glared hatefully at Ravut. He had gotten close enough long ago, but I still couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not a single seal on the old stump. None of his peers had signed a contract with him. None of the elders had trusted him with the faction’s secrets or anything else dangerous enough to merit even a bicolor seal. A void above his head, not even a trace of a single ancient symbol, all carefully cleaned up.

My Decrees didn’t stay on him for more than a moment, no matter how many colors I made them in. He was my senior in Ascension.

Although weaker.

I struck down the second bird with Storm Spear before it could get close. But Ortius was already standing in a swarm of blue blades, and they followed me despite my attempts to evade.

“Boy, that was our last warning.”

This time, the words were clearly meant for me, but I didn’t bother responding. Not to bullies who thought they could get away with asserting their power at someone else’s expense. Not liars who obviously wanted me dead so that no one would know about this dirty deed.

I kept my eyes on the forest in front of me. Not Heavenly Giants yet, but three times the size of the forest before it. It’d do well enough. All I had to do was figure out how they spotted me last time so that I wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice.

There were only three possible explanations.

Or rather, I could only see three.

My back burned hot again as the old man launched another elemental bird. He didn’t have much choice. With his first focus empty, it was either powerful techniques or flying. He couldn’t afford both at the same time.

“Come down!”

The bird caught up with me and struck, breaking through all the layers of my defense once again. I swallowed blood and grinned, even though my pursuer couldn’t see it.

“What do you think I’m doing, old man? I’m coming down. The question is, am I landing where you want me to land?”

Concentrating, I began to fill the constellations of the Surf Barrier. It was easier as a Leader. Surprisingly enough.

When the third blast caught up with me, I was already surrounded by the strongest of my defenses.

The bird didn’t manage to break through.

I smiled, mighty pleased with myself.

“Take that, you stinking jair.”

I considered the three explanations again.

The flight itself. My flying sword. And my power, the strength of a newborn Leader.

If I could get out of their sight for a few breaths, if I could stop flying, land my sword, and stop being a Leader, would they be able to notice me again?

Of course they would.

I remembered that Leaders could sense the world much better than Masters could. After all, I was already experiencing it much better myself — the sphere of Combat Meditation seemed to have grown denser. Without turning around, I could follow the path that each of the air blades took into my back. Now Ortius had decided to use something much more powerful; I could feel his hands freezing in another position.

So not only did I need a few breaths of freedom and maneuvering space, but I needed to stay out of their sight for those few breaths to accomplish what I had planned.

“So you’ve stumbled upon a newborn Leader and decided to profit at his expense? Let’s see if my flying sword goes for both your throats.”

I needed at least three breaths to get out of their sight.

If I could open the first twelve nodes, I wouldn't be running like a headless quart.

Turning around, I took another look at the depth of my opponents’ focuses. Gritting my teeth, I turned away. So many dark, opaque currents swirled in their shallow lakes of power. They were weakened; they wouldn’t put up much of a fight, but they could still surprise me. They most certainly had secrets and artifacts to spare, and around us weren’t the walls of Tizior’s pavilion that I had been trapped in, but the clear and free sky.

And then there was the dense forest beneath my feet, the top of which I could almost claw at with my sword.

But what difference did it make? I couldn’t think of these people as fellow Walkers, they were no better than the cultists.

No.

They were worse than them.

They had to die.

I finished stuffing various artifacts and spirit stones into a Bag, added another dozen empty cultist ones on top, and concentrated, clenching my palms, my energy glowing.

More, more...

A little more...

The heat of danger flared up between my palms and I threw the Bag upward with all my might. Then I plunged down, breaking branches with my sword and my body.

First, there was a blue flash above me, followed by a deafening thunderclap. It was so loud that for a moment I felt like I was back in the Lightning Storm.

The air blast bent the trees, snapped weak ones, knocked me sideways, and turned my sharp descent into a tumble.

But the Surf held.

I stopped pouring energy into the sword and bent down to grab it. In a flash, it was in the Bag.

Fury of the Beasts. Third constellation.

A Dash. At the limit of my strength.

I limited my Ascencion and landed on the branches of a tree as a Warrior, giving up the defensive techniques and skills available to Leaders. I touched it, pressed my back against the rough trunk, took a breath to stick the heavy Beetle artifact under my robes, another to shove the Flag into the branch, and then looked up into the sky, into the gap between the leaves.

What a beautiful color the sky was... And those light cirrus clouds? How pretty they were! And that sunset! The way the sun tinted the clouds as it dipped below the horizon... I should really observe it more often.

Maybe a hundred breaths passed, and the beauty of the sky was obscured by Ravut’s sluggish blade.

Perfect.

I let that thought slip. One, dangerous, musing, and then I pushed it out of my mind.

What did Saref tell me two years ago? That Leaders kept their armor on all the time?

No, Saref, you were wrong. You could bet that this deceptive strike would be all that was needed, first and last.

I continued to stare at the clouds and the sky in the gaps between the branches. I wasn’t looking at the strange flying thing passing overhead. I was enjoying the view, dreaming of a perfect sunset, meditating, leisurely filling the meridians, and...

Now!

I erased the Decree, regaining my Ascension level. The Dash dragged me through the branches, slamming me right into Ravut, who didn’t even have the time to turn to confront the danger. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, plunged Roak’s Claw into his neck, and introduced him to a tricolor cultist Decree.

Freeze!

Ravut jerked, slumping sideways as if he could throw me off, and we fell, his flying sword unable to support both of us.

The weight of the Decree was unbearable, its boundaries wavering, trying to dissolve and disintegrate, but I kept remaking it, infusing it with energy. It clearly worked, restraining Ravut’s movements — his arm rose slowly, as if he were underwater.

And in a way, he was. Two elemental clouds collided, mingled, and my water serpents wrapped around Ravut, biting him as if that might help them poison him.

Not likely.

My opponent’s Ascension level was higher than mine. Still, I tried to use everything I had.

We hit a branch, flipped over, and the world around us spun rapidly, alternating between the sky, the earth, and the trees.

“I beseech thee!”

The bone beads on my wrist swelled into Flying Assassins, made a loop, darted toward Ravut, slammed into his body...

They failed, as did the Claw. The Leader Veil was too strong. Neither the daggers nor the technique could even touch the skin.

Ravut’s hand rose a little more.

“Freeze!” I gasped.

In vain. All the spiritual energy and elemental threads I had poured into the Beetle artifact seemed to fall into a bottomless void. Dozens of disintegrating tricolor Decrees slowed Ravut down, but that was all.

A strange element struck me.

For a moment, the world disappeared in a blinding blue flash, my chest tightened, and then it was as if I was being pierced by a hundred blades from the inside.

And then it was over.

We collapsed to the ground. The Claw sank forward, piercing Ravut’s neck and showering me with warm blood.

I blinked once, then again, trying to see through the curtain of red, and turned my fist just in case. It was then that I realized that the heat of danger and the weight of the Decrees on my shoulders were gone.

I coughed, felt myself spit out blood. Suddenly, I was able to see again.

Ravut was dead. The Claw had indeed pierced his throat. So had the Flying Assassins. They were in his eyes, his ears, the dip between his collarbones, his armpits, and in his focus.

Before my eyes, they burst from the wounds, darted to my arm, and turned back into a bracelet of pearls. Without my command. It just meant that there was no more energy in them.

It was a mess, but I had done it. And even without the help of the Beasts, who never came running to my call to begin with.

How much stronger was Ravut than me? Two, three Leader stars?

It didn’t save him.

I exhausted him with the chase, forced him to spend his first focus in the air, and at the crucial moment his reserves weren’t enough to withstand the blows that I brought down on him.

I coughed again, spitting blood, and looked at the ghost. Given that Ravut was still very much plump and full of life energy and blood, he hadn’t been feasted on. The ghost’s blows seemed to have exhausted the old man’s Veil and amulet, and it was really the Claw and the Flying Assassins that killed him.

And now for the difficult part...

I tried to give an order, but only a wheeze escaped from my lips.

“Return to the flag. Lie low.”

The ghost obediently darted away. He was there one moment and gone in the next.

I used one of the healing techniques on myself, took a breath, and looked inward. The prognosis wasn’t good — my whole chest felt like it was riddled with worms, but the wound wasn’t fatal. At least now I knew just how dangerous a Walker wielding Air could be, turning the very air you breathed into hundreds of blades inside your lungs.

I straightened up, steadied myself on my feet, and assessed my focus. The short fight eroded what little had been left after the chase.

I could handle it. The strongest opponent was dead, and I’d be making a rookie mistake if I let the other one go. I didn’t belong to any of the existing factions. I was a Sentinel, wasn’t I? As such, I didn’t punish randomly and without purpose. I removed only those who deserved to die.

The sword reappeared from the Bag. I jumped on it and soared into the air.

But I was too late.

By now, Ortius realized that things had gone very badly for his friend and ran away.

Coward.

I grimaced and plunged downward. Ravut’s body landed in the Bag before I moved to the tree. I touched the flag with the palm of my hand, ripping it from the branches, and then I was above the treetops again.

Catching up.

I fixed my gaze on Ortius’s fleeing back.

“The peak of the Second Circle’s Ascension and you fall so low. How are you, the Leaders of your faction, better than a gang of street scum?”

I could clearly feel the fear and trepidation in his reply.

“What are you talking about? You misunderstand! It was all Ravut’s idea! He was the one who noticed you when you were learning to fly. Listen, I have nothing against you, I really don’t. Besides, he’s already paid for my services, so... How about you just let me go?”

But his lies didn’t add up. If Ravut had indeed spotted me first, he would’ve killed me on the spot.

But he hadn’t.

You were there, Ortius, unaccustomed to fighting, and Ravut flew in later to try to ambush me, only to betray himself with a lust for killing that I could easily sense.

Liar.

I didn’t even need the help of my Decrees to realize that.

It was you, Ortius, who spotted me searching for something in this swamp. It was you who suggested this plan to Ravut. It was you who directed him to the right place for the ambush, you stinking liar.

It was also you who held back my sword with your Arrays. And now, either you couldn’t do it without seeing me, or you had exhausted your reserves.

I probably wouldn’t be able to defend against another Leader either. But I didn’t need to. I was already catching up with Ortius. I could do it. Several Claws and... The ghost. Should I allow him to Ascend as well? I needed a helper I didn’t have to worry about, who wouldn’t hold me back, but actually helped me.

Ortius turned and licked his lips, his voice echoing in my head.

“Venerable one, let’s settle this amicably. Do you want compensation? I’ll give you my Bag. You can have everything I own, just stop this needless chase.”

A contemptuous smile touched my lips.

How quickly his tone changed. First I was the honored brother in Ascension who should introduce himself, stop, and explain what he was doing in Livat lands, and now I was a venerable sir who had to forgive an assassination attempt.

I measured the shrinking distance between us and shook my head.

If only I were a merciful man.

Ortius cursed aloud and even tried to slow my sword again. He had guts, I’d give him that.

He didn’t last long.

“Stop! I’ve already reported you to my family. If you kill me, you won’t escape retribution. You were right! I am one of the Hollow’s Leaders! I am Ortius, a very valuable member of the Livat family! They’ll be looking for me! They’re already on their way here!”

I didn’t bother answering.

And it didn’t take long for the flight to end either.

Chapter 6

He gave it his very all until the end, until we tumbled down, when he remained without a single drop of spiritual energy in his focus.

There was nothing but fear on his face.

“W-Wait! Let’s talk!”

I drove the flag into the ground, forcing him to choke on his words.

“W-What’s that? Who are you?!”

“He’s all yours.”

The cloth billowed in the invisible wind, releasing a ribbon of black smoke. It was unlikely that my victim saw any of this, because the moment I let the flag out of my hand, it became invisible, transparent as the air around it.

But he definitely saw the ghost.

“S-Shackles!”

I tilted my head to the side, watching what was happening. Hati, my last Array-wielding opponent, didn’t need to shout anything. Neither when he tried to kill me, nor when he served me faithfully, bound by the Decree.

Slowly, I realized what Ortius was doing. He filled the air with his command, backed by the power of his soul, turning the currents into shackles. Very interesting...

Was the ghost as strong as a Leader, I wondered.

As if mimicking me, my spectral friend tilted his head to the side and slowly, slowly moved forward, making me break into a smile. He was strong. Very strong. Not a Leader, not yet, but perhaps a peak Master? The journey through the Lands of Itrea had done him good as well.

“No!”

Otrius screamed, turned around, and scrambled away. Knowing as well as I did that his focus was empty, he didn’t bother with techniques.

For a moment I wondered why he hadn’t taken up arms or used artifacts, but then I realized that I had already answered this question — he didn’t know how to fight. Like any bully, all he could do was harass others from a distance or from the shadows.

His shackles, left unattended, lasted five breaths, and then the ghost vanished, reappearing just a step in front of his victim.

It took him two dozen blows to exhaust the amulet’s supply and kill Ortius.

When the withered body fell to the ground, I ordered the ghost to bring me his victim’s Bag and sword.

I wouldn’t lose sleep over his death. Such people didn’t deserve to live. Justice had been served.

The only thing that worried me was whether he had indeed managed to report me to someone within the Livat family. It could be that he was bluffing, trying to buy himself some time, or it could be that he was serious and intent on making my life miserable from beyond the grave.

As of yet, there was no prickling between my shoulder blades, but that didn’t have to mean anything. And this made me uneasy. I absolutely didn’t want to bring another problem to the Order’s gates instead of helping it.

I pulled out the Destroyer and opened the collar of Ortius’s robe. I didn’t see any artifact that could’ve transmitted my face to anyone within his faction. But that didn’t mean much, since I did see the voice transmission jade. I didn’t care. I wasn’t wearing a mask right now. They could look for Legard all they wanted. One faction more or less didn’t make a difference.

One less, actually.

Attacking a Sentinel was a serious offense for any faction.

Though I had to prove that I was one and find other Sentinels to tell them what happened.

In the meantime, I had to hide. No Sentinel, no charges. You say this Sentinel flew through the swamp and our forest? No, we didn’t see him. Maybe he ran out of energy, fell, and drowned. Too bad, too bad.

Besides my face, the only thing that could give away my identity to my pursuers was the imprint of my spiritual energy. But I had already figured out what to do about it.

First, I destroyed another one of the looted cultist Bags, causing the spirit stones inside to spew out their power. A wave of destruction swept through the forest, stripping the grass, tearing off leaves, breaking dry branches, and erasing all traces of the fight. Even the invisible ones. At least that was what I was counting on.

After that, I used Fury of the Beasts three times to draw them to the area.

I was sure they’d add their paw prints and energy to this place. They’d also eat the corpses.

With difficulty, I found Ravut’s place of death and repeated the same thing there. Fury had already drawn the Beasts to the swamp, and when I repeated the technique so close to them...

The best thing to do would have been to leave the two Livat Bags here, but...

Their stuff. Their stuff would be my compensation for the attack. Especially since there was bound to be something a young Leader could use in there. And if not, two flying swords would be enough. After all, they decided to kill a stranger for the sake of one.

Flee!

The Beast that had received the Decree darted away and disappeared into the bushes, leaving me to pick up Ravut’s flying sword.

With that done, I sprinted away, trying to stay close to the treetops.

As much as I was in a hurry, I decided to hide.

It would be better for me not to be here when people came to investigate.

As soon as a road flashed through the forest, the flying sword disappeared into the Bag and I used the invisibility amulet to fall into the thick of the woods like a stone in the water. Too bad it didn’t work on the sword.

Atria, the other me, came out onto the road, wearing shabby and worn light armor that would have been perfect for a lone wanderer of little strength.

In the evening, a small caravan stumbled into my campsite. Three scowling mercenaries stopped next to me.

“Who are you?”

I took a bite out of my dinner, gave them a lazy look over the piece of dry jerky, and only after chewing, answered:

“A traveler.”

“And where are you going?”

“Wherever you’re headed.”

The nearest one, a man with a short beard, frowned.

“And how do you know where we are going?”

I chuckled.

“You’re going that way, aren’t you?” I pointed with my hand just to make sure. “What a coincidence, so am I. We might as well keep each other company.”

The bearded man grimaced.

“I ain’t traveling with such a suspicious individual.”

“Are you the head of the caravan?”

“No.”

I took another bite of the meat and, chewing, shrugged.

“Then it’s not up to you to decide, is it?”

The caravan leader was less suspicious of me, or perhaps he was just better at hiding it. Whatever the case, he let me join them. There was only one cart with goods; the other four were full of travelers who paid for the trip, protection, and knowledge of the way. However, I suspected that I had been charged twice the usual price. I had to bargain for the sake of appearance. A shabby traveler couldn’t be seen parting with his money so easily.

I didn’t need a place in a caravan as much as I needed to talk to someone and find out where I was.

We were still in Dark Hollow, no matter how sure I was that I had gotten out of there a long time ago. Fortunately, the caravan was traveling to the border, and not deeper into the Livat lands, so Atria didn’t run away in the middle of the night, fleeing from the crime scene, but continued with the caravan on its way to Sun’s Plains.

But I wouldn’t be me if something didn’t go wrong.

“What are you doing here? C’mon, get out of here.”

I raised my eyebrow.

“Are you out of your mind? This is my spot. I got here first. Not to mention that I brought the wood and lit the fire myself. Go sit somewhere else.”

The burly man with gray in his hair, touched with the green of his element, was getting on my nerves. For some reason, he had gotten it in his head that I was trying to get close to his mistress. Every time he saw me, he seemed to be looking for a reason to quarrel with me.

The man drew his head into his shoulders and clenched his fists.

“You brat! I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

Not if I had a say in it.

“Chief!” I shouted for the caravan leader.

The man swore.

“Coward! Be a man!”

“Chief!”

“Don’t even think for a moment that my lady would fall for you just because you have a pretty face, you little—”

“Chief!”

He finally got to us.

“What are you yelling for?”

I pointed my finger at the burly man.

“He’s harassing me, chasing me away from my own campfire. If he’s cold, he can gather the wood himself and light it up. It’s not that complicated. Let him know he’s wrong, sir. I’m as much as your client as they are. What? Just because they paid more means they can do whatever they want? Is that fair?”

He looked at me, the food laid out by the campfire — my food, by the way — and then at the gray-haired man.

“Let the boy be. You, sir, follow me.”

The burly man gritted his teeth and, giving me a hard look, stepped after the caravan leader.

I shook my head as I watched him go. He didn’t call me “sir” or “venerable master,” just “boy” if he was being nice. Otherwise, I was just one of the many “yous.”

With interest, I watched the young mistress get out of the cart, holding onto her bodyguard’s hand for support. I didn’t see anything special about her. Would Atria look for a meeting with her? I doubted it. She was weak. She was neither particularly pretty nor wealthy. From what I had been told, Atria had big plans for himself. Namely, Fatya.

Could this girl be the daughter of some faction’s chief? A Livat, perhaps?

Noticing the malicious glint in the burly man’s eyes, I purposely measured his young mistress with another appraising glance, and then shrugged and turned away.

No way. And not even because of her cheap robes and shabby bodyguards. Her Ascension was too low for her to be the daughter of someone so important.

“I heard you scored with the girl.”

I chuckled.

“You heard wrong.”

With that, I closed my eyes and looked into my Bag. Little by little, every evening, every night, I went over my trophies. I was alone now, without Reika to entrust this boring task to. Or anyone else. The seventh brother would have to suffer on his own.

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, neither of the Leaders had any worthy techniques in his Bag.

For the most part, it was just junk that they had collected and accumulated over the years. Perhaps these were the scrolls that they learned from as Warriors and Masters.

Leftovers, it’d be more accurate to say.

There were only two good ones. One from each of them. But both were for Air. It would appear that Ortius had an affinity for it as well.

Heavenly Wrath

Destruction technique

Rank: Spiritual

Quality: low

Constellation: first

Element: Air

The energy poured into the technique turns into a shower of ghostly blades, covering an area of twenty paces around the Walker, wounding all that dare to challenge him.

First constellation (spiritual energy): fifteen nodes

...

Third constellation (spiritual energy): one hundred and two nodes

...

First constellation (elemental energy): seven nodes

...

A very pretentiously named Spiritual technique of low quality. But it was meant for Air Walkers and it was incomplete, with only the first elemental constellation. Although I suspected I had seen it performed by Tizior in the Beetles’ residence. But his had been of higher quality, with an older constellation, and still incapable of destroying all organic matter.

Still, I was lucky that it required so much energy to invoke as it had made my opponents hesitant to use it against me until it was too late.

The second scroll was more interesting, holding a movement technique that left ghostly images to mislead any potential pursuers. I had done something like this at the Academy entrance exam. Or rather, at the presentation before the actual exams, when we had to prove that we were Masters.

Too bad this technique was also for Air Walkers. It was also inferior to the Roak, just of Terrestrial quality, but it opened up some interesting possibilities. I knew just who to give it to.

There were also artifacts. But I needed help with them. Lots of help. I could already figure out what properties an unfamiliar artifact was likely to have... Well, most of the time I could. By shape, pattern, and material. The conversations I had with Berek, Fatya, and Tizior gave me a lot.

But what I couldn’t be sure of was whether these artifacts were a double-edged blade. I’d rather not learn that a protective amulet led my enemies to me instead of shielding me. I’d leave that to the Order to figure out. I’d give it to Shandri and let him exchange it for spirit stones. Besides, I didn’t need another protective amulet.

One of the caravan guards who had come to my campfire out of boredom called out to me, ignoring the fact that I was obviously busy.

“Atria! How about a game of dice?”

I blinked, pulling myself away from the Bag, and shook my head.

“Some other time.”

“How do you not fall asleep meditating so often? Does it do anything?”

I shrugged.

“Progress is slow. It’s only been a week since my last breakthrough. How long does it take you to open a new node?”

“Me?” The guard chuckled and ran a hand through his gray beard. “Ah, I fear my cultivating days are done. I’m an old stump. I haven’t gained any new stars for a long time, nor have I looked at young girls for a long time,” he added meaningfully.

His neighbor snorted.

“Bullshit.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” The guard laughed, correcting himself. “Sure, it can happen, we’re all human. But I only admire them from a distance, so they hire me as a bodyguard. I’m no longer fit for such business. I’m drier than a piece of jerky.”

Now I chuckled.

“I have a potion that can fix that.”

His friend laughed so hard that tears sprang from his eyes.

“Oh, he knows that potion well, my friend. Drinks it instead of water.”

“Don’t listen to him,” the gray-haired guard said, shaking his head. “His ass is jealous of the shit that comes out of his mouth.”

The other guard chuckled, waving his hand, a playful smile on his face.

“Ignore us, Atria, we’re old and bored. But you’re young. Rumors don’t come out of nowhere. An empty bed is a cold place to sleep in, especially on the road. If you need some help, we’ll gladly oblige. We were both young once. Whaddya say? We’ll keep watch while you two slip into the woods,” he said, nodding toward the girl and her bodyguard sitting by the distant campfire. “Maybe you get lucky.”

It was a strange offer. Very strange. Was the head of the caravan testing me? Did he also believe that our meeting wasn’t accidental?

I smiled and shook my head.

“Thanks, but no need. I have something to do. And if no one interrupts me again, I might get lucky,” I quipped.

With that, I settled myself more comfortably, intending to actually meditate, and closed my eyes again.

“We were more daring in our time,” I heard the guard mutter.

“And you were less interested in Ascension, so you’re all shriveled up like a prune now, needing potions to get girls interested,” I noted without opening my eyes.

“Hahaha! Fair enough, fair enough.”

Eventually, they both quieted down and busied themselves first with their dinner, then with their dice and finally went off to guard the camp.

I continued my meditation. Everyone thought I was trying to untie another Warrior node. Well, I was, but there was a “but.” A small one. In two stages. I was opening a Leader node. There was “warrior” in its name, so, technically, it was correct...

The progress was slow, though. The energy density in the Second Circle was really holding me back. As was the mask. It restricted me as well. If I were alone and not pretending to be a weak wanderer, I would have used the Cycle two or three times a day, absorbing elemental energy and threads on top of what I already had.

But I had to settle for that. We finally crossed the border two days ago, and tomorrow, if there was no delay, we’d reach the city of Bright Dawn. There, Atria, a weak Warrior, would disappear, and I’d take to the skies again. A week, with enough time to cover my tracks and wait.

No one was scouring the skies for another faction’s Leader. No one was racing down the road asking about any odd events, sightings, or travelers. When I said no one, I meant the Dark Hollow and its people. Their Leaders, their guards. They didn’t ask a single unusual question at the border, and who would have told them that their faction had just been weakened by the loss of two Leaders?

How many did they even have? Three, four, five? Hardly more. Unfortunately for them, stupidity and greed deserved punishment.

And unfortunately for me, there had been a delay. First, we were attacked by Beasts, then, on a narrow stretch of the road, we ran into another, much larger caravan and had to slow down. So we came to Bright Dawn two days later.

Outside the gate, I looked around and nodded to the caravan leader.

“Thank you for having me.”

He repeated my gesture.

“And thank you for taking care of that Beast. You’ve earned yourself a spot in my caravan whenever you’re in need of transport. Are you sure you won’t join my guard? I can see you’re used to the road.”

“No, thanks.” I smiled. “I do intend to travel the Circles in the future, but that journey won’t start today.”

“You know best, boy.” The man nodded once more. “Goodbye, Atria. Take care.”

“Goodbye.”

Three streets later, in a narrow alley, Atria, a polite Warrior of low Ascension, a tramp in battered leather armor, disappeared. Instead, out of the darkness emerged Rimilo, a strong Master in an expensive blue robe.

I noted with annoyance that I barely fit in Reika’s gift. I hadn’t gained much in height in these two years, but my shoulders were definitely wider. Again.

Now I needed to go through the city and exit through the north gate.

I stepped out of the alley and looked around.

“You! Come here.”

I flashed a cheap spirit stone, summoning a grimy little boy over.

“How can I help the young master?”

I opened my mouth and froze. Not a boy. The child was thin, dirty, and barefoot with several completed contracts over its head, but something told me that it wasn’t a boy, but a girl with very short hair.

I blinked. Was this another difference between a Leader and a Master? The ability to look deeper? To look past the external and superficial? See the essence under the dirt and cut locks?

The girl took a step back, her voice trembling.

“Young master?”

I blinked again.

“Take me to the north gate.”

The girl glared at me, having managed to look me up and down in an instant.

“Payment first, young master,” she demanded.

I tossed her the stone and watched it disappear in her rags. She immediately smiled and nodded her little head.

“This way, young master.”

Following her, I remembered another young girl. But that one only pretended to be a ragamuffin, while she was, in fact, the daughter of one of the most influential Walkers in Frost Ridge. Once I wanted to find her and asked for her, not knowing about her true origin. It was especially funny that I asked her father for her. There were good times in the First, but then things went wrong as soon as I crossed the Gate between the Circles.

Involuntarily, I remembered another girl who once sympathized with me by giving me her pill. Domar’s daughter. Precious little mistress. I was sure her father was dead. I did everything to make sure that he died without escaping my revenge. But I sincerely hoped that in the year I had given him, he took his daughter out of the Saul lands or at least arranged a new life for her.

But was it possible to hope for this? I recalled perfectly well that when the Calamity was announced, it was hinted that Domar had already been caught, and then I saw his burned-out contract.

It was a shame that I couldn’t repay the girl for her kindness. It was a fleeting, imperceptible gesture, but it came from the bottom of her little heart.

“Take this! It’ll make you grow strong!”

But there was too much bad blood between me and her father. There was nothing to do about it, and I repaid her family the same way they paid me.

I swallowed and looked at the girl walking in front of me. How did a ragamuffin who accepted any job at the city gates have contracts? Who could be so crazy and generous that they spent their money and energy on someone like her? Those were expensive contracts. And why did they burn out? Could she have outgrown them?

It only took me a breath to make her contracts mine. They blazed with energy once more, revealing the symbols, making them readable.

I, Aledo Saul, swear to my father, Domar Saul, that I will not tell anyone about the medicines that he...

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the red symbols seemed to be burned into my eyeballs. I saw them even through my eyelids.

It was her.

Fate really liked to play tricks on me...

“Damn it...”

But should I really be surprised by anything anymore? After my meeting with Fatya?

I shook my head slowly, as if to help my thoughts settle down.

Aledo, then.

Our acquaintance had been fleeting, her help to me was useless, but why did this meeting happen now of all days? Was it so that I could see her, be sure that she was alive, and go on my way?

Or... not?

Chapter 7

I looked at her short hair, thin shoulders, and bare feet that didn’t even notice the nutshells that were lying scattered here and there on the pavement.

I shook my head.

Of course not. Not for that.

“Do you have any relatives?” I asked.

The little shoulders trembled, but Aledo’s voice was confident.

“I do, young master. Many.”

I rubbed my eyebrow. Oh, to taste your own medicine...

Aledo probably had many relatives. Even after the Calamity. But that wasn’t what I was asking.

Another Decree appeared above her head. Fresh, mine, with a bunch of quickly written symbols, and then I asked a more specific question.

“Do you have a mom?” After a pause, I added: “A dad?”

Aledo turned around for a moment and smiled.

“I do.”

As soon as she turned away, I rubbed my eyebrow again and grimaced. I still remembered how Domar’s contract burned out in my Bag. And yet the very same, or perhaps similar seal, burned above Aledo’s head.

Perhaps her mother was still alive?

I didn’t really get to see her much while I was working at their residence. I didn’t know what kind of woman she was. All I knew was that Domar loved her. Then again, Cardo also loved Orma. What did that change?

On one hand, nothing. I didn’t regret what I did. On the other hand, everything.

Now I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to just give Aledo a handful of spirit stones and leave.

Brothers and sisters...

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?”

“Yes. Lots.”

It wasn’t a good question.

Dissatisfied with myself, I asked again to get an accurate answer.

“Do your relatives live here? In Bright Dawn?”

“Yes.”

I nodded. A lie.

A moment later, I grunted in surprise. Aledo took off, dashed to the left, slipped under a merchant’s stall, making him scream with indignation, sneaked into a narrow gap between the houses, and disappeared.

Clever girl.

The former me, the Master, would have probably Dashed up onto the roof of the nearby building and from there follow where she was running. But the current me, the Leader, stepped aside so that I wouldn’t be pushed by people hurrying about their business and closed my eyes, continuing to “see” Aledo.

It wasn’t Combat Meditation, but something very similar to it. Something that might have grown out of it, become its continuation, its branch. It wasn’t the same as when I felt the Water, but in some ways, it was very reminiscent of it.

I closed my eyes, but it was like I was still seeing what was in front of me.

People, vendors’ stalls, houses, the street leading to the north gate. The wave of sensation crept further and further away, revealing to me what lay ahead. And more.

I also saw what was behind me. I saw people in neighboring houses, dust on the roofs, rats in the dark behind the basement bars, and the narrow gap between the houses through which Aledo had escaped.

Eyeless Leaders, why couldn’t you find me with such abilities?

I could see Aledo some seventy paces ahead, skipping merrily through the crowd. Hidden from my eyes by two rows of houses.

“Young master! Would you like to buy some candied hawthorn?”

I opened my eyes, making the peddler choke on my gaze, and turned around.

There.

She nearly bumped into me, yelled, tried to dash back, and froze, unable to take a step.

A burst of spiritual energy that didn’t weigh heavily on her shoulders, but shackled her body, stopping a hair’s breadth from her skin.

Almost like an Array.

I took a few breaths to learn how to control this trick more accurately, and then left the spiritual shackles only on her legs, giving the rest of her body the freedom of movement. Otherwise, she would’ve had difficulty breathing.

She used this freedom wisely.

“He—”

I managed to seal her mouth with Silence.

I watched her struggle, groping her neck, and sighed.

“I won’t hurt you. I honor the Virtues. As you’ve already noticed, my Ascension level is high. I’ve underestimated yours. I see you have potential... You know what I mean?”

Aledo nodded.

Good.

She had studied with diligence, better than some collectors of dung and stones did at her age. I was always thinking on the go.

I was lying of course. Even though I was a Leader, even though I knew many healing techniques and even understood some diseases, I didn’t know where to look inside the body to assess its potential.

I could appreciate power, though. I could understand danger. But I wasn’t good with the rest. Especially when it came to Temperers. And what was there to understand anyway? Not that I cared if Aledo reached great heights on her path to the Heavens. Here and now, I only needed one thing.

“I’m from the Order of the Heavenly Sword. We are a righteous Order that accepts everyone and is constantly looking for new students. You could be one of them.” Seeing that she was still squirming, I sighed. “I’ll let you go if you promise not to call the guards. Do we have a deal?”

Aledo thought about it and nodded.

I dispelled the Decree, ready to put it back if she so much as breathed too loudly.

Luckily, she was smart enough to keep quiet.

“Can you prove it?” she asked.

I shrugged.

“Prove what? That I’m from the Order? I could change my traveling clothes, but what would that tell you? Especially since...”

I barely bit my tongue in time. I wanted to say that they looked completely different from the robes of the Order of the Singing Swords. She couldn’t know that I knew who she was and where she came from.

“...since it’s without decorations. Just a plain robe with a stripe on the sleeve that indicates my position in the Order.”

Aledo nodded.

“Then prove that you’re not planning anything bad.”

I spread my hands.

“How? If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done so by now.”

“You ask a lot of strange questions, mister.”

“Because I can feel when I’m being lied to,” I lied, taking advantage of the fact that she couldn’t do that. “If you have any parents or relatives, I’d suggest that you take them with you to the Order.”

“Can you really feel it?” Aledo narrowed her eyes. “Prove it!”

I chuckled.

“What’s your name?”

“Aori.”

“No.”

“Olaya.”

“No.”

“Maro.”

“Are you done?”

“No.” The girl smiled with excitement. “Aledo.”

“Yes.” Noticing how her eyes flashed, I asked: “Convinced?”

“I’m convinced, young master.” She spread her arms. “But how is that fair? I can’t tell if you are lying or not.”

I shrugged.

“Can’t help you there. You have to figure that out yourself. I suggest you come with me to the Order’s lands. I’ll send you to a school where they’ll take care of your education and help you discover and hone your talent. You’ll become one of us, find your home, and a purpose in life.”

“And who are you?”

“A member of one of the many Orders of our Empire. Novices, trustees, and others. Blacksmiths, alchemists, artificers...”

“Guards,” she interrupted me.

“Them, too. I studied in the Sword Pavilion myself. I’m very good at fighting. But that doesn’t mean that you have to follow that path. Knowing which end of the sword to hold isn’t that hard. Believe me, we have more than enough guards in both the Order and in the Army of the Limits.”

Aledo snorted.

“Fighting doesn’t sound complicated. But I’m only ten and I’ve only recently started Body Tempering. I also heard that only Warriors are accepted in Orders.”

“You’ll reach that stage in a year or two. Until then...”

Aledo was silent, not in a hurry to agree. I rubbed my eyebrow and drew in all my spiritual energy, freeing her.

“Choose.”

She gave a short and angry laugh.

“As if I have a choice, sir. I’d rather go with you than run in the streets.”

I sighed heavily.

“Alright.”

Aledo frowned.

“You don’t seem happy about it, young master.”

“I’m your senior in Ascension, call me such. And I’m not thrilled about it. Who in their right mind would be happy to take care of a ten-year-old girl?”

“Ha! You needn’t worry about it. I can take care of myself just fine... And how did you know that I was a girl?”

“What a strange question. I know when someone’s lying to me, I noticed your potential... Do you really think I’d be deceived by short hair?”

As I said this, I grimaced inside. I could only hope that Aledo really was talented. I didn’t know why Domar bought pills for her, did I? And what was in those pills anyway? Maybe she was sick and those pills were the only thing keeping her alive?

On the other hand, she hadn’t taken them for two years, if not more. And she was very much alive. Skinny and dirty, but she was fast and agile. In any case, even as a novice Warrior in the Order, she’d live a better life than an orphaned Temperer on the streets. She was three Ascension levels from forming a focus and gaining new stars.

Aledo nodded along.

“Mhm, mhm...”

I smiled.

“All the names you suggested were also female.”

Aledo slapped her face with her palm, preventing me from seeing her expression.

“So, we’re leaving town, senior?” she asked, her voice muffled through her fingers. “Right now?”

“I was planning on doing it even before I ran into you. But now...”

She lowered her palm a little and looked at me.

“But what?”

“We need to clean you up first. You need new clothes. And boots. And a bath.”

Aledo lowered her hand and head and wiggled her toes. She looked up at me and nodded.

“As you say, senior.”

“Since we don’t need the north gate now...” I looked around. “Where’s the nearest inn? And are there any clothing stalls nearby?”

“Over there.” She pointed. “It’s not far.”

Two streets later, I could no longer bear her not-so-subtle sidelong glances.

“What is it?”

Aledo looked away with a smile.

“Nothing, senior.”

“Why all the looks and sighs? Tell me, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid. I’m... Senior, since I’m... Since you see potential in me, then can I... Well. If I find a place in the Order, then I’ll also get paid for my work, right? Can I... Can I get some money right away? Right now?”

I rubbed my eyebrow.

“What for?”

“I don’t really have any relatives here. Just people who’ve been nice to me. I don’t want to leave without thanking them.” She raised her head. “Besides, there may be someone else with potential among them...”

But I didn’t care about the rest of them. Especially since I wouldn’t be able to tell anything about them unless they were Warriors of nine or Masters of eleven years. So I just praised her for her thoughtfulness.

“The Order follows the Heavenly Virtues. Loyalty and fellowship being the two main ones. I’m pleased to see you follow them as well.”

“And what are the others, senior?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. Never in my life did I think that I’d actually take on an apprentice. Even less did I think that such a student would be someone who had only recently begun their journey to the Heavens. Still, that wasn’t a reason to keep silent, especially since I had already started with abstruse speeches about the Virtues.

“There are seven of them. Respect, courage, diligence, loyalty, justice, moderation, and fellowship.”

Aledo nodded at each Virtue and seemed to be repeating them to herself.

“It’s a shame that ruthlessness toward enemies isn’t one of them,” she suddenly said.

“Do you already have enemies?” I asked with feigned indifference. “Other kids who pushed you around and called you names?”

Aledo shook her head.

“No, senior. Those who deprived me of my family.”

“Then justice will suit you,” I forced myself to say. “For this Virtue is ruthless and very deceptive in appearance. Would it be just if a murderer’s son took revenge on the guard who killed his father while guarding the caravan under his supervision?”

“My father isn’t a murderer!” Aledo snapped.

I looked her straight in the eye.

“Who said I was talking about your father?”

Aledo gritted her teeth and lowered her head.

“Don’t you think you should apologize for yelling at me?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, senior.”

“Are the people who orphaned you in this city?”

“No.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened to them?”

Aledo squinted at me, burning me with her gaze.

“No,” she said sharply and then changed the subject. “Can your Order make me stronger? Can I become a Master with five stars? Senior?” she added after a moment of hesitation.

I chuckled. I was constantly told that I was very disrespectful to my elders. Aledo was like a punishment that fell on me as the Heavens’ response to their prayers.

“Sure. Take me to your friends, junior.”

It was silly, calling her that, but I couldn’t help myself.

I wish I could say that I was surprised when she took me to a large and dilapidated shack at the foot of the wall, but I wasn’t. A shelter for a dozen orphaned children. For show, I looked at each of them, as Aledo had asked. Two older, healthy, and broad-shouldered boys were already Warriors, having managed to create a focus, but they couldn’t be called talents. Not at their age, not in the Second Circle.

So I just shook my head in response to Aledo’s silent question. But I did my best with the farewell gifts. Three of them received simple protective artifacts and the leader of their... gang? The leader of their gang got a Bag with spirit stones, a dozen healing potions, and six Ascension potions.

The stones would keep the hunger at bay for a while and the potions would help them assert dominance over the other gangs. I could only hope that they wouldn’t use my gifts for evil and that they wouldn’t wave the Bag around and brag about it.

After that, I went outside, letting Aledo say her goodbyes. But though she was far from my eyes, she wasn’t far from my ears. My hearing had also become more acute, allowing me to sieve through the sand of chitchat for nuggets of information.

“Aledo, are you sure he means well? He talks all fancy, but he never said what kind of talent you have.”

“Does it matter? The pay is generous. No Flower Pavilion would pay that much for a beginner, would it now?”

“Neither our elders nor ourselves, having taken their place, have ever stooped to such a vile thing. Don’t offend us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Weasel will go to the guard. He’ll find Yumin and—”

“No. I’ve made my decision.”

I sighed and forced myself to listen to the birds arguing outside the city wall.

It took Aledo less time to say goodbye than I expected. She came out without looking over her shoulder, came up to me, and pointed to the left.

“That way. It’s a shortcut. We’ll pass by the north gate and exit near the market, near an inn, just like you asked.”

I nodded.

She never looked back.

Chapter 8

The inn turned out to be large, with three floors, and filled with unfriendly faces.

“Two rooms, young master?” The owner raised his eyebrows as he glanced sideways at the barefooted and dirty Aledo. “At a time like this?”

“Yes. Do you or do you not have two rooms?”

“We do, young master. But...”

“Then give me two rooms. What difference does it make where the money comes from?”

“The rooms have become more expensive, young master... I don’t think you can aff—”

I reached into my Bag and pulled out a dozen spirit stones.

The owner stammered, then yelled:

“Irma! Where are you, you silly girl? Come here this instant! We need two rooms prepared! Irma!”

I handed Aledo over to the maids who came running to clean her up and change her clothes. I’d rather take a clean child dressed in hand-me-downs to a store than a ragamuffin from the street.

“What’s happening to me?” I wondered, realizing just how much I was invested in all this.

Aledo. Yes. I knew her. So what? The death of her parents could hardly be considered an obstacle to my Ascension. I didn’t feel guilty about the Sauls at all. I’d rather believe that those two dead maids who served the Beetles’ Master of Decrees would choke my progress. So what was the point of all this? Why did the Heavens arrange this meeting?

Because I was the brother of a Heavenly Whisperer?

I thought about it, twirling the cup in my hand, and peering at the dancing tea leaves. Was Leila talking to the Heavens about me? But I’d been an indentured servant in Ash Tree. All of us had. Leila included. We walked day after day on the edge of punishment or... or abuse. And Leila didn’t ask the Heavens for anything. Nothing happened to save us or change our fate.

Yes, the Heavens were interested in us, but nothing more. That was what Leila had said. Could something have changed since then... In these two-plus years? Had Leila grown up, changed, and started behaving differently at fourteen? At fourteen, I became more forgiving and understanding of other people’s actions.

To some degree, this could explain everything that was happening to me. If I hadn’t run into those greedy Leaders on my way out of the swamp, I wouldn’t have come to this city.

No, no, no...

No, that was too simple of an explanation. Those weren’t just greedy and stupid people brainwashed by the Heavens to drive me to the right place. Those were Leaders of the Dark Hollow faction. The very faction that tried to force Vilikor into their family and then killed her father.

Was I collecting debts for both of us?

Setting aside the tasteless and bitter tea, I frantically dug through my trophy collection. I wasn’t an expert on artifacts, but it was one thing not to be able to figure out which of the two amulets was of better make, and quite another not to realize that the objects before me were intended for scribes.

Normally, when I went through these things, I was focused on cores, technique scrolls, amulets, and everything that could be useful to me if a fight broke out and that wouldn’t give me away, not contract scrolls, special inks, and fancy brushes.

Ortius’s Bag didn’t have anything interesting. Not that that was surprising, having in mind that he was a Master of Arrays. Ravut’s Bag was also uninteresting, crammed floor to ceiling with brushes, ink sticks, ceramic bowls, inkwells, paint, and...

And a case on a faraway shelf, very familiar in shape and material.

A moment later, I emerged from the pouch, clutching this case. I opened it slowly and pulled out a steel quill. It was an exact replica of the one that Vinar had used to mark my weapons. I had seen it in action only twice, so I could be wrong. It could be just an ornamental steel quill.

But was it?

Something strange happened. I was... inside the quill. Almost in the same way as I entered others’ bodies with my spiritual vision. Almost the same, but subtly different.

I closed my eyes, focusing. Five vague, hazy images emerged before me, dancing around each other to form...

The face of Vinar Trazado.

I put the quill down, grabbed my cup, and sipped the tea, trying to wrap my head around what had happened. Curious, I started grabbing other things, eventually filling up the entire table with various artifacts.

Fimram’s amulet produced four clearly distinguishable images. Myself, a man in the prime of his life, a young man, and an old man, completely unlike Fimram. If I didn’t know that he had burned his life force in a fight, I wouldn’t have understood what I saw. But I knew. I saw the master who created the amulet, Fimram’s son, Fimram, and myself. The amulet’s owners, arranged in chronological order. The other vague images represented all those who touched the amulet, but didn’t own it for an extended period of time and failed to bind it to themselves.

Finally, I got to the painting. The two clearest images were of Tola and one of the senior students. The owner and the creator. One of the vaguer ones was me with Rimilo’s face.

There was no doubt that the quill belonged to Vilikor’s father. Perhaps some of the other things were his as well.

Should I give them back to her? Would that help her overcome her obstacle? I didn’t notice that the tragedy created a barrier for her. Then again, how aware was I of the things that happened in other people’s heads? Maybe this shouldn’t be viewed as a remover of obstacles, but a memento of her late father? An inheritance that rightfully belonged to her?

I didn’t know.

And if the Heavens were really pushing and helping me to pay off my debts in this Circle, who else would I meet on the road? Would I remember those people at all? If I hadn’t remembered Aledo, I would’ve just parted with her at the gates and gone on with my life.

Zotar? No. I had kept my word to his grandfather — his grandson was in the Second Circle, free from his contracts, Ascended, with all the techniques he could’ve wished for. We called each other brothers. There we no debts between us anymore. If I ran into him, I’d help him again, just like he had helped me.

Reika? No. She learned how big the world could be. Let her enjoy it. A healer with her skills and character would be able to travel the entire Circle, maybe even visit the Third.

One by one, I recalled my meetings in the Second Circle. And one by one, I pushed them aside. None of them were like Aledo. Fleeting, insignificant, non-binding.

Maybe this was nothing more than an accident?

I had asked myself many times whether the encounters in the Second Circle were a mere coincidence or an elaborate show orchestrated by the Heavens and whether they’d be important for my future development. I didn’t know. I probably never would.

Still, I owed much more to Kirt. How many times had I promised to help him find his sister? And did I manage that? And when I returned to the Order, to the Academy, would I be able to help him?

I was stronger now, yes. I knew how to see and recognize spiritual imprints. But how would this help with the search for a girl bought by some merchant years ago and who now lived on the other side of the Second Circle?

What could I do about it, except force Kirt to give up his service to me, give him more money, and send him to search for her on his own? That seemed like the best course of action. Perhaps I could convince Gaval to go with him...

“Young master,” the maid’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “How do you like it, young master?”

I looked at Aledo. Washed and combed, she now wore the robe of one of the maid’s daughters.

I nodded.

“It’s the right size.”

“Mhm,” the maid said, obviously expecting something else from me. Seeing that she’d get no further praise, she bowed. “Very well, young master.”

She dragged Aledo back through the door.

I stared at the empty cup and decided it wasn’t a good idea to run away from my thoughts.

If I owed anything to anyone, it was to the man who also called me brother, only this time a younger one.

Samum Tamim.

The man who knew that the Walker called Dragel or Legard had fought in the Battlefield and carried his father’s sword. The man who demanded him to stay under Haven’s walls and answer his questions. The man who, months later, still sought me out and paid generously for any rumor about Legard, Dragel, or anyone resembling them. The man who, according to the rumors brought to me, hated me for leaving his father’s body to rot in the dungeon instead of hiding it in a Bag to await a proper burial.

That was whom the Heavens should have arranged for me to meet if they wanted me to be free of debt.

Besides him, there were thousands more from the Saul lands who believed that I had stolen the Gate Seal, brought a Calamity to their lands, and caused the death of their families and friends.

For example, Gilai from the Biot lands, who was robbed of his father, mother, and sisters by the Calamity.

But he was waiting for me in the Order. And I had yet to speak with him. I still didn’t know if he learned my real name during our conversation with Izard. If not...

I’d tell him myself. I wouldn’t fight him. I appreciated his talent, but it was unlikely that he had become a Leader by now. I just didn’t want to keep this secret between us. I didn’t think it’d be an obstacle for him, but rather an incentive for him to become stronger and catch up with me. Unless Iraya had become his new family and healed the wounds of loss.

Which I could reopen if I brought this up. So I had to figure out if it’d be better to keep my mouth shut or not. Maybe I could impose Silence upon myself? Avoid him? Could it be that he was aware of it but chose not to say anything? Besides, I wasn’t personally to blame for the Calamity. His hatred was directed at the Saul family, the Sentinels, and the Emperor. Yes, I was a Sentinel. And Aledo was the daughter of the man who broke the rules and caused the Calamity. It was complicated. Things were simpler in the Lands of Itrea. I was an Imperial, they were cultists. They attacked, I killed.

“Young master?” The innkeeper came to the door, bowing respectfully. “I heard you didn’t like the first dress, so I took the liberty of sending the maid to buy a new one. I hope you don’t mind. Would you like to see it?”

Time would tell.

I got up from the table and followed the innkeeper. Did he smell money on me? When I came in with Aledo, he wasn’t so welcoming. He took one look at Aledo’s rags and wanted to refuse us rooms.

When I saw the clothes, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I thought I told you we were going on a trip. Do you think she can travel in this? I don’t have a carriage and I’m not going to get one.”

Six embroidered dresses, both floor- and ankle-length. The kind a lady would wear in a rich man’s estate, not walking the dusty streets. I could see that Aledo liked them all, every one of them, but I wouldn’t let her try them on.

“I understand, young master. Forgive me, young master.”

The innkeeper bowed again and motioned for the maids to bring out more dresses.

“Call me venerable master. I prefer that.”

“Of course, venerable master, of course.”

I could barely keep a straight face. His groveling was irritating. Who talked like that in real life? Overplaying his submissiveness... I wish he had shown a little kindness when he greeted us.

It didn’t matter. At least I didn’t have to go shopping with Aledo — his maids had done a good job, and those robes on the left were just what we needed. Discreet, comfortable, just right for a long trip. With pants that fit under the robe, which was important if she were to fly on the sword with me.

Would I be foolish to hope that neither the Heavens nor men were preparing any more strange encounters for me?

I pointed with my finger.

“That one.”

“Of course, venerable master, of course.”

Noticing the way Aledo was looking at the previous robes, I sighed.

“Fine. You can choose one of them. But only one,” I added sternly.

I couldn’t tell who seemed more pleased with this — Aledo or the innkeeper. Was he going to sell them to me for double the price? I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to milk me for all the spirit stones I had on me.

Smiling, I stepped back into the adjacent room and froze, unable to believe my eyes.

Half of the things were gone from the table. Fimram’s amulet, Vinar’s quill, the panther ring, the invisibility amulet... Everything small enough to disappear in someone’s pocket was gone.

While I was lost in thought, deliberating whether I owed anything to anyone, reminiscing about past meetings, and wondering if they had been orchestrated by the Heavens, I was being robbed blind.

Was this also a part of the Heavens’ plan? Would it serve some higher purpose? Teach me some invaluable lesson? When was the last time I was robbed? Never. Never in my entire life had anyone been stupid enough to try to take something from me. Neither in the First nor in the Second Circle. Not even in the Lands of Itrea. They had tried to kill me more than once, but to steal? The jasper from my mom’s room?

“Sorry, young master, but could you move a bit? I can’t close the door,” the maid said.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I hissed.

“Excuse me?” she asked, perplexed.

“You.” I turned to glare at the innkeeper. “What did you do?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, venerable master.”

“The thief. Did you distract me so that your accomplice could steal from me? I left a bunch of artifacts on this table. Where are they?”

“A-A thief, venerable master? I-I’d never dare,” the innkeeper stammered, his tone suddenly different. “I’ll send for the guards. But that won’t help much if you can’t prove that you’ve been robbed...”

“Prove it?” I almost hissed.

A trickle of spiritual energy poured out of me so that every Walker in the inn could feel the shift in my mood. I wouldn’t be surprised if it even spilled out onto the street.

“Halt.”

The seal covered the entire inn.

Would it be enough? How far could the thief had run while I was looking at dresses and robes?

“Guards! Guards!”

“What bloody guards?!”

The innkeeper choked on his screams under my gaze.

“V-V-Ven... V-Venerable master! Venerable master! Forgive the old fool, venerable master! My eyes aren’t what they used to be! I didn’t immediately figure out who I was looking at, venerable sir! I should’ve known from your dignified bearing and face that you are an enlightened man...”

Ignoring his frightened, empty excuses, I walked around him and stopped in front of the table.

Recalling that the maids and Aledo were still there, I waved my hand at them, erasing their Decrees.

“Enough. Aledo, stay close. And you stop screaming and don’t try to run away.”

“Y-Yes, young master,” the startled maids almost said in unison.

Aledo stared at the bowl I took out with curiosity.

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

First, I fed the core of a Master Beast into the artifact, and then I pushed a clot of spiritual energy into it. The meridians in my hand buzzed, letting a stream of blue through. After a moment’s thought, I added some elemental threads to it, enhancing the effect.

Klatir’s artifact absorbed a quarter of my first focus and even dipped into the second. The flow of energy was interrupted, leaving me to ponder — was it that my supply was greater, that the artifact was using less of it, or that the energy was now of two types?

The cup glowed, causing Aledo to gasp with delight and the innkeeper to scream with renewed force, thinking that his excuses didn’t work and that I was going to kill him.

The core melted, filling the bowl with liquid. A moment later, it spewed out in a red wave.

The guards would definitely come here now, attracted by the noise. I had to hurry and remove the Decree before they arrived.

A storm of footprints surrounded us, carpeting the room. I prepared to puzzle over them, trying to identify the trail, but that proved unnecessary.

The tracks that used to flicker under Ash’s walls and in the woods surrounding the Saul estate, getting bigger and smaller, overlapping each other, were now clearer than ever, their edges plainly visible. They no longer overlaid each other but occupied a separate space. The floor around me was covered with dozens of layers of footprints. The most recent ones stood at waist level, while the oldest one touched the boards.

I froze, staring at them, trying to figure out what all of this meant. The first thing I noticed was that our footprints stood above the rest, being the freshest, which meant that the owner could’ve easily done the theft himself.

Knowing where to look, I turned around.

“Do you see the footprints, senior?” Aledo asked.

“I do.”

“How?” Wincing, she waved her hand. “All I see is a puddle of color. It hurts my eyes.”

So it depended on strength? Interesting. Could I isolate the right set of footprints? I couldn’t do it before. During the pursuit of my family, I was surprised with how wasteful this bowl was and wondered about the size of Klatir’s focus, but if its abilities also depended on the strength of its owner, then...

No harm in trying, was there?

Clutching the bowl in my hands, I bent over the desired set of footprints. Unsure of what to do, I first tried to touch it with my palm, and then with the bowl.

Nothing.

Annoyed, I tried to pour more energy into the bowl, and when that didn’t work, I added more elemental threads. Accepting my offering, the artifact warmed up in my palms, and then all the footsteps except the ones I needed disappeared.

I straightened up, put the last of my protective amulets around Aledo’s neck, and ordered her to stay put.

“Wait here.”

I swept the remaining things into my Bag and followed the trail. The thief’s gait was only a little bit shorter than mine.

Left, right, into the common room.

I slid through it, ignoring the nervous whispers and screams of surprise, and stood at the threshold.

As expected, the thief managed to get out of the inn, hoping to vanish in the hustle and bustle of the busy streets.

I took a breath to draw in the spiritual energy that had filled the inn and then dispelled the Decree.

A moment later, I was on the other side of the street. I needed to hurry. I wasn’t concerned about the duration, but the range of the artifact and how fast the thief was running.

Not so fast, as it turned out. But I would’ve never managed to catch up with him as a Master. I wanted to hope that my stage was holding me back before and not that Klatir had given me an artifact and forgot to describe all of its functions. The fact that the bowl was only now accepting elemental threads only confirmed my first theory.

I stepped in front of a lanky boy of about thirteen and smiled.

“Going somewhere?”

He turned pale and tried to jump away but found himself unable to move.

“Are you going to kill him?”

“I thought I told you to wait.”

Aledo shrugged her little shoulders.

“I was so busy admiring you, senior, that I didn’t hear you. I’ll pay more attention next time, I promise.”

Somehow I doubted that. But I left the moralizing for later. Not in the middle of the street, in front of the unlucky thief.

“Do you know him?”

“No. Should I, senior?”

Now I shrugged. Maybe?

“Return what you stole.”

The boy, who could only scream silently in horror to himself, obediently fulfilled the new order in his Decree and took the stolen goods out of his pockets.

To think what a jackpot he had almost hit. He truly was unlucky. I had almost placed the dragon ring on the table, changing my mind at the last moment.

“Senior?”

I continued to stare at the boy.

Why not?

Another Decree appeared above his head. Time. A year. Branding a Temperer required no effort on my part.

“Do not steal,” I ordered, accompanying my words with another line of symbols. And then I erased the previous Decree and turned away. “Let’s head back.”

Aledo followed like a faithful dog.

Her silence lasted only three breaths.

“You won’t punish him?”

“You want me to kill him?”

“There are plenty of stories about how very strong people punish those who have wronged them. Often in very cruel ways.”

“He’s a petty thief. No harm was done.”

“He could’ve run away with your valuables if you didn’t have that bowl. He did a bad thing.”

I squinted at her.

“Do you want me to punish him?”

“What was it that you told me? Justice is one of the Heavenly Virtues? Walkers should uphold these values, right?”

“Senior,” I reminded her.

“Senior virtues?”

“Aledo.”

“Ah. Sorry.” Aledo nodded. “Walkers should uphold these values, shouldn’t they, senior?”

“And so I have.”

“By telling him not to be naughty?”

“Did you notice that he didn’t try to run away? Why do you think that happened?”

“Because he was too scared?”

“Because I stopped him. The difference between our stages is so big that a single wave of my energy was enough to immobilize him. Believe me, he won’t try something like that ever again. Besides, he was acting on someone else’s orders. It wouldn’t be just.”

Aledo chuckled.

“His face was funny. I thought he’d shit his pants.”

I rubbed my eyebrow.

“Don’t be vulgar. You’re a lady, Aledo.”

“I’ll try, senior.”

I shook my head, doubtful, but before I could say anything, we heard a mocking cry come from the market.

“So that’s the price of the Order’s promises? They’re not even worth the paper they’re written on!”

Aledo craned her neck as if that would help her see what was going on.

“That’s your Order, isn’t it, senior? Why are they talking shit about it?”

“I told you not to be vulgar.”

“Well they’re doing it, aren’t they?”

Another voice rose behind the crowd’s back.

“After this, no one will ever do business with you! Mark my words! Everyone, listen! The Order of the Heavenly Sword is full of liars and charlatans! Don’t trust a word that comes out of their mouths!”

I sighed. I would have preferred to go around.

But who the hell was that guy?

Chapter 9

I wasn’t that concerned about how the Order was treated in faraway lands. And these lands were definitely not our neighbors. But I’d be setting a bad example for Aledo if I just walked away, allowing someone to badmouth the Swords. I did call myself an elder of the Order after all. As such, I should stand up for it. I was strong enough.

Furthermore, these people weren’t so loud for no reason. I was pretty sure they were shouting in the face of a member of the Order, attempting to annoy him.

As I pushed through the outer circle of the crowd, I saw a whole party of Order members in familiar gray and blue robes.

Around them, rows of lightweight, collapsible canopies diverged to form a sort of circular clearing with a large tree in the center. It was now filled with wagons, two-thirds of them driven by novices of the Order.

A man came into view, shouting. A stout man in a black robe embroidered with plum blossoms raising his hands from time to time, calling people to witness. His fingers, studded with rings, drew the eye.

Even more remarkable was the person he was shouting at — a trustee, whose voice became audible only now.

“Liars!”

“I assure you, the Order will take full responsibility for its mistake. We will conduct an investigation and—”

“What does it matter to me? Responsibility? What do I care about empty words? Money, that’s what’s important! Who’s going to reimburse me now?” The pompous man took a deep breath and began to shout again. “Do you see what they’re doing?!”

“Sir, I assure—”

But the man wasn’t interested in what the trustee wanted to offer him, continuing to shout as I waded through the crowd.

“The Swords can’t be trusted! They’re liars and charlatans! Each and every one of them!”

To my surprise, the trustee didn’t even try to shut him up, although his Ascension level was clearly higher. Instead, he attempted to coax him again, his voice quiet and measured.

“We will reimburse you, sir. If money is so important to you...”

The man stopped yelling to look down at the trustee.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. The cargo has been cataloged. We know the value of each item.”

The man snorted and waved his hand.

“Why should I trust your papers? A pittance for the sake of formality. Hah! It won’t make up for the lost money.”

The trustee, a broad-shouldered Master with green strands in his hair, wearing a bright red robe with a strange gray stripe that I hadn’t seen before, shrugged in response.

“I fear I don’t make the rules, sir. Nor is the Order in the habit of making them up on the spot. When your representative sent the goods, he—”

“Do you hear that?!” the man shouted again. “The Order is full of deceivers! They inflate the shipping prices, but they don’t deliver the goods! Liars, the lot of them!”

I looked at the rest of the Order members. The red stripes represented the guards, the black ones the merchants. But what did the gray stripe mean?

Aledo chuckled, lifted her head, and looked at me, smiling.

“Is that true, senior?”

“What do you think?” I asked in return, trying to figure out the mystery of the gray stripe.

“Sir, you will go hoarse from all the shouting,” the trustee attempted to reason with him again. “Let’s settle this in private. We are a righteous Order, and—”

“Righteous?!” The man laughed. “I saw how righteous you are! You—”

Tired of his noise, I stepped forward.

“Hold your tongue!” I demanded, not restraining my voice. “If you continue, I’ll make sure you’re punished for slander!”

The trustee looked at me and turned his gaze back to the man.

“An acquaintance of yours, sir?”

“What?” The man’s eyes bulged. “I’ve never seen him in my life! I can only assume that one of your colleagues is putting on a show to save the Order from the consequences of its actions.”

The trustee sighed and waved his hand. Two servants, Masters with three and four stars, stepped toward me. Quite powerful fighters for the Second Circle and a simple caravan.

I frowned. What was this about? The trustee was doing his best to persuade the man actively insulting the Order, but he’d silence his brother by force for standing up for their own people?

I even looked to see if there were any Order Decrees above the trustee.

It took the servants three breaths to reach me, interrupting my inspection of the ancient symbols.

They bowed instead of attacking, bicolored Decrees shimmering in the light.

“Venerable sir, this is the business of the Order, outsiders shouldn’t get involved. Please, step back.”

Aledo snorted next to me and stepped forward, reminding me how awkward traveling with someone could be.

“Who are you calling an outsider? My senior is also from your Order.”

“From our Order?” The servants glanced back at the trustee. “Then why aren’t you wearing our colors? What is your rank, brother? Who are you?”

“I’m an elder...”

But that was all I could say. The stout man’s laughter drowned out the rest of my words.

“An elder? Fourth in seniority in the Order? You could have thought of a better joke. A weakling like you an elder? Shame on you, you liars!” He turned to the crowd again. “Do you see the lengths to which they’ll go to avoid being held accountable for stealing my goods? Don’t trust the Order!”

The trustee gritted his teeth and waved his head again. The servants immediately took another step toward me. Their tone changed abruptly, losing all trace of politeness.

“Get out of here, you liar.”

I rubbed my eyebrow. What was wrong with them? They apologized profusely to the loud merchant but they were pushing me away? Their brother-in-arms who stood up for them?

“Freeze!” I ordered.

This time, I didn’t use Decrees, only spiritual energy. At the same time, I made sure that there wasn’t a single drop of my element in it. Now wasn’t the time to test how good the Order’s servants were at protecting themselves against elemental poison.

The wave of energy surged forward, entwined around their legs, and fell on their shoulders with an unbearable weight. Weak Masters had no business standing before a Leader.

The servants held their breath and fell to their knees.

“Look! I told you!” the merchant shouted. “They’re putting on a show!”

I added another drop of spiritual energy to his shoulders.

The trustee stared at me.

“Who are you?”

I finally subdued his Decree and was able to read it. Everything was as it should be. Loyalty and Servitude. To the Order of the Heavenly Sword, of course.

“I am an elder of the Order of the Heavenly Sword.”

The trustee curled his lips.

“Forgive me, venerable sir, but your clothes don’t resemble the robes a man of your rank should wear.”

I sighed and looked around at the crowd. We’d have to convince them, wouldn’t we? We’d have to give them some proof that this wasn’t a conspiracy against some poor, unfortunate merchant.

I touched the Bag and hammered a flag into the pavement, surrounding myself with an opaque dome.

“A magic show!” Aledo cheered.

Ten breaths later, I removed the flag and showed myself to the crowd in a white robe.

“You look handsome in that.” Aledo nodded. “Only you said that every Sword should have a colored stripe on his sleeve, and you don’t, just a black pattern.”

I chuckled.

“Actually, there is a stripe. It’s white.” I looked up and asked the trustee: “Is this more to your liking?”

He was silent for a moment, looking down at me, towering like a mountain, and then he pursed his lips and hissed:

“Nice try, Senior Investigator, whoever you are, but no. The cut is right, and so is the pattern on the sleeves.” A wicked grin slipped across his lips. “But the fabric is all wrong. They don’t use it in the Order, which means you’re an impostor.”

“An impostor?”

I looked down at the stumped Aledo.

“Who are you going to believe?”

She observed me carefully for a few breaths.

“You, senior,” she concluded.

I nodded, but the trustee just snorted.

“Touching, but it doesn’t change anything for me. Let’s part peacefully, disrespectful one. I’ll forget that you pretended to be an elder of my Order and you’ll forget that you wanted to trick us. Otherwise...”

I sighed.

“You may not believe me, but I’m stronger than you, so be polite.”

He only waved his hand.

“It means nothing. There are no cowards in the Order.”

I understood what he meant. I didn’t see any signal, but all the servants had already jumped off their carts and formed a semicircle, the novices behind them tensing suspiciously. Were they hoping that brute force and numbers would be enough to defeat me? If I were a sixth- or seventh-star Master, using all my strength to crush three slightly weaker opponents with spiritual energy, it’d certainly be enough.

But I wasn’t an impostor, and I wasn’t a Master.

“You guessed right about the robe,” I drawled. “It wasn’t made in the Order of the Heavenly Sword. It’s a souvenir from the lands of a distant faction, and it was made there. So how do I prove to you that I’m from the Order of the Heavenly Sword?”

If there were any tokens in the Order, I had never heard of them or seen them. Except for the tokens of outer disciples. There was another way, which I learned from the writings of the Beetles’ Master of Decrees, but it should have been used immediately, and I didn’t want to resort to it. To be honest, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t remember the symbols.

The trustee shook his head.

“There’s nothing to prove. Before you collapse, stop pressuring my men and leave quietly. The Order will not pursue you.”

Ignoring his offer, I snapped my fingers, finally remembering which branch the gray stripe indicated.

“You’re from the trade department, right? I’m from the Academy. We’ve never crossed paths, but you couldn’t have not heard of the Academy, could you?”

The trustee raised his brows in surprise.

“The Academy?”

“The current headmaster of the Academy is Commander Shandri. His deputy is Xilim. Among my teachers were Izar, Ramas, Yerty, Pomot, and Janit. Some of them died not too long ago in an incident before the Wild Times, such as the esteemed teacher Urik, who headed the Academy’s Sword Pavilion. Is that enough?”

“I don’t know much about the Academy.” The trustee frowned. “I know the headmaster, Shandri, but the rest...”

I chuckled.

“Then we’re on the same page, right? After sitting on Sword Mountain for so long, I don’t know much about the Department of Commerce either.”

“Not even the magister’s name?”

I barely stopped myself from chuckling again. This could only be another piece of evidence in the case against me. To my shame, I never learned the magister’s name after spending over a year within the Academy’s walls. In conversation, both the students and the staff always referred to him simply as “the magister.”

Tired of this charade, I decided to clear all doubts about my origin once and for all.

I smiled and addressed the trustee through telepathy.

“Will this be enough to prove that I’m not deceiving you?”

The trustee jumped and his eyes widened, bulging out of their sockets.

“It’s hardly necessary for a Leader of Warriors to impersonate someone in a matter as trivial as a dispute with a merchant over lost goods, is it?”

The trustee nodded slowly, then caught himself and bowed.

“Elder!” He lifted his head for a moment, then turned and glared at his subordinates. “Greet our senior as is proper!”

On his command, the entire semicircle of blue-robed servants who had been preparing to attack me bowed.

“Elder!”

I released the two servants behind me from the binds of my spiritual energy. They also bowed hastily.

The crowd around us murmured with renewed vigor, puzzled by this abrupt turn of events. A moment ago, the members of the Order were about to attack the so-called impostor, and now they were bowing to him.

The trustee slowly straightened his back and inquired cautiously:

“May we know your name?” He turned around, gave the crowd a displeased look, and lowered his tone. “I fear I didn’t hear it over the noise.”

At that moment, his gaze shifted to the muzzled merchant beneath our feet, and he grimaced.

“Rimilo.”

“Rimilo?” The trustee rolled my name over his tongue. “It sounds familiar somehow... I...” Suddenly, his eyes widened. “The Academy, you said? You’re Rimilo the Butcher?”

“Rimilo the Butcher?” Aledo asked, curious. “What does he mean by that?”

“Nothing,” I grumbled in frustration. “It’s just a stupid nickname I got from a bunch of cowards.”

The trustee looked at me.

“But your Ascension level...”

“I had to leave the Academy for a while.” I smiled softly. “I got lucky.”

“Of course,” the trustee replied with the same smile.

The murmur of the crowd was cut off by a demanding roar.

“What’s going on here?!”

I turned to see a group of city guards cutting their way through the throng of people. I wondered if they came because of my artifact or because of the noise in the middle of the marketplace.

Two dozen Warriors in light armor and two Masters. The weaker one stayed behind while the stronger stood in front and shouted. And he only had eyes for the trustee.

My smile grew wider. Everyone thought I was just a weak wanderer. I wondered how many stars the guard would have given me if he bothered to look in my direction. What stage did he think I was? Maybe everyone thought I was a Warrior?

Unlikely.

One of the gawkers jumped out of the crowd, slid over to the guard, and spoke quickly, choking up. He nodded once, then again, glancing at the merchant on the ground, then at me. Then he stepped forward.

“What’s the meaning of this, Sword?”

This time, he didn’t shout, blocking out the clamor of the crowd, and he looked only at me.

“Sir, there’s been a dispute with our... employer.” The trustee’s voice was full of venom. “As it turns out, there are two stores with the same name in your town. It so happened that we delivered the goods to the wrong place.”

The guard nodded.

“I’d like to hear the merchant’s side of the story. Release him from the binds of your spiritual energy.”

I withdrew the invisible shackles still pressing on the puzzled man, and he sobbed in relief. He lay there for a few more breaths, then groaned and began to rise. Two burly men jumped up from the crowd, looked at me fearfully, and helped him to his feet.

The pale merchant, covered with drops of sweat, stretched out his hand in my direction and gasped.

“Y-You!”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Need I punish you again?”

The merchant backed away.

“Y-you...”

Before I could shake my head, a guard stepped between us.

“I advise you to remain composed, gentlemen. The city guard doesn’t approve of such things. We can turn a blind eye to it once, but twice? And in our presence? Are we dust under your feet?”

I chuckled. Did this guard think that he was stronger than the merchant and that he could protect him from the pressure of my spiritual energy? Fool.

But I didn’t want to burst his bubble.

I remained silent. The trustee glanced at me and followed my example while the guard turned to the wrinkled man with a nod.

“Your version of the story, sir. If you’d be so kind.”

“Hm!” The merchant cleared his throat, glared at me with undisguised hatred, and said: “I demand protection. They’re talking nonsense! What two shops? There’s only one Golden Rooster in this town and everyone knows it. They either lost my cargo on the way or sold it on the black market.”

The trustee shook his head.

“The city guide, hired on the recommendation of the gate guards, led us to the store. So either we’ve been fooled or there are two shops of the same name after all.”

The merchant snorted.

“At it again, are you? Then I ask again, where is your guide?”

The guard looked at the trustee.

“He’s been dismissed. And I suggest again that the honorable merchant resolve the matter peacefully — the Order of the Heavenly Sword values its reputation and is willing to pay for the lost goods. Or we can ask the gate guards about the guide.”

The merchant looked at me, grimaced, but nodded.

“My kindness knows no bounds today. Just give me the money.”

“What money?” I snorted. “I only came here because your insults could be heard several streets away. If I insulted the...?” Confused, I looked at the trustee. “Where are we exactly? Who governs these lands?”

Both the merchant and the guard bulged their eyes at me. Yes, it was a strange question coming from someone standing in the middle of the marketplace of this city. I remembered the caravan that brought me here mentioning the name of these lands more than once. But all I cared about was that they were leaving Dark Hollow so I didn’t pay attention to where they were going and all the other stuff. Sun’s something... I remembered the city though. Bright Dawn.

“Sun’s Plains, Senior Rimilo. The ruling family are the Louth,” the trustee said after thinking for a moment. “We are in the city of Bright Dawn.

I nodded gratefully.

“If I insulted the Louth family like that, wouldn’t I deserve to be punished for slander? Or do you not practice that law here?”

The merchant pressed his lips together.

“These are their lands, not yours. It’s different.”

I waved my hand at the guard.

“And this allows anyone to insult their neighbor?”

The merchant remained indignant.

“What neighbor? It’s a long way to the lands of your Order!”

But I didn’t let myself be disheartened.

“And you’d offend your business partner?”

The merchant scoffed.

“So far I’ve only lost money with your Order.”

The guard coughed, interrupting our argument.

“I will need your names for the paperwork, you understand.”

“I’m Raver,” the merchant grunted. “Everyone in the city knows me.”

The guard nodded and turned his gaze back to us.

“I’m Oglius, the leader of this caravan.” The trustee extended his hand to me. “This is my senior, Rimilo.”

The guard blinked, apparently not expecting a mid-level Master to call me, a weakling in his eyes, his senior, and then coughed again.

“So you agree to compensate the merchant Raver for the goods, but you want to charge him for insulting your Order?”

Oglius asked me cautiously.

“Senior, what do you say?”

I stared at him for a few breaths, trying to figure out what was hiding behind his tone. He still didn’t fully trust me, suspecting that he was being led into a trap. But what kind of trap, he wondered, struggling to understand my motives.

I shifted my gaze to the guard and shook my head.

“No.”

“No?” The guard frowned. “Then what do you want, venerable master?”

“Justice.”

“Justice?”

I took an artifact out of my hand that had helped me more than once before. It looked like an Amulet of Truth, or rather, a blank for it. A blank that wouldn’t crumble into sand unless I needed it to, allowing me to disguise my true intentions.

My voice was full of venom.

“Let the honorable merchant Raver take the Amulet of Truth and answer some of my questions.”

Raver flinched, but my spiritual energy didn’t care for his disapproval. It slithered between the guard and the burly assistants, covered the merchant, and made him groan again.

“Enough!” the guard barked.

I chuckled.

“Or what?” My voice boomed over the square, reaching every spectator. “What could be easier than to use an artifact to find out the truth? Why didn’t the guards use this method themselves? Why won’t they let us discover the truth?”

“Enough, I said!” the guard tried to shout over me.

But I easily drowned out his words.

“It cannot be because they’re in cahoots with the merchant? It cannot be that one is covering up the other’s dirty deeds? What do you think, people of Bright Dawn? You’ve heard where my brothers have found their guide, haven’t you?”

The crowd murmured, their voices melding into one so that only a few sentences could be understood.

The merchant wheezed on his knees, and the guard, white with rage, clenched his teeth and tried to stare me down. It didn’t work. If there was anything more to his look, then Epiphany and Combat Meditation were silent.

After I reached the Leader stage, I became thick-skinned and impervious to many things. For example, small threats from weaker Walkers.

The guard finally matched my voice, gritting his teeth.

“Silence! The guards are ready to use the Amulet of Truth!”

He raised his hand above his head and showed his own amulet. Did he not trust mine, or was he trying to deceive me?

I just nodded and pointed at the gasping merchant with a smile. My Truth would work either way.

“Release him, honorable master,” he demanded. “We won’t allow another such thing to happen in our city. That was the last time I turned a blind eye to your... insolence.”

I smiled.

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.”

“It is within my power to punish visitors who disregard the law.”

“Let’s get some answers from your merchant, and then we’ll decide who is disobeying the laws of your city here.”

“Release him.”

Raver threw himself at the guard without getting up from his knees as soon as I drew in my spiritual energy. He grabbed his pant leg and begged.

“Let’s drop this, yes? There’s really no need to go this far,” he groveled. “I agree that I overreacted. I’ll send for my apprentices and we’ll find my goods and the thief who tried to steal them. Let’s do it as usual—”

“Shut up!” This time, the guard’s spiritual energy fell on the merchant. Then he picked up the artifact and took a step back. “Where are your goods that the Order delivered? Tell me now!”

I immediately hung the Decree with the single symbol for truth over the merchant and listened with curiosity.

Raver tried to be silent for a moment, then mumbled:

“I... I don’t know...”

The guard demanded:

“Louder! So everyone can hear.”

“I don’t know!”

“Show me the amulet,” the guard demanded again. As soon as Raver showed it, pristine and without a single crack, he asked the next question. “Did you know that the goods would be delivered to another shop?”

“No!” the merchant shouted across the marketplace. “I didn’t know!”

I frowned. If that was the case, why was he so afraid of being questioned? And why did the symbol in the Decree glow brightly for a moment, as if punishing him for a small, insignificant lie? Was the amulet a fake?

Before the guard could open his mouth, I asked the next question:

“Who hired the Swords to make the deliveries?”

The merchant shrugged and answered with a grin:

“One of my men residing in your lands.”

I pressed my lips together. Wrong question.

Oglius came to my aid.

“Did you suspect there would be a problem with today’s shipment?”

That was the right question. The symbol glowed for a whole breath and pushed the merchant to the ground. He had experience in cheating contracts and Decrees, it seemed.

“No,” he managed to squeeze out with the same grin.

He also managed to hide the pain that manifested itself as beads of sweat on his forehead, showing everyone in the square the artifact in his hand. But a moment later, the Decree above him became two-colored, and he screamed in pain, clutching at his temples.

“Aaah! Yes! I suspected! I suspected!”

The Decree faded, having served its purpose. Raver, still clutching his head with his hands, looked fearfully at the three of us and tried to say something, but quickly forgot his arguments and fell silent.

The somber guard picked up the fallen amulet and bowed to us.

“Dear guests of Bright Dawn, I apologize that your arrival has been marred by such an event. On behalf of the entire City Guard, I apologize. Merchant Raver has no claims against you. But you may charge him with insulting your Order.”

Aledo, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly asked:

“Why don’t you continue to question him? And why is he looking at you like that?”

The guard glanced at her and then bowed again.

“Please forgive me, honored guests, but my Amulet of Truth is only good for ten questions, and I’ve already used up four of them. We already know that merchant Raver is involved in illegal trade, so we’ll continue in the garrison.” He looked around and raised his voice. “In the name of the City Guards, I, the noon-shift commander, promise that merchant Raver will be punished for his wrongdoings! We will go to the fake shop right now and look for the stolen goods and Raver’s accomplices”

Clearing his throat, the guard said more quietly, apparently only to us:

“Unfortunately, it’s probably empty. The search will take several days, so you’ll have to wait, honored guests, or be satisfied with the coin.”

Aledo snorted in surprise.

“My mentor would find them all in half a day.”

Several pairs of eyes fell on her. And mine were very, very unhappy.

“I’m not your mentor and I’m not going to be. You will have other mentors. So it’d be best if you continue to call me Senior Rimilo.”

Aledo snorted again, reminding me of Reika, and pursed her lips.

“Can you really do that?” the guard asked. “Or is your... companion mistaken?”

I didn’t answer right away, turning to Oglius to ask for his opinion.

“Do you need me to find the goods?”

He thought for a moment and then bowed.

“Senior, I’ll be very grateful for your help. It’ll clear the Order’s name in Bright Dawn, shut any foul mouths, and give me more bargaining power. Of course, I realize that I’m asking too much, that it’s beyond your status, but I—”

I raised my hand to stop him.

“Enough. If my brother asks for my help, then I shall gladly offer it.”

“May the Heavens bless you, brother.”

Chapter 10

The guard was right. The shop Oglius had brought us to was empty. No wonder he’d been deceived. The place was closer to the gate, I noticed, was quite busy, and the sign, though removed, had once stood in front of the door. Only there were no people inside, just empty chests and dust with dozens of footprints in it.

Klatir had specifically advised me not to show his artifact, but he had given that advice two years ago to a weak Master, not a weak Leader. There weren’t many people who’d dare to take anything away from someone of that strength.

I had already met two such individuals in the Second Circle, it was true, but as far as I was concerned, there had been so many coincidences that I didn’t need to worry about another one.

I had no idea what Ortius was doing in the swamp, what he was looking for or who he was waiting for, but seeing how clumsily I was trying to learn how to fly using a sword, he definitely knew that I was a rather inexperienced Leader without a mentor. But the swamp was long behind me.

So even in a foreign city, even if I just argued with the guards, I wasn’t afraid of being robbed. Whoever decided to do it wouldn’t be a Leader, if there was one in this city, but I could handle the rest. Or I’d run away again.

“Are these the crates you were waiting for?” the guard asked.

“C-Chests,” Raver corrected him. “Y-Yes, they are.”

“They are,” Oglius confirmed.

I pulled out the bowl and a Beast core. In a matter of breaths, a chain of footprints flashed around us. Not many, fortunately.

After following them around the fake shop and its backyard, I picked out the ones stretching somewhere beyond the fence, one after another. Certain that I was on the right trail, I poured all of the core’s remaining energy into one set of footprints.

A large incense stick of running around town later, the guards were digging in the dust of an abandoned yard, looking for the brazen thief of the stolen cargo.

No luck yet.

“Should we use the Order’s Amulet of Truth?” I asked the guard quietly.

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking from the look on his focused face, but after ten breaths, he agreed.

“How many questions can it withstand?”

“At least ten,” I replied with a chuckle.

This time, I didn’t have to pretend to replace the worn-out and crumbling artifact with a new one.

When you knew how to follow a trail and use the Decree of Truth on your interlocutors, it didn’t take long to find everyone involved in the deception. And yes, Raver’s apprentice was among them.

The guard, who still avoided calling me his senior in Ascension, thanked me and promised to make the merchant pay for the slander, the goods, and his apprentice’s misdeeds by that evening, while the chained Raver screamed how he knew nothing, that speculation didn’t count as proper investigation, and that he had paid his taxes to the last spirit stone. But I knew he was trying to pull the wool over our eyes, pretending not to notice the problems with the goods and his apprentice because he feared such tests of truth. And he would have passed it on any other day, he would have gotten away with it, for he paid his taxes and bribes, but he had the misfortune of running into me and insulting my Order.

All I wanted to do was get this over with and be alone with Oglius.

The first question I asked him when that finally happened was about his strange behavior in the square.

Oglius was embarrassed.

“Please forgive me. My main task is to establish new routes and connections. It was my first time in this city, and I couldn’t afford a scandal of such magnitude. It was more profitable to convince Raver to accept money instead of an exchange and end his tirade as soon as possible. Without your help, it would have taken us a week or two to find the goods and prove our innocence. It was easier to show that the Order was generous and rich enough to pay the compensation. Especially since it’s a common thing to do on the road and I’ve been given spirit stones specifically for such cases. All I had to do was curb Ravur’s desire for a bigger payoff.”

“But you weren’t afraid to silence me,” I noted with a smile.

“Forgive me, Senior Rimilo, but I thought you were his accomplice, trying to charge me double.”

I rubbed my eyebrow. His explanations sounded logical, but I hadn’t driven trade caravans to other lands and I didn’t know if Oglius was doing the right thing. Then again, I had ordered my own men more than once to keep quiet and not cause me any trouble. I couldn’t say that I didn’t understand Oligus’s desire to swipe the whole thing under the rug.

“It’s a difficult business to go to foreign and faraway places. Let’s leave it at that. Tell me how the Wild Times went. I left in the middle of them.”

Oglius sighed.

“You disappeared so suddenly that the Disirians started a rumor that you were afraid of their revenge and had fled the Order. Then there was a rumor that you were just hiding, afraid to stick your nose out of Sword Mountain, calling you and the Academy cowards.” He shook his head, noticing my gaze. “I’m sorry if that offends you, Senior Rimilo, I’m just repeating what I heard. I don’t share their opinion.”

“It’s alright. I’m not offended. Carry on.”

“Yes, sir. So...”

As I listened to Oglius, I learned that the Order survived the Wild Times, but not as well as I would have liked. All the cities remained with the Order, as did the Academy and the Spirit Stone Mines. But there were still losses in the countryside. In a few places, the Disirians managed to organize a preponderance of troops and won, proving that the Order couldn’t defend all of its lands.

So the territory of the Order had shrunk a bit.

The good news was that Oglius hadn’t heard of any serious losses among the elders. No Leaders had died or suffered major injury, which I was glad to hear. Among the Masters, however, the situation wasn’t as good. Many of the Order’s Walkers had met their end at the hands of the Disirians. Those more fortunate, or less, depending on your outlook, would remain crippled forever.

Oglius shrugged.

“May I be the proof that our healers and alchemy are very good. I’m almost fully recovered and ready to continue serving the Order.”

I nodded.

“Glory to the Order. Our strength is its power.”

“Glory to the Order. Its greatness is our pride,” Oglius replied with a smile. “I am proud to have received wounds in defense of the Order.”

After a moment’s thought, I extended my hand.

“I know a thing or two about healing. Let me examine your wounds.”

Oglius continued to smile, but he didn’t offer his hand.

Was he still doubtful of me? Was he listening to his Combat Meditation, still expecting to be tricked by someone claiming to be an elder of the Order?

I chuckled barely audibly and lowered my hand in the same instant the trustee made up his mind and extended his own.

“Of course.”

Now I hesitated, slowly reaching out to Oglius, giving him time to remove his hand if he still didn’t trust me.

But he let himself be touched.

My spiritual gaze penetrated his body.

It didn’t take long to find the wounds. The largest gash ran across his shoulder and down to his chest. Underneath his robe, there seemed to be a scar as thick as a finger. Here, too, the wound had left its mark on the meridians. In two places, it was right on the nodes. Either the help hadn’t arrived in time, or the wound had been accompanied by poison, or it had been inflicted at a time when the nodes were full of energy. Whatever the case, the result was unpleasant.

Not nodes, no, that was the wrong name for them now — rather something horrible, mangled. I was willing to bet that the wound had disrupted some powerful technique and Oglius’s own power had gotten out of control, crippling him.

But if there was one thing I was good at, it was quickly closing a hole in the body during a fight and cleaning up meridian scars. Ideally, the scars were on my meridians, in a body I was familiar with. But I managed to help Vilikor with hers, didn’t I?

I’d help Oglius as well.

Obeying my will, the glow of the healing technique shrank to a tiny ball that completely engulfed the mangled node and then seemed to merge with it.

One, two, three... ten. The outline of the node trembled, its angular, jagged lines shifting, returning to its former, almost spherical shape. I pressed on, infusing it again and again with the glow of the healing technique.

Enough.

I looked at the transformed node, comparing it carefully to the other, unaffected one, and nodded.

Good.

Now for the other one.

As soon as I left Oglius’s body, as soon as I withdrew my spiritual gaze, I found the trustee coughing, holding the left side of his chest.

The three servants, who seemed to be shielding us from the attention of gawkers and passersby, grabbed their Bags and drew their swords.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“What have you done to Senior Oglius?!”

“S-Stop!” The trustee raised his other hand, drawing attention to himself. “C-Calm down...”

The coughing didn’t stop until he got the bloody clot out of his lungs.

The damage inflicted on the nodes and the meridians was reflected in the physical body, and treating the node healed the physical wound.

Interesting.

“Senior!”

Oglius waved the subordinate away, actually pushed him away, straightened up, and wiped his lips.

“Senior Rimilo, did you just use healing techniques without an Appeal?” he whispered in amazement.

I smiled.

“Why do you ask the obvious?”

“The obvious?” He widened his eyes at me. “I’ve only heard about it once.”

I didn’t hear about it at all until I met Fatya, so he had heard some very interesting and knowledgeable people talk about it.

Oglius turned back to his subordinates and asked again in a whisper:

“Are you a Lord of the Spirit?”

I chuckled and answered the question with a question.

“Do you think I am?”

I saw the answer in his eyes. He didn’t. I was too young perhaps. But if I hadn’t restored the lost years, I might have looked the part. Oh, well. I’d have to remain content with being a simple Leader of Warriors.

Chapter 11

Whew! Bright Dawn was finally behind us. I even turned around to make sure that I had actually left its northern gate far back. Who would have thought that an innocent stroll through the city would turn out this way? Aledo, the thief, the Swords, the search for the swindlers, the numerous visits from the guards, the scummy merchant, and the equally scummy innkeeper. The latter was particularly amusing in his attempts to justify himself. I even got Aledo’s clothes for free because he refused to take money from the “refined gentleman.”

But we had to hurry. Among the things Oglius told me about the Order was the news that the tournament this year would be held in Sword City, although for some unknown reason, the order of the factions had been changed. And something told me that such a change couldn’t be good.

“Are we really not going to join the caravan?”

“No. They will only delay us.”

Which was true. Oglius said yesterday that the tournament would start soon. I couldn’t afford to waste any more time. It’d take an average caravan two weeks to get there.

So we walked along the road, letting them overtake us, and I kept looking over my shoulder, anxious to see where the fields would end. When the village would disappear. When the road would finally fork and allow us to disappear from sight. When... When...

Finally.

Freedom.

I held Aledo’s hand, waiting for a group of Masters and Warriors to pass us, and then slipped into the forest.

To the left was an unexpectedly thick growth of Blade Grass. It wouldn’t bother me, but I wasn’t alone now.

Knocking a lurking snake off a branch, I went around a bush of Crimson Vines.

There were too many dangers in the forest for a Temperer. The Combat Meditation I had transferred to Aledo burned on all sides and at every turn. Somehow, traversing Ridge’s forest with my mother and Leila had been easier.

Still, I was strong enough now not to let any harm come to Aledo.

Besides, there were only fifty steps to our goal...

All right, a hundred. This damn forest was unexpectedly dense. You wouldn’t know it from the road.

But I still found a place where the trees parted a bit to reveal the sky.

I stopped, let go of Aledo’s hand, and gave her an attentive look. She returned it, biting her lip. I nodded. I guess I wasn’t mistaken.

I put my hand on the Bag. I had to buy it myself because the innkeeper would have bought a pretty but useless trinket for the “refined gentleman” and I had no need for things that would only sit on my shelves and collect dust. No. What I needed...

Aledo suddenly exhaled sharply and jumped away, straight into the thicket of Spindle Trees. She broke through it and ran further into the forest.

I stared after her for a few breaths, then came to my senses and sprinted after her.

A moment later, I caught up with her.

How did she do that?

“Are you out of your—”

Aledo turned around and stuck a short knife in my hand.

She struck hard and true, but the blade didn’t even scratch my skin.

With a shriek of disbelief, she repeated her blow and then slashed without pulling the knife away.

Nothing.

I wasn’t even using the Veil. The difference between us was too great.

Aledo lowered her arms, fell to her knees, and closed her eyes.

“I did my best,” she whispered.

Gingerly, as if afraid that she’d run away again, I shook her shoulder.

“What are you talking about? Do you realize that I caught you one step short of a bush of Poison Vines? It would’ve peeled your skin off.”

Aledo flinched, glanced over her shoulder, and then went limp again.

“What difference does it make? Will you kill me less painfully?”

“What?”

When realization finally struck, I shook her so that her teeth chattered.

“Get up!” I barked. “And get that nonsense out of your head!”

She blinked and stood up, biting her lip.

I put my hand back on the Bag and took out a bundle of warm clothes.

I threw them at her with a jeer.

“Put them on, you silly child.”

She looked down at the warm, thick trousers, the cloak, and the knitted hat. It wasn’t easy to find them, let alone the right size. There was nothing like the Brothers in this land with their perpetual snow and cold.

As soon as Aledo was dressed, I pulled her against me and raised my hand with the Destroyer. I wouldn’t seek a gap in the branches for her again. It was easier to make one myself than to see if she’d try again, if not to escape, then to kill herself quickly.

Barely had the branches fallen when I launched us both into the air with a Dash.

Aledo screamed and twitched, but we were already falling down into the forest...

And then I stood on my sword and poured spiritual energy into it.

It was a shame that the invisibility amulet didn’t work on the sword. I still didn’t know whether the technique Ortius used was a property of his blade or an Array Master’s ability.

Taking off a hundred paces away from a road traveled by many people of different talents wasn’t the best idea, but that was what I got for wasting my time on the road before, pretending to be a Warrior.

Higher, before we were seen. Higher, before we were recognized.

Aledo squealed again. I honestly couldn’t tell if it was from horror or joy.

Ten breaths and the road turned into a gray streak in the vast green of the forest.

I cursed myself.

Damn Ortius.

The flying sword was like the Destroyer. A part of me. An obedient, loyal part, eagerly responding to my every move.

No sluggishness, no laziness, no tilting to the side, no sudden dives.

Now I knew for sure that he had been following me from the beginning. As soon as I took the flying sword out of the Bag, he immediately used his talent.

I wondered what one of the most powerful members of the Livat family could have left behind in some worthless, foreign swamp. But I’d never know. I shouldn’t have killed him so quickly. I should have asked him a few questions first. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, if I hadn’t feared another Leader, I might have learned something.

But I needed to get a few more stars for this kind of bravery to finally start using techniques worthy of a Leader.

Roak’s Claw. First constellation, fifteen nodes.

Roak’s Shell. First elemental constellation, fifteen nodes again, only different.

Thirty nodes in all. The third star of the Leader stage.

I hated to admit it, but I didn’t see how I could open that many nodes in the Second. There just wasn’t enough elemental energy. No matter what I told the guards in the caravan, the node had been absorbing it all these days like a bottomless well.

I didn’t have many spirit stones either. There was enough elemental energy in them to help a Master fill his body with threads, but to fill my second focus, another hungry abyss? I could spend days meditating to fill it far from a body of water and it still wouldn’t be enough. It was no wonder that the local Leaders spent decades on several stars.

Their first stars.

I shook the suspiciously quiet Aledo.

“How are you holding up?”

She lifted her head, resting the back of it against my stomach. Our gazes met. Her eyes lit up with excitement.

“It’s beautiful!”

“Smiling again? Do you finally understand that I won’t hurt you?”

She was embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, but it was all so suspicious.” A smile appeared on her lips. “But if I had known from the beginning that you were a Leader, I wouldn’t have let my imagination run wild and invent all sorts of things.”

I just smiled. As if a high Ascension level guaranteed anything. I’d like to believe that only honest, loyal, and fair people could reach that level. Smart, wise, kind, and so on and on and on...

But I knew very well that that wasn’t true. Fatya explained it nicely. If you thought your path to the Heavens was right, fast, and convenient for you, you’d conquer star after star, stage after stage.

I was already a Leader. How many people in the Second Circle could do that? One in ten thousand? One in a hundred thousand?

I was one of the strongest inhabitants of this Circle. I was a high-ranking official in a respectable Order that controlled thousands of people, dozens of trade organizations, hundreds of shops, and several cities.

What more did I need?

A lot, as it turned out.

Power I didn’t have because even a Leader had to answer to his elders.

Money and alchemy that the said elders could deprive me of.

Artifacts they wouldn’t give me money for.

The fact they could get their hands on my flying sword when they realized that no one would stand up for the brat they were about to rob.

Not to mention that I was very aware of the weight of someone else’s life in my hands.

So I made a cautionary remark.

“Strength means little. It always depends on the person. You had friends among the homeless orphans. Most of them were Temperers, but you trusted them more than the Master who suddenly stopped you on the street.”

“You mean you?” Aledo’s voice immediately changed, dripping with suspicion. “And why do you speak in the past tense? They’re still my friends.”

“Because you’ll have to leave them in the past. You probably won’t see them again.”

“I see.” She nodded, shaking her hat comically. “The lands of the Order are very far away...”

“It’s not about the distance. Once you join the Order, you’ll begin your Ascension. You’ll have teachers and new friends... Your interests will change. You’ll look back on your old self with wonder, and soon you’ll forget that it was once a joy to buy a flatbread and eat it whole.”

Aledo gave me an unexpectedly stern look, lowered her head, and muttered:

“I’ll never forget that. Nor will I forget much else.”

I didn’t argue.

“Perhaps you won’t, but that doesn’t change the essence of things.”

I still remembered. Not my anger when they poured mud on me. Not my helplessness when they tried to starve our family. Nor the hatred that made me kill for the first time.

I hadn’t forgotten Deera and Tukto. I was told Deera died in the Black Mountain, but I didn’t know Tukto’s fate. Or rather, I didn’t know what happened to him after Uncle Dee’s family left the village. Did he manage to get the tenth Tempering star? Did he manage to become a Champion?

Perhaps if I...

I froze at the sudden thought. Who said I needed to get a new Sentinel rank and acquire permission to go to Zero?

Who gave me permission to go to the Second Circle?

I still didn’t know what was more important in my transitions between the Circles: the fact that I was a Shen or that I had a dragon ring on my finger. The same ring that Klatir “overlooked” in the trophy Bags he gave me. Yes, “overlooked,” but still somehow bound to me. And where on earth did he get my blood to do that?

The next time I found myself near a Pathway Array, I’d have to check not only if I could enter the Third and Fourth Circle but also if I could return to Zero.

I even put the token map out in front of me to check.

Where were the Pathway Arrays? Path formations? Where else could I find places like the Crossroads of a Thousand Lotuses?

I had no idea.

The map Klatir gave me didn’t seem to have changed. A shame. But it was worth a shot.

With every breath I took, I increased my speed a little bit, infusing the flying sword with more and more spiritual and elemental energy.

If I could have flown over the swamp like that, no Livat would have been able to catch up with me.

I could confidently say that my flying sword, the creation of an elder of a distant cult, was head and shoulders above those wielded by the Livat Leaders.

“It’s a beautiful gift. Thank you, Tizior. May your plans always come to fruition.”

As I thought, the wild air was cold for a Temperer. And although Aledo had a warm cloak and a hat, there was another problem I hadn’t expected.

She was tired. I had thought she might get cold during the flight, but I hadn’t considered she’d go numb from standing still for two thousand breaths.

I had to land just to stretch my legs earlier than planned.

I finally understood why Saref suspected the other factions of harboring the Dark One. He was well aware of the speed a Leader could reach on a good flying sword.

How far had I traveled in those two thousand breaths? That was how long we waited for the Dark One, wasn’t it? Halfway to Sun’s Plains, maybe a little more...

When I was running from the Leaders, the faster I tried to fly, the more energy I wasted. I’d have to check that out.

But first, I had to get my strength back.

Aledo was in a protective formation for the duration of one Cycle. I should have summoned the ghost to make it safer, but that would’ve been too much. I knew that cultist artifacts were used by many people in the imperial Circles, but explaining that to a ten-year-old girl who just thought I was going to kill her?

No, thank you. Handling children wasn’t one of my talents.

Chapter 12

The second flight proved me right. When you flew slowly, you used less energy, much less. It was a good flying sword, very good.

Aledo began her training early. We started practicing standing on the sword for four thousand breaths, and we ended with balance training because her feet didn’t stick to the blade. She didn’t even have a focus yet.

But she was quite agile, and most importantly, she was a quick learner. In a matter of days, she got used to the height and forgot her fear. Now she just sat on the sword. Or lay on it.

Come to think of it, we looked... very strange. I mean, how many Leaders had I seen on swords? The cultists over Haven, Shandri and his opponent, Tizior, and the Livat scum. But they all flew alone...

“How much longer?”

I lowered my eyes to the ground.

“Are you tired again?”

“No. I’m hungry.”

I chuckled.

“I thought you were used to eating sparingly.”

“Why would I hold back when you have plenty of food with you? I’m no longer a starving ragamuffin, but a Leader’s apprentice.”

“You’re not my apprentice. You’re a student of the Order.”

“I’d rather work for one person than a bunch of ‘em.” Aledo was silent for a moment, then she added: “If you don’t single out someone and tell them to watch the street, you can be sure that no one will do it. Everyone will conveniently decide that it’s none of their business.”

Fair enough.

But she still wasn’t my student.

“Where you are going, everyone has their tasks, and all the students are looked after by teachers appointed by the Order’s elders.”

“Are you one of them?”

“No, I’m far from that. A traveler in distant lands.”

“Then I’m happy to have met you.”

I paused and nodded.

“It was the will of the Heavens.” I turned the conversation to something else. “If your Ascension level were higher, you’d see another land’s border down there. We have arrived.”

I even pointed my finger in the right direction. Up and down the road was a small Order camp. Black flags with a silvery jian were set up on both sides, and the same one, only larger, stood in the center of the camp, fluttering in the wind. Probably the Army of the Limits.

Aledo stood up on the sword and squinted, trying to see what I saw and failing.

“From this height, all I can see are the campfires. Even a Master would have missed it.”

I didn’t argue.

“Perhaps.”

“Are there Warriors with an eye as keen as that of a Master?” Aledo twisted her hand. “I mean, you can get better at something before your time, right?”

“You can. What do you want to be better at?”

“I want to be a Warrior who can fight better than any Warrior and who can compete with a Master. I want to be a Master who can fight better than any other Master and stand up to a Leader.”

I sighed. Why did she need to be able to fight so well?

“Fighting isn’t that difficult. Any fool can do it as long as they know which end of the sword is the pointy one. It’s much easier than healing or tanning leather.”

Aledo grimaced.

“Tanning? It’s a lowly profession, what’s so hard about it? It doesn’t even require Ascension.”

I chuckled and spread my hands.

“I had a chance to learn it once. A little bit. And I made a lot of mistakes. I made the wrong cut, the wrong finish. It was easier for me to kill a dozen Beasts than to make a single skin.”

“Sounds to me like you didn’t know which side of the skin was the furry one.”

“Aledo, you’re too young to be this sharp-tongued.”

“Too young? Hah! You wouldn’t survive a day on our streets, senior.” She grinned. “Let’s say I know which end of the sword is the pointy one, what then?”

“Then you know how to fight.”

“Do I?”

I sighed.

“No. Like in any trade, there are nuances. To be a good fighter, you have to have talent. Or you have to work tirelessly every day, week after week, month after month...”

“My father often said that a lack of talent could be compensated by persistence or alchemy.”

I noted to myself that this was the first time she had ever mentioned her father. Well, Domar was right about one thing. But weren’t the pills for her physical body? Didn’t he mention that she was sick?

Cautiously, I agreed:

“A reasonable judgment. A girl I was competing with in the Order confided in me that she made up for her lack of talent by practicing hard from dawn to dusk.”

“I will do the same.”

“But often even that isn’t enough. Besides, I don’t think this is your Heavenly Path.”

“My Heavenly Path?”

“What you’re good at. If you have a talent for alchemy, you’ll have more success in life by practicing it than by trying to master inscriptions and become a recognized scribe.”

“And what is my talent?”

“Again — in the schools and academies of the Order, there are test formations that know how to determine it. You’ll find out there.”

“You keep saying that, but you saw something in that ragamuffin on the street, didn’t you?”

I tried to avoid answering her by changing the topic.

“Aha, we are making progress! You no longer think that I led you out of the city to kill you in the woods.”

“Senior!” Aledo’s eyes flashed, and then she jumped to her full height. I tensed, ready to catch her if she stumbled. But she maintained her balance. All theatrical, she bowed in front of me, putting her fist to her palm. “Senior, please forgive this junior for her unworthy and foolish thoughts.”

I chuckled.

“You’re forgiven.”

Aledo straightened up.

“What did you see in me?”

Sighing, I tried to answer with a half-truth, toeing the line between fact and falsehood.

“Let’s just say that one of my talents is the ability to spot heavenly threads in what happens around me.”

Or was that a half-lie?

Aledo furrowed her brow.

“Heavenly threads? I don’t even know what that is. Are you a Heavenly Whisperer? Like one from the legends?”

“No. I’m definitely not a Heavenly Whisperer.” I chuckled to myself. I was a brother to one, however. Could that explain the oddity of the recent events? “Let’s just say that when a boy runs up to me, and I suddenly realize he’s a girl, and I see something unusual about her, I know it’s not a coincidence.”

Aledo shrugged, turned away, sat back on the sword with her legs hanging over the abyss, and muttered:

“Coincidence, not coincidence, threads, not threads, truth but not really, seeing something unusual in me, not telling me what that is, the test formations... So many things. I’m already confused.”

I just nodded. I could only hope that there was indeed some talent in her. Anything would do. Alchemy? That’d be good. Her uncle had some talent for writing and could create and even forge contracts. Maybe she inherited some of his talent as well.

Just enough to get her a place in one of the Order’s pavilions or workshops in the future. That’d be enough to justify my interest in her. I didn’t need her to be a bigger-than-life genius.

She could try for that on her own. So long as she didn’t end up disappointed because she was a complete mediocrity, anything worked.

Perhaps I could ask to have her results falsified...

No, no. That’d be unfair.

One year, maybe two. And then the past would recede a little, she’d find a new home and a new purpose in life.

I hoped so. But the me who had once endured the humiliation of Zero, who had collected stones and read the Body Tempering manual, curled my lips into a sneer.

I was being naïve. Was her dream of avenging her family’s death less important than mine? Yes, her father didn’t die before her, but what of her mother, Lady Aletra? How did she die?

“Wasn’t her death even more terrible than your father’s, Legard?” a voice whispered in my mind, digging into it like a worm. “Do you really think a year in the Order, among her peers, and without talent, will make her forget her revenge and past? That your pity will make it right?”

“No,” I responded. “But I can hope.”

I gritted my teeth for a moment, then parted my lips and said hoarsely:

“It’s getting dark. We’ll spend the night on the ground.”

Aledo replied cheerfully, unaware of the thoughts that plagued me:

“Good! I was a bit embarrassed to ask for food again, although you could have offered me an apple or a meat bun!”

I could only raise my eyebrows at such a remark. I really could have done that, but it didn’t cross my mind. And we weren’t landing because I was tired and couldn’t fly anymore. I could. I was sure we could even make it to Sword City tonight, cutting the days it took Kirt, Gaval, and me to get there last time.

But I needed some time to think.

I liked to do that, didn’t I?

So I planted a bunch of formation flags around our overnight stay, gave Aledo her long-awaited supper, and sat there, throwing twigs into the fire and watching them flare up and give themselves to the flames, pondering.

Did I even have the right to deceive Aledo with the results of her test? Why should I even think that cheating would be good for her? To spare her feelings? She, the former precious Mistress of Ash Tree, wasn’t used to disappointment.

Was I, who thought so highly and tastefully about justice at every opportunity, sure it would be fair? To give the girl false hope? To give her dreams and plans a foundation of dry twigs instead of solid stone?

Of course not. All plans, especially those for life, had to be built on the most solid of foundations. The truth. When I picked up the manual for the first time, I wanted to see if I could get my tenth Tempering star within four years or if I’d stay in Zero forever. From day one, I was aware that I might not be destined for great things, but I never let that stop me.

Aledo put down her plate with a satisfied sigh and leaned back against the tree trunk. I grinned, looked at the leftovers, made sure she couldn’t eat anymore, and waved my hand over the plates, putting everything into the Bag.

“Try the tea. I brewed it myself. Not to brag, but people had nothing but praise for it.”

Aledo clasped her hands.

“How could I ever refuse such a generous offer?”

I raised an eyebrow at the familiar remark. She wasn’t even ten yet and she already acted so much like Fatya and Reika. Or were all women like that?

I shook my head and stared at the fire again.

Aledo asked suddenly:

“What are you thinking about?”

I looked at her. There was no point denying the obvious.

“I’m thinking about your talent. What did I see in you that caught my eye?”

Aledo fluttered her eyelashes.

“I already asked you that!”

“And I’m thinking about it. I don’t mind such musings, but you need a definite answer. And the more I think about it, the less certain I am about anything.”

Aledo slowly put the cup down on the table but didn’t say a word.

Sighing, I confessed:

“I remembered a thing from the past, when I first came to the Order and we were being probed for talent.”

The thing that was my first lesson in the symbols and seals the Decrees were made of.

The gray-haired man raised his hands. In their movements, I guessed the same invisible brushstrokes I had made myself.

“Remember the basics. Multiply, as I taught you in the residence. Remember the time limit. Two hundred breaths... Remember, condition equals order. ‘Truth’ and ‘Availability.’ This is the best choice for today’s assignment, tested by generations of our predecessors. It doesn’t matter if there are old contracts or not. It’ll work and will not affect the previous Conditions. And that’s enough. Fill it with energy and apply.” The Master of Decrees waved his hand, the familiar gesture I had used hundreds of times on the jairs in the pens. “Time’s up!”

“Would you like me to show you?”

Aledo jumped to her feet.

“Yes!”

I grinned as I pushed the ornate artifact into her hands. I had to justify the fact that her tongue would now respond despite her wishes. There was no need for Availability with no conflicting conditions. Truth would suffice for my simple question.

“Your talent?”

“Replanting seedlings!” Aledo answered instantly.

“Huh?” When I realized that I made that strange noise, I quickly shut my mouth. And thought. And still, I couldn’t think of anything better than to ask again: “What?”

Aledo sat there, her eyes wide with wonder.

“My mother always praised me, said I had a green thumb, that my seedlings take root better than hers.” After a pause, she added helplessly: “That’s it.”

I silently pulled the artifact out of her hand, erasing the Decree at the same time. Stupid idiot. I had been using my talent for so many years and still didn’t understand what happened at the School back then? The guards were just checking to see if any of the students were deliberately hiding their talents without admitting it.

After all, my Truth was the same truth used in amulets by all factions in both Circles. How could it help unlock talents?

If things were so simple, would the Order of the Heavenly Sword bother with the numerous testing formations that they let us through?

“It’s not a real talent...”

“It is.” I hastily chose my words. I did say she wasn’t used to disappointment. “And this is not the real deal. That was the first test I took when I was only a little older than you. I said I had no talent at all.” I even stood up and spread my arms as if to show off. “Did that stop me from becoming a Leader? No. There’ll be many more of these tests, and they’ll be much more serious.”

“I don’t need your pity!

I raised an eyebrow. You little brat. I could raise my voice, too.

“I’m not pitying you! You think everyone knows horticulture?! What if an old herbalist is looking for an apprentice to transplant a priceless herb? The only one of its kind in the entire Circle? What if he has a garden full of rare and precious specimens that need absolute precision and understanding?”

“I want to be strong,” Aledo muttered in response, her voice quiet. “I don’t want to plant herbs my whole life.”

“Good. Have you read the instructions for Meridian Tempering?”

“Yes.” Aledo’s voice was still tense. “I memorized it just before I left.”

“Have you started Ascending yet?”

“Mm-hmm,” she drawled. “I’m not even ten yet.”

Actually, last time she told me she was already ten, but let’s not sweat the little things.

“Did I ask that?”

Aledo paused and answered:

“Yes, I have started my Ascension.”

I chuckled again. What was written in the manual? Listen carefully to the teacher’s instructions. If in doubt, ask them to check the movement of energy in the meridians with their spiritual gaze. There were no such teachers in the Wasteland. Although I wasn’t a teacher and couldn’t give Aledo instructions, I did have the gaze.

I beckoned Aledo over.

“Give me your hand. I want to see how it’s progressing.”

She nodded, walked over to me, and extended her hand.

“How do you imagine the heavenly energy?”

“The same as my dad. I imagine the ground beneath me glowing with the pervasive power of the Heavens, and I draw its threads through me through my...” Aledo suddenly blushed, stammered, and struggled to finish her thought. “The point is that I draw them into myself!”

I looked at her, sitting cross-legged on the ground. That was one way to imagine it, I suppose.

“Is that a way to joke with your daughter, Domar?”

Aledo blushed even more under my gaze.

An unusual interpretation of the instructions, but whatever.

What did they tell us at school...?

Man’s flesh was born of the Earth, but his soul was born of the Heavens. And it aspired to them, taking the body with it on the path of Ascension.

The first stage of this journey was the collection of the energy that permeated everything around us. A weak soul strove upward, manifesting its desires in visual forms.

Domar thought that you actually had to be in contact with the ground, that is, the Earth, to draw energy into yourself.

Yes... and no.

I looked at Aledo again.

“Gather the energy and move it through your body. Let me know what you’re doing and I’ll see if what’s happening inside of you is in accordance with your intentions. Can you gather energy and speak at the same time?”

Aledo nodded, licked her lips, and closed her eyes. I reached into the darkness of her body with my spiritual gaze.

“I absorbed the energy.”

She was doing well. And I wouldn’t say the energy was drawn into her body through her butt. It was more like it was coming straight up a little higher. About where a Walker should form the third focus at some point. Whatever that meant in this particular case. But I wasn’t really a teacher, and I didn’t understand at all what this could mean in a Temperer. Maybe it was a sign of talent, or maybe it was the other way around.

“I’m running the energy through every corner of my body, hardening it, and trying to expand the meridians.”

She was doing a great job with that as well. The energy she gathered went up and down in two waves, igniting a grid of meridians in its path. They continued to glow in the darkness of her body for several more breaths, even as the wave of energy dissolved into its farthest reaches.

I let go of her hand and she immediately opened her eyes and stared at me eagerly. I wanted to shrug, but I realized that would look dismissive.

Instead, I smiled and nodded.

“You’re doing it correctly. But... Is that really a good way to imagine it? Don’t you want to change it?”

“No.” Aledo even shook her head to make it clearer to me. “I like it like this.”

“Suit yourself.”

After thinking about it for a while, I still didn’t dare to give advice about something I didn’t know anything about. But I wondered how she’d absorb the energy in the future when she became a Warrior and mastered the Cycle and Combat Meditation. Would she still draw it in with every step? Through her feet? And what about when she became a Leader and soared into the sky on her sword?

Or after creating the first focus and experiencing the world and the power of the Heavens, which enveloped everything around us, not just the earth? Would she draw that power from everywhere, not just through...? She would have to, right? Otherwise, it’d be very impractical and inconvenient.

“Yes, well, keep at it. Do this kind of meridian tempering every free minute you get,” I continued.

Aledo frowned.

“Is that all I get? Have I made any progress? Have I acquired the fourth star?”

I spread my hands and repeated:

“I’m not a teacher, and I haven’t been a Temperer for a long time. I have an artifact that can determine your level and stage.” Aledo’s eyes flashed, but I immediately crushed her dreams. “However, it determines the Ascension of Masters by checking the number of nodes they can use continuously.”

“So there’s no way to test me? You have the gaze!”

I sighed and admitted:

“I do.”

Aledo stretched out her hand pleadingly, even crossing her arms in reassurance.

“Seeeeeeniooorrrrrrr...”

“Let’s make a deal. Whatever the result, you won’t make a scene about it like the last time.”

She nodded firmly.

“It’s a deal! This, this is different. It’s not a seedling.”

I didn’t believe her, but I still put my hand on her head and made a seal. No disguise this time.

Restriction. Sixth star.

“Do you feel weak?” I asked.

“No?”

The six changed to a five.

“And now?”

Aledo answered more confidently:

“No.”

“And now?”

“Also no. What does that mean? Oh! I can feel it now. It’s like I’ve been on my feet all day and I just want to collapse and do nothing.”

I took my hand and the seal away.

“I’m sorry, but you’re still a Temperer with three stars. It’s a bit early for anything else,” I added, watching her face carefully. “You admitted that it’s too early for you to practice Ascension, even though you said you were ten years old last time.”

Aledo pressed her lips together.

“A measly few months doesn’t count. Who cares if I’m ten or about to turn ten?”

“You weren’t sick as a child?” I asked after a moment. “You didn’t take medicine?”

Aledo became even more somber.

“I was sick, and I had to take it. But my father promised me that it was good and expensive. That I’d no longer be sick and that the medicine would make me strong. Don’t you dare tell me that he lied to me.”

I nodded. There was no point in arguing with an almost-ten-years-old Temperer with three stars, who had achieved nothing uncommon for that age. Though I had to admit that I expected more of the precious mistress of Ash Manor who had been fed cultist pills and lived in the lavishness of the Second Circle.

But since we were coming out of an evening of unpleasant tests and results, conversations, and reflections, it was worth asking one more uncomfortable question.

“Your family. What happened to them? Your father, your mother, your siblings? Why were you left alone?”

At first, I thought Aledo wouldn’t answer me. She pressed her lips together and turned her back to the fire.

We sat together for a long time, staring at the flames, and then she said quietly:

“I had no brothers or sisters. Besides my mother and father, I had uncles and a grandfather. My uncles were lost in the woods. My grandfather was forced to kill himself before a crowd. My father was attacked and badly wounded, his leg was cut off. After that, we fled to save our lives. We walked for many days, and then my father ordered us to go on without him. He said he was having trouble walking with one leg, that he’d stop and find a healer.”

Aledo fell silent, picked up a piece of dried wood, and threw it into the fire. The branches flared and crackled, sending sparks flying.

“He lied. When I asked my mother later, she started to cry and told me everything. He stayed behind us because he was very conspicuous without a leg. Because they were looking for us. At first, everything was fine, and then... Then our loyal servants raised their swords against us.”

I also threw a branch into the flames.

“That doesn’t sound like something a loyal servant would do,” I noted.

“Their loyalty was based on Decrees, which disappeared when your father died.”

Aledo’s eyes burned like fire.

She looked away.

“Maybe you’re right. That’s what my mother said. But what do I care? I remember all of my childhood they smiled at me and called me precious little mistress. And then... Then they stabbed my mother in the back.”

Once again, I broke the silence with a question.

“Do you want revenge?”

“There’s no one to avenge. Mom killed them all.”

I raised my eyebrows. Lady Aletra was only a Warrior with six stars. How did she manage to...? And who exactly did she kill? Aledo said servants, not guards. What strength did these servants possess?

“They wounded her and she had to drink a healing potion.” Aledo’s shoulders shook. “She was screaming. If I turn out to be a talented alchemist, I’ll make healing potions that don’t hurt.”

I sighed to myself. Lady Aletra, a Warrior with six stars who had spent her entire life growing nothing but flowers while living in the safety of a golden cage... Healing potions doubled the pain of wounds. I could only imagine how she felt the first time she drank it. I feared that Aledo’s dream would remain just that, a dream. Even ancient potions couldn’t heal wounds without inflicting pain. Only techniques could do something like that. That was why healers were so valuable.

“When she came to, we ran again. This time, it was just the two of us. Mom was hoping we could hide in Dawn from all the people who were chasing after us.” She shrugged and grinned crookedly. “And she was right. They didn’t find us. But mom was a stranger in that city. A stranger without patrons, and very weak. There was someone who coveted our spirit stones...” There were a few moments of silence, and then a shaky breath. “This was a battle my mother couldn’t win. The men who came to our house were too strong.”

“You could have asked me to take revenge on them.”

“No!” Aledo swallowed and repeated stubbornly: “No. I’ll do it myself. I’ll never forget the name of our ‘benefactor.’ I saw one of his lackeys in the crowd at the market yesterday, and I hope he recognized me and rushed to his master. Five, ten, twenty years from now, I’ll get strong, and then I’ll come back and knock on his door...” Aledo raised her hands and held them over the fire. “I’ll take my revenge with my own two hands. Isn’t that how it should be done, senior?”

“It is. This is your life, this is your revenge.”

Aledo grinned.

“Justice, right?”

“Right.”

Her smile turned triumphant, as if I had just promised her that I’d come back and kill all her “benefactors.” But should I blame her for her thirst for vengeance?

After a moment of silence, I encouraged Aledo to continue.

Was it not fitting to end the conversation by a dying fire?

“What happened next?”

“Nothing interesting.” She shrugged and ruffled her hair. “I was afraid they’d come looking for me, so I hid.” Her smile turned embarrassed. “I read the story about... Doesn’t matter. I changed gangs until I found my place in this last one. They turned out to be nice and kind even after they found out I was a girl. I hope they do well. I hope your potions make them stronger. It’ll help them.”

It was my turn to shrug.

“It’s good, quality alchemy. But everything will depend on their talent and effort. It’s not enough to gain power; you have to be able to use it properly.”

“I doubt they’ll manage then...”

I chuckled.

“Why not join the guard and be done with it?”

“The city guard? Them? No, senior, that...” Aledo suddenly fell silent, then shrugged again. “I don’t know. Why not? Maybe they will. I’ll return to the city later and find out.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I decided that this was the perfect moment to finally end our conversation. “And now, it’s time to go to bed.”

“What about you, senior?”

“I don’t need to sleep as much, so I’ll keep watch and meditate.”

Aledo glanced at the wall of darkness that rose beyond the circle of light, but she didn’t argue or ask questions about the Beasts. She curled up under her cloak by the campfire. I watched the flames dance in her eyes for a while, and then she fell asleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

She was right — a Walker could get better at something before their time.

More to the point, a Walker could go through two levels of Ascension at the same time.

By becoming a Warrior, forming the first focus, and opening the nodes, one could receive both Warrior and Master stars at once.

Could I, as a Leader, obtain both Leader and Spirit Lord stars at the same time by forming the second focus and opening the nodes?

Shouldn’t I have thought of that when I learned that Masters could create techniques without an Appeal?

I could do something like that. Did it mean that I was already a Lord of the Spirit with one star?

Maybe not, because there was a big difference between a Master and a Lord.

The third focus.

And yet...

How were the stars measured by the Lords? According to the complexity of the technique they could perform without an Appeal, since they couldn’t open any more nodes?

If that was the case, then it was unlikely that their Ascension would be tested on simple techniques that only involved the first three hundred and five nodes.

So... So it all came back to my Ascension and the open Leader nodes. Only now I knew that it wasn’t enough to open them and start using the Claw or the Tread. I also had to get to the point where I could create them without constellations or Appeals.

Both Aledo and I had a long way to go...

And there was no time to waste.

With that in mind, I estimated how much elemental energy I had in the second focus and how much of it I could send into the meridian to open the node.

“Here we go.”

I managed to use the Cycle twice that night. Among my flags was a silence formation, so even if the Beasts came running, they wouldn’t be able to wake Aledo before they died.

Chapter 13

“Aaaaaaaaaah.” At first I thought Aledo was yawning because she was up before dawn, but no. That was an expression of surprise. “We’re going faster than yesterday!”

I grinned.

“That’s right, hawk-eye.”

Yesterday, I went down not only to think but also because I didn’t want to fly to Sword City at night. There was no telling who I’d run into there in the dark. I had already come to terms with the fact that I had nothing to prove that I belonged to the Order.

Not even an outer disciple’s badge. Just the steward title that only Shandri knew about.

The Faction Tournament would begin today. And thanks to Oglius, who was so kind to share all he knew about the Order and these tournaments, I knew where it’d be held, and I was sure Shandri would be there as well.

All I had to do was find him.

Aledo once again pointed out the obvious:

“Is it just me, or are we descending already? I thought we were going to fly right into the city and drop in the middle of the square. The main square!”

“No.” I grinned at the silly little fantasy. “When I left, I was a Master. I want to surprise my teacher.”

Aledo pouted.

“So you have a teacher and I don’t. Why won’t you be my teacher? I have a talent!” She hesitated, remembering the one we had discovered yesterday, but then she continued. “A talent so great that you can’t find it with a simple test!”

“We’ve talked about this before. First, the school and the training there. I can’t give you anything, simply because I don’t know how to teach Temperers and Warriors properly.”

“Teach them how to teach themselves. Simple!”

I left her muttering unanswered as I continued to descend. We touched down like two ordinary travelers.

If “ordinary” was a description applicable to us. The Order’s steward and a little girl with short hair trailing after him.

“That way.” I pointed with my hand and felt a strange sensation. Pride? An overwhelming desire to show off? I got it right last night, estimating the correct flying trajectory on the map. We were indeed looking at Sword City. “Do you see that glint in the wall?”

“Yes.” Aledo even put her palm to her forehead to see better. “I don’t get it. It’s higher than the wall, isn’t it? What’s that glint?”

“It’s the gate that gave the city its name.”

“What’s it called?”

“Sword City.”

“Woah...”

Aledo was impressed by the huge sword that served as the gate. She had seen three or four cities in her life, and she too, like me in the past, had a lot to compare it to. She had never seen anything like it anywhere else.

“Let’s go.”

My robe attracted attention: the crowd streaming toward the city parted respectfully, many bowing to us. Some merchants tried to speak to me, talking about the weather, the prices of goods, and the tournament that was about to begin.

I just smiled politely and said nothing. I didn’t have time for them right now.

I tried to imagine how my meeting with Shandri would go and how impressed he’d be with what I had become.

The guards at the gate greeted me warmly.

“Senior!”

Their commander, a blue- and red-robed servant, jumped up and bowed to me, clenching his fist in his palm.

“Senior, is there anything I can do for you?”

I waved my hand.

“As you were. Glory to the Order.”

The servant nodded, straightened up, and finished the greeting:

“Its greatness is our pride.”

On the streets, I turned my head like Aledo, curious about the hustle and bustle of the morning city.

There were no major differences from the Sword City as I saw it two years ago. The same people, the same hollering. That was good. The Wild Times hadn’t caused irreparable damage to the Order’s followers. So what if the outskirts had shrunk a bit? The Order used to send newcomers into battles on the borders to test them, and not worry about losing some of its lands. No one was going to do that kind of frivolous nonsense now. They’d send only the strongest, only the most worthy, only those sure of victory. Three to five years would pass and the Order would regain what it had lost. I was sure of it.

Aledo gasped.

“Woah!”

I agreed with her, except that I admired in silence. It’d be unbecoming of me to act as childish.

This was my first time in this part of the city. Before, I was more interested in the marketplace and the square where the Academy exam was held.

Now Aledo and I came to another square. A huge one. In its center was a low circular structure, about a hundred and twenty paces high.

Looking at it, I remembered Fatya and smiled. How would you count it correctly, and not like some vagabond from the wasteland’s ass-end of nowhere?

Three yin, a little over thirty zhan, or a hundred bu?

Yes, something like that.

The outermost blocks around the square were low buildings, making this arena look taller than it actually was. And it was an arena. The third I had seen in my life.

The first one was at the School when we fought for prizes. The second was later, when I fought a Tiger in Frost Ridge.

I had no doubt I’d see more.

Third and the biggest. That wasn’t surprising. The last one was built by a small Order from the First Circle, and this belonged to one of the strongest factions in the Second. Not the strongest, like the Garoys. Not the second strongest, like the Tyriots. But if the Swords claimed that they were the tenth strongest in this Circle, would the Disirians dare to say they were the ninth?

To think I’d be so affected by those high, vaulted walls rising to the sky. I had never praised the Order so much, not even when I was memorizing the chants at Frost Ridge. But I didn’t wear a steward’s robe then, and I didn’t have people around me bowing to me as they rushed to see the best fighters from the surrounding factions fight.

Aledo grabbed me by the robe and tugged.

“Is this the arena for the tournament?”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s even bigger than described in the books.” She threw her head back. “How many people can fit in here?”

I shrugged.

“A lot.”

Aledo gave me a judgmental look.

“I realized that myself.”

I grinned, grabbed her arm for safety, and followed the crowd across the plaza, deciding which entrance to use to enter the arena.

What was I supposed to tell her? I was a very odd member of this Order. I had been one for a little over two years, and I knew almost nothing about it. Neither when the giant sword was placed, nor who forged it, nor how much it weighed, nor how many people could fit into the arena. I was very, very detached from the life in the Order.

I wasn’t sent here to learn any of this, but to make the Order and myself stronger.

“Senior!”

A servant greeted me hastily. The surprise in his eyes and the silver trim on his blue robe were an unpleasant sight. The Guard Garrison. The only thing worse would be to meet someone from the Interrogation Department. But even a guard responsible for the protection of the important people in the Order should know all the stewards by name, if not by face.

“Senior, there’s no need for you to stand in the queue.”

I sighed to myself and bowed slightly in return.

“Thank you.”

He straightened up and waved his hand with a smile.

“Please, follow me.” And then, with the same smile, he asked: “Pardon my ignorance, senior, but may I ask your name?”

The novices behind him, with red stripes on their sleeves, looked at each other. I’d have to use my talent again.

There was much more advice in the notes of the Beetles’ Master of Decrees than in the book the Order’s Master had given us. I expected things to get rough today, so I had prepared myself.

I could have convinced them all without the Decree, but why waste time and attract attention? No one was slandering the Order at the top of their voice. I was just taken aside quietly and discreetly.

But the servant, a peak Warrior, was already covered with a network of symbols. A rather strange combination of terms, as such things were called in the Beetle’s records. The Shroud of Trust.

I repeated his smile and reported:

“Rimilo.”

The servant smiled twice as wide and exclaimed with excitement:

“Senior! I’m so happy to see you again! It’s been so long since we last met.”

The guards at the wall relaxed, some of them turning away to look at the crowd that was slowly filling the square behind me.

I nodded.

“It really has.”

Before he and I were born, to be exact. The complex Decree seemed to plunge his mind into a fog, to cover his thoughts with a shroud. He simply trusted me. He didn’t remember why or who I was, but he trusted me enough to deceive himself. Was I wearing the steward’s robes? I was. Was there a smile on my face? There was.

“Senior, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, it’s been a long time since I was here, I don’t remember the way. I want to see Commander Shandri.”

The servant bowed again. When he straightened up, apologies were literally written on his face.

“Sir, please forgive me, but rules are rules.”

Not understanding anything, I just nodded.

“I understand.”

“This way, sir.”

I followed his hand. Oglius had never told me about this. The passage to the next room?

That was it. An unusual, circular hall with two narrow passageways facing each other. An entrance and an exit. I also saw many seals behind the walls. There were at least two dozen Order members standing there.

Very interesting.

“The girl isn’t a member of the Order, is she, sir?”

“No, but I do intend to have her join. School first, of course...”

The guard nodded without waiting for me to finish.

“Naturally, Senior Rimilo, I understand. Young lady, please stand right here, in the circle of red stone.”

Aledo looked at me, reluctant to follow someone else’s instructions. I nodded, finally realizing where we were and what was about to happen.

When she took three steps and stood in the middle of the small red slab, the guard nodded, too. But not to Aledo or me, but to whoever was operating this formation.

A blue cloth rose along the walls, causing Aledo to exhale in amazement. The symbols of two Decrees intermingled in the air and dozens of sparks began to rise, showering the guard and me, avoiding Aledo and the red stone beneath her feet.

And I was the only one here to see it all. Well, except for the blue fabric on the formation’s edges. Aledo didn’t turn her head, didn’t look at the sparks or the markings under her feet.

She had no talent for formations or Decrees.

After a moment, I curbed my confidence a bit. It was impossible to identify such an aptitude at the Tempering stage: the body was too weak, it didn’t know how to let the energy flow through itself, the meridians were still soft and pliable, slumbering, and all the talents were dormant. It was necessary to gain at least two or three stars and Ascend a little closer to the Heavens first.

Meanwhile, the sparks did what they were supposed to do — washed away the Decrees over the guard’s head. Five breaths later, he was a blank slate. Free of the imperial Decrees and my Shroud of Trust.

The guard stood there, bored, waiting for the cleansing to be finished. And then he frowned and turned his head in my direction.

In any other case, a dumbfounded servant would have raised the alarm once he got rid of enforced Decrees. But not when he was standing side by side with a Master of Decrees.

I took a breath to reform the Shroud above him.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

The servant’s brow furrowed and he shook his head with a smile.

“No, no, Senior Rimilo. I thought I felt something strange. Pay no attention to me.”

Five more breaths and the sparks began to create a new Decree above him. This time from the Order. I knew exactly what it said. Loyalty to the Order, an oath to keep its secrets, and an oath to protect it from its enemies.

It was the same formation as in the Academy, only bigger. Apparently, the arena was divided into a public part and a part where only those who served the Order could pass. To move through it, you had to rid yourself of old Decrees and reacquire the Order’s bicolored ones. A great way to protect yourself from enemies and keep your people safe from foreign influence.

It was just a shame that it was flawed. It didn’t work if a foreign Master was around to restore the seals. And it didn’t work when the Walker was stronger than the formation’s influence.

It was unable to dispel my empty seals with energy reserves or to place a bicolor seal of loyalty on me.

It didn’t even report that something was wrong.

That wasn’t good. It was unlikely that Leaders went through a routine check like this every day, but still. If you compared this formation to a wall, then there was a gaping hole between the bricks. Big enough to let a Mad through.

The formation should automatically block the exits from this hall, pour all its energy into its defensive functions, and signal for help. But no. Everyone outside was calm. The guard next to me was smiling.

Not good.

Frowning to myself, I followed the guard further, to the lodges reserved for the senior members of the Order.

If you thought about it, the enemy could get in here even under the guise of a little girl. As it happened, the creator of the formation had taken care not to accidentally impose the Loyalty Decree on the guest. Very, very, very thoughtless.

After the tragedy at the Gorge, the Order could have become extinct. Sometimes, all it took was one man with conviction to reach the heart of what was hidden and destroy everything around him. Especially when that man was a Leader of Warriors.

Following the guard, I repeated myself, just in case the disappearance of my Shroud combination had broken something:

“I must see Commander Shandri, the headmaster of the Academy.”

“You’ve risen very high in the time we haven’t seen you, Senior Rimilo,” the man drawled respectfully. “I have someone to look up to.”

Aledo looked at me. The guard’s words made me look like a role model. Except this was nothing more than a made-up story. Was it possible that two colors were too many for such a Decree? The poor sod would soon remember our school days together.

I squinted at him. The desire to ask him if he recalled how we used to suffer with a load of stones on our backs became unbearable for a moment. I wanted to see if the Decree would force him to make up such a moment in his life. Or perhaps he’d just pull out a forgotten memory and replace some old acquaintance with Rimilo’s image?

But I resisted the temptation. There was no need to torture the poor man any longer. I was one step away from returning to the Academy, to Oriya, Milai, and Vilikor, all of whom knew about my talent.

And Xilim, whom I’d be happy to play with for a little while. It’d be very amusing to see if he’d “remember” how he studied with me before I was born?

I’d relish every moment of it. I couldn’t fight him with steel and techniques now, I was too strong for it to be fun, so I’d torment him in other ways.

“Torment” was too strong of a word. I wasn’t averse to teasing him in conversation, and neither was he. It’d just be a Decree practice session that’d give us both many reasons for laughter and jokes in the future. Nothing more.

The servant stopped in front of two other guards and waved his hand, pointing to the door.

“Commander Shandri should be there.”

“Thank you, it was good to see you.”

I added Time to his Decree. Tomorrow, when he’d wake up, he’d no longer see me as an old comrade. Not before, I didn’t want to be disturbed during the tournament. In the morning, one of Shandri’s subordinates or someone from the Interrogation Department would explain everything to him.

It was three steps to the door.

I breathed in and out several times to get my thoughts in order and took those three steps, passed the two novices in gray robes with red stripes on their sleeves who bowed in greeting and pushed open the door.

No one even noticed my arrival.

It was nearly two dozen steps from the door to the chairs.

There were three dozen seats lined up against the low parapet, but not even a third of them were occupied. Not all the commanders had managed to put aside their business and attend the tournament.

The thought stung. Was Shandri even here?

These chairs were too high and wide for me to see who was sitting on them, just the legs and the gold of the robes on the armrests. I couldn’t see the guard’s crest either. It was too far away.

One of the seated spectators leaned to the side, peeking out from behind his chair, and turned to me.

“What is it? You came here to report something, yes? To whom?” The lazy voice, slightly annoyed at my slow reaction, fell silent. A moment later, the gray-haired commander exhaled in surprise. “Who are you?”

Chapter 14

All the commanders turned at his voice. The suspicious looks of the eight Leaders were unpleasant as a wave of warmth washed over me. All of them allowed themselves the thought of striking me.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to twist and turn to convince them that I was one of them.

Shandri was there, dressed in the gold and blue robes of the Academy headmaster. A Leader of Warriors with two stars.

His voice was filled with disbelief.

“Is that you?”

I didn’t know what he wanted to hear. That it wasn’t me?

I bent over and pressed my fist into my palm.

“Student Rimilo reports to the headmaster upon his return.”

I guess I was hoping he’d jump up and grab me by the shoulders, lift me up, and rejoice at my return.

But Shandri just repeated his question.

“Is it really you?”

I straightened up.

“We can always make sure whether I am who I say I am,” I suggested with a smile. “Test me if you must, ask me something that only I could know.”

Shandri narrowed his eyes.

“How many people did you take with you on your... journey?”

“If you had asked me how many of my mercenaries I took with me, I would have a precise number. But the students...” I spread my hands. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t count the senior students. ‘Many’ would be a vague reply. Tochtal was supposed to take care of them and even he couldn’t be bothered with numbers.”

One of the commanders, the Commander of the Schools, if I wasn’t mistaken, because gold couldn’t be seen on gold and was thus replaced with a black pattern, chuckled.

“Excellent answer. And an excellent student, Shandri, even better than you told me. No wonder Xilim always picked on him. They’re spitting images of each other.”

Another muttered:

“That doesn’t mean anything. You mentioned that the boy was a strange case, but what I see before me is beyond all belief. A weak Master who is a danger to me? Impossible.”

I glanced over at the rest of the commanders, assessing the depth and danger of their power. I realized that I was wrong. There weren’t eight Leaders before me, but six. The Commander of the Guild of Professions, who turned to me first, with yellow stripes on his lapel and chest, was only a peak Master. And the commander with the gray stripes on the gold of his robe was Oglius’s superior, the head of the Department of Commerce.

I smiled and sent a thought to Shandri with a grin.

“Perhaps I should remind you who removed your tricolored Sentinel Decree?”

“No need.” Shandri covered his eyes with his palm and repeated: “No need.”

Opening his eyes, he took five quick steps forward, forcing the Sentinel phoenix with two feathers in its tail to unfurl behind him, and froze again.

“No need.”

The breeze around me had become noticeably hotter. None of the commanders opened their mouths, but I could hear their tense voices in my head.

“Shandri, who is he?!”

“This is indeed my apprentice, Rimilo. There’s no doubt about it. And he has become a Leader.”

“Very bad timing. Very bad,” the Commander of the Schools noted.

Shandri sighed and waved his hand.

“Let’s move somewhere more quiet,” he told me. “How long have you been back? Who has seen you?”

Pausing, not understanding what was going on and trying to buy myself time to think, I took three steps back and then answered.

“I arrived this morning. I walked through the city to the arena and asked one of the guards to take me to you.”

Someone chuckled.

“A few hundred people then.”

Shandri cut him off.

“And hardly any of them know him.”

“If he was lucky...”

I could have talked to them about luck, especially since I had opinions on my “luck,” but I still didn’t understand what was going on.

“I demand an explanation.”

A soundless voice rang out, an alien thought.

“He demands? The nerve!”

This thought was answered just as silently by Shandri.

“Did you not hear that he’s a Leader now, and only slightly weaker than you?”

“Youth these days... Drunk with power...”

Shandri sighed and said out loud:

“You must be disappointed with the reception, Rimilo. I’m sorry. All these months I feared you had vanished where I sent you.”

“I persuaded you to let me go there,” I reminded him.

“If I hadn’t wanted you to persuade me, would you have succeeded?”

I heard the ghostly voice again, without sound, just in my head.

“By the Heavens, he’s at it again. I desperately need some good dry wine to wash down all this sweetness.”

One of the commanders, the one who was in charge of the roads, touched his Bag with a quick movement and pulled out a cup and a jug.

The next voice was female, and could only belong to the commander with the blue stripes on the gold of her robe. The only woman from an unknown branch of the Order.

“Iover! No shame, no conscience! You should know the joy of seeing your apprentice return from a deadly mission!”

“And I always celebrate such meetings with wine, and not with... Whatever this is.” Iover waved his cup in my direction and finished without finding the words.

And Shandri continued as if oblivious to their thoughts.

“I am glad, I am very glad, Rimilo. Your return has lifted a mountain from my shoulders. A mountain of guilt.” He spread his arms and came toward me. “Let me embrace you.”

“Dear Heavens!”

“Come on, Iover. Even your manly sternness must have its limits.”

“I only wish Shandri didn’t forget his.”

A third voice sounded:

“You’d better remember that this is the Academy’s fourth most talented student to disappear in a year. If I were Shandri, I’d be crying tears of joy to see him back.”

Iover choked on his wine and began to wipe his lips and chin with the sleeve of his robe. I stopped squinting at him and walked over to Shandri, letting him wrap his arms around me.

He hugged me tightly, patted me on the back, and said:

“I’m very, very happy to have you back, Rimilo. I’m very, very happy that your talent has begun to unfold and that you’ve become a Leader.”

Iover couldn’t help himself.

“But his talent has come at a bad time.”

“Maybe it will still work out.”

“Do you think so? The Disirians are too cunning, the whole thing is unseemly, and the magister’s timing on this deal is very bad.”

“You criticize the magister?”

“And I do so openly, mind you. I respect him, and my respect is so strong that when I see him wrong, I tell him ‘Sir, with deepest respect, you’re wrong.’”

“Ah.” The weariness in the stranger’s thoughts was clearly audible. “Let it be. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Shandri pulled me aside and, holding my shoulders, looked me over once more.

“You look well. You’ve changed your hair but left the colored strands, as if you were still a Master still unaware of the secrets of his element. Dragons have a way of hiding their power.”

Embarrassed, I grabbed one of the colored two strands and ran it between my fingers. Truthfully, I didn’t do it on purpose. Fatya had dyed it to make me look more like Atria. One strand. The other hadn’t had time to grow back and change color. I had only recently become a Leader.

Besides, Shandri had red strands in his hair...

He took a step back, let me go, and admitted what I had already, erm... Overheard?

“Still, I can’t announce that a disciple of the Academy has broken through to the Leader stage.” He turned around and waved his hand toward the stands. “This is our factions’ usual five-yearly tournament. But it should be held in the lands of the Weeping Falls. They’re ruled by the Oraz family and we, the Order, are on good terms with them.”

Someone snorted again. I was very uncomfortable with this telepathic speech, not recognizing the voice, not seeing the lips move, and not knowing who was speaking.

“You could have told your favorite apprentice they’re also on good terms with the Disirians. They’re on good terms with everyone they make money from. If there’s money, there’s cooperation, if there’s no money, there’s no cooperation. It’s a nice system.”

Shandri, on the other hand, told me the exact opposite:

“They refused to hold the tournament and offered to have it in our lands to raise the Order’s prestige after the Wild Times and its consequences.”

“Shandri. Let’s be honest with ourselves,” one of the commanders spoke up. “This is a small tournament that only matters to our five factions. No one else gives a damn about it. There’s no prestige to be gained from it. A few dozen of their representatives are standing in the spotlight, sure, but it’s nothing more than a gesture of politeness and a desire for entertainment, but the Falls’ proposal is very, very suspicious.”

Shandri sighed and nodded.

“We can argue about the details, but not about this. We’re not really on good terms. We just don’t fight every year like with the Disirians, not anymore.”

The Commander of the Schools noticed again:

“Their students are very full of themselves this year. As if they think themselves the most talented among the participants.”

I nodded.

“As you said, the ardor of youth. You’ve noticed that I’m incomparable in withholding my power. I was too late to contribute to the Wild Times, but I made it to the tournament in time. Is that why you’re upset that I’m a Leader? Only Masters can enter the arena.”

Shandri grabbed my shoulders again.

“What are you talking about, Rimilo? Your return is a miracle. The fact that you became a Leader is admirable. That you did it without the support of the Academy and the Order is my fault. That’s what’s wrong. That I didn’t help you along the way, didn’t give you resources, didn’t arrange for you to meet someone who could have given you advice on how to create your second focus. If it weren’t for all the weirdness of the tournament, I’d take you into the arena right now and announce to the entire Order, to the entire Sword City, to all the five factions, that the Academy has raised a talented student, that a new generation is ready to take over.”

I touched the palm of my hand with my fist.

“Thank you for your kind words, senior. But there’s a reason why you asked me to keep a low profile, isn’t there? I can’t even be seen?”

Shandri nodded slowly.

“Yes. It’s a long story, and I hope you’ll believe me. Remember Tola? He also hid his strength for a reason. Let’s just say that the Order has accumulated a lot of debt and we avoid creditors.”

Iover, once more, had a thought to share.

“There! Did you hear that? Shandri thinks the magister is wrong, too!”

I shook my head and asked:

“What about the other students? Did they return?”

“Yes,” Shandri replied, obviously relieved at the change of subject. “They don’t know how you did it, but they all ended up at the foot of Sword Mountain and returned to the Academy, claiming that you sent them there.”

“Gilai?”

“He was with them. He repented before everyone, begging for punishment and a chance to earn forgiveness. He fought recklessly after that.”

“I heard that the Academy survived, but I’m glad to hear it from you personally.”

“Hah! He doubted!”

I narrowed my eyes when I heard that thought.

“Come on, Iover. The Academy students were your salvation, and you’re still trying to add insult to injury. If Shandri hadn’t done what he had done, we might have lost the city.”

I really, really wanted to ask if the Academy still belonged to the Order. But I wasn’t at all sure that was the way a Leader should talk and behave. And since I was a dragon who had to hide his powers, I’d do just that.

I’d learn everything I needed to know from my acquaintances when we were reunited.

“Vilikor, Gilai, and Oriya. Will they participate in the tournament?” I asked.

Shandri’s lips quivered in a smile.

“Vilikor? Of course.”

I didn’t understand his smile and I was afraid to know the reason behind it.

“And I’m not even allowed to watch their performances?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? Do you remember when Xilim called you the man with a hundred faces?”

I took the hint.

“Aledo, don’t be afraid,” I whispered.

I put my fingers to my temples, covering my face and forcing the mask to change.

When I lowered my hands, Atria stood before the commanders.

“Poor Kolesal literally fought for these artifacts at the auctions, draining his department’s coffers, demanding at least three masks a year from me, and here the Academy finds itself with an unaccounted treasure,” the Commander of the Guild of Professions said. “You won’t be drinking wine with anyone else, Shandri.”

“That’s Rimilo’s, not ours,” he muttered.

“Call me Atria now,” I corrected him with a smile.

Aledo stepped forward, looked into my face, and gasped. Shandri stared at her in surprise, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

“Who’s that?”

I was a little embarrassed.

“My ward. I met her on my way to the Order.”

“Her? That can’t be right. He must think we’re all blind.”

I didn’t even raise an eyebrow this time. Iover and Xilim would make great friends.

Not the kind I’d like to be in the same room with.

“I think she has talent, and I want to get her into one of the Order’s schools.”

Shandri paused, glanced back and forth between Aledo and me, and then asked quietly:

“What kind of talent does she possess?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I just hope she has it. She’s an orphan and I’d like to find her a place in the Order and give her hope for the future. A home, friends, prosperity.”

Shandri nodded.

“That won’t be a problem. There are many children of the Order’s faithful servants studying at its schools.” He turned and asked: “Isn’t that right, my friend?”

The Commander of the Schools nodded.

“That’s right.”

I bowed first to him, then to Shandri.

“Thank you, elder.”

He waved me away.

“It’s a trifle unworthy of thanks. I have yet to thank you for all you’ve done for the Academy and the Order.”

With these words, Shandri suddenly bowed before me, his palm outstretched and his fist clenched against it.

“Disciple Rimilo, I, Commander Shandri, Headmaster of the Academy of the Order of the Heavenly Sword, thank you for keeping all the students under your guidance safe, healing all the senior students, taking the risk and bringing back our lost flock, helping them all become stronger by opening the secret passage to the second floor of the pavilion, and bringing them back by performing a miracle.”

Shandri straightened his back, looked me straight in the eye, and bowed again.

“Thank you”

He repeated his bow two more times.

I didn’t know where to turn from my embarrassment. It wasn’t every day that a Leader of Warriors bowed to you. It wasn’t every day that a Leader of Warriors bowed to you in public, in front of five men of equal strength, without the slightest shame of bending his back before his apprentice.

Or had I outgrown my apprenticeship? Had I become an equal?

But it was certain that even if I had remained a Master, Shandri would have bowed to me just the same.

Straightening up, he remarked with a smile:

“Since I won’t let you fight for the Order, at least watch the tournament. I think we’ll take first place this year and rub it in the Disirians’ faces. Their Ketot is good, but he came alone, and my students have really outdone themselves despite the ruined Elemental Gorge. If only they could meditate there like they used to, then we’d have nothing to fear.”

Shandri sighed, shook his arms, adjusted his sleeves, and motioned for me to come closer to the parapet. The commanders’ lodge was high, almost at the top of the arena’s stands, but the view was good.

Shandri began to point.

“Over there, on the other side, is the magister’s lodge. His guests are there, too.”

Behind him, one of the commanders muttered:

“I wish I hadn’t seen half of those faces.”

I looked around with interest. At least I saw the magister. He was an older man with a lot of gray hair. Probably much older than Shandri. If I were him, I’d start thinking about finding a successor. Shandri would fit the bill, wouldn’t he? He seemed to call himself the future magister of the Order when he promoted me. Or was that an attempt to deceive the tricolored Decree?

Who knew? Not me.

I looked at the people in the distant lodge, sitting to the right and left of the magister, behind his back.

Shandri introduced them to me.

Oraz of the Weeping Falls. Arkon of the Yellow Rocks. A family with the hard-to-pronounce name of Kenkut of the Sharp Peaks.

One of the distinguished guests needed no introduction.

Lir Garoy.

If he was supposed to keep an eye on our region of the Circle, if he was supposed to be present at an ordinary battle for the borders of the lands, then he was also supposed to be present at a tournament like this. Duty, to put it bluntly.

He hadn’t changed a bit over the years. His aide, who tried to restrain him last time, was nowhere to be seen. Though there were figures looming behind the backs of all these important faction bigwigs. I couldn’t see them over the folding screens. Maybe they weren’t the Order’s guards, but loyal aides to the officials.

Shandri remarked quietly:

“And finally, the Disirians. Their head Bolain.”

I grinned and was about to ask more about him when I remembered something else.

“Could you tell me more about telepathy?”

“Hmm.” Shandri put his hands behind his back and looked at me. “You seem to be pretty good at it. Did you learn it on your own?”

“Sort of. Can a Leader talk to more than one person?”

“It’s possible. Otherwise, many conversations would be difficult. It’s enough to imagine the people you want to convey your words to, to reach out to them, or to express your thoughts to them. Everyone chooses what is more convenient for them.”

“And no one but these images- people,” I stammered, correcting myself, “can hear what is not meant for them?”

Shandri grinned.

“Not when it comes to Leaders. But in the presence of a Lord, I wouldn’t hope for such a thing.”

“Uh-huh,” I drawled and repeated after a moment of thought. “Uh-huh.”

“Uh-huh, what? As if you’re hearing for the first time that the abilities of a Lord are higher than those of a Leader. After all, all those Sentinels who gave you missions, crazy missions, between us, were Lords.”

“Well, they were slow to share their knowledge with me. Many people refuse to tell me anything.”

“Well,” Shandri said sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Legard. But I didn’t expect you to gain enough stars in less than a year and form your second focus. It’ll be interesting to hear what adventures you’ve had and where that mad spirit has taken you.”

I fell silent, wondering whether or not to confess to Shandri. I decided that advice was more important to me now than ever. After all, I had taken a lot of advice from the head of a distant sect with an inglorious past, so why should I be wary of a senior member of my own Order?

“All in its due time. For now, tell me how is it possible that I can hear everyone here?”

Shandri’s eyes widened in surprise.

“What?”

“From the moment I walked in here. And I’m very confused by the fact that they obviously weren’t meant for me and that I’m definitely not a Lord.”

“Are you, uh, sure?”

“That I’m not a Lord? Of course.”

Shandri shook his head.

“Why is it that in every generation of apprentices, there is one so bitter and venomous? I’ve had enough of Iover and Xilim’s sass. Are you sure you heard something you weren’t supposed to?”

“Unless I was supposed to hear about the sweet wine...”

Shandri sighed.

“Iover isn’t shameless enough to let you hear something like that.”

We were silent for a while. I stared at the bleachers, wondering how many people were here. A lot. Ninety thousand, at least. It was packed. Here and there, people waved flags over their heads. Most were the narrow black cloth of the Order with a silver jian on it, but there were also flags of other factions. For example, the Disirian green with purple plum blossoms.

“I can only see two explanations for this,” Shandri said. “The first is your innate talent. You are a Master of Decrees and an incredibly powerful one at that. Thinking is nothing more than a facet of your soul. Who better than a Master of Decrees, who brands souls, to have the most sensitive hearing?”

I nodded. Good point. I had wondered about that myself.

Aledo suddenly whined:

“I can’t see anything. We’re so high up! People are like bugs from up here.”

But I didn’t care.

Shandri continued:

“The second thing are the unusual characteristics of your body. For example...” Shandri hesitated and then stretched his lips in a grin. “A part of a Spirit Lord’s power is still with you. You haven’t spent it yet? Then again, the Second Circle is poor at using that kind of power. And even though the power invested in them by the Leaders doesn’t allow the Masters to fly, it can protect them from elemental poisons and attacks. Who knows what abilities this power has given you?”

“And there’s no way to tell what powers it can give?”

“The legacy of the Order is deep. There might be such information in the records that survived since we left the Fourth Circle.” Shandri shrugged. “But it hasn’t yet been found there. No one was interested before.” He looked away and exhaled loudly. “It’s starting.”

A sound echoed across the bleachers. Long and lingering. A horn? A huge one, it seemed, and probably more than one. The crowd became agitated and began to shout. But all that came from up here, from our podium, was a low rumble.

For a moment I tensed, looked around, and indeed I could make out dozens of voices shouting something of their own. Some shouted with joy, some shouted praise for the Order, the Disirians, the Weeping Falls, some wished victory indiscriminately to all participants.

Then I let my hearing fade and turned my attention to the floor of the arena. It was round, about ten times larger than the one I stood on in Frost Ridge. On the gray stone, the darker, almost black, square rings where the fights would likely take place stood out clearly.

The contestants came out through a gate on our right, right in the middle between our and the magister’s lodge. They came out in a mixed crowd. On the opposite side of the gate were five circular platforms with the flags of the factions above them.

The closest was that of the Order, the farthest that of the Disir clan.

The commanders rose from their seats and approached the parapet. Some of them even clapped their hands to welcome the participants.

Aledo followed their example and complained again:

“I can’t see anything!”

I frowned. We could see just fine, but a Temperer didn’t possess the sharp eyes of a Leader.

“Hmmm...”

Iover stopped clapping and asked in surprise:

“What the hell are you doing?”

I Dashed up, turned away from Aledo, and stared down at the scene below.

And there was much to see. The Walkers who had come out onto the stone of the arena were splitting into streams, each moving toward its own platform, toward its own faction. But if, from a distance, I had expected them to divide more or less evenly based on the colors of their robes, the reality was different.

The blue of the servants’ robes extended to the silver sword of the Order. Under the flags of the other three factions, there were no more than five or six participants. Under the plum banner, however, a multicolored crowd lined up. There were about five times as many of them as there were servants of the Order.

Shandri hissed:

“Those Beasts.”

Chapter 15

I took another look at the colorful crowd. It would’ve been impossible to mistake the Weeping Falls’ robes for anyone else’s. Five of the Waterfalls stood on their platform, under their flag, and two dozen others under the purple plum blossom.

Everything was clear, except for one matter.

I leaned over to Shandri.

“Do these tournaments have special rules?”

“Of course!”

“Such as?”

Iover answered me:

“Who knows? More importantly, who cares? The last time I opened the rulebook was in school. I remember that armor is forbidden. Just like Leader-level combat artifacts. Officially, at least...”

He was interrupted by the female commander, Olma, if I heard her name correctly.

“Unofficially, they aren’t.”

Iover immediately began to pester her with questions about how such a thing could pass by unnoticed, although he used telepathy and thought that no one could hear him now. That would be the case if I weren’t here.

I grinned, glanced back at the Order members, lingered on Vilikor for a moment, and then turned to Shandri.

“They’ll have to fight a superior opponent. You still don’t want me to go down to them?”

“You’re too strong.”

“And who’d be able to tell?”

“When it comes to faction talents, a blind man would see it, and I’m not too keen on letting the Disirian dogs know that we have a Leader among the younger generation.”

I snorted. Younger generation. Could this body even be considered young anymore?

I grabbed a blue strand and ran it through my fingers. Under the dye, the hair was gray. Two years lost. You could say I was twenty. And yet...

I looked at the commanders. Some of them were already old men, gray, and ready to give up, their shoulders slumped. Shandri looked younger now than when the Academy was in ruins, as if he had thrown off the extra years. He looked the youngest of all the old commanders, but who was he fooling? He was still old, which wouldn’t change even if the Order dared to send an expedition to the City of a Thousand Levels again.

The other part of the commanders was younger. Men in their prime. And Olma. How many years would I give them? Forty?

Compared to that, I was indeed the young generation that would replace the old.

Aledo whined again.

“I can’t see! I wanna see! Senior!”

Annoyed, I burrowed into the Bag and tried to find something to keep her occupied.

“Here!”

Aledo twirled the candied fruit on a stick and asked indignantly:

“Do you think I’m five years old so you can give me candy and forget about me? Tournament! Tournament! I can’t see!”

I exhaled through my teeth in frustration, trying to think of what I could do about her problem. Some kind of artifact that’d improve her vision would do the trick. But where could I get one?

Shandri chuckled, and then he used his telepathy in a strange, unusual way, as if he wanted to push it away from him and raise a wave.

I heard a short, imperative command.

“Guard, come in.”

Intrigued, I turned my head and slipped behind the wave of telepathy. A moment later, it was as if I was standing outside the door, with a perfect view of the two guards. They looked at each other, obviously hearing Shandri’s voice, nodded, and suddenly, whispering softly, threw their fists at each other.

Once, twice, three times, and then they unclenched them. One showed three fingers, the other just an open palm. They exchanged glances, then the other sighed and walked toward the door.

I looked away, turning off my spiritual gaze. This, I supposed, could be one of the reasons for my ability to hear telepathy that I wasn’t supposed to hear.

I could see what happened behind a closed door. Just like I could see Aledo behind two rows of houses.

The door opened silently, letting in the guard.

He bowed.

“You called, sir?”

Shandri shoved Aledo in the back.

“This girl is my personal guest. Take her to the first row and put her in one of the lodges. Stay with her for the rest of the tournament and make sure she doesn’t get hurt or lost. Then bring her back to me.”

The guard clenched his fist.

“Yes, sir.”

Shandri nudged Aledo again.

“Go, go. You’ll see everything from down there. It’s full of children, too.”

I looked at the glaring Aledo and demanded vindictively:

“And since you’re too old for candy, give it back, there’s no point in wasting it.”

Aledo yelped and quickly ducked behind the guard.

“Oh, it’s so noisy here, I can’t hear a thing!”

Once they were gone, I gave Shandri a quick nod.

“Thank you, elder.”

“How old do you think me to be?” I had no idea how he managed to snort telepathically. “You won’t get far in this Circle, boy. Every day here is a waste of your potential. You’ve regained your youth, but it’s fading away every day. I’d risk summoning a Sentinel if I had no doubt he was a member of your benefactor faction.”

“Risk it? What do you mean? What faction?”

After the destruction of the Academy, in the City of a Thousand Levels, I came to the conclusion that the Sentinels weren’t as good as they seemed, but I wanted to hear Shandri’s thoughts on it.

But he didn’t have time to answer me.

The roar of the stands was drowned out by a thunderous voice that filled the arena.

“Free Walkers, citizens of our five factions, and especially the citizens of Sword City who live under the rule of the Order of the Heavenly Sword. The agister of the Order and I had a disagreement, and I want you all to know that there’s no offense on our part. The tournament rules don’t prohibit the factions from accepting contestants under their banners. All those interested in participating in this year’s tournament can still do so under any banner!”

I glanced at the magister’s lodge.

He wasn’t sitting smiling like before. He was on his feet, standing by the railing with his lips pressed together.

To his left was Bolain Disir whose voice had echoed across the arena.

A moment later, the magister spoke up.

“Lord Disir is correct. There’s a clause in the tournament rules about free contestants, and the Disir clan has decided to take advantage of it. Not long ago, they didn’t have enough power to prove they were stronger than the Order. This time, they decided to borrow some power. I see no honor in this act. I hope the Heavens see the pathetic tricks some Walkers use to gain empty glory.”

“Funny that the Order should speak of pathetic tricks. Would I need to recruit factionless Walkers if my heart didn’t burn with a thirst for vengeance for my brother, his wife, and my two other brothers who died at the hands of a madman birthed by your Order?”

The magister put his hands behind his back, rocked back and forth slightly, and answered the entire arena.

“I have already apologized for Tola. Funny you should mention revenge, Lord Disir. The boy went mad with grief.”

“And found nothing better to do than to attack the innocent! My brother Tiotius was a clerk concerned with city affairs. His wife never held a sword in her hands, being an alchemist. And he killed her! Stabbed her in the back, viciously, without even a chance for a fair fight!”

“And what about your sworn brother, Arik? The one they called the Invisible Death? Was he also an innocent man?”

“I won’t answer your provocation, Horit.”

I almost laughed. Only the fact that now was the worst possible moment for such a thing stopped me. It took me only three years to finally learn the magister’s name. And from whom? From the enemy!

It’d be funny if it weren’t so serious.

“Instead, I will tell you, magister of the Order that calls itself righteous but has only brought sorrow to our lands, that the young Disirians have come to take revenge on you and your vile faction.”

“Young Disirians? I’m old and my eyes don’t serve me as they used to, but who is that standing down there? Disirians?” Horit’s laughter was even more boisterous than his voice. The technique spread it throughout the stands, causing the Temperers and even some Warriors to tuck their heads between their shoulders. “The Disirians are so weak now that they can’t win the tournament on their own, so they hired mercenaries. Disgraceful!”

Bolain snorted and waved his hand dismissively.

“Bark, old dog, while you still can.”

Someone beside me gasped. I craned my neck.

It’s one thing to hurl bile and accusations hidden in words, but it was another to resort to direct insults. And where? Where? In the center of the Order’s lands, at a tournament we were holding.

Did this Bolain think he was immortal?

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with this question.

Iover threw up his hands, formed a glowing Appeal in front of him, and shouted my thoughts word for word, his voice spreading across the arena.

“Is this any way for a guest to behave?! Or have you gone mad, old fool, and think yourself immortal?!”

Bolain just laughed.

“Have you heard, citizens of Sword City? Have you heard, guests of the tournament? Those who stand behind the magister, his closest compatriots, don’t hesitate to threaten death! How low they have fallen!”

Iover gritted his teeth, preparing to say something else, but Olma grabbed his arm, interrupting his technique and shutting him up.

Bolain’s voice, on the other hand, continued to rumble over the stands.

“And they call me guest as if they forget that these lands didn’t originally belong to their Order! They once belonged to those who came to bear the name of Disir and gave us the right to be called a clan.”

Now the magister waved his hand.

“The life of Walkers, especially life in our Circles, often called the Prison Circles, is cruel. Violence rules here. The Malds once won these lands by force too. So why are you crying now that you’ve had a taste of your own medicine?”

One of the men sitting in the officials’ lodge two rows behind Horit suddenly jumped up and spoke. Much quieter than the magister and Bolain were talking. Only a Leader’s sharp hearing allowed me to make out his words, which he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“Who’s crying, you lying dog?!”

He was immediately grabbed by the shoulder by another guest in the colors of Weeping Falls who whispered something in his ear.

I looked over at Shandri. What good neighbors. Whose side were they on? The Order or the Disir?

Now Bolain laughed.

“How good of you to say it yourself, old man. Force! You’re right. Strength decides everything, and I’ve brought the younger generation here today to remind you of that.”

Horit waved his hand.

“By conspiring with the other factions behind our backs, you’ll indeed easily take first place. So what? You can choke on that cowardly victory.”

“First place? Who needs that? You’re wrong.” Bolain grinned, stepped aside, and bowed slightly. “Venerable Lir Garoy, I am very pleased that you have come to this tournament. My sincere greetings to you.”

I shifted my gaze to Lir. As did the whole arena, counting tens of thousands of pairs of eyes.

He stood up, put his fist to his palm, and nodded subtly.

I couldn’t see his technique, but I heard his voice clearly.

“Venerable Bolain, since you have addressed me, I must say that I didn’t expect the older generation to stoop to profanity before thousands of people. You don’t sound like the leaders of some of the strongest factions of our Circle, but rather like a pair of haggling shopkeepers.”

Bolain recoiled in astonishment and chuckled.

“Ha! It seems the younger generation is just waiting for us old men to show a weakness.”

“Call it what you will, venerable Bolain, but I claim it’s nothing more than a rule of decency. The closer you are to the Heavens, the more you have to be aware of what kind of an example you’re setting for others, don’t you think?”

Shandri chuckled beside me, pleased with the development. I also liked Lir’s jab at that Bolain. Too bad I didn’t like Lir himself. That slap at the Ash Gate was unnecessary in my opinion.

“I’m not going to argue with you, Venerable Lir. I only ask you to settle an argument.”

I shook my head. Was Bolain really out of his mind? Lir may be young, but he was a member of the strongest clan in this Circle, its overseer of these lands. Why make such a man angry? Why insult him again and again with blatant disrespect?

“State your case, venerable Bolain.”

Chapter 16

Bolain smiled, adjusted the sleeves of his robe, and turned halfway so that he could face both a part of the stands and Lir.

His voice could still be heard in every corner of the vast arena, reaching everyone who came to watch the tournament, regardless of their rank and level.

“Just recently, the Order sneaked into the heart of our clan, stabbed my unsuspecting brother in the back, killed him, his poor wife, who had never hurt a thing in her life, wreaked havoc, and—”

“That’s enough, Bolain! Is this the time and place to air out the dirty laundry? To shout your accusations again? Look around! Even those who call themselves your allies today are hiding their smiles. Would you call the Invisible Death innocent as well?”

“Not him, but the others? Do I not have the right to defend them, old man?”

“I won’t even think of getting into a bazaar argument with you and giving in to your provocation. Lir is right, it’s not proper for us to behave like this.” Horit bowed low and said deafly, but clearly, for the whole arena to hear: “I, Horit, the Magister of the Order of the Heavenly Sword, apologize—”

“You can choke on your apologies, old man! We begged and begged the Sentinels to bring the Calamity upon you for such a heinous violation of the rules!”

Horit straightened up, his face flaming with anger.

“And where is this Calamity, Bolain? Were you not satisfied with attacking our Academy? Must everyone suffer because of your stubbornness?”

“Can you prove that we were behind that? No!”

“But the Sentinels could, couldn’t they?”

“Don’t play with words, old man.”

“I’m no old man. I’m the magister of the Order of the Heavenly Sword. And you will either call me by my proper name or, by the Heavens, I’ll have you and your clan thrown out of here. The Order can do without this tournament.”

“Breaking the rules again, old—” Bolain grinned at Horit, then shrugged and said what was asked of him. But in such a tone that Iover beside me reached for the sword in his Bag. “Magister Horit. And we both know that you couldn’t pay the Sentinels the last time, so what will you pay them with now?”

“Don’t you think you’re allowing yourself too much, Bolain? Perhaps it is time to call the Sentinels.”

Bolain waved his hand.

“No, no, not yet. The honorable Lir Garoy will do for now.” He turned slightly and addressed him directly. “The Wild Times must also be held under strict rules. It’s forbidden to kill...”

I gritted my teeth, as did Iover. I was starting to hate the Disirians as much as a native who had lived under their rule since childhood. They talked about rules, but they broke them themselves. Ketot killed Berek. In front of my eyes. On purpose, to show off his strength. And? Did they punish him for breaking the rules? I doubted it.

Hypocrites, the lot of them.

“...use outside help, and so on and so forth. But most importantly, all challenges must be answered. And now I, Bolain, the head of the Disir clan, would like to remind all the guests of the tournament and members of the Order of the battle for Sword Mountain. How did it happen that, in spite of all the rules, it covered itself in a defensive formation and then refused to dispel it until the end of the day?”

Horit shrugged.

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Bolain. The rules allow defensive formations to treat wounds or get help. Wild Times are as much about brute force as about intelligence, cunning, and strategy.”

Bolain laughed again, but this time he also clapped his hands.

“Well said, old master. My father always said you had a brilliant mind. But there’s one thing.” He measured something almost invisible between his fingers. “A small ‘but’ that changes everything.” He paused dramatically. “That formation did not belong to our Circle.”

The stands exploded with shouts that reminded me more of the sound of the sea than of words. Dozens and hundreds of voices merged into a rumbling murmur that rippled beneath our lodge.

Bolain looked around at the agitated stands and held up his hands as he continued his accusatory speech.

“I have personally examined the formation, tried to verify its power and the supply of spirit stones used in it. And I can say with certainty that it couldn’t have been created by the Order’s Leaders, no matter how famous the Swords are for their formations!” His voice thundered. “Moreover, I have identified the formation’s main power source, and it is the famous sword embedded in the Academy’s mountain. The artifact that the Order had brought from the higher Circles!”

Iover snorted bitterly.

“Brought it! Hah! I’d like to see the hand it was carried in. Or at least the Bag the sword came in. He’s an idiot.”

“This sword is an artifact — the base of a defensive formation created outside of our Circles, its power is unimaginable, beyond our capabilities, and therefore it’s the sort of outside help that’s forbidden by the rules of the Wild Times.” Bolain turned sharply, looking only at the Garoy. “Am I wrong, Venerable Lir?”

Lir sat back down, obviously taking his time to think. Bolain noticed this as well and pressed him.

“Come on, honorable overseer of the strongest faction of our Circle, tell me, am I right in my accusations?”

Lir raised his chin.

“I need to check if there had been any similar cases in the past, take a look at the formation myself, and then—”

“No!” Bolain roared. “As the head of the Disir clan, I demand an answer here and now. After all, it’s your job, Venerable Lir, to judge our disputes and to take sides in them. And I want an answer — did the Order break the rules of combat or not? Whose side are you on today?”

I saw them both clearly; saw the shadow of a smirk on Bolain’s lips and the way Lir’s teeth clenched for a moment before he answered.

“If that’s the case, then my answer is as follows. Since all who fall from the Empire into our Prison Circles are closely watched by the Sentinels, it’s certain that the Order hasn’t escaped their gaze either. In fact, it’s certain that they were watched even more closely than the lone wolves. Lifting an artifact of that size is impossible for any Leader, which means it was moved by someone of higher rank. And since the Sentinels allowed the Order to move this sword into the Second Circle, it means that it was authorized by the Sentinels for use and should be considered the Order’s property. Therefore, the Order received no external help during the Wild Times.”

I chuckled. I wondered what kind of reaction Bolain had hoped for by repeatedly heaping scorn on Lir.

Iover also chuckled with satisfaction.

“Choke on it, you worm.”

I was about to repeat my thoughts aloud when I realized that something was wrong.

Why was Bolain grinning even more happily than Iover?

Why was he clapping?

“Well said, honorable Lir, well said. I’ve been preparing for this day. Very thoroughly, honorable Lir. Elders of the Garoy clan, my greetings. You’ve heard all this, so what do you say to my question? Whose side are you on?”

Engrossed in what was happening between Bolain, Horit, and Lir, I had stopped watching the arena and the magister’s lodge. I blinked repeatedly, causing Bolain’s face to shrink and the lodge to move away. More people had arrived during the argument — three more, walking with hoods pulled over their heads.

They stepped forward in unison, pulling back their hoods to reveal old, wrinkled faces.

“Greetings, chief Bolain. Greetings to the leaders of the other factions, long time no see. Greetings to our apprentice, Lir,” they said in unison.

One of them broke away from the group and bowed.

“Young Lir is still inexperienced and rash in his judgment. He is one of the brightest talents of our clan, but he is more interested in combat, travel, and Ascension than in the dust of archives and history.”

The old man’s voice echoed through the arena, as did the others. But to believe that they had appeared here so timely... Only a complete fool would believe it. Bolain didn’t lie about coming here prepared. He was probably rude to Lir on purpose. He didn’t give a jair’s shit about his opinion. He knew the elders would support him.

What now? Would the Disirians demand the Sword Mountain and the Academy? Would Horit agree to such a thing?

Another elder stepped forward, right up to the railing, and said exactly what I expected.

“We who are dedicated to watching over the lands of the Second Circle remember the treaty concluded between the Order of the Heavenly Sword and the Garoy clan when they moved here. And according to that treaty, the sword can only be used for defense.” He paused, looking around at the noisy sea of people below him. “Only to defend against cultists.”

“Objection!” Horit roared.

He, too, had stepped to the railing.

“Objection!” he repeated. “I don’t know why the elders of the Garoy clan are distorting the truth, but if we’re talking about the same treaty, it doesn’t mention cultists, but rather external threats. And if the founder’s sword decided that the attackers on the mountain were an external threat, it’s not on me to argue with an ancient formation.”

Bolain grinned.

“It’s convenient to excuse yourself by saying you had nothing to do with it, old master. But the sword is nothing more than a formation, a base with Ancient symbols embedded in it. It has no mind and certainly cannot act on its own.”

“It has no intelligence, I agree, but as for acting on its own, who better than me, the head of a faction famous for its formations, to know that it’s very much capable of doing such a thing? Certain conditions had been placed into this formation, and when they were met, it activated and defended the Academy, regardless of whether the attackers were Disirians or cultists.”

The Garoy elder moved, as if his presence separated Horit and Bolain, and asked:

“Is this an admittance of guilt, then?”

“No! Yes, the defensive formation left by our founder activated, but only because it was calibrated to do so. It decided to protect the Academy from external danger, as it was meant to do. Bolain would be lying if he said that the Academy hid under the formation for the entirety of the Wild Times. Only three months out of twelve was it covered. As soon as the Academy’s teachers figured out how to operate it, they removed it and accepted another challenge from the Disir clan. Was that not the case, Bolain?”

I expected another round of tricks and empty talk, but Bolain only smiled.

“Yes, it was, venerable elder.”

I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like that smile. Shandri and Iover looked at each other.

“What’s that scoundrel up to?”

Bolain turned to the bleachers and threw up his hands in a friendly gesture to all who were now looking at him.

“Every year, we gather for tournaments where we compare the strength of our factions, argue about whose students are the strongest and most talented, boast about their numbers and successes, and promise prizes to the winners. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, we wager stacks of spirit stones on each other. So why not raise the stakes this year? You heard venerable Horit confess how the Academy hid under a formation for three months. And who do I see down there in the arena, under the banner of his Order? Are they not the students of his Academy, the talents of his Order?”

Horit shook his head.

“Why should I raise the stakes? This tournament is nothing more than a tradition to show that we are tirelessly preparing to fight the cultists and cultivating talents not only for times of peace but also for times of war.”

Bolain waved him away.

“Save your speeches for your novices, magister. We pay a tax to the empire with our talents, don’t we? What’s the point of putting on a pretty show for nothing? Wouldn’t it be more fun to spice things up? What does the honorable Lir Garoy have to say about that?” he suddenly asked.

Lir hesitated, his voice quiet, almost inaudible after Bolain’s roar.

“What are you trying to accomplish with all this, Bolain?”

The chief of the Disir clan smiled.

“I propose that, for the first time in this tournament, the venerable Lir Garoy will reward not only the winners but also their faction, by giving them the Order’s disputed lands. The Sword Mountain and Beast Ridge.”

“And why would I agree to such a thing, Bolain?” Horit growled. “You come to my house with torches and pitchforks and promise to let me live if I give you everything I own? You have some nerve. You Disirians are brazen, but this is crossing every line of decency!”

Bolain waved him away.

“Watch your blood pressure, Horit. It’s not for you to decide. We all recognize the authority of the Garoy clan and follow its rules. So, venerable Lir, what do you say?”

Lir’s cheeks were swollen with bile. He didn’t look away, but I saw him glance over his shoulder to where one of his elders was standing behind him. Then the corner of his mouth lifted in a wicked grin, and his voice rumbled across the arena.

“I say that such things aren’t decided in haste. I say that this is a bold suggestion that needs further consideration. A month, two months, or perhaps until the next tournament. That’s what I say, chief Bolain.”

Silently, he turned to his elders and stared at them. I did the same. I think we both suspected that it wouldn’t end here.

And we were right, as was everyone else who thought the same.

One of the Garoy elders stepped forward again.

“Young Lir is right. Such things aren’t decided in haste. But chief Bolain filed a protest with us the day the Sword Academy was closed by the formation. All this time, the chief of the Garoy clan and the Council of Elders have been deciding how to handle this case. Today, both sides presented their arguments. We cannot say that the case is conventional. Nor can we take seriously what Chief Bolain said about holding all tournaments this way. But here and now, in this case, we can settle this controversial issue in the Disirs’ favor by replaying the battle for the Academy.”

Horit slowly raised his hands and clapped, imitating Bolain.

“Well done! Well done! I have wanted a duel with you for a long time, Bolain.” He stopped clapping and waved his hand at the sky above the arena. “Please, come up. I’ll ruin your taste of triumph tonight.”

“No, no, no!” The elder jumped up, almost grabbing Horit by the sleeve. “That’d be too much, venerable magister. A battle of this magnitude could cause a great deal of destruction, and I—”

“Nonsense,” Horit interrupted him. “We’ll soar so high that neither our techniques nor our elements will touch the spectators. All you have to do is catch the sword fragments and the loser’s body.”

“No! I forbid such a duel!”

“Is that so? Are you afraid, that Bolain’s corpse will come falling like a shooting star?”

Bolain chuckled.

“You wish. And don’t think I’m a coward. If I could, I’d love to get even with you for all the wrongs between us.”

“But you’re waiting for their permission, like the loyal dog that you are.”

“And your bark is worse than your bite, magister.”

“Enough!” the elder shouted, causing the weaker onlookers to duck and gasp in frightened surprise.

He seemed to put some of his strength into that shout. I should learn to do that.

“What is this? A children’s playground? Act like adults!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” Horit said venomously. “It wasn’t I who came into someone else’s home, spat into the offered drink, and insulted the host. There’s no need to silence me. Bolain, enough talking! Let the Heavens judge us!”

Shandri gritted his teeth next to me, and I heard a thought I shouldn’t have.

“Sir, you’re too old. Let me do it.”

I also heard the reply.

“Exactly. I’m too old. It’s time for you to lead the Order, and it’s time for me to lay down my life for it and shut up a disobedient mutt.”

“I forbid it!” the Garoy elder shouted again.

“You had better forbid Bolain to break the rules!” Horit snapped back. “Bolain, I shan’t repeat myself! Get your sword!”

Bolain crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your blood isn’t worth staining its steel.”

“Coward!”

“Hold your tongue, old man.”

“Or what?”

“I forbid it!” the elder yelled. “Are you deaf, magister Horit?”

Instead of answering, Horit raised his hand and summoned an Appeal. The arena screamed as two blue birds flew toward Bolain’s chest, but the Garoy elder blocked them, taking the Elemental Essence technique on his own torso.

“You have attacked a Garoy, magister.”

I glanced around. The commanders in the lodge had their hands on their Bags, ready to jump out of their seats and rush to the other side of the arena.

“The fist has no eyes, and the sword is blind. Is it their fault that someone got in their way? The Disir clan and the Order must settle their dispute in battle. So step aside, you who call yourselves Garoy, and let us replay the battle for the Academy.”

“Come to your senses, magister Horit. There are four of us. Our strength will be enough to turn the tide of battle and drown the Order.”

I snorted. Did he think that Lir was on his side? After helping to humiliate him before everyone. If I were him, I’d be wary of where Lir was hitting.

Or was he counting on someone else’s help?

“How many faction leaders are here?” I asked Shandri.

“A lot. More enemies than friends, I fear.”

It was all very unpleasantly reminiscent of what had happened at the Beetle residence. There was only one difference. I was on the other side now.

And there was something else...

The gathered faction leaders didn’t have tricolored Decrees. Not a single one. Had they never met with the Sentinels? I didn’t believe it. At least one of them had to have met a Sentinel once in their lives...

“The faction leaders, have they met with the Sentinels?” I asked Shandri. “Do they carry their Decrees?”

“I don’t know about the rest, but I know Bolain has.”

I nodded. So, other than him, no one possessed any actual strength.

“Why don’t I knock some arrogance out of you...?”

Their lodges were very far away. I could clearly see what was going on there because of my Ascension level, I could distinguish faces, expressions, and even Horit’s wrinkles, but I couldn’t see the depth of their power or their Decrees.

So what?

I grinned at Bolain, imagining his tricolor Decree becoming mine as I erased its previous symbol and inscribed my one and only. Death. And then, just to be sure, I plunged the Claw into his heart.

Bolain flinched and backed away from Horit. He regained his senses after a moment, but he didn’t remove his hand from his Bag. My grin grew wider and my gaze shifted to the Garoy elder who had come between the magister of my Order and his enemy.

“Do you have a Sentinel Decree, I wonder...”

He did.

He tensed, clearly feeling the steel of Epiphany between his shoulder blades, and hissed angrily:

“Horit! Do you not care about your Order? Have you no pride left? No common sense? If you dare to kill a guest, our Army of the Limits will be here in a week to scorch the Order’s lands!”

Now the magister shuddered and took a step back. I, too, hurried to cut off my bloodthirsty thoughts. May the Heavens smite the Garoys and the Disirians, but I wasn’t ready to unleash some kind of Calamity on the Order.

But Iover was. I could clearly hear his thoughts.

“We stand by you, sir! They will not intimidate us.”

Horit raised his hand, took another step back, and remarked with bile to the entire arena:

“This year’s guests amaze me. They’re insolent and brazen, and when you call them out on it, they squeal like pigs in a slaughterhouse and threaten to call their brothers for help.”

“Watch your tongue, magister,” the elder hissed.

Horit just raised his eyebrows.

“I will ask again, this time you, elder. Watch my tongue or what? What will you threaten me with this time for my honesty? The Army of the Limits again? Or will you step into the Sentinels’ shoes and threaten me with a Calamity?”

“Magister Horit, time after time we have asked you to keep yourself within the bounds of etiquette, and time after time you have rejected our helping hand in the matter of the disagreement between the Order and the Disir clan. Do you wish to settle this amicably or not?”

The magister nodded.

“Threatening again.”

Before the elder could answer him, he continued.

“Lucky for you that I care too much about the Order, lucky for you that I remember that the Order is home to tens of thousands of people, many of whom are only weak Warriors and defenseless Temperers. Speak your terms!” he demanded with a wave of his hand.

“They’ve forgotten how strong the Order is,” Shandri breathed out with hatred, knelt, and clasped his hands in salute, his shout deafening. “Loyalty to the Order!”

A moment later, all the commanders in the lodge were on their knees.

“Loyalty to the Order!”

The people in the arena began to turn their heads in our direction to see what was happening in the lodge, and then a wave rolled away from us. The crowd in the stands started jumping up from their benches. There was no room for them to get down on their knees, but that didn’t stop them from clenching their fists and shouting:

“Loyalty to the Order!”

There were novices in gray robes, ministers in blue, people who didn’t even wear the Order’s colors but considered themselves part of it. Here and there, in the living sea of people, the rare specks of trustee silk reddened. Above the closest of the Order’s men, I could see the familiar bicolored Decrees. Loyalty, an oath to keep the Order’s secrets, and an oath to protect it. An oath that now smoldered quietly, without punishing or forcing anyone to declare their devotion.

From our lodge came a wave of those who swore allegiance to the Order voluntarily, without coercion. Even I couldn’t say exactly how these Decrees worked and whether they had a subtle effect on the mind.

Still, those thousands of people rose up and shouted. Men, women, children. It was like my skin was on fire.

A moment later, I was kneeling beside Shandri, adding my voice to the chorus of the thousands.

“Loyalty to the Order!”

Waves of loyalty swept over the stands, converging under the magister’s lodge.

“Command it, and we will defend the Order against any enemy to the last drop of our blood!” Shandri roared.

“Command it!” the commanders echoed him.

Standing next to him, I smiled.

“Command it!”

Chapter 17

Horit stepped to the edge of the lodge and looked around at the sea of people below. As far as I could see from my knees, more than half of the crowd in the arena had risen. And that was just those who had come for the tournament. How many people in the Order’s lands were considered its members? How many of the rest, the simple free Walkers, would follow them?

How could I call myself an elder of the Order if I didn’t know such simple things? Or was it not a simple thing at all? Did anyone know this kind of information? Who knew what lurked in people’s hearts and what they were willing to die for?

Only recently, two Leaders gave their lives in pursuit of a flying sword, just out of greed.

The elder behind Horit slumped back, his lips moving. I couldn’t hear the whisper, it was too far away even for my hearing, but I understood him even without words.

Fanatics.

That was too strong a word. I’d save it for Liki, who dedicated his whole life to revenge against the Order of the Frost Ridge and wanted to drown its capital in blood.

I could make any man a fanatic with my talent. I still remembered the Decree I had once hung on Oriya: Service, Courage, Valor, Truth, and a dozen other conditions.

But here and now, all that was required of the members of the Order was Loyalty and an oath to protect their home.

The commanders and I didn’t need this. We, Leaders, were too strong for such things. Serving the Order was our pride and duty.

Horit nodded and raised his hands, folding them slowly in a Walker greeting.

He put his fist to his palm and bowed just as slowly. Once, twice, three times.

Straightening his back, but not removing the fist from his palm, he shouted:

“Thank you. Thank you all. Like many of you, I grew up in the Order and was told from childhood that its greatness was our pride, that its strength was our power. But it’s only now, looking at you, that I realize what those words mean. All of you are its pride, its strength, and its power. I am proud of you. I am proud to lead such men.”

The dignitaries behind him looked at each other, some rose to their feet, and one of the three Garoy elders touched Lir’s shoulder and whispered something to him.

Horit bowed again.

“Thank you all. But I have already said that I’m ready to hear the terms of the Disir and Garoy clans. Let us first find out what we have to give up under threat of violence, and then we will decide whether we will have to defend the Order together today.”

Only the deaf and blind could miss the warning in his words and stance.

Horit lowered his hands and turned to the Garoy elder.

“What do you want of the Order?”

“You’re as steady as ever, brother Shandri,” Iover whispered. “You did a much better job than I did. Those jairs were scared shitless. I could just see myself grabbing that pea-brained elder and snapping his neck. Did you see how he staggered back, not expecting it? He hasn’t been out of his hole for a long time. Has he forgotten that the Garoys weren’t always the most powerful clan in our humble Circle?”

I looked in his direction. If the rest of the commanders imagined sticking steel in the elders’ backs and twisting it or ripping off a head or two, I was surprised to see the Garoys still standing in the officials’ lodge.

Clearly, the young Leader and Master of Decrees thought too highly of himself.

I also unclasped my hands and rose from my knee. It was a shame that my powers, whatever they were, didn’t work at such a distance and I couldn’t hear the conversation between the elder and Bolain.

The most wrinkled and aged of all the elders, the one who had spoken on their behalf earlier, stepped forward and once again raised his voice over the stands.

“It is gratifying to see how united your Order is.”

“Two-faced Beast,” I, unbidden, murmured aloud.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Iover snorted.

“Keep your voice down,” Olma hissed.

As if the thundering roar hovering above the arena could be drowned out.

“But you worry for nothing. There is nothing that threatens your Order that requires you to fight for it here and now. Master Bolain has already indicated what he intends to do. Your magister has admitted that the Academy dropped out of the Wild Times for three months, and clan Disir is asking to make up for it. The Council of Elders of the Garoy clan considered the matter for a long time and decided that the demand is fair.”

Lir backed away from the elder and muttered something, but I couldn’t hear what it was.

The old man continued to talk, his tone clearly changing.

“That’s why this tournament will be different from all the others. Today, you could say, the Wild Times are back. The stakes in the battle between the Order and the Disir clan will be Beast Ridge and the surrounding forests.”

“Who says that the Order will agree to such a wager?” Horit snorted in response.

Iover chuckled.

“How gently the steel cuts. The Ridge, the forests... Are they ashamed to say that they want the Sword Mountain and the City of a Thousand Levels?”

“They can choke on it,” I hissed.

Some of the commanders glanced in my direction while others ignored me. Shandri was the only one to acknowledge my opinion.

“I agree.”

“Magister,” he turned to Horit. “As far as I’m concerned, let them into Thousand Levels. Izard will devour them all and spit out their bones. Let them have it for free. It’s our chance. That’s what they want; they don’t care about anything else. Except maybe Sword City, but they don’t have the guts to ask for that. They’ll die trying to get it. It’s beyond their capabilities.”

I heard Horit’s reply again, as if he wasn’t talking just to Shandri.

“I like that idea.”

He followed it with an audible chuckle that every Temperer in the arena could hear, a chuckle that continued his previous thought.

“Your greed knows no bounds, Disirians. Amazing, you used to be so modest. What happened? Drunk on power, are you? No, I don’t think so, not after losing four Leaders at once.”

Bolain bared his teeth.

“You!”

“Yes?” Horit sneered. “Are you going to attack me and force my consent?”

Now I sent a thought to Shandri.

“I’m a Leader and a Master of Decrees. If there is a single old Decree over these jairs, a single Sentinel symbol, they’re nothing before me. They will die. Give me just ten breaths to reclaim their Decrees.”

Shandri turned abruptly.

“Are you sure?”

I pressed my lips together for a moment and restrained my pride.

“A hundred breaths. I can do it. I’ve already killed a Leader. Give me time, and I might even be able to get them to betray the Disirians right here and now.”

Shandri shook his head.

“We are a righteous Order and we will not stoop to such a thing,” he said quietly, forestalling any arguments I might have had. “And you shouldn’t stoop to them either. But you’re right about one thing, when it comes to fighting to the death, don’t stop at anything.”

He smiled encouragingly, as if copying Ramas’s smile, then nodded at me, and addressed Horit.

“Magister, I didn’t have time to tell you, but my student, Rimilo, has returned. He is a Leader and a Master of Decrees. You remember what I told you about him, don’t you? Anyone with a single Decree over them will die if they dare to attack the Order. The Heavens are with us, whatever they think. Go ahead, let them take Thousand Levels and die there.”

“Your disciples have returned, your Rimilo has returned. Are you sure the Disirians won’t?”

“If they do, we’ll take care of it.”

I intervened in their conversation by addressing Horit directly.

“Venerable magister. No one else will be able to repeat my stunt. Izard could only have grown madder after it, not saner.”

Though, was that true? After sending me off to test some hunch of his and pass some test, could he have come to his senses?

I wasn’t sure, so I hastened to take some precautions.

“But that’s for you to decide, of course.”

“I hear you, young man. It’s good to have you back.”

“Thank you, venerable magister.”

As we spoke, Bolain tried to pierce Horit with his gaze. The elders looked up and turned to him.

“Do you wish to object, magister Horit? This is the decision of the Garoy clan. Do you really want to go against us? Perhaps we should cancel the tournament and instead schedule the fights for the disputed territories for tomorrow.”

Horit grinned.

“Six months earlier than usual? The strong can force their will on the weak. Perhaps you would like to assign our faction to monthly skirmishes? Or ban our merchants from traveling the roads of the Second Circle? Or maybe not just ours? Maybe you want to add some new taxes?” His tone suddenly changed dramatically and he roared: “Don’t you think you allow yourself too much, venerable elders of the Garoy clan?! These may seem like small infractions, but don’t forget that there is a power above you that may one day stir against you if a handful of snowflakes turns into an avalanche!”

“Yes, yes, everyone has heard that you have a special relationship with the Sentinels. You can threaten—” Bolain began with contempt but Horit cut him off.

“It’s special because our founders sacrificed their Ascension and their lives to establish our branch, and we don’t deviate one step from the precepts of our ancestors! We aid the Empire! We spill our blood and break our blades against the Alliance! That’s why the Sentinels of our glorious Empire value us!”

“But few people know that only your branch is left of your entire Order” Bolain continued stubbornly. “You are the whole Order. And there will be no more exceptions for you.”

Iover growled.

“How dare he say such a vile thing, the Beast?! The empty-headed jair! I’ll shut his mouth today...”

“How does he know?” Shandri whispered.

Iover choked on another curse and turned to Shandri.

“What did you say, brother?”

Shandri sighed heavily.

Bolain grinned.

“Or will you deny it?”

“Brother. Answer me,” Iover demanded.

Horit echoed Shandri’s sigh as the two said in unison:

“I wonder how the Disirians learned that.”

“I cannot deny what I don’t know,” Horit continued. “Yes, we are a branch of the Order, but...”

I let his speech roll past my ears, trying desperately to remember. Shandri said that one of the Sentinels told his master the news that he was now the magister of the entire Order. And just now he had referred to the magister as his teacher. So Horit knew. But he couldn’t say anything, because the tricolored Decree was surely over him, just as it was over Shandri. And he was forced to lie to avoid being subjected to it. He had probably been in pain at the mere mention of the Order’s destruction.

I raised my head and gave Bolain a hateful look. Something told me he suspected the prohibition. Why else would he have that malicious grin on his face?

“Brother...” Iover tried again.

I could only grit my teeth. I shouldn’t have removed the Decree. If it had been in place, Shandri wouldn’t have had time to speak; the pain of the punishment would have made him bite his tongue.

And now...

Shandri shrugged.

“You heard the magister. I was wondering how he knew about it, sitting here in the Second Circle.”

Iover exhaled.

“Brother, don’t scare me like that. I thought for a moment you were giving him the benefit of the doubt.”

Once again, Shandri reminded me that I wasn’t the only one who could lie and understate things.

“I’d never, brother. Entertaining that jair’s threat? If that happens, cut my throat open so that the words spill out with the blood.”

Iover chuckled, reassured, but I noticed the look in Olma’s eyes. She didn’t believe Shandri. And it wasn’t just the look. The pursed, even quivering lips, the pallor that washed over her face.

When she realized I was looking at her, she quickly turned away, staring at the arena and the dignitaries’ stand.

And Bolain, who waited with the same contemptuous grin for Horit to finish his speech.

“Well said. The Order is truly unsurpassed in formations and eloquence. But it can’t be otherwise when loyalty is at the center of everything, can it? I’ve heard that your founder didn’t leave you any formations that would impose Decrees on Leaders, but it seems that over decades of service to the Order, the Decree of Loyalty has become ingrained in your very soul, magister Horit.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Who’s to say?”

Horit sighed.

“What kind of answer can one expect from someone who imposed Loyalty on his brother and children to soothe his paranoia?”

“You!” Bolain’s cheeks flushed for a moment, as if Horit had torn open a wound, but he immediately pulled himself together. “Empty words. You can throw them around as much as you like.”

Suddenly, I had the eerie feeling that I had heard this conversation before. That it had already happened.

But it only took me a moment to get over it. It had happened before, yes. Only it wasn’t this conversation, but another one. In a different place, with different people, but on the same subject of Ascension, loyalty, and Decrees.

It was a fork in the road. Picking the left path meant trying your best to Ascend your Master of Decrees so that none of your people could get out of control. By picking the right path you made do with very few Decrees and then abandoned them altogether when your people reached a certain level of Ascension.

For many years, the Order didn’t even bother to look for those with a talent for Decrees, and now it had a Master of Decrees who was a first-star Leader.

One star less than needed.

What good were my strength, talent, the Beetle artifact, and Viost’s power if I still couldn’t restore the tricolor Decree over Shandri?

Shandri was a Leader with two stars. Exactly one star more than I could handle, as the struggle with the Livat family’s Decrees made clear.

The silver lining was that this experience would teach me that not all Decrees should be dealt with irreversibly, that sometimes it was better to absorb the energy from them, as if to complete them, than to erase them altogether.

I looked up into the space above Shandri’s head, but I didn’t find the Decree I had removed there.

There was nothing I could do about it now.

Unless...

Even if a Sentinel were to appear here and now, would he be the kind of Sentinel who used Decrees instead of artifacts?

What if...?

“But would you risk summoning a Sentinel right now?”

Chapter 18

I shuddered when I heard this, thinking that someone heard my thoughts. But it was Bolain speaking, addressing Horit, his shout ringing through the air.

The magister shook his head.

“I don’t think our quarrel is their concern, and I don’t think he’ll be pleased if he’s dragged away from more important matters by the squabbles of petty factions.”

Bolain snorted.

“Empty words. The Disir clan grew in land during the Wild Times and will continue to do so. But the Order will soon be considered a minor faction. Before it disappears forever.”

The stands roared. Thousands of Order members shouted in anger, their words blending into a single, menacing cry.

Iover twitched again, and again he was held back. I heard the heated words of the commanders trying to calm him down.

“What does this mean?” I asked Shandri. “Why can’t you just call the Sentinels?”

He looked at me.

“What’s there to explain? Nobody likes extra work. Each faction leader only has one summoning artifact. And it often happened that the Sentinel decided that the summoning was pointless and didn’t give a replacement for it. This is a clear case of petty bickering over greed. The summoned Sentinel will only be angry that his breakfast was interrupted.”

I remembered what Viost told me.

“A fair question. The Sentinels will not go after every culprit personally. Their fate is in the hands of the factions of their lands and their neighbors. Each of us has fifty factions breathing down our necks. Must we discuss all this? Is it so important to you?”

Shandri sighed.

“I’m not sure our Sentinel is the type to sympathize with the Order. I’m also not sure if he’ll forgive the disappearance of the Decree that one of his predecessors hung over me and not add to the Order’s punishment.”

“Silence!” Horit demanded.

His voice seemed to quell the flames of anger in the stands. Ten breaths and they fell silent.

Horit nodded under the gaze of a thousand eyes.

“Thank you, brothers and sisters of the Order. Today we must stand together as never before.”

Iover rushed forward, almost falling over the edge of our lodge, and shouted:

“United! United! United!”

The roar of a thousand throats rolled from our podium:

“United! United! United! United!”

I admit, I screamed too. I screamed, tearing out my throat, and experiencing strange feelings. I liked what was happening, I liked this heated argument in the officials’ lodge, where they didn’t hide their hatred and anger. I liked Iover’s fervor and sharp tongue, I liked the loyalty of the Order’s members, unbridled by Decrees.

From my lodge, I could see dozens of them. The symbols above their heads were calm, still as the surface of a lake, no pain driving them, no compulsion.

Here and now, regardless of our strength and Ascension level, we stood together for the glory of our Order.

The only thing I didn’t like was Shandri’s inhibitions.

If I had been allowed to deal with the guests’ Decrees, there would have been no judges in the entire Circle more honest and incorruptible than these three Garoy elders, and the Disirians would’ve been punished for their trickery.

Horit raised his hand.

As soon as the roaring stopped, he bowed again. Three times again, but this time to the three sides of the arena.

Straightening his back, he turned to the grinning Bolain.

“And why does the great Disir clan use its strength and connections to deal with a small and weak faction as our humble Order?”

“Admitting defeat?”

“Surely, not even a glutton like you can fit a piece as big as Beast Ridge in your mouth.”

“Really now?”

“Even the Order has limits to its patience, even though we are small and weak.”

Iover, who had retreated from the ledge, grimaced.

“Just hearing that makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Patience, brother. It sickens him more, rest assured,” his neighbor muttered.

“Let’s remind them that this weak Order will end them all,” Shandri hissed.

Iover turned around.

“Will you...?” He hesitated, narrowed his eyes, and asked again: “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Can we do it?”

“Do you trust me?”

Iover grinned.

“With my life.”

He turned away, staring across the arena at the officials’ lodge. Shandri turned to me and caught my gaze.

“Only if a fight breaks out, Legard,” he reminded me.

I sighed and nodded at him. I’d do as he asked since we were such a righteous Order. But if a fight did start, all the guests with a single burnt-out Decree would die.

The sudden thought made me stumble. Not in the real sense, as I was standing still, but it was as if I had stumbled all the same. I wanted to turn my head toward the officials’ lodge, to help the commanders remind the guests that if they crossed the line, they’d suddenly feel on their own skin that Walkers were still mortal beings.

I froze without turning my head.

It was a very logical thought. I had erased the tricolored Decrees from Shandri, but I hadn’t touched the ones that had been on him before. I hadn’t even checked to see if there were any he had outgrown. I learned a long time ago to distance myself from what I saw above people’s heads, lest I risked losing myself in the swarm of glittering symbols and forgetting the real world.

Especially since I didn’t check them when I first saw Shandri. Back then, I was injured and almost dead, I was weak, and I was too mad at Xilim and burning with the desire to stab him instead of staring at Shandri.

I was used to the Order formations erasing old Decrees. But would they erase fulfilled tricolored ones?

I doubted it, I doubted it very much.

That was why I didn’t help scare the guests with death threats. Instead, I fixed my gaze on the void above Shandri’s head.

“Come on! Come on!” I urged the old Sentinel Decree, the conditions of which he had fulfilled in his youth, to manifest.

Yes!

As if hearing my demands and pleas, the shadow of a Decree thawed in the void above Shandri’s head, forming a seal barely visible even to me. Pale and colorless, but with too many symbols to be a simple, monochrome Decree.

Cautiously, as if afraid my actions would dispel it, I touched its lines and infused it with a crumb of my energy.

Come to think of it, I didn’t even know what kind of energy I was injecting into it. Heavenly, spiritual, or elemental?

Viost’s, perhaps?

I didn’t know. I didn’t have time to think about it now without risking messing something up. It was like when you were in the middle of a heated battle, wondering if you should hold your weapon tighter, bend your knees, or turn your blade.

And just like in a fight, I acted on instinct.

But it was definitely not Viost’s energy. I couldn’t tap into it without pulling another thread or removing bits of the Thief’s mark.

Nevertheless, I did it, holding my breath as if it were the first time I was attempting something like this.

The seal slowly changed colors. First the outline, then the second seal ring, and then the third.

A tricolor Decree.

The symbols unfolded, revealing lines of words.

I, Keros Ornum, command Erie Shandri to grant Darnum, a Sentinel apprentice, access and trial in the City of a Thousand Levels.

And so began the story of the Shen who pissed off Izard, made him think the whole treaty with Ram Vilor was a sham, and gave him reason to believe that the Sentinels had betrayed the treaty by allowing cultists into the lands of the Empire instead of fighting them.

Until I arrived and opened his eyes to what had been going on outside his city for the last few hundred years.

It seemed very, very important for Ornum to get Darnum into the City of a Thousand Levels, seeing that he was calling upon old favors instead of letting the boy work for this rite of passage.

Sneaky. I was sure that no matter how unpleasant Darnum was, and he was, since Xilim still spat venom at the mere memory of him after all these years, and had passed that experience on to all the others except for Shandri, a Sentinel, the Academy’s headmaster would’ve carried out the order even without the Decree. He would’ve let the boy into the city for free. After all, all you had to do back then was be a good student.

Could a Sentinel apprentice from a higher Circle have been so talentless that his mentor had to impose a Decree to ensure he’d be allowed into the city?

Could he?

Grinning like stupid, I erased the contents of the old Decree, memorizing the names and planning to ask Shandri many questions later. For now, I rewrote the symbols, adding new stuff. I doubted that most of the Sentinels would bother to check what the previous one had left there, but it was a good idea to be on the safe side.

“What was the name of the Sentinel who informed you that your mentor was now the magister of the entire Order?”

Shandri waved me away without turning around or losing focus on the argument between the magister and Bolain.

“Why dredge up the past?”

But I was persistent.

“Humor me.”

“Ornum.”

I raised my eyebrows. Things were getting more and more interesting...

And since that was the case...

I, Keros Ornum, command...

I hesitated for a moment. How long ago had this happened? Fifty years? Back in Shandri’s youth, fresh out of the Academy and the City of a Thousand Levels, which meant...

...Shen Shandri to keep the fall of the Order in the Fourth Circle a secret.

That’d do the trick. I could see my fake order, but any other Master of Decrees would only glimpse three colorful rings and a few ancient symbols if they didn’t look close enough.

Convenient.

“Done,” I informed Shandri with the same satisfied, stupid smile. “You don’t have to run from the Sentinels anymore. I’ve reinstated a tricolor Decree over you, forbidding you to talk about the fall of the Order.”

“What?!”

So surprised was he that he shouted his response aloud and turned to me. He stared at me for a moment in disbelief, then waved away the bewildered commanders and dragged me away, to the edge of the lodge, as if he wasn’t a Leader and couldn’t use telepathy.

Or did he want to scold me like a parent and telepathy wouldn’t cut it?

Hiding me from the rest of the commanders with his body, standing as if he and I were just looking at the officials’ lodge, he used telepathy again.

“What did you do?”

“You heard me. There’s no hidden meaning in my words. The tricolor Decree is in place, and until another Sentinel with my talent tries to undo it, to understand every letter of it, no one will be able to tell that it’s a forgery,” I clarified. “This Ornum was a Keros, yes? And you were a Shen?”

“Do you know him?”

I shook my head.

“I merely restored one of your old Decrees.”

Shandri understood immediately.

“The one mentioning Darnum.”

I nodded. Shandri sighed and bowed. Shallowly, barely noticeably, but still.

“Maybe I can enter the tournament now?” I asked, hopeful.

“No. There are many rules against it.”

“I can hide my Ascension level. Can a peak Master participate?”

“No, Legard.” Shandri used my real name to let me know how important this was. “Aside from talent, there’s also the grudge the Disirians hold against you. Now that Horit has more or less forced Bolain to accept our terms, there’s no need for unnecessary aggravation.”

I nodded again.

“So when you, the commanders of the Order, its Leaders, jointly and vividly imagine how you’d kill all those who have wronged you, it’s tolerable and acceptable. But the appearance of a small and weak student on the sands of the arena is too much? Am I some kind of Beast that needs to be kept locked away in a cage?”

“There’s no sand in our arena, and your bitterness is out of place,” Shandri remarked dryly. “You are, if you will, the Order’s secret weapon, our loaded die that we’ll throw a little later and in a different place, and certainly not in front of thousands of people and all the neighboring factions.”

“Shutting me up with flattery...”

“You’re wrong. Look how upset Iover is, look how calm I am. Why do you think that is the case?”

“Because you two are not the same, and you’ve gotten used to keeping things to yourself over the years.”

Shandri chuckled.

“I forgot how sharp-tongued you can be.”

“I don’t fall for flattery, especially not that easily.”

“Then I’ll be blunt. Iover is only a commander and I’m the one who’s supposed to take Horit’s place in the future. As his apprentice and successor, I know more.”

“And you’re also a Sentinel.”

“I’ll be even more blunt. We’ve had many discussions with Horit about what happened in the Gorge. Someone put a lot of energy and resources into that attack, and then the Disirians called upon the Wild Times...”

“Wait a minute...” I realized what Shandri was hinting at, it was impossible not to notice. “Are you saying that these are different forces? That the Disirians didn’t destroy the Gorge?”

“No one can say that they are weak or talentless, but no one can claim that the Order is stupid and helpless either. Could the work of the Second’s best faction of formation masters have been so easily fooled? Do you really think they could have broken through three layers of defenses without us noticing?”

I looked behind his back, across the arena, to the officials’ lodge, to those grinning at the dispute between Horit and Bolain. Three miserable old men and one smug idiot.

“The Garoys?” I asked in disbelief.

Shandri shook his head slowly.

“I doubt it. Yes, they are strong, but they are flesh and blood born of the Second Circle.”

I gritted my teeth. The hint was more than transparent. No one from this Circle could have pulled off what happened in the Gorge, against a branch of an Imperial Order. That was what Shandri was telling me.

That was why he didn’t want to go to the Sentinels. How could you turn to those you suspected of treachery in your hour of need?

“The Decree. Should I erase it? Is it unnecessary?”

“No. It’ll make my life easier. I was too impulsive back then, blinded by the pain and bitterness of loss. Tola, he...”

Shandri stopped talking, waved his hand, and turned away.

In the officials’ lodge, the performance was ending. Bolain pretended to be reluctant to meet the Order’s demands.

“So be it.”

Horit, on the other hand, pretended he was being forced to give in to the pressure.

He sighed, nodded, and turned around, leading with his hand.

“Venerable Lir Garoy, bear witness to the words of the head of the Disir clan.”

Lir nodded, stood up, and joined them near the railing of the lodge.

He spread his arms and shouted.

“I, Lir Garoy, bear witness to the deal made between the Magister of the Order of the Heavenly Sword, Horit, and the head of the Disir clan, Bolain! The winner of today’s tournament will be the owner of the ancient City of a Thousand Levels.” He lowered his hands, smiled, and added: “The prize has never been so great. Looking at the number of people gathered here today, I can’t but admire the Disir clan. They have come prepared, unwilling to take chances. What foolishness. The winners should be strong, skillful, and talented, worthy of the prize won in fair fights. Can we expect their clansmen to embody these qualities?”

With that, Lir returned to his seat, leaving Bolain standing under the mocking gaze of thousands of eyes.

I shook my head in respect. I had been wrong to think Lir was involved in the attack on the Academy. Not with his temperament, not with his belief in the Heavenly Virtues. He considered loyalty the highest among them, but he also valued the others, otherwise, he wouldn’t have insulted Bolain so openly, calling him out on his lack of morals.

But the elders didn’t seem to share his view. They were worried.

Bolain smiled wryly.

“Everything is within the rules, and even the number of participants is far from the permitted limit, honorable Lir Garoy,” Bolain reminded him. “All our representatives are members of the clan, and they have sworn an oath of allegiance to it. Though I won’t deny that they took their oaths because I didn’t want the Order to get away with its violation of the Wild Times.”

I grimaced. Was he going to make excuses again? I had heard it all before, everyone at the tournament had heard it. What was the point of doing that in front of the Order? Nothing would quell the flame of hatred that blazed in our chests at the mention of his clan’s name. Especially words that were nothing but lies: cunning, and sneaky tricks.

Turning away from the officials’ lodge, I counted the people gathered under the Disirian banner. How many of our fighters were there? Five to one or more?

Those insolent faces were obviously born Disir. Unsurprisingly, Ketot was in the front. I hoped Gilai would give him a good beating.

If he could.

I stared at Ketot for a few moments, trying to get a sense of his strength, the distance between us depriving me of any hint of his skill.

In vain.

All I could see was his pampered physical appearance. He was well-dressed, confident, and had the stamp of power and money on his face. He was important enough to be bowed to if you wanted to avoid future incidents.

“How strong are Gilai, Vilikor, and Tochtal?” I asked Shandri.

“The Order benefits from pretending to be weak,” he replied vaguely.

I didn’t like the answer.

“Pretend or appear? I can pretend to be many things, like a Master or a Warrior.”

“They don’t have your talent, and we haven’t had the time to rebuild the Gorge yet. To answer your question: no, they haven’t become Leaders. Not all of them are peak Masters either.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I can’t argue with that, but they still have a long way to go.”

In other words, the winner of today’s tournament was predetermined. It took more than one fist, as they said, to stand up to four.

Or was it five? There were many self-proclaimed Disirians down there, barely fitting into the faction circle. Seventy-six, seventy-seven...

My gaze fell on the men behind them. A figure standing as if separate from all the other Disirians. Standing without taking his eyes off my fellow students.

The past two years hadn’t changed him at all.

Samum Tamim.

Fated meetings and heavenly plans.

Were you not just thinking about them, Legard?

About unpaid debts?

Do you remember Samum, who called himself your brother, Legard?

There he is, down there. What do you think he’s doing here, at the other end of the Circle, Legard?

You and justice, Legard. You and justice.

Are you ready to pay this debt?

I hesitated for a moment.

I was.

“I must enter the tournament,” I told Shandri.

“No,” he said. “We were just discussing that.”

“I have to. Tell whoever is in charge to enroll me as a member of the Order.”

Shandri turned to me with a frown.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“I changed my mind.”

“They can’t know it’s you. It’ll only cause problems.

I ran my fingers over my cheek.

“They won’t.”

“Your face isn’t the issue. It’s your weapon, techniques, and fighting methods. You think they won’t recognize the Butcher?”

I pursed my lips. So, no Shell, the most conspicuous one, no Star Blade, no Claw... Samum had never seen the Destroyer, so that was good. Storm Spear, Seven Blades, Hundred Flying Steps, Diamond Drop...

“I’ll manage,” I replied.

“And you will willingly drop several levels? Your Sentinel techniques are stronger than what the Academy could give you, you’re used to relying on their protection and power to fight, changing them now will cause you to make mistakes and get hurt.”

“I’ll manage,” I insisted stubbornly.

“No! I forbid you! You’re a suspect in the theft of the Gate Seal, remember? Why did you change your mind so suddenly?”

I hesitated under Shandri’s gaze. He knew a lot about my life, almost everything, for that matter, but I couldn’t tell him now how I asked Kirt to gather rumors for me, or about the body of Saref Tamim, which came between his son and me.

But if I were to enter the arena under a false face and name, would I be able to repay him that way? Even if I lost to him and he killed me, would that be what he wanted, was that what he came here for from his home faction?

I was distracted from my thoughts and doubts by the sound of the door opening. Someone entered the lodge, giving me a chance to escape Shandri’s question, to think.

A strong voice began confidently:

“Elders, I am compelled...” The voice faltered, then roared: “Elders, beware!”

I was surprised to feel a warm wind on my back.

I stepped aside, turned around, and raised my arm.

The blade that would have struck me in the back clattered helplessly against my armband as I created a Decree over my attacker.

Limitation. Temperer. Third star.

The man twisted to the side, his face contorted into a grimace. He growled again and pointed his other hand at me.

But nothing happened.

If he was trying to complete the technique, he failed.

It was hard to explain, but I had felt it myself during training, how energy seemed to disappear from the meridians. You could see the focus, but you couldn’t draw from it.

Shandri stepped forward, twisted the sword out of the attacker’s hand, and demanded to know what was going on.

“Regan, explain yourself.”

Chapter 19

He was a stranger to me, a hermit and an outsider to his own Order, but someone as important as Shandri couldn’t but know the head of the Department of Inquiry.

The funny thing was that we were both wearing the same robe. White with a white band around the edge of the sleeve and collar, with a black pattern to emphasize it.

Only Regan was dressed more... Dapper, as Reika would say. Or Fatya. With a wide silk belt adorned with a blue buckle in the center, and a scarlet pouch under his left arm. A short stubble and a neat beard framed his handsome face. The hair on his left side was so short that it looked almost shaved, a stark contrast to the longer bangs above his other eye, sprinkled with a few strands of blue. Water? Or Wind? I always confused them.

Regan glared and wiped the sweat from his face.

“He’s an impostor!” he warned. “Elder Shandri, he’s drugged you with something!”

Shandri sighed and waved his hand.

“Rimilo, let me introduce you to Regan, head of the Department of Inquiry, Gist’s deputy and his future successor.” He gestured again, this time pointing at me. “Regan, may I present Rimilo, administrator of the Academy and a Master of Decrees.”

I looked at Shandri. Revealing one of my secrets like that? Well, all secrets had their limits. I was told I’d be in charge of the Order’s security in the future. In fact, I was probably already in charge of it. However, I wasn’t doing a very good job, judging by what was happening in the arena today.

“What did you just say, Shandri?” Iover asked in confusion.

“Friends, let me introduce you to my apprentice and our Master of Decrees — Rimilo,” Shandri repeated with a smile.

“Sooner or later I would have told them. You’ve just put Regan under one of your Decrees. I’d never find an excuse for that,” he explained to me.

“But the robe... Why isn’t he wearing the Academy robes?” Regan asked, perplexed.

“The journey home wasn’t easy, and this is the only robe I have left,” I explained. “It doesn’t even belong to the Order of the Heavenly Sword; it’s a souvenir from another Order.”

Shandri sighed.

“It’s a long story, all in all,” he remarked.

“Longer than the story of the Academy and the Order suddenly having a Master of Decrees? A Leader, at that?”

“A Leader?” Regan repeated.

He looked at me with an attentive gaze. I just raised an eyebrow. What could he, a Temperer, see in me?

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warned.

Slowly, I waved my hand and absentmindedly erased the Decree above his head.

Regan flinched, squared his shoulders, and clenched his free hand into a fist several times.

At least he didn’t try to use his sword or create a technique again.

The commanders, meanwhile, demanded a new answer from Shandri.

“But how? The founder’s sword kills Masters of Decrees... You said so yourself!”

Shandri waved his hands.

“As it turns out, a lot depends on talent. The sword didn’t touch him,” he said with another hinting glance in my direction.

Not the most truthful answer either. Maybe it wasn’t a Master of Decrees it saw, but a Sentinel, even if only a Shen. Maybe I could find out the truth if I was allowed to approach the sword. The teachers used its defensive formation, didn’t they? One could definitely reach it then...

Too bad there wasn’t enough time for everything in this world.

Regan gave me another questioning look. I replied in kind, appreciating the depth and darkness of his power. It was deep, but I could see the bottom. With his cover blown, he couldn’t do anything to me.

But he didn’t like what he saw in me. I noticed the squint, the suspicious glint in his eyes, and the pursed lips more than once. I didn’t look like a Leader to him.

Did it matter?

No.

A voice rumbled from the magister’s lodge behind us.

“Let’s start the tournament and let the Disir clan show us why they gathered such a crowd of new clan members.”

I had to hand it to Horit, he was good. He could’ve just told the truth, that he was offering to watch the Disirian mob defeat the Order, but he was being polite. Even he realized how this would all end unless he added another three dozen talented members from the Order. Weren’t there any talents among the guards or interrogators trained outside the Academy? Oriya wouldn’t have been a bad choice. She packed a mean punch. The Disirians would be in for a nasty surprise with her. She’d have a one-to-two win ratio, and she’d take a few people out of the tournament.

So would I.

Shandri noticed my look, shook his head, and turned everyone’s attention from the fights to something else.

“Regan, why did you show up here and why did you attack Rimilo?”

Regan bowed.

“Forgive me, elder. We have an emergency. Unknown assailants attacked the guards and almost broke through to the officials’ lodge. I was in a hurry to report to you, as the senior after the magister, but then I noticed only one guard at the entrance to your lodge. And then I saw a stranger pretending to be from my department, my equal, and figured that he was one of the attackers.” He pressed his lips, interrupted the flow of words, and bowed his head. “I apologize again, deputy magister, and I’m ready to accept my punishment. Both for the attack on the Master of Decrees and for the mistakes I’ve made in securing the tournament. There is no forgiveness for me, senior Shandri.”

Shandri sighed.

“Your duty is difficult, Regan. I understand how hard it is to unearth collusion between faction leaders, or how easy it is to add three old servants to a faction’s delegation. Lir Garoy didn’t expect to see his elders here.”

Regan straightened and shook his head slowly.

“But it’s my fault that...”

Shandri frowned and waved his hand with impatience, sending a wave of energy at Regan.

“Enough of this!”

Regan gritted his teeth.

“As you say, sir.”

“Since the assassins couldn’t get through the guests’ guards, what makes you think they can harm us?”

“Tightened security, sir. As soon as the head of the Disir clan began to defy the magister, I immediately called out all reserves and doubled the patrols wherever I could. But even so, the assassins managed to kill one of the hidden guards, and he had nine stars, sir.”

Iover snorted.

“We’re almost all Leaders here. The assassins would have to try very hard to injure at least one of us.”

Regan bowed again.

“Please forgive me, sir, I acted on impulse.”

“Besides, you can’t kill someone only by stabbing them in the back with a blade,” one of the commanders noted.

“What are you talking about, Hoso? We aren’t brought drink or food. If we were to drink, we’d use something from our supply of wine. Do you really think one of us would poison—”

He was cut off.

“Be quiet, you fool.”

There was a strange silence. For Regan, but not for me, for I could still hear the telepathic conversation that the commanders were trying to hide from prying ears.

“What’s the matter, Hoso?” Shandri asked. “As if I haven’t heard these conversations before. Yes, I was at the Academy when the heart of the Gorges was destroyed. Yes, I can’t explain how those passages in the formations were made and why neither the guards nor the formation overseers noticed anything. Xilim passed all the Decree Formations and answered all of Gist’s questions under the Amulet of Truth. He’s innocent, suspected of nothing, and has helped no one. Yes, you won’t be able to ask me the same questions because...”

He was interrupted by a chorus of thoughts.

“Brother...”

“Sir...”

“Shandri...”

“We weren’t suggesting...”

“...because I’m a Leader,” Shandri finished. “One of those who are outside the rigid system of loyalty to the Order. Let’s put aside the fact that I’ve been loyal to the Order in every action I’ve taken in my life. Let’s remember that I’m Horit’s successor, the next magister, that I’m supposed to lead after his abdication. It’d be easier to dissolve the Order if everyone thought I was a traitor.”

The commanders looked at each other.

“Brother,” Olma said. “We’ve studied and served the Order together for many years, of course I believe you, and if you offered me wine now, I wouldn’t think of refusing. You know how these foolish rumors are born — you can’t find the poisonous mouth that spits them out, and you can’t stop them, it’s in human nature to always doubt and look for a trick in what you don’t understand.”

“And no need to glare at me,” Iover muttered. “Just because I’m often unrestrained and venomous in my remarks doesn’t mean I’m a coward or a scoundrel. If I thought Xilim was a traitor, I would have beaten him to a pulp and forced him to tell the truth.”

“Such is the truth.”

“Whatever it is,” Iover snapped.

“And you need not glare at Rimilo.” Shandri shifted his shoulders slightly, as if only hinting that he was shrugging them. It looked strange in the complete silence of the scene. “I didn’t expect his return, I admit, but you’ve seen for yourself how he made Regan stagger with a single wave of his hand. Do you know any other nearby faction that has a Master of Decrees at the Leader stage?”

“You need only look behind our magister’s back, Shandri.” Iover chuckled bitterly. “Those three geezers have one such Master.”

“But they were smart enough to keep him home,” I cut in.

Shandri noticed my gaze and pursed his lips, remembering a little too late that I could hear everything.

He turned to Regan.

“Are your men looking for the culprits?”

“Of course!” he replied bashfully.

“Good.” Shandri nodded. “The place is crowded, which gives our enemies the upper hand. I’m sure they’ll strike again in an attempt to expose the Order as a weak faction unable to protect its guests.”

“Not on my watch, sir.” Regan saluted and bowed his head. “I’ll double my efforts, sir.”

“I cannot ask the impossible of you, junior. You’ll have help.” Shandri pointed at me. “Rimilo has the nose of a bloodhound, the tenacity of a Mad, and one very unusual artifact. I remember you using it during the test with the cultists.”

“What a tense fight, dear viewers!” a shout came from the arena. “The Order pulled through the last moment! Applause for the winner!”

“I thought you wanted me to lay low?” I asked, my voice dripping sarcasm.

But Shandri wouldn’t let me get to him.

“Which would you rather do? Gaze into the distance with futile worry as the outcome is predetermined or save the lives of the Order’s guards?”

With a scoff, I turned around and motioned for Regan to follow me.

“Let’s go.”

Confused, he stared after me, then turned around and bowed to Shandri.

“As you command, master.”

If he were any faster, I would’ve thought he was trying to run away from me. We flew through the maze of corridors and passages, stopping only at the checkpoints where the guards would’ve searched us had Regan not looked as if he was one minor inconvenience away from ripping someone’s head off. Seeing his haste and feeling his anger, they parted before he could even say a word.

I had been too hasty with my judgment of him.

The guards at the next closed door greeted us with clutched weapons and the shimmering cover of a protective formation. Unlike their colleagues, they stood their ground against the gloomy cloud that seemed to have followed Regan all the way from the commanders’ lodge.

“Identify yourself,” the one on the left demanded.

“Steward Regan, Department of Inquiry, Order of the Heavenly Sword,” he hissed, stopping a step away from the edge of the formation blocking the corridor.

“Password?” the one on the right asked.

Regan raised his palm in front of him and uttered some nonsense.

“River backwaters are famous for their blue hue.”

The guards looked at his open palm and nodded.

“Sir.”

The formation disappeared, opening a passage for us.

“Don’t forget to close it,” Regan told me over his shoulder as he pushed the door open and walked through.

I didn’t.

Another checkpoint and weird passcode later, we were at the crime scene.

Before me lay two dozen broken corpses. Half of them were killed suddenly, caught by surprise, and the rest...

A nondescript man in a steel-gray robe glided toward Regan.

“Sir, there were three or four of them, no more. They used swords, throwing needles, and daggers. All coated with a strong poison.”

Half-listening, I approached the bodies, observing the wounds and the blood splatters on the walls. Spotting a cluster of Decrees hanging in the void to the right and left of the door, I froze. They stood out brightly against the pale symbols of the guards standing watch behind the wall, weapons clutched tightly in their hands and ready for action.

Bicolor Decrees. Order’s symbols. One of our own.

Shandri was right. I was like a bloodhound.

But even with my talent, it’d be very, very difficult to find the right trace in the trampled mess on the ground.

The door suddenly swung open to let in a pampered gentleman in an expensive robe. He took a step toward us, noticed the carnage, and froze with his mouth open.

“What in the name of the Heavens happened here?!” he shouted, attracting the attention of the people still in the lodge.

“Our guards are having their afternoon nap,” Regan snapped. “What’s it look like? They’re dead!”

“Is that how you treat a guest, sir?” the man rebuked him.

“Oh, pardon me, venerable sir, for not caring about your feelings.” Regan cocked his head to his shoulder and looked at the man with surprising anger. “Can the distinguished guest explain why he needed to go out, even though he was told to stay in the lodge?”

“I—”

“If the distinguished guest wanted a drink, he should have asked the servants to fetch him one or dipped into his own supply. And if the distinguished guest needed to relieve himself after so much drinking, well, he needn’t have left for that either. First door on the right, sir. This is, after all, a luxury lodge.”

The distinguished guest curled his lips in a scoff.

“Is everyone in the Order so cocky?”

“We are known for our, ah, colorful personality. You should know, seeing that you’ve been fighting us on the borders for quite some time, distinguished guest.”

“All I see is that the Order doesn’t appreciate a good neighbor.”

“Good? Even I, a bookworm who rarely sees the sun, can see that the Weeping Falls have done nothing but assent to the Disirians today. Will the distinguished guest claim his comrades aren’t standing under the plum blossom and fighting against my Order today?”

While they talked, I observed the man, trying to figure out where on his clothes I could find the Falls’ colors. I didn’t see so much as a speck of red or blue. Did Regan know all the guests by face and name?

“What do you care about my faction’s affairs?”

Regan waved his hand, pointing at the corpses, the pools of blood, and the crimson streaks on the floor and the walls.

“Someone attacked our guards. These brave men gave their lives to save the guests of this lodge. As long as the doors were closed, the silence formation was active, so I assume you didn’t hear anything. But I digress. My question remains. Why did you leave? And why were you even here, seeing that this isn’t your clan’s lodge? Its seats were reserved for the guests of the Circle’s distant factions. Who gave you, the representative of the Weeping Falls, this idea? Someone from the Disir clan perhaps?”

The man frowned, offended by such an accusation.

“What makes you think that? Normally, I’d refuse to entertain your poor manners, but seeing that you’re beside yourself with grief over the loss of your comrades, I’ll extend you the courtesy. I came to see a friend of mine.”

“What for?”

“I was curious to see what he thought about the Order’s chances of winning this competition. Satisfied?”

Regan chuckled.

“Oh, yes. Step back, distinguished guest!” he suddenly barked. “Step back while I’m still being restrained by hospitality and duty to the Order!”

The man recoiled and grabbed his Bag with a very expressive gesture, ducking away like a cat ready to pounce.

“You’re out of your mind—”

“There’s no Betting House in our Arena, distinguished guest.” Regan grinned with contempt. “If you’ve come to meet friends, I suggest you stay with them until the end of the tournament, distinguished guest.”

The man pursed his lips and took another step back. Regan shook his head as the guards slammed the door shut behind the “distinguished guest.”

One of them, in a blue attendant’s robe with red guard stripes, asked quietly:

“Do you think he’s in cahoots with the killers?”

“That fool?” Regan shook his head. “No. But those who knew that there’d be trouble sent him here.” Sighing, he waved his hand. “Don’t turn your back to the door. It’s better to be safe.”

“Yes, sir.”

Regan carefully watched the guards change places, nodded, and turned to me.

“Master Shandri said you could help?”

I didn’t notice any deference in his voice even though I was supposed to be his senior. But I decided to pay no attention to it. Not at such a time, not after such a conversation. He was probably boiling with anger right now.

I took out the bowl and a core under his silent gaze.

A scarlet wave spilled under my feet, flooding a considerable portion of the lodge in an instant, leaving hundreds of footsteps behind.

Maybe even thousands.

I crouched for a closer look. The freshest pairs belonged to Regan, the “guest,” and me, so they were of no use at the moment. The layers under them belonged to the guards who discovered the carnage, helped the survivors, and replaced the dead at their posts.

And under that were the footsteps of our killers.

I had to spin around several times to figure out the loops and layers and separate the victims’ tracks from their killers’.

Bent over next to me, Regan attempted to figure out the layers of luminous footprints on his own.

“I found three sets,” I informed him. “But I can only follow one at a time.”

“Pick any one.”

I took a sword from the ground and drove it into the floorboards, marking one of the tracks. I repeated the same thing on the other side.

“Don’t touch them,” I warned the guards.

And then I tapped the third set with the bowl.

The carpet of footprints disappeared, leaving only a single trail leading into the room through the door and then out.

“Let’s go!” Regan ordered.

Chapter 20

There were two dozen of us on the trail. Regan had taken a whole party of guards with him, picking them up as we went, explaining each time what the footsteps that suddenly appeared in the air meant.

“Is there a way to notify all posts so that they know what’s happened?” I asked.

“No. I can only signal an alarm. Which I’ve already done.”

“Do it again?” I suggested.

“No.”

I pursed my lips, accepting it. It was a shame that the Order didn’t have amulets capable of transmitting your voice. Regan did come to us in person instead of warning us over an artifact. The Order was famous for its formations, not artifacts. They were probably expensive.

Money. Everything good was either illegal or cost a lot of spirit stones.

“Why were they circling so much?” one of the guards beside me asked.

That was an understatement. We went up and down the stairs, right, left, and left again. All I could tell was that we were still on the same side of the arena. Between the commanders’ and the magister’s lodge, closer to the audience, navigating a web of passages.

Another turn.

I turned around, followed the chain of glowing footsteps stretching out into the distance with my gaze, and cursed.

There were bodies ahead. Novices.

“Bastards,” someone grunted behind me.

“We need them alive,” I warned.

“You don’t say?” he sneered and then added, noticing my glare: “Sir.”

It came with a clearly discernable pause. And his tone...

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

The guard bowed his head.

“Forgive me, sir.”

I nodded, accepting the apology, and then the heat of danger blew at me from the left and back. I jumped to the side just as flames touched my neck.

I twisted around to avoid falling and spun on the spot so that I could see where to send my Decree, and saw a blaze of fire licking the ceiling behind us.

“Put it out!” I instructed as I flew through the flames with a Dash.

By the time I came out on the other side, the guards had already broken into the narrow side passage, blocking the killer with their backs.

I yanked one of them by the shoulder, pushed the other, and then the sounds of fighting stopped and the steel fell silent, leaving only the groans of the wounded.

Four corpses. Four dead guards. Another one, with lips turning blue, was clutching the wound on his chest.

I approached him and removed his hands and robe, revealing a black slit oozing with some kind of foam.

Remembering at the last moment that I really didn’t need to let everyone know that I could use techniques without Appeals, I stepped back and spread my hands.

In the left hand, I held Cleansing Dawn of Human rank, and in the right, the Heavenly River. The former turned out to be useless. Not surprising, but still...

It took me fifty breaths to deal with the poison in the guard’s body to the extent that he no longer needed to fear for his life. Warriors were too defenseless against elemental poisons.

“Does anyone else need help?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

They had good potions then. That put my mind at ease.

Funnily enough, the famed Leader and Master of Decrees didn’t even get to use his powers. Regan dealt with the killer, not the guards.

And by dealt, I mean he killed him right where he stood.

I didn’t see the Decrees, only a pool of blood spreading on the floor, and a chain of still-burning footprints ending in its center.

Regan extended his sword arm and jerked his wrist left and up.

A whole bunch of amulets hit the wall.

With a sigh, I looked at the materializing corpse.

“What was that for?”

Regan raised an eyebrow.

“It was an ambush. I assume he could see the blazing prints as well as the rest of us. I also assume he circled the corridor and crouched next to the trail like a Beast, aiming to kill you. A strange man with a strange bowl in his hands... It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. From now on, you’ll be in the center of the formation.”

I pursed my lips.

“I’ll go wherever I want, thank you,” I replied. “Why did you kill him?”

“I didn’t.”

“I guess he just dropped dead then? With a wound in his chest?”

“It’s a bit difficult to aim when you can’t see the target. I intended to incapacitate him, but, well... He would’ve lasted three breaths without a potion with such a wound. I’m sure the healer will confirm that he burned his life force and killed himself.”

“Fair point... But don’t let it happen again.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” I corrected him.

Regan just sighed and took a flag out of his Bag. It was waist-high, with a narrow triangular banner. He drove it into the floor next to my foot, covering us with an opaque dome that resembled cloudy glass.

“This,” he waved his hand, “is so that the guards don’t witness an argument between their superiors and start spreading rumors.”

I nodded. Clever. I couldn’t make out the faces of the people outside the formation. I couldn’t hear them either.

“You’re still not addressing me properly,” I reminded him.

Regan sighed again.

“I’m not, no. I apologize, but this isn’t easy for me... sir. I’ll try to keep up appearances.”

I nodded and pointed my chin at the people outside the formation.

“In that case, tell them to leave. They’re getting in the way.”

“Why would I do that? I just told you that you’d be hiding behind their backs. Sir.”

“Do you hear yourself?” I asked in disbelief. “People won’t consider me a Leader if I’m hiding behind others’ backs.”

“Only in name,” Regan scoffed. “A Leader whose powers I can’t even feel? A Leader who didn’t notice that he was being attacked? A true Leader would’ve sensed his killer fifty feet away and wouldn’t have allowed four people to die in his stead. Deal with the Decrees and contracts, sir, and leave this to me.”

I pursed my lips.

His arguments made sense.

I didn’t quite understand what he meant by “would’ve sensed his killer,” though. Did he mean Combat Meditation, which should’ve been extended over the entire party, or that strange skill that helped me locate Aledo in Dawn? Still, what he was saying made sense. Those four guards would’ve stayed alive had I acted differently.

“I became a Leader only a couple of weeks ago,” I explained. “I’m still getting used to it all.”

“I’ll be sure to tell that to their grieving families.”

“As their leader, you should have stopped them,” I rebuked him. “All you had to do was give me a breath to order the killer not to move. You know I’m a Master of Decrees. You know I have the power to make people obey my will.”

Regan clenched his teeth.

“I will accept the punishment for my foolishness.”

“For starters, tell them to go away.”

“No. If I lose the Order’s Master of Decrees, I’ll never be able to justify my guilt before the magister.”

“Ah, so you think I’m a weakling?”

“I didn’t say that, sir.”

The look and the tone in which he said that spoke for themselves.

“I will count to three,” I said. “Defend yourself.”

Regan bared his teeth.

“Careful, sir Master of Decrees. I still have to return you to master Shandri,” he taunted me.

But he didn’t waste time, snatching an amulet from his Bag and putting it around his neck in one motion. The shape was familiar. Did he think I’d use Decrees on him, so he decided to protect himself?

Fool.

“One. Two. Three.”

I leaped forward with a Dash and drove a fist into Regan’s chest, hurling him against the formation wall.

Step.

I hit him in his side, knocking him over, and then punched him with my right fist, lifting him back to his feet.

Coming to his senses, Regan beat off the follow-up kick.

“Not as weak as you thought, am I?”

Regan wanted to say something but I didn’t let him.

He didn’t manage to counter even half of my hits.

I didn’t let him fall, grabbing him by the collar of his robe.

“Do you still think I’m a weakling?”

He glared at me for a breath, then closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Forgive me, sir.”

This time, the tone was the right one.

I let go.

“What’s gotten into you?” I asked wearily. “We shouldn’t fight amongst ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said without looking up. “I never lost so many subordinates in one day. I was... I let my emotions get the best of me.”

“Subordinates? But you’re from different departments.”

“Perhaps, but today they all answer to me. I was responsible for them.”

“I see... I’m sorry.”

I didn’t really feel sorry for their recklessness and stupidity. But they were doing their duty, even if they did it badly. Instead of closing off the corridor and filling it with techniques, they rushed forward for some reason, attacking an invisible opponent with steel. But they were still novices of my Order, and I knew very well how much this loss would cost us.

“I promise we won’t lose anyone else today,” I said.

“Thank you, sir.”

Regan removed the flag, dispelling the barrier.

“Sir?” one of the guards asked hoarsely, his face perplexed. “Is everything alright?”

The barrier might have distorted our faces, making our lips impossible to read, but we did a lot of talking with our fists.

Regan shot them such a glare that they backed away.

“You saw nothing. Anyone who speaks up will be dishonorably discharged on the spot.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s head back. This trail has gone cold.”

***

Back in the lodge, the bodies had been removed, but I still managed to pick up the second trail of footprints with the bowl from one of the swords.

Regan glanced at me and turned to the guards.

“Wait here.”

“Sir!”

This time, I followed the trail faster, using both Steps and the Dash. We passed through guard posts twice. Alive, wary, with weapons in their hands, they stared at the footsteps. They were lucky the killer passed through here before I used the bowl. Invisible and unnoticeable, still unaware that we were looking for him and would soon be after him.

But the luck of the other guards was running out.

“He’s going to the tenth lodge on the sixth floor,” Regan informed me as if those numbers meant something to me... “Hurry! We’ll be late!”

“Got it!”

Dash.

I nearly went through the ceiling as I leaped to the very top of the stairs without touching a single step.

The staircase turned, leading me into a room with three corridors.

I Dashed to the left without turning, toward the sounds of clashing steel and death.

“Stop!” I shouted, not understanding what was going on, and covered the entire hall with a Decree.

Another Dash.

I found myself amidst a frozen battle. Bodies, blood, guards halted in the middle of movement...

...and a cluster of symbols hanging in the void. Pulsating. Bicolored.

“Sleep.”

The invisible man collapsed, falling asleep.

A moment later, Regan was standing next to me. I didn’t remove the Decree from the guards until I was sure that they had had a good look at our faces, allowing them to recognize us. No one seemed to be suffering from elemental poisoning, but I couldn’t help the dead.

With nothing else to do, I retrieved the Destroyer from the Bag, carefully ripped the attacker’s robe open, and tore off any amulets. Neither rope nor chain stopped me from claiming my prize.

The invisibility fell off him like a discarded mantle, revealing a nondescript man of about forty in appearance. He was dressed like a pauper who disliked bright colors. Nothing about him stood out in particular. He had no scars or colored strands in his short hair.

Regan crouched by the attacker, ran his fingers through the man’s hair, and scoffed.

“Dyed.”

I nodded silently.

“Can you tell who sent him, sir?”

I turned my gaze to the smoldering Decree and went about my business.

Locating a suitable symbol and subjugating it with my energy didn’t take long.

The words unraveled before me one by one. I read them aloud.

“I, Tuaruk, swear on my life to take the Shadow Guild’s secrets to my grave.”

“Bastards.”

I glanced at Regan’s angry face and unfolded a new Decree.

“I swear to kill myself if I am ever captured, interrogated, tortured, or in any other shape or form forced to reveal the Guild’s secrets.” I chuckled. “Beat him to it, didn’t we?”

“We got lucky, sir,” Regan disagreed. “You gave two consecutive orders. Had you been any slower, he would’ve had enough time to kill himself.”

“Perhaps...” I thought about it. “He had a breath. He was just too slow.”

“As you say, sir.”

I noticed that Regan was being sarcastic again, but I said nothing.

Instead, I revealed the last Decree.

“I, Tuaruk, swear on my life to carry out the order of...”

I stumbled, remembering where I had already heard that name. From Zotar, who swore to Himari’s Eye that he’d kill some Warrior within two months.

Swallowing, I leaned forward, placing my fingers on the killer’s face and trying to find a mask’s edge. When you wore one for months on end, you knew exactly what to look for. The almost imperceptible difference between the real and fake skin on the neck.

Nothing. This was Tuaruk’s real face. This wasn’t Zotar. You couldn’t use a fake name for Decrees anyway. Why did I even doubt his identity? I knew Zotar like a brother. Tuaruk wasn’t built like him at all.

“What are you doing?” Regan asked warily.

I didn’t hide it, but I didn’t tell the whole truth either.

“I was checking to see if he was wearing a mask.”

“Ah...”

Regan lowered his hand to his belt and produced a large, square artifact from his Bag. A plaque as thick as a finger, with three big multicolored stones. Or small cores?

A moment later, the artifact lay on the killer’s forehead. Regan lowered his hand on it.

“No. No mask, sir.”

I nodded, acknowledging not his answer, but the fact that there were artifacts for detecting masks.

“What about the order? Does it say who sent him here?” Regan asked with impatience.

I turned my gaze back to the Decree.

“...to carry out the order of Rognam’s Eye and kill the guests attending the tournament held by the Order of the Heavenly Sword, located in the northern lodges. At least ten Masters not affiliated with the Order of the Heavenly Sword.”

“That’s it?” Regan asked.

“That’s it.”

He pursed his lips for a moment and sighed.

“That doesn’t help us much. What would they care about some Masters?”

“By ‘they’ you mean the Disirians?”

“Who else would be crazy enough to attempt something like this? Who else benefits from this? Sir,” Regan added, catching himself. “Forgive me. This is all too much.”

“It’s fine. Are we heading back or will we question him here?”

Regan grabbed some kind of amulet on his chest and squinted at the guards busy with the wounded.

“Things are still quiet. Now’s the perfect chance to find out how many assassins are there.”

“So you can communicate with the guards...”

“I can give an alarm, a general warning signal. All of us can signal that we’ve been attacked, but not to each other. Only the senior guard can do that. Each of these amulets has another piece. He has them all. He then tells me through the Jade where the attack took place.”

“I see,” I mumbled, focusing on the killer.

Shroud of Truth. My own creation, which allowed me to tell whether I was being lied to or not, without punishing the bearer with pain and giving me away.

Confusion.

Restriction. First-star Warrior.

Grabbing the killer by the legs, I dragged him away from the guards, into the corridor, and leaned him against the wall.

“Don’t be surprised by what you’re about to see. For the love of the Heavens, don’t shout or try to attack me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Use the flag from before and a silence artifact,” I said instead of explaining.

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“Forgiven. Again.”

Regan scowled, but silently drove the flag into the floor.

I changed the steward’s robe for one of the simpler ones I wore during my travels with Reika.

Once that was done, I pulled all the energy from the surrounding symbols, making them fade and become indistinguishable from the rest of the fulfilled Decrees and contracts. They might still be useful.

“Stand against the wall,” I ordered.

Obediently and without questions, Regan took a step back into the opening of the passage leading to the hall, so that the killer wouldn’t see him once he awoke, while I dispelled my Sleep and crouched in front of my victim.

After a breath. Tuaruk opened his eyes wide.

“Thank the Heavens, you’re awake! I thought I lost you.”

Tuaruk raised his hands, moved his bloody fingers.

“Lost me?”

“What’s the matter? Did you hit your head? It’s me, Atria. Don’t you remember? We saw each other when Rognam’s Eye gave us this task.”

Recognition and relief flashed in Tuaruk’s eyes.

“I... I remember... What are you doing here, Atria?”

“The same as you, only in the eastern stands.”

“Really? They really went all out for this one,” he drawled.

“Where’s the rest of your party? I only got you out.”

“I don’t know... There were four of us...” He looked around, confused. “We couldn’t get into the first lodge, so Amma ordered us to retreat, split up, and make a commotion.”

“Smart. You looked perplexed, Tuaruk. You’re surprised to see me, yeah?” I chuckled. “Thought you were the only one here?”

“I... Yeah,” he admitted and moved his hand again. “Why do I feel so weak? I don’t see any wounds on me... Have we been followed? What’s this barrier?”

“So many questions...” I curled my lips into a grin. “Sleep.”

Regan peeked out from his hiding space.

“He was chatty...”

I stood up and looked at him.

“Will that be enough?”

“Yes, sir.” He looked down at Tuaruk. “I admit, I was close to grabbing my sword, sir. It’s scary to even imagine what you’re capable of with your talent.”

“I suppose it is...”

Regan shook his head and removed the flag. He began to give out orders as soon as the formation disappeared.

“Drag him to the door and watch over him until reinforcements arrive. After that, hand him over with the order to take him to the cells under heavy guard.” Regan looked at the three dead guards. “He’ll be executed.”

“Yes, sir!”

With that, we left as well. This time, Regan went ahead, taking us back by a shorter route.

But before we could make it to the lodge, he clutched the amulet on his chest. His eyes glazed over, his gaze distant, like he was looking inward.

Listening to the voices in the amulet.

After three breaths, he exhaled.

“There’s been an attack. Twelfth floor. Fifth lodge.”

“I have no idea where that is. Lead the way.”

“Back to the second intersection!”

Five breaths later, I was looking up a staircase with annoyance. It was wide enough to let many people through, but it was a very slow climb, and I couldn’t make a single Dash to the top — there was no gap to wedge myself in.

I had to use a lower constellation of the Tread so that Regan wouldn’t fall behind. I didn’t know the way without him now that there was no chain of burning footprints to guide me.

Finally, we were on the twelfth floor.

Regan Dashed to the end of the corridor. I followed, only a breath and a step behind.

We turned the corner...

...into the middle of the fight.

Screams, shouts, blood on the walls, gleaming Appeals.

Five guards, barely on their feet, a pile of corpses.

And a void with seals just waiting for me.

Sleep.

“Stop!” Regan barked.

The technique still managed to escape from the guards’ fingers, just as the steel in their hands managed to complete the blow.

The Decree was thrown back against the wall, onto a dead guard’s body. But the assassin’s amulets held, and the symbols slid to the floor, marking the invisible man.

I looked around quickly.

Dead guard, dead guard, dead guard, dead guard...

Smoldering Decrees.

I stepped toward them, raised my hand, and reminded myself — only with Appeals, only with Appeals.

Shandri wasn't happy to have me back as a Leader. Neither were the other commanders. I didn’t want to think about what would happen to them if word spread among the novices.

And rumors, strange rumors, were bound to appear if I forgot to use the Waters of Itrea without Appeals.

I treated the wounds of a very young novice and looked up again, searching for survivors.

Spotting another set of Decrees, I rushed in their direction.

Regan caught up with me.

“We’re running out of time!”

A hopeless battle suddenly turned into a rescue.

Three. I managed to save three. I doubted that alchemy would have allowed them to live long enough to see a proper healer.

Another two dozen novices under the command of a minister arrived not fifty breaths later, but there was no healer among them.

While I fought for the lives of the novices, Regan had managed to remove the amulets from the assassin.

Leaving the survivors to the minister, I walked over to him. My heart trembled. For a moment, I thought I saw Taori, Miriot’s right hand, lying in front of me.

Thank the Heavens, it wasn’t her.

A little older, maybe in her mid-forties. Similar features, though hers were more oval, but nothing else. It was just my imagination. Probably also because of the scar across her cheek, very similar to Miriot’s. She reminded me of him, and then of Taori.

I tore my gaze away from her face and raised it higher. To the Decrees. I stared intently, trying not to miss anything.

There were so many of them. Dozens of old, fulfilled contracts drifted away, unfurling like the black banner of the Hundred Murders.

The woman had a lot of blood on her hands. Not a hundred, like my ghost, but close enough. Both of them killed on someone else’s orders...

Two breaths and the first of her active Decrees was mine.

I read it to Regan:

“I, Amma, swear on my life to take the Shadow Guild’s secrets to my grave.”

Same as Tuaruk’s.

I drew energy from the symbols and moved on to the next Decrees.

“I, Amma, vow to train ten candidates in the year three hundred and seventy-three.”

Regan exhaled.

“A Shadow mentor. Son of...”

He cut himself off, but his glance at the dead novices spoke for itself. No wonder she was so skilled in the art of killing.

“I, Amma, swear on my life to fulfill the task of Rognam’s Eye in the lands of the Order of the Heavenly Sword.”

“A Beast who kills for money,” someone’s angry, gnarled voice said with hatred.

I looked at the novice. He didn’t even look in our direction, his trembling hands adjusting the clothes of his dead comrade, to make him look dignified even in death.

I turned away and opened the next Decree. They were on her like fleas on a jackal.

“I, Amma, swear on my life that I will not act against my master Rognam in word or deed. I swear that I will kill myself, but I will not fall into the hands of his enemies or betray his secrets.”

“This Rognam didn’t trust her very much,” Regan said.

“Your names are spelled with almost identical characters... Does that have something to do with your personality?”

Regan held back his comment and exhaled.

“I’m not very trusting, sir, because my position demands it. What Rognam was hoping for with this assassin is unclear. Sooner or later, she would have outgrown this contract.”

“Even if it was imparted by a Leader?”

Regan just shrugged.

“She seems the strongest of the three. A peak Master. She still has time to break through to the next stage. I’m willing to bet my paycheck that she has the necessary artifacts or the money for it.”

I just nodded in agreement and unfolded the next row of symbols.

A full-fledged Decree. No oaths, no “I.” Just the bare conditions laid down by a strong Master of Decrees.

“Loyalty, Obedience, Honesty,” I explained. “It’s not a contract, but a direct Decree from a Master. Not all of it is written in ancient symbols. Honestly, it’s a bit pompous. What a waste of effort.”

“What does that mean?”

I waved my hand.

“That the Master who put it in place was weak? That his training was incomplete? That he liked to show off to his clients and himself? I don’t know. Let’s keep looking.”

“There’s more? What a mess.” Regan sighed, glancing at the novices. “Could she breathe without her master’s permission? My grandfather told me this kind of thing made him run away from Dark Hollow.”

I noted the familiar name. It was a small world we lived in. This Circle was as big as a village.

“The Order of the Singing Swords seems closer to these lands. Why not them?”

Regan looked at me.

“You know the Circle well,” he replied without waiting for me to answer. “The Swords don’t have the best reputation. They’re a very strict Order. If I were my grandfather, I would’ve avoided them like the plague as well.”

I nodded. I should know about their severity. Their Master’s punishment for transgressions was very impressive — being a Leader, he infused a bit of his energy into everyone he gave his Decree to, and a unique combination of conditions made the transgressor suffer not only pain but also elemental poison. I could do that now as well. I just didn’t want to.

The last row of symbols unfolded, telling me once again that this was a full-fledged Decree.

“Limitation of Ascension. Master of Spiritual Power. Ten stars.”

Regan chuckled.

“You were right, sir. A perfect servant who would never be free of your influence.”

I froze, connecting the strange Decree and the name.

Chapter 21

Disbelieving myself and my instincts, I moved forward as if compelled, my eyes gliding over a series of gray, long-faded seals.

This was where it all began, wasn’t it?

I, Amma, promise to work for the merchant Griven for five years, in payment for my brother’s care and taxes in the Second Circle.

I looked at the blazing scarlet lines, swelling like freshly watered flowers.

I had seen them before.

I had never asked Kirt about his sister, I didn’t really care to pry into his private affairs. But what came out of him in the face of death, the moment I defeated him, the moment he knelt before me — those painful words were etched in my memory.

They were orphans, and his sister had contracted a debt so that he would have enough time to Ascend.

“Is something wrong?” Regan asked.

“Everything is wrong,” I grunted through clenched teeth. “What will happen to the assassins?”

Regan shrugged.

“I don’t know.” Seeing in my eyes that I didn’t like his answer, he hurried to elaborate. “Shadowhunters always choose death over imprisonment, but since you’ve given us the chance... They’ll be jailed and interrogated until they tell us all we need to know. With their Ascension level, they’ll last... Well, not long. A year, maybe two... Three, if the Heavens show mercy on them.”

“I see,” I managed to squeeze out as I stared at Amma.

What a meeting.

Debt distribution...

I shook my head.

I had to be sure.

“Set up your barrier, Regan.”

“Yes, sir.”

While he fussed with that, I outlined the seal of the new Decree. Ascension Limitation: Temperer, third star. Immobility. Truth...

I, Amma, will not try to end my life...

“Wake up,” I said as gently as possible, more so that our captive’s sudden awakening wouldn’t come as a surprise to Regan.

With a sharp gasp, Amma opened her eyes. She took a convulsive breath, gazed at Regan and me, closed her eyes tightly again, and...

“Can’t access your meridians? Your life energy disobeying you?”

Amma opened her eyes wide.

“What did you do?!” She swallowed, submitting to the pressure of the Decree without realizing it. “What did you do...?”

“What I had to. You’re no longer pressured by any of the contracts and Decrees.”

I wasn’t lying. In the instant before Sleep ended, I absorbed the energy from all the stolen contracts and Decrees, causing them to decay and burn out, joining the cloud of equally gray and dimly executed seals.

Amma blinked several times, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“It’s too late for regrets when you have the blood of so many on your hands,” Regan snorted. “You had a choice. You made it.”

“Only those who shouldered the weight of a debt can speak of such a thing. Would you like to test your will and strength, Regan?” I retorted sharply.

I felt his surprised and barbed look on my back.

“Why are you standing up for her?”

I turned around, locking eyes with him.

“I was a slave once. I gritted my teeth so hard I ground them to powder, but I still did what I was told. I can blame her, you can’t.”

Regan held my gaze and shook his head slowly.

“Forced contracts and Decrees are no excuse for crimes against the Order.”

I turned back to Amma, my gaze and voice softening as I spoke to her.

“I’m going to give you a name and I want you to tell me what it means to you. Kirt.”

Amma flinched, then swallowed. She was silent under the throbbing Truth.

“Answer me, your life depends on it. Who is Kirt to you?”

“Brother.”

She fell silent, having breathed out that short answer. I was silent too, still feeling Regan’s hard gaze on me.

My next step was clear.

I couldn’t leave her here. I didn’t know where I’d find her after a few thousand breaths. I didn’t know what’d happen to her here without me. Regan’s promises of imprisonment and interrogation were one thing, but the Order’s members who lost their comrades were another. For some of them, hatred might be stronger than duty. For others, hatred may be the only true fulfillment of duty, true service to the Order. Some may see drawing the sword and striking it as defending the Order.

One of the symbols disappeared from my Decree.

“Rise, Amma. Regan, remove your barrier and lead me back to the commanders.”

“But—”

“That’s an order,” I spat out, then nudged Amma. “You, follow us. Wait. Where’s her Bag? Give it to me.”

Clutching it in my hand, I sent a wave of energy into it, breaking the binding. Amma didn’t even flinch, though she must have felt the pain.

I took a quick look at the Bag’s contents. It was cheap, of small capacity, unsuitable for a Master of ten stars, but good enough for an unloved and valued servant.

A few potion bottles, a handful of spirit stones, a few artifacts, many weapons, and some clothing.

“Don’t make any sudden moves, murderer,” Regan hissed.

I looked away from the Bag.

“She’s a Temperer now,” I informed him.

“It makes no difference to me.”

Shrugging, I threw a bundle of cloth to the rising Amma.

“Change your clothes and clean up. We don’t want to lead her through the arena covered in blood, do we?” I remarked, noticing the way Regan’s lips tightened.

Regan glanced at me, then at Amma, changing in front of us without the slightest shame, shook his head, and plucked the flag from the slabs as soon as she was dressed. As always, there was no trace of it on the ground. The technique reminded me of Support, only performed by a Master Artificer.

Admiring the nonsense my brain was capable of conjuring, I followed Regan. There was no need to turn around to check on Amma. With my new powers, I could see every crease in her new gray robe, every feature of her masked face, as if I were standing in front of her and looking into it.

Two servants stood outside the commanders’ lodge again. Regan didn’t even regard them, but our appearance was met with eight questioning glances.

Shandri stood up with a frown.

“Have all the killers been caught?”

I couldn’t help chuckling.

“You don’t seem happy that I’m back so soon.”

Shandri looked over his shoulder.

“I don’t think you’ll enjoy watching this,” he said.

I walked over to him and looked out at the arena.

No one was fighting there, the rings were empty.

A moment later, a voice rumbled over it, explaining what was going on as if on cue for those who had missed it all.

“The qualification round has come to an end. However, something tells me you all knew the outcome from the moment you stepped foot into the Order’s humble arena. So I’ll be brief — all factions except the Order and the Disir clan have been eliminated from the competition. This is the first time this has ever happened in a Sword tournament. Frankly speaking, the performance of these factions was so pathetic that even the judges had a hard time deciding who to award the third place to.”

The crowd was shouting, screaming, yelling, but not in the way they had previously supported the Order. It’d take a lot of effort to make out anything in that polyphonic cacophony.

I didn’t even try. I only noticed that the flags of the losing factions had been taken down. Had their supporters hidden them in shame?

Down below, the participants stood on two platforms, under a silver jian on black and a purple plum blossom on green.

The difference in numbers was even more striking now.

“I had to count their pitiful victories and even more pitiful losses so that...”

I ignored the rest of the commentator’s words. I only noticed that he wasn’t shy in his expressions. I doubted we’d be loved by our neighbors after this tournament, but I didn’t care. You couldn’t do dirty business without getting some muck on yourself.

“You worry about too many things at once, Shandri,” Iover muttered. “And a lot of it for nothing. Your apprentice is no longer a boy and will get over the fact that he can’t participate in another fight without a chance to win.”

He was right, except for a few things.

“What makes you think, honorable master, that I wouldn’t tip the scales to our side? Me, Vilikor, Gilai, Iraya, Tochtal... We’d only have to face twenty opponents each.”

“Thirty each, you mean?” he snorted.

I looked over the parapet at the oval arena. I shrugged.

“Not much of a difference.”

Iover laughed.

“I like you, boy. I can’t wait for you to become a commander and start taking over. Hopefully, you’ll be assigned to me.”

Olma wagged her finger at him.

“Keep your grubby little hands off him. What makes you think your roads need him anymore? Right now, the most important thing for us is the Limits.”

“Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Iover laughed with doubled strength. “Olma, who would ever doubt that you won’t forget to take care of dear Shui?”

“So you have no objections?”

“Shui has enough talented generals. He can handle it.”

“What’s that got to do with it? It’s different, the generals. You think they’re involved in...”

Shandri slapped the parapet with his palm.

“Enough! You’re like children. What makes you think his Ascension is more important than his talent? He’d be much more useful here, in the capital, at the Academy, among the guards or interrogators.”

Listening to all this, I remembered Aledo and intervened in the conversation.

“What you’re saying is that I’m destined for a high position?”

Shandri sighed.

“You know you are, Rimilo.”

His thoughts, however, were quite different.

“You must realize that the Sentinels don’t really belong to themselves. Much less do you belong to us. I doubt that you’ll be in this Circle for much longer. Once the tournament ends, your Viost or Klatir will contact you.”

Klatir was unlikely, his punishment hadn’t expired yet, leaving him stranded in the First Circle. If his worst assumptions came true, he’d be thrown all the way down to Zero, a place with almost no heavenly energy.

But my future had already been mentioned. Aloud. Before the other commanders.

I’d make use of it.

“Maybe I can get a reward now on account of my future merits?” I repeated Aledo’s words with a grin.

“What?”

Under the commanders’ attentive gazes, I banished the stupid smile from my face and pointed with my hand.

“This is the Shadow Guild’s third-best assassin. Her contracts and Decrees forced her to follow her elders’ orders. An indentured servant, no more, not responsible for the crimes she committed.”

“You can’t be serious,” Regan scoffed.

I ignored him.

“I ask that she be released from her punishment and entrusted into my care.”

Iover raised an eyebrow.

“Would an indentured servant change one master for another?”

“She’s a servant no longer. I’ve removed her Decrees and don’t plan to impose new ones.”

“How can you be sure that she won’t continue killing or act against the Order?”

“A simple oath of allegiance would solve that problem,” Hoso suggested.

“What makes you so sure of that? It’s a good thing that Gist isn’t here to hear you! Dishonorable as it is, we often turn a blind eye to the petty crimes our members commit, but she’s not one of us. Furthermore, she’s not a petty thief but a murderer!” Iover pointed his finger at Amma. “No! It’s not going to happen. I’m willing to bet anything that she’s wanted in many lands and factions. For all we know, the Garoys might be after her as well.”

“I’d love to be a thorn in their side...”

“No! What good would that do us? This is a violation of our rules, the Order’s code! She killed our people today, not a bunch of Garoys!”

Regan chuckled, adding fuel to the fire.

“She’s also a mentor at the Shadow Guild.”

Iover threw up his hands in disbelief.

“Great! Just great! Why don’t we just tell everyone we’re employing Shadows now? Their assassins, that is.”

“You’ve made your point, brother.” Hoso waved his hand dismissively. “What do you suggest then? How else would you ensure her loyalty? What other options do we have? Death? Prison? The mines? You’d deny Rimilo his reward?”

Everyone fell silent. Truly silent. I couldn’t hear their thoughts.

I turned around and looked at Amma, the cause of the discord among the commanders.

My eyes widened in surprise as she got down to her knees.

“If you’d bring me to him, I’d agree to be your servant. Just let me see him and my life will be yours for you to do with as you see fit. I’ll accept any Decree and serve you faithfully, or I will die if you wish me to redeem myself with my life before your Order.”

“Oh, what a touching speech. Shall we see the Heavens weep with you, girl?” Iover mocked her, looking up at the sky. “Seems not.”

I nodded to Amma and looked back at the commanders.

“Since there are no objections about my reward...”

“Oh, there are plenty!” Iover countered but fell silent when Shandri shot him a glare.

Annoyed, he threw his hands up again and turned around so quickly that the hem of his robes flapped as he walked away to the edge of the ledge, pretending to be interested in the fight that was about to occur in the arena.

Shandri glanced over the railing as well, but not down, at the fighters, but at the opposite lodge, holding the important guests and the magister.

“We attract too much attention to ourselves. I can feel Bolain’s gaze on my neck.”

“I doubt he knows the hired hands by sight,” Olma said. “Truth wouldn’t get much out of him. Clever. Dodging responsibility through ignorance.”

“It’s the same as always. He’s an experienced bastard.”

Hoso sighed.

“Iover’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. Her face might be on the wanted posters.”

“It is, along with a handsome bounty,” Amma confirmed. “However, those posters are based on stingy descriptions. I can barely recognize myself on them.” She ran her finger over her cheek. “And they always forget this.”

“Since there are no objections,” I repeated, passing my gaze over Shandri, Iover’s back, and the rest of the commanders, “I’ll take responsibility for her actions. I’ll pay the dead guards’ families—”

Iover whirled around.

“You insolent whelp! Do you think the Order’s nothing more than its insignia? A pretty picture on a flag? The Order will take care of those who died defending it! You can stick your—”

“Iover!”

“Iover, Iover, Iover, Iover!” He waved his hand in annoyance. “What now? Are you going to tell me I’m in the wrong again? Well, Shandri? Your little pet project might have brought us many benefits, but you all seem to forget that he’s not from this Circle. That he’s been with us for only two years, half of which he spent wandering Heavens know where. How many checks has he passed? Two? Three?”

Shandri shook his head.

“I didn’t count nor shall I. In the City of a Thousand Levels, he passed more than any current commander. All of whom, might I add, serve the Order without Decrees.”

Iover snorted with contempt, curving his lips into a grin.

I bowed deeply.

“Commander Iover, I admit that I haven’t lived in the Order for long, but I studied with those whose parents and grandparents had served it faithfully. I admit that I make mistakes and even offend the Order’s supporters. But rest assured that I don’t do this out of malice. I have no desire to offend or humiliate the Order of the Heavenly Sword. I’m sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.”

Iover chuckled.

“Why are you wasting your breath on apologies? Shandri’s already given you permission to do as you please.” He waved me away. “Go on. Indulge your whims. Just remember that you’re adding to the Order’s problems with your childish behavior. I hope you don’t run away when the time comes to own up to your mistakes.”

“I won’t. You have my word.”

“A whole lot that’s worth...” He scoffed. “And stop bowing to me so low. There’s only one star between us. It’s sickening to see a twenty-year-old Leader grovel before you.”

“As you wish, Brother Iover.”

“Hah!”

Hoso stepped up to Iover and smacked his back.

“Why are you grimacing, brother? Does your back ache again? You’re younger than me, aren’t you?”

Iover straightened up and glared at him

“Oh, take your attitude elsewhere, Hoso.”

I allowed myself a smile as the quarreling in our lodge died down to make room for the announcer’s voice below, who explained the subtleties of the fight to the audience. He was at the top of his game, slandering some upstart from Sharp Peaks.

“You worry for nothing,” I said, filling the silence between the announcer’s words. “I’ll make sure there’s no trouble.”

With that, I took out a new mask from the Bag — Simar Saul’s, which I never sold to Fatya — and handed it to Amma.

“Put it on. Place your fingers on—”

“I know how to use it,” she interrupted me.

Ten breaths later, a completely different woman with coarse, ugly features, but without any scars, was looking at me.

“Another stranger in our midst. It’d be a good idea to start charging the new students an entrance fee.”

I met the gaze of Sillus, the Commander of the Guild of Professions, and smiled.

“This is the last one. I have no more masks.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Sillus...” Shandri sighed tiredly.

“I shan’t say a word more.”

I stepped to the edge of the lodge, disappointed to find that I was too late. Tochtal had already left, replaced by another senior student. I remembered his face from the City of a Thousand Levels, but not his name. The loud and talkative announcer reminded me of it, but I wasn’t really interested in his fight.

Meanwhile, Tochtal returned to his friends, stood next to Vilikor, bowed his head, and said something to her. She nodded and answered briefly, but they were too far away even for my Leader ears to hear.

But I could make out the whispering nearby, ten paces away. Regan was talking to Iover.

“I don’t like this. She’s standing behind you, wearing clothes I haven’t searched. What if she’s hiding an artifact capable of hurting a Leader? As the head of the guard, you should understand my concern. The blood of the Order’s servants hasn’t even had a chance to dry on her hands, and she’s already—”

“She’s a Temperer now,” I said. “Are you afraid of a Temperer?”

Shandri looked in my direction.

“The atmosphere isn’t the friendliest, I’ll admit. I find myself squinting behind my back and listening to my Combat Meditation. It’s distracting. Perhaps we should move your new, ah, acquaintance elsewhere?”

“Where? I can keep an eye on her here. I don’t have to worry about what she might do or what might happen to her. When the tournament is over, I’ll find—”

“She’s a problem now.”

I narrowed my eyes and almost spoke up in irritation, making our conversation public.

“Is your desire to remove me from the arena so great? What in jair’s ass are you hiding?”

Shandri raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You should choose your words carefully, Rimilo-Legard. The fact that you use Zero’s swear words doesn’t make them sound any nicer. I don’t want you to leave the arena. Over there.” Shandri pointed down and to the right. “The Order’s stands. The seats of the outer disciples. Which one does the former assassin want? Or is she looking for one of her subordinates?”

I stepped closer, shifted my gaze to where Shandri was pointing, and squinted, forcing the distant figures closer. It took me ten breaths to find Kirt and Gaval, and only one breath to bow to Shandri.

“I apologize.”

He waved me away.

“It’s alright. Regan, issue them two pass tokens and give them the password.”

“Two? You too?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“Yes. Do I have to make it clear that this is an order?”

Regan averted his eyes.

“No, sir.”

No sooner had I taken the two roundels from his hands and listened to his heated whispers than Shandri waved his hand wearily.

“Go already.”

Chapter 22

I marched out of the lodge, gesturing for Amma to follow me, away from the agitated and silent arguments of the commanders.

Outside, I turned to the left guard.

“Show me the way to the stands of the outer disciples of the Order.”

He nodded and stepped forward.

“Yes, sir.”

Amma interrupted him.

“I know the way.” She met my gaze and bowed her head. “Master, let your servant serve you.”

It was a common habit to talk about yourself as if you were another person. Very helpful if you wanted to deceive a Decree or simply ease its pain.

The guard looked at Amma suspiciously. I understood him; the clothes were the same, but the face was different.

I waved my hand, returned the guard to his post, and nodded to Amma.

“Lead the way.”

We passed a dozen lodges and three sentry posts before coming to a wide, curving gallery that seemed to encircle the entire arena.

Amma slowed her pace, came up beside me, and swallowed hard.

“What is it?” I asked, noticing her hesitation.

“Master, are we going to see him? My brother?”

I couldn’t help but notice that we were lucky that he and Gaval had come to see the tournament. If Kirt hadn’t been here, or if I had taken Amma some place where she wouldn’t be annoying Regan, I would have had to disappoint her.

“It’s your lucky day, Amma. He’s come to see the tournament.”

“Master, may I ask you for a favor?” she begged in a broken voice.

Realizing that she was waiting for my permission, I nodded.

“Master, I have a different face now, can you not tell him who I am right away? Let me look at my brother first. Please.”

I frowned, trying to understand the essence of her request. I hadn’t forgotten who was in front of me, and I wasn’t entirely sure that she, though freed from the Decrees and contracts, wouldn’t continue to follow the orders she had received from the Eye, whoever it was. Who knew what had bound her to the Eye for years? She left her brother and became a servant when she was still a young girl. Who had she become over the years, what kind of person was she now?

What would this request give her? A chance to find out who Kirt was? But then she’d have to take off the mask, and he’d recognize her anyway. Or not.

I looked at her.

“For years, you’ve been a servant, passing from one master to another. You took orders you didn’t like, powerless to oppose them. Finally, you became an assassin. Did you enjoy that kind of life?”

“Master, no one can enjoy that kind of life.”

I chuckled.

“I’m pretty good at using words to deceive Decrees, having been an indentured servant myself, in case you didn’t hear my confession. But I’ve removed your Decrees and contracts. What are you trying to cheat? Or who? Me?”

Amma turned pale and lowered her gaze.

“No. Not you, master.”

She’d better not, because she had my Truth over her and I wanted a straight answer.

“Did you like this life?”

“No,” she replied, still not looking up. “I did not.”

“Do you realize I saved your life? If I hadn’t freed you, you would’ve killed yourself to keep your master’s secrets.”

“I thank you, master.”

“Do you realize that it’s only through my intercession that you remain free and alive in the heart of the Order whose members you killed in cold blood?”

“I understand, master. I’ve already told you that I’ll serve you faithfully for the chance to see my brother or give my life in exchange for those taken, if you so wish. But why are you so concerned? You are a Master of Decrees, sir. I cannot betray you.”

“I serve the Order of my own free will, without Decrees or contracts. Didn’t you hear that? Or do you not believe me?”

Amma raised her head and looked me straight in the eye for the first time since we started talking. I didn’t know what she saw or if she believed me, but she breathed out in relief.

“Thank you, master.”

With her experience, she could easily check if there were Decrees over her.

Motioning for her to follow me, I continued down the hallway. I wouldn’t be able to watch the fights at all as they’d be over before I was done running around the place.

“There’s something else you should know. Both you and Kirt had very unusual Decrees imposed on you by a powerful Master serving some faction. They limited your Ascension, perhaps from childhood. I suspect that you—”

“What?! We couldn’t Ascend?”

I looked at her.

“You didn’t know, did you? That should explain some of the oddities in your lives. Were you born in the Second or the First Circle?”

“Neither,” she confessed after a moment’s hesitation. “We are from the Fifth.”

I chuckled.

“I knew it.”

Kirt couldn’t answer my question; he only remembered the Second. He and Amma were orphaned when he was seven. At ten, he was left all alone. Amma was ten years older than him, so she remembered and knew more. It seemed that my assumption that the limitation was to prevent them from leaving the Second and returning home was correct.

“There was a restriction on Kirt that prevented him from Ascending above the eighth Warrior star,” I told her.

“Eighth Warrior star,” Amma repeated after me in a daze.

She fell silent, staggering and clenching her fists. This limitation seemed to have told her a lot. She had probably stumbled across it once, just like Kirt.

“Most likely, your master discovered yours and used it for his own purposes. He only changed it slightly, allowing you to break through the imposed barrier, but making sure you never escaped from his grasp.”

“By the Heavens... Everything he told me...”

Her pale, tight lips spoke for themselves. What could be easier than to bind someone to you with such a favor? If you were struggling to pay the Circle tax for yourself and then someone came along and solved your problem, gave you a unique potion for Ascension, you’d follow them everywhere.

...was that what happened to Kirt?

Was he so loyal to me because I helped him Ascend for the first time in years?

Sighing, I amended Amma’s Decree and told her the truth.

“The restriction now holding you back is nothing more than a temporary safety measure. Though perhaps it’s too harsh... As a Temperer, Kirt could crush you in his embrace.”

Amma blushed with embarrassment.

“Master.”

I snorted.

“You left him as a ten-year-old boy, and now he’s in his thirties and my best fighter. So...” I paused, deciding how to fix this. “I guess Warrior would do...”

“Thank you for your concern, master. I understand why my brother serves you.”

I chuckled.

“It’s a long story, let him tell you.”

Their reunion was delayed again, and this time it was my fault. As a steward, I’d attract too much attention looking around the stands, so Amma brought a servant over. An Academy servant nonetheless, who for some reason didn’t participate in the fights. When asked about it, he explained that the arena was only for Swords or those good enough not to disgrace the Order in the tournament.

Today, however, no matter how well you did, it wouldn’t be enough. If the Order said they were the tenth, the Disirians would claim they were the ninth. With ten factions backing them up, who’d dare to argue with them?

Their best and strongest had gathered under the plum banner. For tonight, they were all Disirians. And four pairs of fists were always better than one. But repeating this truth over and over again didn’t make it any less bitter.

The only guards on this floor stood at the stairs connecting the arena levels. The token I had received and the password were enough for them. If Amma’s colleagues decided to massacre ordinary Warriors and Order Masters, no one would’ve stopped them. Except they weren’t important enough to warrant an assassination attempt.

I pushed the last door open and was immediately bombarded by the screams of thousands of people.

“Come on! Get him! Come on! For the glory of the Order! Hold the technique, hold it!”

“As I’ve been saying,” the announcer bellowed, “this match was a foregone conclusion from the start. The winner is Tochtal!”

I almost hit the wall. I missed his fight again?!

Chewing my lips in annoyance, I looked around.

This wasn’t the commanders’ lodge. If there were plenty of empty seats there, there was a shortage of them here — the outer disciples were even standing in the aisles. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to have a family reunion here in front of so many people.

As soon as I walked in, everyone in the stands bowed to me, or rather, to my robe and rank in the Order. Kirt and Gaval were no exception.

I beckoned them over.

“Follow me.”

“Yes, sir,” they answered without a moment’s hesitation, but I noticed the quick glances they exchanged.

I stopped just outside the door, in the narrow corridor that led to the circular gallery on this level. I looked at the two, at Amma standing against the wall with her eyes on her brother, swaying back and forth, deciding what to do, and then put my fingers to my temples and changed my face.

No one would leave the stands after us. Not when there were more interesting things going on in the arena.

Gaval gasped in disbelief.

“Sir? You’ve returned?”

Kirt fixed me with an attentive look.

“Sir, forgive me, but your face alone is not enough. How did we first meet?”

I looked at Amma and shrugged.

“I was on my knees and you were standing behind me holding a sword to my neck. You promised to slit my throat if I flinched again, and I longed to see your face so I could find and kill you later. But the Heavens wouldn’t allow it, so I just burned your name into my memory to not forget it.”

He bowed.

“Forgive me, sir, I—”

I cut him off with a laugh.

“Forget it. It’s all in the past.”

Gaval stepped forward as if to cover Kirt.

“Sir, we are glad to see you. We had faith in you, sir, but we didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“You still talk in turns.” I chuckled. “It’s a silly habit, but I find it endearing.”

Gaval looked away embarrassed, letting Kirt continue.

“Sir. The day we parted ways, we led the other students to Sword Mountain and then went to see young lady Reika. We’ve been by her side ever since, making sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

Glad as I was to hear that everything was fine — and that Reika wasn’t in trouble — that wasn’t why I came here.

“I didn’t doubt you,” I admitted. “I haven’t been the best leader and I’ve promised you a lot without keeping my promises, but the Heavens have given me a chance to make it up to you.” I looked at Amma. “I have brought someone.”

Amma placed her fingers on her temples and covered her face with her palm. All that was visible was the roughly defined line of her chin, which trembled before our eyes, transforming and revealing itself as a mask.

It took her two extra breaths to make up her mind and lower her hand, revealing her true face.

Both Gaval and Kirt greeted her calmly, not surprised in the least. There was nothing in Kirt’s eyes, not a flicker of recognition.

Amma’s lips shuddered.

“One face isn’t enough, is it, little rat? We’ve changed so much. You’ve grown into such a handsome man...”

Kirt gasped and stepped forward, extending a trembling hand.

“Amma...? Amma, is that really you...?”

She nodded and cried, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Like a whirlwind, Kirt flew over to her, holding her in his arms and shielding her from our view with his broad back.

I stared at the smoldering Decree over Amma’s head for a breath, then whispered to Gaval:

“Let’s give them some privacy.”

Even my suspicions and desire to double-check everything had a limit. But caution and the habit of hiding didn’t. So Atria and Gaval returned to the stands. All the seats were empty as all the outer disciples were huddled around the railing, shouting with glee.

“I’m going to miss the whole tournament...” I sighed.

At that, Gaval stepped forward and pushed the spectators aside to make room for me.

I joined him at the railing. This lodge was much lower than the commanders’, but still higher than the ones accommodating Temperers and Warriors. There wasn’t much to see though — with Tochtal’s victory, it was time for Hahpet to show what he was capable of. I hadn’t expected him to be so popular with the outer disciples: they were tearing their throats out for him.

“Come on! Come on, Hahpet! Show him who’s boss!”

“Supposing that Aletra and Aledo Saul were here, would they recognize you and Kirt?” I asked Gaval as I pondered all my unexpected encounters on my way back to the Academy.

He showed no surprise at the sudden question, thought for a moment, and shook his head.

“I doubt it. Domar kept business and family separate, they were worlds apart, and he wouldn’t let them mix. I was so often in the woods that I never saw his wife or children. As for Kirt...” He shrugged. “I doubt it. Do you remember anyone from the manor? Especially people you didn’t interact with daily?”

I nodded, not asking any more questions or explaining my unusual interest in his past.

Forgetting all about the Sauls and Ash Tree, Gaval leaned over the railing and pointed his finger to the left and up.

“There’s Reika.”

I turned my head immediately. Indeed. Judging by the robes, it was one of the student lodges — everyone sported gold stripes on their sleeves and lapels. Reika was still wearing the same gray novice robe. She was thinner around the waist than she had been a year ago. Didn’t they feed her at school? Strands of green in her black hair, the same simple and cheap ring on the finger of her right hand...

She was arguing with her classmates, waving her hands. I could strain and try to hear, but I didn’t see the point.

“We arrived just in time,” Gaval said. “For their final exam, they were to fight the Disirians on the border. As soon as we heard, we declared that we were guards of the young mistress and would only obey her. Most of the time, we just followed her from a distance, interfering only when she was in peril, pretending we were outsiders who just happened to be there. But then her mentors got tired of this and decided to make use of our outer disciple tokens and appointed Reika as our party leader.”

I looked at Gaval in surprise.

Reika... A party leader?

“Now there’s a thought...”

Gaval understood my look.

“The young lady listened to our advice, especially since we had more experience patrolling the roads. We did very well, I must say. In the last month of the Wild Times, the school had four such parties, assembled from outer disciples. We were usually sent where the Disirians were expected to outnumber the weaker Masters and Warriors.”

As it turned out, Reika contributed as much to the Wild Times as I did.

So much about being just a healer...

I looked at her again with a satisfied smile. She had been paying attention to my lessons after all. I could complain, resent her for putting herself at risk, but I wouldn’t. I hadn’t had much time to train her, so I made her walk through danger — through the Battlefield’s estates, relying only on her Combat Meditation — so was it any wonder that she continued to do so as she grew stronger? And what did it matter that she used the Disirians as training dummies instead of ancient golems?

As long as people like Ketot didn’t get in her way, she’d be fine. And it was precisely because of those like him that I asked Kirt and Gaval to keep an eye on her. They’d give her time to escape or a chance to win.

I looked around. Outside the door, my Decrees were still shining softly and calmly. Amma was there, and so was Kirt. I could even hear their voices, but there was no need to eavesdrop. So I turned away, allowing them their privacy.

Just then, a Disirian finally entered the ring. Or rather, one of those who stood under their flag today.

“Beasts,” someone uttered under their breath.

Gaval sighed beside me.

“We had a good run...”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged.

“Four fists are better than one. Previously, we were up against their weakest fighters, those who had been deliberately left behind under their true banners. All they had to do was force us to use up our energy, which they did. Perhaps only Vilikor and Gilai conserved their strength and tried to finish their fights quickly, using as little energy as possible.”

The closest outer disciple, a bearded Master with perhaps two stars, grimaced.

“Gaval, a little more respect for the Order and its talents, alright? They’re your seniors in Ascension. You should address them as such.”

Gaval chuckled.

“Why bother when they can’t hear me? As soon as they come up here, I’ll be sure to give them the respect they’re due.”

The look the bearded man gave him was more than telling.

I chuckled as well.

“Brother, we should be more relaxed among our own. I don’t think there’s a single person in this lodge who isn’t loyal to the Order.”

The bearded man frowned but finished the conversation with a short nod.

“Glory to the Order.”

“Its greatness is also your pride,” I said, deciding to flatter him a little.

A smile appeared on Gaval’s lips, but it faded quickly, giving way to a sigh as he nodded at the battle below.

“Hahpet is doing well, but he has less experience and talent, so he uses more energy. Some, on the other hand, fight as if this is the only fight they’ll have today.”

He was right. Hahpet received blows that could have been avoided, dodged instead of striking, and chased his opponent instead of waiting, wasting his energy.

Gaval shook his head.

“And they’re yet to face the actual strong opponents.”

“Are the fights not drawn randomly?” I asked.

“No. There used to be a draw. People found it fun. Now that only the first place is contested, the order is determined by the participants themselves. Even though the outcome is obvious...”

“So what?” Beardface butted in. “We need to get rid of as many of those lying bastards as possible. Fleeing under the Disirian banner... Disgraceful.”

Gaval nodded.

“Their strategy is disgustingly simple. They’ll use meatshields to exhaust our best fighters, and then they’ll send in theirs. We’ll have gotten rid of all the non-Disirians, allowing only the true Disir blood to remain under the banner. Win-win for them. Truly deplorable.”

I shifted my gaze from the arena, where Hahpet managed to knock his opponent out of the ring, to the crowd waiting for their turn under the plum blossom.

“Samum... You’ve once called me your brother. Will you help the Disirians win? Or have you come here for me? Will you not fight unless I show myself? You didn’t come halfway across the Circle to take orders from others, did you?”

“Hah! Look at Hahpet go! He did great after all,” Gaval exclaimed.

The bearded man looked at us again.

“You really ought to show them the respect they’re due.”

“What do they, the great talents of the Order, care about the respect of an outer disciple?”

“Were you not just talking about loyalty?”

“What’s one have to do with the other? My loyalty is to the Order, not its individual members. I am loyal to the cause.” Gaval and the bearded man stared at each other as if they wanted to go knives out. “Like all of us, Hahpet is a man made of flesh and blood. We all err and make mistakes.”

“As if someone like you knows anything about that!”

“Stop shouting, Jalat. I could hear you in the hallway.” Kirt’s voice rang out. “Can I not leave you and Gaval alone for five minutes?”

I turned around. He was back with Amma, holding her hand tightly. She was wearing the mask again, which had coarsened and altered her features.

Gaval smiled at them both and waved them away.

“You worry too much. The first cup of wine will wash away all these feigned resentments.”

Jalat rolled his eyes.

“It’s only going to worsen them. Especially with you here to encourage him.”

Kirt and Gaval looked at each other and grinned. They could say whatever they wanted in my presence. I wasn’t some unknown servant, but someone connected to them with more serious secrets than referring to tournament participants with disrespect.

I didn’t know how Kirt was going to answer Jalat this time as an incredibly loud voice boomed across the arena again.

A young, sonorous voice.

“Magister! I, Reika, a graduate of the School of the Heavenly Sword, make a request on behalf of all my fellow students!”

I looked out of the lodge. There she was, facing the magister. To her right and left, a man and a woman froze, with Appeals burning in front of them, helping her be heard across the arena.

“Only the destruction of the Academy and the Wild Times prevented us from taking the Academy exams and becoming its disciples. Otherwise, we’d be standing in this arena right now, defending the name and glory of the Order of the Heavenly Sword!”

I hid my face in my hands. Who did she learn this from? Even if she had gotten in, she would have been nothing more than a freshman. She wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the Academy, let alone defend the Order in a tournament. It was beyond them, yesterday’s Warriors and students.

But that didn’t seem to discourage her.

“We won’t just sit and watch those who should have been our fellow students fighting for the Order. We ask your permission to enter the arena and prove to the Disirians that we, the younger generation of the Order of the Heavenly Sword, are ready to meet their fists with our own today and tomorrow!”

Having said all she had to say, Reika froze, looking across half the arena at the magister’s lodge and waiting for his decision.

Chapter 23

“Do you think he’ll allow it?” Kirt asked quietly.

I shook my head.

“I doubt it. You know her Ascension level better than I do. Is there any point in her participation? Do you think she has what it takes to compete with the Disirians and their ‘talents’?”

Kirt repeated my gesture.

“No.”

Gaval, however, disagreed with him.

“She does. She won’t fight their best, but she doesn’t have to. If we increase the number of our participants, we’ll give our best a chance to rest and save their strength for the important battles. That’ll win us more victories.”

Jalat opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Horit’s voice.

“Young Reika, I’m proud that the Order’s schools graduate such worthy and brave novices every year. But your participation won’t change anything today. You can see for yourself how the Disirians have prepared themselves...”

Reika interrupted him.

“Then let us prepare the Order in the same manner! If the Disirians can pile worthless stone on the scales, so can we!”

Jalat choked on his words. Kirt laughed.

“Interrupting the magister. I wonder who she learned that from... And this talk about scales. Familiar, isn’t it, young master?”

I looked away, embarrassed. She didn’t learn that from me. Not all of it, at least. Kirt didn’t see her in Battlefield. She had been insolent from the beginning, even when she discovered my Ascension level and the number of my secrets. Her, Fatya, Aledo... Were all women like that or was it just my luck?

I didn’t know what Horit intended to tell her as someone else intervened in the conversation.

Bolain.

“The girl is right.” His voice was full of concern and cordiality, as if he was worried about his own daughter. “If she should stand in this arena, she should be given a chance to prove herself. One more Order member, ten more, what difference does it make to us? Send all of your students and novices, let them have their fun, so that no one can say that we won and got the City of a Thousand Levels just because we brought twice as many people.”

“I’m against it.”

“I’m for it. If she’s brave enough to let her voice echo across the arena, she’s strong enough to decide for herself." Bolain’s voice suddenly changed, growing harsh and cold. “But let her remember that the fist has no eyes and that the sword is blind. Anything can happen in the arena.”

The hint was more than clear, heard not only by the spectators but also by the tournament participants and the Disirians.

I looked over the railing again, searching for Reika. As luck would have it, she was blocked from my view by the students standing next to me. It took me a few moments to catch a glimpse of her head.

“I forbid you! Don’t you dare go out there!” I shouted, hoping my thoughts would reach her.

She shuddered, tucked her head into her shoulders for a moment, and then jumped up and answered loudly. Either to me or to Bolain.

“Do you think I’ll go back on my word and let my juniors and seniors call me a coward? May the Heavens strike me where I stand if I turn around and run now!”

She stepped onto the fence and jumped down into the arena, under the Order’s flag. Six more followed her. After a few breaths, two more people darted in from somewhere on the other side of the arena.

Gaval sighed.

“She has a lot of nerve. If the magister really wanted to keep her from leaving, he would have sent her a direct order. She wouldn’t have dared to disobey.”

I looked at Gaval. That was exactly what she had just done. She had disobeyed an order, not from Horit, his old voice not to be confused with my young one, but from a Leader. Was she allowed to do whatever she wanted in the school?

“It’s a shame that most graduates are scattered across the lands, fulfilling their missions. The young miss told me about that,” Gaval added, looking at me.

I pushed his words aside, looked at Reika again, and reached out once more.

“I used to feel sorry for you, but now I’d gladly take a belt and whip you into obedience! Is this how you show respect to your brother?”

She shuddered again, turned pale, and looked around, searching for the source of the voice in her head.

“Look among the outer disciples. I’m between Kirt and Gaval.”

Our eyes met. Reika blinked suspiciously at my new face but then flashed a broad smile of joy.

It was almost funny how I could eavesdrop on Leaders, but I couldn’t hear what a Master of Spiritual Power was trying to tell me.

Then again, maybe it was a good thing that I couldn’t. Something told me that Reika had so many things to tell me right now.

I tilted my head a little and asked in a low voice:

“Did she know that I was missing?”

“Of course, sir. We wouldn’t dare hide something like that from her. And our silent return would have raised too many questions.”

Down below, in the heart of the arena, the bustle subsided as another competitor entered the ring.

Ah, Reika...

The arena rings were bigger than the school’s. Fifty paces wide on each side and visibly marked with colored stones, they were reserved for battle-hardened Leaders, not novice Warriors. Such fighters would feel cramped in the school rings.

The other purpose of these stones was to outline the formation that protected the spectators and other participants from the fighters’ techniques. I had seen the faint blue film melt in the path of a stray technique, taking on the destructive power of the blow, and then resume its shape.

Reika’s opponent was some guy in yellow-and-gray.

They stood on opposite sides of the ring, clutching their swords and waiting for the signal. Then the gong sounded, and they leaped at each other and collided. A quick exchange of blows and techniques followed, and then, in one breath, the Star Blade shone, piercing the boy’s shoulder.

The technique faded and Reika took a step back, drawing her sword aside. Two breaths later, the gong sounded belatedly, ending the already won duel.

The boy collapsed to his knees, clutching at the blood gushing from his wound.

Amma snorted with scorn. Kirt nodded as if to echo her thoughts.

“A weakling, unused to real combat. They sent him to test the young miss.”

“What a great battle!” the commentator bellowed. “What a change we are witnessing in our schools. A very hard, fast, uncompromising fighting style. I’m not afraid to say that we’re seeing the first appearance of the Academy’s new star. I don’t know what her nickname will be yet, but I can already tell that she’ll be worthy of it. Let us salute the winner! Reika!”

“Reika! Rei-ka! Rei-ka!”

Gaval, Kirt, Jalat, and the rest of the outer disciples roared along with everyone else. But I was silent, staring down at the arena. Not at Reika, but at Samum, who never took his eyes off her. He recognized her. Of course he did.

I sent a thought to Kirt that made him jump, turn to me, and stare in disbelief.

“I leave your sister to you. Soon, she’ll regain her powers and make a leap in her Ascension. Perhaps she’ll become a Leader one day. Still, you’ll be responsible for her, despite her power. She has killed many in the past, she has killed many today. I’ve promised that she won’t harm anyone from the Order again. You will make sure that promise is kept.”

Kirt bowed as soon as he came to his senses.

“It’ll be done, sir.”

I shifted my gaze to Amma.

“You’ll stay here with Kirt.”

She blinked and tilted her head.

“I swore to be your shadow, I cannot leave you.”

I curled my lips.

“I don’t remember hearing that. I remember that you said you’d be my servant. That you’d belong to me and serve me faithfully. That you’d give your life without complaint to atone for your sins if I wanted you to. And what do you do? You receive my first command and immediately decide to disobey it? Is this the price of your promise?”

Amma fell to her knees, her head bowed.

“Forgive me, master.”

I chuckled.

“I hope you understand.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

I threw her Bag to Kirt, accompanied by a thought.

“Her things are there. Keep them with you for now.”

As I stepped away in a hurry, I heard Jalat’s whisper behind me.

“I don’t get it. Why do you call him your master? What’s going on here? Everyone’s staring at us. Get up. Get up, you silly woman. People are gonna start talking about you and your master.”

Stumbling, I barely resisted the urge to turn around.

“Kirt, I hope for your own good that she won’t make a mistake and make me regret freeing her.”

Chapter 24

A servant exited the outer disciple lodge and a trustee made his way to the commanders’ box. I was glad I saw no one on my way back; otherwise, rumors would’ve spread about another killer sneaking through the passages, changing faces and robes on the move.

The guards bowed in greeting but I rushed past without even looking at them.

“Where is she?” Regan hissed in greeting.

“What difference does it make to you?” I retorted, not in the mood to talk.

“She trains and commands assassins! Not to mention that she hasn’t been interrogated! Who else am I to ask about the Shadow Guild’s plans? Where is she?”

I glared at him.

“Forgetting your place again, are you, junior?”

“Drop it, Regan. You have more important business to take care of right now,” Shandri said.

“Yes, sir,” he replied to him and turned to me. But his voice and gaze weren’t nearly as friendly. “Sorry, senior.”

With that, he slipped out of the lodge.

“And what do you make of all of this?” I snapped at Shandri as the doors closed behind Regan, unable to contain my anger any longer.

“Of what? Regan’s behavior?”

“This!” I pointed down at the announcer praising the new participants’ courage and skills. “Even Reika got to fight! Am I just to sit here and watch?”

“Yes.”

“Yes? What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re to sit here and watch.”

I swallowed the insult that wanted to come out of my mouth and forced myself to take a deep breath.

“Did you want to show off how strong you are?” Iover sneered. “Impress a rising star? She is a cute girl, I won’t lie...”

I grimaced.

“She’s my sister. She knows damn well what I’m capable of.”

“Sister?” Iover raised his eyebrows and looked at Shandri. “What else don’t we know about your student? Did he come here with his entire family?”

“The point is that I’m here. Reasonable and restrained,” I said, cutting him off. “You told me not to enter the arena, and I didn’t, though I’m burning with the desire to stand shoulder to shoulder with my fellow students. But Reika isn’t just a student to me. She’s down there now, alone, without me, and I want to know why. I demand to know.”

“And if you don’t like the explanation? Hm?” Iover mocked me. “Will you jump into the arena to protect her?”

“I will, brother.”

Iover shook his head and sighed.

“You still want him to see your Shui? You think they’ll be friends?” he asked Olma. “He’s either going to probe his mind or snap his neck. Shandri seems to be the only one who can stand him.”

“You’re just not used to people with character,” Olma scoffed. “No, you like it when everyone does what you tell them. ‘Yes, sir. No, sir. As you wish, sir.’ Makes you feel important, doesn’t it?”

Ignoring their bickering and the hidden smiles of the other commanders, I turned to Shandri, my gaze demanding.

“Senior.”

He sighed and patted the empty chair next to him.

“Sit down.”

With some hesitation, I did as I was told.

Down in the arena, Reika’s classmate claimed another victory for the Order. Under the Disirian flag, they finished discussing the new participant.

“When will the Disirians raise the stakes?” the commentator bellowed, seeing another borrowed fighter enter the arena. “Or are they not interested in the City of a Thousand Levels anymore?”

I chuckled to myself. They would continue to underestimate us until we defeated their weakest members, after which they’d apologize and return home, pretending the tournament never happened.

Yeah, right.

All of a sudden, another voice rang out. It wasn’t until now that I realized there were two commentators and that the second one was clearly not from the Order.

“Show our hand now and ruin the surprise? We’re not here just to win the tournament but also to show what we’re capable of. Let your juniors demonstrate their knowledge of techniques and the elegance of swordplay!”

Shandri sighed and turned to me with an explanation, distracting me from what was happening in the arena.

“If I let you fight, will you fight to win, or will you let them carry you out of the ring after the third fight?”

“I’m going to win.”

“In that case, sooner or later, you’re going to face an opponent that’ll make you show a little more than you’re comfortable with.”

“So?”

“So it’s going to happen again and again and again until you face Ketot. What will you do then? Will you give in?” He pushed me harder when he didn’t get an answer. “Will you let him get away with what he did to Berek?”

“No,” I hissed through clenched teeth.

“And then the Disirians will know that we have young Leaders. We’ve been fighting for a long time to get our due. Being one of the ten strongest factions comes with its responsibilities.”

It suddenly dawned on me. I looked around. There were eight commanders but many more chairs.

“Is this about the problems with the City of a Thousand Levels?”

“Not only that, but you get the gist of it. The tax is based on the number of lands, the Leaders, mines, and other things that give us resources. Ancient cities are also taken into account. Today, we have a chance to get rid of a thorn, a dangerous, poison-spiked thron, and drop it on Disirians. Let them tax it and send their geniuses into that insatiable abyss. We just need to convince them that they took the prize by force, that we’re not happy about it, that we fought hard in the tournament and are angry about the loss. That’s why your sister’s little display of loyalty works in our favor.”

I shuddered. What if I had given Shandri and Horit false hope? What if Izard had come to his senses and would no longer interfere with the fate of the city’s visitors? What if the Disirians could walk into the Trade Pavilion, stock up on ancient alchemy, and walk out with the haul unscathed?

We could run to the City and shout at the gates, denouncing Izard and his undertakings, shouting that he didn’t succeed and never would. In short, to enrage him so he’d go mad again and take out his anger on anyone who entered his city.

“No, that’s stupid...”

“Long story short, we don’t need to win. This defeat is our chance to poison the Disirians. And if they’re so eager to drink the poison themselves, who are we to stop them? Do you finally understand?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“I do. What was that about the young Leaders?”

“Must I explain myself?” I looked at Shandri again and he gave in. “We have accumulated tax debts. Some commanders would like to declare themselves taxed, but we can’t reduce the number of Leaders as long as the feud with the Disirians continues.”

“And it’ll last forever unless someone does something about it.”

“I won’t deny that it used to be convenient and necessary. Now it brings us more problems, but we have to live with what we have. The Disirians also see that our commanders aren’t in a hurry to step aside for their apprentices, but they tell everyone that this is because there are fewer and fewer talents in the Order.”

“Aren’t they right though?”

Shandri shrugged.

“The year you came, there weren’t many students, I don’t deny that, but we keep a record of all the students for the entire time the Order has existed in these lands. The number of talents and outstanding individuals differs from year to year, but there have been times when things were much worse and the Academy didn’t produce any geniuses for years. It’s all blind chance and luck. The problem is that since we lost the City, we’ve been depleting our reserve of ancient potions. Unfortunately, this means that those with the potential to become great couldn’t get the tools they needed to do so.”

“Then we’re on equal footing with the Disirians. They didn’t have that support to begin with.”

Shandri chuckled.

“Are you for the Order or the Disirians? Or for justice, as always?”

His rebuke made my cheeks flush a bright red.

“I apologize.”

He waved me away.

“Debts. They also know of our debts. More to the point, Tola’s attack came at an unfortunate time. As I said, the Sentinels seem to oversee different factions, and the Disirians took advantage of the timing, for our lands were watched over by someone who didn’t care that the Order had come from the Fourth Circle to teach those who’d fight the cultists.”

I closed my eyes for a few moments.

And then it hit me.

“Did he really want to bring a Calamity upon us?”

Shandri pressed his lips together and nodded.

“We too are divided within the Order. Many, like myself, didn’t accept Horit’s decision, believing it’d be better to endure a day or two of the Calamity and fulfill our duty by fighting the cultists, rather than slowly and painfully go through the Wild Times. But Horit was unwilling to risk the lives of the common people and promised to pay double tax.”

I remembered the double tax. Vaguely, but still. Shandri had told me about it before.

“If he promised it, you might as well pay it, right?”

“Not this year. We won’t be able to pay the regular tax this year. We already received a warning from the Sentinels.”

“Why?”

“Time. We get another twenty-five years before the next big Leader tax. A month after the tax is due, we’ll help Vilikor, Gilai, Tochtal, and other hidden talents, our personal apprentices, to become Leaders. We’ll train them to take our places, strengthening the Order while the Disirians are weakened by the loss of four Leaders. And in twenty-five years, at the time of the next tax, we will finally pay off all our debts.”

“How?”

“What we don’t have, we’ll make up for with old blood. The older commanders will leave through taxation. They’ll give up their ranks and positions and pass them on to their successors.”

I shook my head.

“Too naive. A quarter-century plan? Anything can go wrong in that time. Like the City of a Thousand Levels or the Gorge,” I reminded him. “You might not live to see the next tax payment, much like Hoso. Iover will be gone. Olma. Probably her Shui as well. Sillus isn’t strong enough for it just yet. Or do you want to waste precious potions on him?”

Shandri nodded.

“I waste potions on him, yes. Though not precious ones, but expensive and quite affordable alchemy available to the Order that’ll give him strength in exchange for his years. And yes, Sillus knows about it and is willing.”

I rubbed my forehead, trying to put this crazy plan together.

“As soon as a Leader appears in this arena, Bolain will use his summoning artifact and declare that the Order has something to tax this year. And then it’ll be too late for any of the commanders to resign.”

“I understand.”

Shandri slapped the armrest of his chair.

“No, you don’t. Not yet. Let’s talk about you. You’re on the Sentinels’ honor roll. You can and should be trained. You should be helped. You can be used in their plans, but to brazenly hand you over as tax, to send you to an Outer Battlefield? Heavens protect us from such folly. You must go to the Third Gate and declare that you have become a Leader and wish to Ascend to leave the prison Circles of your own free will, not as tax. Heavens forbid I should interfere with the plans of your Sentinel friends. The Order will miss the Wild Times and tax arrears should I do so.”

“They’re not that cruel, and they’re not that worried about me. I almost died several times and they never punished anyone for it.”

“You’re too naive, Legard. I should know what I can do with a Shen from Zero, a Master of Decrees, and what I shouldn’t even think about. And even if I suddenly decide to end your stay in our Circle and summon a Sentinel, how can I be sure that he or she will belong to the faction that has custody of you? What if someone who shouldn’t have found out about you does? The Order will be punished by two Sentinel factions. Do you think we’ll be able to survive that?”

“You’re overreacting,” I muttered.

“The fate of the Saul family tells me that you’re turning a blind eye to the obvious. For what crime did the Sentinels open the portals on Saul territory? Would they have opened them if a similar crime had been committed against any other Walker from the First?”

I pressed my lips together.

“Yes.”

Shandri’s response didn’t surprise me.

“No! In any other case, a Sentinel would have appeared before one of the Garoys, expressed his dissatisfaction about the rumors that had reached him, and that would have been it. The Garoys would have sent someone to investigate the matter. The unfortunate man would have been released, compensated for his trouble, and the Sauls would’ve been publicly condemned for abuse of power and violation of law. Perhaps banished.”

“Just banished?”

Shandri thought for a moment and nodded.

“Too light a punishment. You’re right. They’d probably be crippled and kicked out of the First. Well, the ones you wouldn’t have had time to kill by then.”

I sighed, trying to think of the right way to say it, but could I really say it in one breath?

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that story again, especially out loud. The girl I brought with me is a Saul and she doesn’t know my true identity.”

Shandri looked at me carefully for a few breaths and then slowly shook his head.

“Maybe I am overreacting? What good are a few Sentinels out there when the Heavens themselves are watching over you here?”

I was embarrassed. Embarrassed, even though I had thought about it many times myself. I was embarrassed even though I was the brother of a Heavenly Whisperer, and I regarded the Heavens with suspicion.

I looked away from Shandri and stared at the arena where the Order was displaying its next fighters.

Gilai entered the ring this time.

The official waited for the roaring to die down and proceeded with an enthusiastic announcement, as if the outcome of today’s fights wasn’t already known:

“We are once again offering the Disirians to raise the stakes. In the ring is the Academy’s rising star, Gilai, nicknamed Punishing Flame because of his element and fighting style. Let’s hear it for him!”

This time, I parsed the words being shouted.

“Flame! Flame! Gilai!”

The crowd under the Disirian banner had finished whispering, and a tall, thin man stepped forward.

The commentator immediately began to explain who we saw before us. Or rather, to mock the Disirians once again.

“Another ‘Disirian,’ entering the arena under the banner of the Weeping Falls. He stands out only slightly from the rest. He combines the path of battle and the path of craft, using formations to fight. Apart from him, there’s only one other participant that wields this mastery.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

“I’d commend his bravery for facing the Order famous for its formations if we had someone who used them. It’s funny that we haven’t had a Master of Formations who studied at the Sword Pavilion in thirty years. I had only heard of such a thing from my mentor, who remembered the days when elder Sillus fought in the tournament.”

I glanced at Sillus, sitting five feet from me. A commander in a golden robe, with the yellow stripes of the Guild of Professions.

He turned his head, met my gaze, and smiled broadly.

“That was a long, long time ago.”

I looked away. But at least now I understood why Sillus agreed to leave the Guild after twenty-five years. He’d studied at the Sword Pavilion, fought, gotten used to risking his life, and was willing to trade his position of a commander in the Second Circle for the life of a lowly wimp in the Third, if his master so demanded it. A worthy upholder of the traditions of the Order of the Heavenly Sword.

“Artifact rank check!”

In three breaths, the orb in the attendant’s hands shone with soothing blue light, showing the audience that both contestants had passed the test.

The attendant took a step back, moving out of the protective formation.

Gilai struck across, splitting the wall between him and his opponent with scarlet strokes.

“Breaking through with brute force,” Sillus snorted. “It’s always the Swords who don’t like to think and learn.”

I nodded and made a note of that. Luckily for me, I wielded a sword. What I had in abundance was strength.

Meanwhile, Gilai’s opponent tried to fight back, flailing around the ring, his flags bursting with fire and ice, standing in Gilai’s way with walls of stone and air, showering him with techniques.

But it was all in vain.

Thirty breaths later, the ring was splattered with blood. A cry of surrender sounded, and a moment later the gong struck, ending the match. Gilai froze, hiding his swords, waiting for his groaning, chest-beating opponent to be led out of the ring before leaving himself. He stopped next to Vilikor and whispered something to her. She nodded, and Gilai stepped behind his comrades, assuming a familiar pose with his arms outstretched. That was the price of winning quickly and destroying formations through brute force.

“This is why I can’t stand artificers,” Iover grunted. “You spend a year filling your Bags with junk, and when the time comes to empty them, you fumble taking them out. You’re quick and nimble, I’ll give you that, but the moment your defense is broken, you come crashing down like a felled tree.”

“Talking out of your ass again.” Sillus grimaced as he looked at Iover. “Do you know how much it costs to order a formation at your own expense instead of getting it from the Order’s stocks?”

“Oh, like that shmuck bought everything for the tournament himself. He got every last piece of wood and every last core from his faction.”

Sillus laughed.

“And used it all in one battle.”

Olma joined his laughter.

“That’ll hit them right in the budget.”

“Why are you so happy?”

“I’m trying to calculate how much it’ll cost them to ‘buy’ the City. It’s expensive. It warms the cockles of my heart.”

“We used it to train our talents,” Iover muttered and glanced at Shandri. “So I’ve been told. But the Disirians can do things differently, like he did.” He pointed at me. “Only easier. They’ll pump three dozen ‘keys’ with alchemy, give them fifty weaklings each, and send them on a field trip. If even one of them comes back with ancient potions, they’ll get their money's worth. One is bound to come back if they split up.”

“There’s only one right way,” Shandri disagreed. “And it’s heavily guarded.”

Iover waved him away.

“You know what I mean, Shandri.”

I pursed my lips, eavesdropping on their conversation. Had I done the right thing, giving Shandri and Horit hope that Izard wouldn’t allow anyone to escape his trials?

I shook my head. I was thinking too highly of myself. Shandri had made it clear that this was a chance to shift this burden onto the Disirians. This plan had been long in the making, years before I even showed up. Yes, I pushed them to make this decision, but I was just the small stone that moved this long-standing avalanche.

I questioned my actions, the commanders doubted, and Horit hesitated. None of us could see the future; we could only hope that we were doing the right thing.

For example, that I was doing the right thing by continuing to sit here. Why did I come back? Perhaps to find Regan and persuade him to escort me to Horit? Or maybe to get close to the fights, pretend to be a novice, and help clean up the arena after the fights...? Would it be unfair to use my talent to win a victory for the Order? Would it be unfair to go undercover?

Should I go down? Hide in the open?

Shandri grabbed my hand and shook his head.

“Don’t. Stay here. It’s already been decided. This humiliation will be our victory in the future.”

I looked up at him, my eyes narrowed in doubt.

“Provided Izard doesn’t come to his senses and becomes more social...”

“Then the Disirians will have two choices. Send talents to try to pass the Sentinel test or send wimps to empty the vaults. Do you think Izard will let a bunch of cocky youths become Sentinels and reap their rewards? To become Shens?”

I hesitated as I imagined the spirit in front of me. With his flawless face, his hair fluttering in the invisible wind, his multicolored eyes burning red and blue with contempt. I heard his voice again.

“There will be a trial, however. For you and your path, little Sentinel. Survive and kill as many cultists as you can and perhaps we will meet again.”

I shook my head. No. No way. Izard waited for us to come to him, to prove ourselves, not the other way around. Letting dozens of people become Shens year after year? Even I, who had killed hundreds of cultists, deserved only a short conversation with him. Even I didn’t gain the right to be tested by Maors’s Sentinels.

“No. He wouldn’t let the Disirians pass the test.”

Shandri nodded, a smile playing on his lips.

“Considering what you had to do to pique his interest, what he demanded of the other students...”

“The second option it is then. The one Iover mentioned.”

Shandri frowned and nodded solemnly.

“Five groups are already on their way to the City. They’ll meet the Disirians on the first floors as they try to return with the loot from the Alchemy Pavilion.”

I went cold and grabbed his arm.

“Meet them there? What do you mean?”

Shandri answered with an icy look.

“You’re not a child who just started his journey and doesn’t understand anything about our world, are you? They’ll meet in battle. The last test to see if they’re worthy of this once glorious city.”

Hundreds of thoughts and snippets of conversations raced through my mind. Didn’t Miriot tell me something about how Mirage ended up being a matter of a factional dispute?

I didn’t remember, but it didn’t matter.

I tightened my fingers around Shandri’s arm.

“It’s forbidden by the rules—”

“To help. Yes,” he cut me off. “To interfere? No. The more obstacles, the better. The factions base the defense of their ancient cities on keeping outsiders out.”

“Yes, but...”

“I’m sure Izard will be happy that the imperial vermin are tearing each other’s throats out.”

“And what if he doesn’t like your little joke?”

“Didn’t you tell me and Xilim how you were going to fight the Wolves right after you entered Mirage? Why didn’t that thought stop you then?”

“I felt I had no choice.”

“The Order certainly has no choice now. The Disir clan can have the City. We’ll just make sure to lodge the bone deep in their greedy throats so they can choke on their gluttony.”

“But they aren’t stupid either. They could send their strongest to the City first.”

“The Order has many volunteers. Just because they’re not in the arena today doesn’t mean they’re not willing to die for the cause.” Shandri waved his free hand, the silk of his robe gleaming in the sun. “Enough, Legard. It’s been decided. Our people have long since left Sword City and are heading for the Thousand Levels, the future keys have already received the potions. They’ll guard it for ten years.”

I let go of his hand. So that’s what he and Horit were discussing while I was away, chasing the assassins.

“I wish you had let me use my talent. Killing Bolain or making him your subordinate is much better than sending fifty people to prison for ten years, better than making them risk their lives. You said yourself that Izard prevented only those who went to the Alchemy Pavilion from returning. Do you really think he’ll let them just sit there for ten years? Do you think he’ll let them return home?”

“Legard, calm down. Use common sense. Should you bother a Sentinel about a petty quarrel over a patch of forest? No. You call a Sentinel over a serious matter like faction collusion. If the Sentinels wanted all the factions in this Circle to obey the Garoys, wouldn’t they have created some kind of loyalty oath, so that no faction would dare to think of being independent?”

I gritted my teeth as I realized what Shandri was talking about. That the Sentinels wanted the faction leaders to be free to do anything they wanted, except for that which was forbidden by the tricolor Decrees. That the Sentinels wouldn’t tolerate anyone but them governing the factions. Otherwise, someone would have poured all their resources into a single Master of Decrees and begun to subjugate the surrounding factions, quickly gaining power.

I had heard of and encountered Decree-warding amulets. I could break them, but more often than not, their destruction was noticed.

There were holes in Shandri’s words. I didn’t know if there were such amulets on the important guests, I didn’t see them very often. I could have done things carefully with those who appeared defenseless before me, spoiling the Disirians’ mood. I could have put things back the way they were after the tournament and left no evidence. After all, everyone knew that the Order had no Masters of Decrees.

I hesitated at this reasoning and gave Shandri another angry look. He had announced it today that I was a Master of Decrees. He might have revealed it only to the commanders, but who was to say Regan didn’t inform some of his subordinates? I was indiscreet myself during the pursuit and interrogation, giving any observant witness ample evidence of who I was.

Shandri, apparently sensing from my look that I still disagreed, added sparingly:

“We wield Formation Decrees. Everyone has always suspected that our founder gave us the schematics for such formations, that they even work on Leaders. You won’t find a single Disirian without a protective amulet.”

I pressed my lips together.

Even if I managed to break such an amulet unnoticed, it’d be impossible to play my cards right without voicing my orders. Would they forget the young voice that told them what to do and what to say?

Another mistake. The Sentinels didn’t allow anyone to subordinate faction Leaders through Decrees. I was a Sentinel like Shandri. The only problem was that I belonged to the Empire of the Heavenly Sons. As such, as a Shen, I wasn’t considered their equal. I was nothing more than a powerless novice with many responsibilities but no rights.

Shandri looked at me and nodded.

“Let us turn their triumph and victory into a trap.”

Chapter 25

I clenched my teeth so many times in the last hundred breaths that they were about to crack.

I turned away from Shandri and stared at the ring, biting the inside of my cheek and trying to calm down.

I regretted looking for Shandri to impress him with my appearance. Had I gone looking for Kirt and Gaval, or Reika, or whoever even as a mere spectator, things would have turned out differently.

I would have seen the Disirians pressuring the Order. I would have jumped up like everyone else, ready to lay down my life for the Order, and then I would have walked over to the officials’ lodge without thinking about the prohibitions, the Sentinel threat, the trap laid out for the Disirians, or anything else. An old man would have died. Of old age. Others would have bitten off their tongues. The faction leaders who sided with the Disirians would have shat themselves on the podium in fear.

It would have been fun. Maybe it wouldn’t have ended well, but it wouldn’t have left me plagued by doubt and begging Shandri to let me into the arena.

The thought of it was tantalizing. A little more and this whole mess would become an obstacle to my Ascension. Everyone I cared about was fighting while I looked down on them.

Why did I need to know Shandri and Horit decided to turn the Disirians’ victory into a trap? There was no use for my anger and irritation.

I could hide my power. I could lose if I had to. The Disirians would still win, as Shandri had planned, but I’d be down in the arena fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with my comrades...

I—

I really needed to calm down, find the good in what was happening, and come to terms with the fact that all of this was for the best and that Shandri was right.

But how?

I forced myself to unclench my teeth and exhale slowly.

If I hadn’t shown up here, I wouldn’t have met Regan, and I wouldn’t have been involved in catching the assassins. I wouldn’t have found Amma.

Without me, the assassins wouldn’t have been found so quickly, and Amma would have killed our important guests before the entire arena. She would have caused panic among the common spectators, and anger among the rest.

I was sure she wouldn’t have made it out of the arena alive. No matter how strong she was, no matter how much experience she had, she wouldn’t have survived. Her Eye had sent her to her death.

I would have never seen her Decrees. Kirt wouldn’t have recognized his sister in this life-crushed woman and would have searched for her all his life. One day, he might have learned the truth, traced her entire path, and discovered that his sister had been murdered before his very eyes.

I prevented that. I repaid my debt to one of my loyal men. Wasn’t that worth all the pain of today?

Perhaps not. Perhaps this meeting and this duty weren’t worth the lives of the five troops who were now rushing to the City on Shandri’s and Horit’s orders.

I wished I was strong enough to fulfill my promise to appear before the City and block its entrance. To drop a mountain two or three thousand feet high on it so that it could never be dug out again.

How much power would I need to pull off such a stunt? Would a Lord of the Spirit manage?

Reika stepped into the ring, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I now had a better understanding of what happened in the arena. It was like a game. Not as simple as dice, but a game nonetheless. The sides took turns selecting a competitor and then waiting to see how the other side would react.

You could sacrifice a weak participant or you could expose your strongest player by sweeping your competitor out of the ring and eliminating them from the tournament. You could also send an equal and leave their fate to chance. The problem was that the Disirians were cheaters and had more figures on the board.

“All right, Legard, calm down...”

The Order must lose. The City must be relinquished, as the Order hadn’t benefited from it in the last twenty years, nor would it in the foreseeable future. They wouldn’t risk sending new students like Reika to the City.

Izard coming to his senses... What was I thinking?

It was impossible to negotiate with a psychopath. He was too strong. You could either say no and be kicked out of the City to one of the Outer Battlefields or to the Lands of Itrea to fight the cultists until you died.

Or you could agree with him on everything and create a new faction for him that could match any organization in the Second Circle in strength. The Dark One was doing a pretty good job of that, trying to come up with a new alchemical recipe to create Leaders from his loyal followers...

I looked over at Reika as she briefly greeted her opponent, but I couldn’t see much of her or the Disirian.

Who could claim that the Disirians wouldn’t strike a deal with Izard? Who could say that their talents wouldn’t agree to form another faction, some dark Disir clan, and use Izard’s knowledge and resources to increase their influence?

It wasn’t impossible...

I turned to Shandri to tell him this when another thought occurred to me.

Who could claim they’d be able to reach Izard in the first place?

I had seen bodies in the City that could only belong to the Disirians. Even Gilai couldn’t get his group to their destination, they ran into a blocked road and couldn’t think of anything smarter than to smash straight through. The Disirians did the same, breaking through the web wall.

Even my map, the most detailed one in existence, tested in practice by previous generations of Academy students, failed me again and again, finally leading me to a dead end.

The dead end that Izard’s mind had created while rebuilding his city.

No one but a Sentinel with their map, possibly from the city itself, would be able to reach not only the Trial Hall but even the Trade Pavilion.

Yes.

No.

Would they?

I barely resisted the temptation to bang my head against the pillars surrounding the lodge. By the Heavens, fighting was so much easier. In battle, it was kill or be killed. All these thoughts were giving me a headache and I couldn’t even tell which one was right!

The Disirians didn’t have to reach Izard. All they had to do was cut down a bush or damage a wall to insult him and seal their fate — endless fighting until they were all dead.

But what if some of them turned back, like I did?

Then Izard would summon them to his abode. Evaluate them, choose a talent worthy of his offer, and talk to them.

I was back where I started — would the Disirians refuse his offer?

Aaah!

Screw the Disirians!

I shook my head, trying to get all these thoughts, speculations, doubts, and worries out.

I couldn’t, didn’t want to, and wouldn’t think about it anymore.

I forced myself to look at the ring.

Reika was fast and relentless. She pushed her opponent back, crowding him, all the while preserving her strength.

Good girl.

Her opponent was her equal, also wielding the imperial sword. The jians collided again and again in a shower of sparks.

The Star Blade slid higher but the Disirian managed to twist his sword at the last moment so the narrow ghostly blade didn’t pierce his shoulder.

A series of quick blows followed.

Reika didn’t use the Star Blade anymore as she couldn’t get in a good position to strike, but every time she blocked her opponent’s blow, the swords spat out a sheaf of sparks.

“Some kind of weapon technique...”

Reika bent backward, letting another blow pass over her, and then a huge green vine burst out of the stone slabs and wrapped itself around the Disirian’s leg. Using the opportunity, she showered him with a dozen swift blows, pelting him with green spikes and ghostly blades.

I thought that was it, victory, but Reika quickly backed up, spun in the air, kicked off with her foot, and skipped away, looping around the ring.

Flowers of fire erupt behind her. She was one step ahead of them.

Her green spikes disappeared, revealing the glow of the defensive technique that saved the Disirian. It disappeared as well, allowing me to see the Terrestrial Appeal.

He was strong...

The Disirian curled his lips and shouted something I couldn’t quite hear here, almost at the top of the arena. The Appeal’s glow seemed to grow even stronger as the fiery blossoms began to bloom in front of Reika as well, forcing her not only to flee but also to dodge.

I curled my lips as well.

“You won’t get her with that. She’s very good at using Combat Meditation, and I trained her to keep an eye on the ancient traps in the Battlefield. You’re wasting your energy, scoundrel.”

But Reika didn’t intend to run around the ring until morning to exhaust her opponent.

One Dash. Two. Three.

Blurred into a shadow, she hopped around the ring, freezing for a split second between the Dashes to throw her green spikes. The Disirian covered himself with his technique and turned his head, trying to keep her in sight, but it was only a ruse.

The Terrestrial Appeal shone in front of Reika. Her jian extended, the steel turning spectral. With a dash, she slashed at the Disirian.

Reika froze with her jian held aside, then lowered it slowly, and turned around.

I chuckled to myself.

Drama queen.

The Disirian still stood, clutching the stump of his right hand with his left. If he had time to add the Veil to his protective amulet, the technique didn’t even notice it.

There was silence for another breath, then the gong struck. I knew what was going on even without reading the rules. A match was stopped either when one of the contestants admitted defeat or when their representative decided they couldn’t go on anymore. The two commentators didn’t count. The representatives stood silently at the edge of the ring’s protective formation, watching the fight.

Would the duel continue?

Reika was good. She used only the first star of the Blade, but she had infused it with her energy and element, as she broke through the Veil and the amulet. She had done it quickly, too, without giving her opponent a chance to think or dodge.

Well done.

The Order’s announcer shouted at the top of his lungs:

“Rei-ka! Rei-ka! Rei-ka!”

The crowd supported him, screaming as long as it took to get the pale Disirian out of the ring and clean the blood from the stones.

“Such swift victories simply require our heroine to have a nickname! But what would it be? The Dashing Shadow? The Shattering Blade? The Phantom Reaper? Single Strike Fairy?”

The stands buzzed, discussing the nicknames and trying them out.

I grimaced. None of them fit.

I didn’t know what Reika’s nickname would be, but it wouldn’t be any of those. I didn't like them. They lacked beauty and grace.

The Disirian commentator wasn’t too happy with them either.

“The Order has no imagination at all!” he said loudly, drowning out his interlocutor’s indignation. “Let’s keep fighting!”

Another Disirian entered the ring. Almost immediately, one of Reika’s fellow students stepped out from under our flag.

They froze opposite each other, waiting to be checked and for the protective formation to be raised.

The gong sounded.

The Disirian met the first blow with his chest and threw his opponent away, clearly using an enhancing technique. After a breath, a wall of spiky vines rose between them. Wood, the same element as Reika. Even the techniques were similar, but his were of much higher quality.

He moved fast, was good with Combat Meditation, and used strong techniques, but that didn’t help him much as his opponent was not only very tricky to fight but also clearly stronger.

After the first bout, he used only one technique — the vines — and he continued to perform it masterfully. They both protected him, covering him with a kind of hollow arbor, and attacked, chasing his opponent all over the ring.

He tried to fight his way closer to the Disirian, to cut through the vine, to slip his technique through the gaps, but nothing worked.

The Disirian was playing, having fun with the guy, letting him flail around in the ring, hoping to win.

Shandri grimaced and shook his head.

“As expected, not good enough. I should have sent Gilai or Vilikor. They could have easily turned the tide of the fight in our favor, but they hadn’t rested enough.”

“Expected?” I repeated. The word stuck out.

Shandri looked away from the ring and the fight for a moment to answer me.

“This tournament is held once every five years. Not every generation gets the chance to participate and fight with all our neighbors at once. Do you really think that the Order, the Academy, and I have been negligent? These may not be peaceful times, but we have spent two weeks studying every possible opponent in all four factions. Your classmates know their elements, favorite techniques, and weapons. Xilim even trained with them, mimicking their fighting styles to the best of his abilities.”

I could only nod. I should have expected something like this. Reika and I stared at every new opponent as if they were strangers while the rest of us knew everything about the Disirians down to the color of their underwear.

If only that’d help them win every fight...

Reika’s classmate dodged one vine only to be hit by the one hiding behind it. He flew aside, clinging to the stone at the very edge of the arena with his blade...

...just to be slammed in the chest by a vine that knocked him out of the ring.

A pity.

“What about Tochtal, Hahpet, and Iraya?”

“Their elements and fighting styles aren’t suited to this opponent. They’d lose a lot of energy in this battle, an unequal exchange. It was better to send one of your sister’s classmates, to make the Disirian use up his strength. The boy did a good job prolonging the fight.”

So he wasn’t just running around for the sake of it, he was stalling? That was clever. I wondered what it was like to go out there knowing you were going to lose. It couldn’t be good for the ego.

“Why not just go in, lose, and be done with it? Especially since everyone already knows that the Order’s gonna lose.”

“You could have put that more nicely,” Hoso hissed.

“What’s the point?” Iover snorted. “Why should he choose his words in front of us? You know what, Shandri? I’m liking this guy more and more. I just might find a place for him in my department.”

Shandri chuckled.

“We’ll see if he has time for you and your ways.”

“I hear disdain in your words, but the roads are the meridians of our lands, and they must be watched, kept—”

“There he goes again,” half the commanders cried out in a friendly, almost unanimous voice.

Shandri shook his head and waved his hand, urging me to return to our conversation and ignore these chatterboxes. At least that was how I understood his expression.

“That’s not a good idea. First of all, we have to show the Disirians and everyone they’ve dragged into this that we’ve given in to their pressure and accepted the new terms of the tournament, but we’re gritting our teeth at every opportunity because we don’t want to lose the ancient city.”

“I see.”

“I don’t think you understand.” Shandri shook his head again and switched to telepathy. “Iraya told us about the bodies you found there, and how you rushed everyone in, suspecting an attack at the very entrance to the City. I’m sure you had good reasons to be afraid. I’m sure you were being watched. For the first time in years, we have proof that we were still sending talented students to the City. What’s more, the Disirians know it too. Here you are now, all alive and stronger than ever.”

A wicked grin appeared on my lips.

“They think that we’re strong because of the City. Let’s not dissuade them.”

“Let them think they’re stealing the best piece of meat off our table,” Shandri replied with the same predatory smile. “Let them think they’re taking something very valuable away from us, something we hold very dear. We’ll capitalize on their confidence.”

I grinned even wider.

“Let them choke on the bones.”

“Let them.”

Chapter 26

Shandri waved his hand and focused on the next fight. I did the same. Nothing interesting. One of the elders whose name I didn’t remember was talking about something. I didn’t write their names in the token, didn’t keep track of them. Maybe I should have. Also, having finished restoring his energy with the Cycle, Gilai was talking to Vilikor, Tochtal, and an unknown man in his forties wearing the robes of an Order guard. Iraya stood next to him in silence, only turning her head to follow the conversation.

“We must conduct the tournament with dignity. It’s not always possible to win, especially this time, but we still must appear strong to our people, the local factions, and the distant neighbors, so that when rumors spread, everyone will know that the Order lost with dignity and fought with all its might.”

“Why is that important?”

“Prestige.” Shandri sighed, seeing that I didn’t really understand, and tried to explain. “The structure of our Order allows us to recruit locals and distant travelers alike. They’re attracted by freedom, opportunity, equality, a minimum number of Decrees, and a strict, clear hierarchy in which they can find their place. Every Order receives an influx of fresh blood from other lands, more than a normal ruling family and much more than the clans. This is also part of our strength. But to keep that flow going, we need to remember the world beyond our lands and our immediate neighbors.”

“I see...”

“In fact,” Shandri drawled, looking at the distant officials’ box, “part of the problem with the Disirians is that our Order’s location is both very good, with many resources, and very bad.”

“Huh?” I asked aloud, taken aback by my confusion.

“You don’t understand?” Shandri turned to me, chuckling as he studied my face.

“Not really...”

“The Order’s lands are in an unfortunate location — we are surrounded by four factions. The Disirians participate in faction tournaments twice in five years because they’re invited by their neighbors. This is also the case with the other three of our neighbors. We are deprived of this opportunity. And so, year after year, we chew our way out of the four factions through Disirian territories to gain more influence and prominence. And to participate in more tournaments so our youth can gain experience.”

I blinked, went over it all once again, and even called up the map from the token so that I could study the Order’s borders.

It was just as Shandri said. The Order was indeed surrounded by four neighbors, just short of the lands of the Winding River.

The Order’s commentator shouted, and I shifted my gaze to the arena.

“What a spectacle, dear guests and members of the Order! All by himself! Tochtal! The rising star of the Academy!”

“Is that why this clown is tearing his throat out?” I asked Shandri once the crowd quieted down.

“He’s older than you and a decent man, so there’s no need to insult him like that. But yes, that’s why he’s trying so hard to make us look good. It’s also because many spectators don’t know the names of the competitors or their abilities. They don’t know where to look during a match or what led to a victory. They’re just ordinary citizens, far removed from the world of the Heavenly Walkers, even if some of them have made it to the Master stage.”

I nodded in understanding, and then, as if he had been waiting for a reason, the Disirian commentator shouted:

“A shooting star more like it!”

“A star nonetheless! Of all your stars, only Ketot is here tonight. Will he rise or fall when he steps into the ring?”

“We shall see once he finds his match, won’t we? Until then, applause for the talent of the Disir clan — Azmur!”

They were shouting much more than before. The excitement was rising both in and outside the ring, it seemed.

Tochtal was calm. He stood with his sword at his hip, waiting to be tested.

His opponent seemed nervous. I could see him biting his lip from time to time. He was also a swordsman with an ordinary jian.

The glow of the protective formation drew a circle, indicating that the battlefield was ready. A gong sounded, signaling the start of the match.

Azmur immediately jumped to his left, dodging a potential blow, but Tochtal only stepped forward and raised his left arm.

What was he trying to do?

Three beats of the gong later, Azmur filled a Terrestrial technique with energy, lighting an Appeal in front of him and releasing scarlet disks that unpleasantly reminded me of the Lands of Itrea.

I even leaned forward and counted them. Nine. An odd number. Imperial technique, not Alliance. I was going crazy. It was bad enough that the Disirians were colluding with their neighbors, but to suspect them of hiring cultists?

I was losing it.

And even if there were ten disks, so what? Auction houses were full of cultist techniques and items.

“I know you can’t use Leader-rank artifacts, but is it possible to use cultist items and techniques?”

Iover turned around in confusion.

“I... I suppose you could...”

“What an eccentric thought! I love it.” Olma chuckled. “It’s possible. One can use medicinal pills so long as they don’t boost combat performance.”

“How about an artifact like the Flag of a Hundred Murders?”

“My, that’d be...” Catching herself, Olma fell silent and shook her head, causing her hair to scatter over her shoulders. “Technically, yes, but it’d be a topic of controversy among everyone. The Disirians wouldn’t like it.”

I nodded.

“I see...”

Not that I cared about what they’d like.

I turned my gaze back to the arena.

Tochtal did better this time. He moved just enough to let his opponent’s technique pass him by. Azmur struck four times, and Tochtal responded once, having already hit him twice, using the same ranged ability each time, something like a narrow blade, barely discernible from this distance.

Tochtal clearly used far less energy than his opponent. The Disirian had no chance of winning. He’d use all his strength in this one fight, yes, but my fellow student would have to enter the ring more than once tonight.

Tochtal needed to finish quickly so that...

It was as if he heard me. His movements became faster, sharper. Now, instead of dodging at the last moment, he lunged forward, threatening with his sword.

Azmur retreated from the first clash immediately, putting distance between them. Tochtal pursued, realizing his mistake, and wounded Azmur in the forearm.

All the spectators saw the blood stain on his yellow robe.

Tochtal didn’t allow him to retreat any further. He drove him to the corner of the ring, to the edge where defeat awaited.

Steel and energy clashed for the third time. Azmur used everything he had, and the flames beneath his feet hid both the combatants from the crowd for a moment.

The whole arena waited with bated breath.

When the dust settled, Tochtal’s face was burned, but Azmur’s entire side was torn apart. Even without the gong, without words of surrender, it was clear that he couldn’t continue the fight.

But the gong struck, and only then did Tochtal lower his sword and take a step back, his free hand covering his face.

There wasn’t a drop of blood on his sword.

“And the winner is Tochtal! He managed to bind his opponent with steel and strike with a left-handed technique. A simple and foolproof combination!”

“So that’s how he did it... Interesting...”

“I can’t deny the obvious. But isn’t the Order getting a little carried away? This is a tournament, not a battlefield, and already two of our members are badly wounded.”

I got a good look at Azmur. Badly wounded? Not really. He was on his feet, the bleeding was minimal, and as far as I could see, his breathing was even, which meant that his lung wasn’t punctured.

“They just like being dramatic, don’t they?”

“Cowardly bastards,” Iover scoffed. “Crying over a shallow gash, are we?”

Shandri lifted himself up in his chair for a moment but immediately collapsed back down with a sigh.

“Bastards... But they’re clever...”

Everyone in the lodge turned to look at him.

Sensing our gazes, Shandri waved us away bitterly.

“Those bastards have been stalling for a reason. Now no one can say they started it first.”

“Started what?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” he cried out in desperation. “How old are you? Is this the first time you’ve been to a tournament?”

“I was wondering why they’re being so sluggish,” Iover hissed. “They really are bastards.”

“Stop talking in riddles!” Olma barked. “Explain!”

“Finally, a worthy answer to our last move!” the Order’s commentator bellowed from below.

“Spectators of the arena, please welcome Ilak!” his Disirian counterpart echoed.

“What riddles?” Iover gestured at the ring. “Look at the grin on that scumbag’s face. He’s already planning how badly he’s going to hurt his opponent.”

Shandri leaned closer to the railing, I heard the thought he sent down to the tournament participants.

“Vilikor! Send her in!”

But he didn’t make it in time. Hahpet had already stepped forward, separating from the formation. One breath, one technique, and he was flying over the stones, already behind the line that marked the defensive dome.

Shandri hit the armrest in frustration.

“You didn’t notice it in time...”

“Sir?”

The voice was unfamiliar to me. But judging by where Shandri was looking and what he was saying, he was talking to the man responsible for sending the competitors into the ring. I would have preferred to see Xilim in his place; he knew the strengths and weaknesses of his students better than anyone else.

Gong.

As usual, both the duelists immediately lunged forward to avoid a possible attack from their opponent, raising their free hands and preparing to use their techniques.

The first clash involved only swords. Hahpet wasn’t foolish enough to reveal his element immediately, but his opponent was a match for him. They exchanged a dozen blows, but neither could find a hole in the other’s defense.

Ilak countered Hahpet’s stone spikes with a sheet of fire that melted the stalagmites and made his opponent jump back. In an instant, the flame split, hanging to the left and right of Ilak, lengthening, thinning, and transforming into crude two-handed daos.

Hahpet craned his neck, kneaded it, and moved leisurely to the left, stepping around Ilak. The latter lowered his free hand, but the Appeal didn’t fade, the flaming swords still hovering beside him.

Hahpet disappeared, reappearing five steps away from where he was, his free hand raised, illuminated by the glow of a Terrestrial Appeal. Another wave of spikes flew at Ilak, and Hahpet disappeared again, drawing a circle around his opponent with quick steps, sending more and more spikes at him.

In vain.

Ilak deflected everything that Hahpet threw at him. The flaming swords came to life as well, sweeping away Hahpet’s techniques.

A clash.

Hahpet crashed into Ilak, swords clashing. The Disirian was thrown three steps back across the stones. Hahpet managed to land another blow before flaming swords rained down on him from left and right.

He didn’t even try to dodge, backing away and answering with a huge stone spike that erupted from the ground.

And missed.

Ilak took a step to the side, away from the danger, and then attacked.

Hahpet retreated again and again, not even trying to block three swords with one. For a while, they raced around the ring, clashing only for a fraction of an instant.

Watching them, I thought Hahpet was confused. But no. He was setting a trap.

Ilak lunged forward to catch up with his opponent, hitting a wall of stone that got in his way. A moment later, a barrage of stone pikes erupted from behind him, trying to impale him on their tips.

Trying to.

Ilak dodged mid-Dash, driving into the wall not with his shoulder but with his feet. It was as if he was standing on it, continuing to attack. The Steel and Fire of his swords smeared the air gray and crimson, creating a defensive veil before him.

All the pikes were destroyed, shattered into pieces.

With a Dash, Ilak flew over the ring, over Hahpet’s stone wall, and spun in the air again.

With a new Dash, he drove himself into Hahpet.

The clash of steel could be heard even here in the commanders’ lodge.

Shards of stone flew from under Hahpet’s feet as Support tried to hold him in place.

But he didn’t just mindlessly allow himself to be hit, he retaliated with a blow of his own.

With his left hand, he struck Ilak with a stone spear. It didn’t survive the collision, shattering into dust, but it pierced Ilak’s Veil. Immediately, he retreated to avoid the impact of the flaming swords.

Only to fall into Ilak’s trap, into the fire.

He burst out of it in a single breath, his short hair even shorter now, and blue robes smoldering. Ilak pushed him back, chasing him, not letting him go. As good as Hahpet was with a sword, he wasn’t Vilikor. Not even close. He couldn’t fight with one sword against three. And he wasn’t Gilai — trying to wield a stone blade in his left hand wouldn’t save him.

He missed a blow, then another, and another. The crowd gasped as he was pierced by Steel and Fire. Ilak twisted the blades, throwing his opponent aside.

Hahpet rolled over the edge of the ring, smearing the ground with blood. The gong sounded belatedly, stopping the fight and preventing Ilak from striking again.

There was silence for a moment, and then the arena rang out with a roar of outrage.

“Victory! Unconditional victory for the Disir clan! The Order’s fighter couldn’t even get up! Poor man, did he not get enough sleep last night? The arena isn’t a place for a nap!”

The shouting got louder. I grimaced as I looked at Hahpet. He hadn’t lost consciousness, but he wasn’t doing well. I knew how he felt, having been burned by Fire myself. With the hole through his chest, he was having a hard time breathing.

“And a tournament isn’t a battlefield,” our commentator retorted. “A little to the left and one of the swords would have struck his heart.”

“A fist is blind, and a sword has no eyes. Besides...” The Disirian’s voice was full of venom. “Didn’t the Order remind us that wounds are commonplace in tournaments? One of our competitors lost an arm, and so another was struck near the heart. An eye for an eye, as they say.”

“What’s the point of this?” Olma asked Shandri. “Why all the injuries? It was nothing more than an accident on our part. Should we respond in kind?”

“It’s to their advantage. Three-quarters of the fighters standing under their flag aren’t their people. So why not add blood? Potions, healer fees, and possibly meridian damage — they would benefit from it all.”

“And the other factions would go along with it?”

“It’s not about them anymore. Or do you think our disciples will hold back now that they don’t have pureblood Disirians in front of them?”

“Why not? They know what discipline is.”

Shandri looked at me and muttered:

“We’ll see.”

Down below, ten Earth Masters cleaned up the arena. It took them literally ten breaths to restore the broken slabs to their original appearance. I hadn’t seen these people before, as the previous battles hadn’t been this fierce.

The Order’s disciples stood closer together, listening to their supervisor and deciding who would enter the ring.

But it was all in vain because Reika had already stepped forward.

Iover looked at me.

“Sister, you say?” he asked snidely. “Didn’t teach her discipline, did you?”

I gritted my teeth. A shallow wound wasn’t dangerous for a healer. Reika could handle it, and I could handle the sight of her getting hurt. But I could stay put in case something went wrong.

Shandri nodded and said quietly:

“A reasonable choice. The Disirians don’t know what she’s capable of. What kind of fighter will they send?”

“It’s Drogan,” Olma informed him.

“I see. That afraid of her, are they? Well, well... He’s from Yellow Rocks. Not much of a talent, but stronger than a graduate.”

I fixed my gaze on this Drogan. Tall, wiry, with long hair streaked with blue. Spearman.

I didn’t like his smug grin.

Iover didn’t either.

“I wonder why he looks so pleased. I assume the Disirians promised them a reward if they won?”

“Surely. They didn’t all go over to their side because they’re friends. But Regan couldn’t find anything. It was probably kept secret from the elders and communicated by telepathy.”

I wrinkled my nose. Regan couldn’t, but I could, if Shandri would let me listen in on the conversations in Horit’s lodge. Though it was unlikely they’d repeat their plan point by point for the sixth time, maybe I’d hear something useful nonetheless.

“Reika! Our rising star!”

“And Drogan! Tonight, he’ll show the Order the might of the spear!”

Drogan’s lips twitched as he said something to Reika. Nothing nice, I was sure.

I could only hope Vilikor would put them all in their place...

Iover leaned toward me.

“What do you think? Can your sister defeat him?”

I snapped out of my thoughts, looked back at the concentrated Reika, at Drogan, who was still talking and smiling, and shrugged.

“Anything could happen. I’ve taught her to fight as best as she can, and this guy obviously doesn’t consider her an equal.”

“She’s not his equal,” Shandri noted. “He is two stars above her. Right, Hoso?”

The man turned around, paused for a few breaths, and then nodded.

“Yes. She’s very good for a second-star Master, but I fear that won’t be enough.”

The gong struck.

I turned away from Shandri and Hoso, stopped listening to them, and focused only on what was happening in the ring.

Unfortunately for Drogan, I was a spearman myself. A damn good one at that. And I had been dueling with Reika for weeks in the Sentinel Training Hall.

His other issue was that he thought that having an advantage in Ascension made victory certain. But I had taught Reika and all the others who followed me to the Battlefield that the number of stars didn’t matter in a real fight.

I also taught them to persevere.

Chapter 27

The gong sounded.

But neither Reika nor Drogan ran around the ring as they had done in their previous fights.

Drogan made a single step forward, casually swinging the spear in front of him, while Reika stayed where she was. Neither of them relied on a quick approach and strike. Reika knew better than to be impatient with such a difference in strength, and Drogan wasn’t going to end things quickly.

Nevertheless, she made the first move.

Twenty steps between them.

Drogan took another step and swung the spear parallel to the ground, slicing the green vines tearing at him from the slabs. The spear blurred in his hands, spinning like a windmill, cutting a path for its master through the rapidly growing green thicket.

Ten steps.

Reika advanced, raising her blade to her chest, the tip pointed at Drogan.

Eight steps.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Drogan turned his next step into a lunge and hurled his spear forward. I could hear the steel cutting through the thick air.

Reika ducked under the blow, letting the blade pass over her shoulder, then reached out for her opponent, leaping across the ground.

Drogan jerked the spear toward him, trying to stab Reika in the back, cutting her with the point and striking her with the shaft, but she was too experienced to fall for such a pathetic trick. Her jian slid along the wood, pushing the spear away, protecting her mistress while aiming at her attacker.

A blow, another one, and then another.

Reika closed the distance as soon as she was let go, making the advantage of the spear’s length useless.

I rose in my chair, grabbing the armrests.

“Push him back!”

Reika couldn’t hear me, but she was doing her best, hitting and hitting and hitting. The jian flashed in her hands, her every step accompanied by the glow of the Star Blade. The thorns and vines continued to dance beneath Drogan’s feet.

But two stars were two stars. Drogan was experienced in battle. Wrapping himself in a blue glow, he shredded the vines that bound him with his Spiritual Protection and closed the distance.

Reika struggled to dodge the onslaught of blows. The spear in Drogan’s hand continued to sting like an angered wasp. He hit Reika’s head, legs, and stomach, never giving her a chance to get close enough to strike. All she could do was fight back and deflect the blows that rained down on her.

“She’s good. Oh, she’s good,” Iover whispered to my left.

And then Drogan made a mistake.

His spear fell a palm further than he could afford. Reika seized the opportunity, taking a step toward him at the same moment. The blue line that fell from the spear’s tip cut the hair above her ear as she wrapped her left arm around the shaft, cut Drogan’s fingers with the jian, and then kicked him in the chest.

The first maneuver was good, but there was little power in it. She barely had time to use anything but the first constellation of the Star Blade, and it didn’t have enough strength to pierce Drogan’s Veil. The second kick, on the other hand, was bad. She was still too weak to take down a stronger opponent with a simple kick. Drogan didn’t even stagger, anchored to the spot with Support, Reika’s ankle seized firmly in his big hand.

A flash.

I couldn’t see it, but Drogan’s Human Technique was enough to break through Reika’s Veil.

A breath and they were five feet apart again.

Unharmed, Drogan grinned at the sight of Reika’s entire pant leg stained with blood.

He said something to her again and lunged forward, forcing Reika to defend herself, bound by the relentless spear.

One breath passed. Two. Three...

The entire arena stood still, hoping to see Drogan make another mistake, hoping that Reika would break through the veil of stinging steel.

But their hopes were in vain.

This time, it was Reika who made the mistake.

The spear swept the jian out of the way and pierced Reika’s shoulder.

They froze. Drogan grinned and said something as he pushed Reika onto his spear, making her stand on tiptoe to ease the pain in her shattered collarbone.

And there it was again, Drogan’s mistake. Maybe he wanted to show off, maybe he wanted Reika to surrender, maybe he thought he had already won...

Only Reika didn’t think so.

In the Gorge, I saw a Mantis impale my classmate Zora on its bladed paw. She was in pain, unable to hear my advice and orders to push herself off the claw. Reika didn’t need any advice or orders today. I had taught her all she needed to know to survive even in this situation.

Drogan’s hesitation only gave her time to work out the necessary constellation.

By the time Drogan felt the heat of danger, there was nothing he could do. Neither retreat, throw Reika off, nor defend himself.

She impaled herself onto the spear the rest of the way, driving herself into Drogan. Herself and the Star Blade’s elongated jian.

This time, Drogan’s Veil failed. The Star Blade pierced him. Reika pushed the jian further to the side, cutting open his chest and severing his arm. Drogan recoiled, stunned. Blinded by the pain, he tried to fight back, forgetting that the spear had bound them together.

But Reika’s hand on the weapon was as firm as her vines’ grip on her opponent. Only after a breath did Drogan let go of the shaft, releasing his Spiritual Support, and stepped backward, dropping his weapon.

The gong finally sounded, ending the fight.

“A draw! Both fighters are out of the tournament!” our commentator announced.

The Disirians were already running toward Drogan. He was still on his feet, but the blood spurting from him suggested that he wasn’t doing well. If Reika had hit him two fingers to the left, she would have pierced his heart. But as it was, his wound wasn’t critical — a pierced lung and a severed arm.

Three healers in blue and red robes attempted to approach Reika, but she waved them away with her jian.

“What are you doing?”

Reika shouted something, but her voice was too faint. For a breath, it was inaudible, and then the attendants did something, making it reach the entire crowd.

“Objection! I can still fight!”

“You need a healer.” The commentator’s voice was soft. “You fought honorably and—”

“Nonsense! I refuse the healer’s help! I can fight! I won—”

“Girl.” This time, the Disirian commentator spoke. “You’ll bleed to death. With such a wound, you won’t have enough potions to recover until the next fight. Your collarbone is broken and you need help. And since outside help is forbidden during the tournament, you’re out. It’s a draw.”

“I object! Let the entire arena witness my refusal!”

“Without a healer, you—”

“I am a healer! I don’t need anyone’s help!”

This time there was no trace of sympathy in the Disirian’s voice, only venom.

“You don’t need help even with the spear?”

Reika pressed her lips together stubbornly.

“No!”

She lifted her jian and brought the Star Blade down on the spear’s shaft.

The entire arena heard her hoarse, agonized breathing, followed by the broken part of the shaft clattering against the stone slabs.

Reika fell to her knees, dropped her sword, raised her palm in front of her, and then hit herself in the chest, knocking the rest of the spear out of her body.

The arena gasped with her in agony. Reika’s hands lit up with an Appeal, sealing the blood.

In ten breaths, she got up from her knees, chin up.

“You still think I can’t fight?” she asked defiantly.

“The Order won,” the commentator admitted after a moment of silence.

The stands burst into a roar. At first, you couldn’t make out the words, but then a coherent cry came from somewhere to the left.

“Unbreakable! Unbending! Inflexible!” everyone shouted.

The crowd went wild as Drogan was carried out of the ring. Reika stood all alone in front of the rest of our fighters so that everyone could see that she didn’t need anyone’s help. Stupid girl. How many more fights could she take? One? The next Disirian wouldn’t spare her.

Stupid.

And brave.

I knew the next voice too well. I had had enough of it for today.

Once again, Bolain decided to talk to the entire arena.

“It’s good to see that the Order has such strong-minded students, such talents. It’s just a pity that there are so few of them in the Order now that even healers have to enter the arena to defend its honor.”

“You bastard...”

It took me a moment to realize that this wasn’t said to the entire arena, only to the lodge. And that it wasn’t Iover, as one might expect, but Shandri.

The next complaint, however, was an angry thought.

“Quickly! Contact all trustees and stewards in the arena. Have them ban their personal disciples from...”

“Too late,” Iover interrupted him, pointing down.

Here and there, figures jumped out from the stands. They soared above the crowd and landed in the ring.

“I, Dem, the personal disciple of Steward Famos, have come to defend the Order’s honor.”

“I, Morn, the personal disciple of Steward Crowne, have come to defend the Order’s honor.”

“I—”

“Bastard!” Shandri slammed his fist into the armrest, breaking it without even noticing. “How many traps has he set today?”

Six. Six fighters joined our ranks.

I smiled and stood up.

Shandri gave me an angry look and growled:

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve learned many things today and understood one with crystal clarity. All of this...” I circled the lodge, then explained, realizing my gesture was unclear. “All of this sitting around, watching others fight in your place, fighting on orders, choosing who will go on a deadly, dangerous mission from which they’ll never return... This isn’t for me. I’ve done enough of your bidding today to know it’s not for me.”

“I’ve never tried to give you orders. You’re my equal.”

I looked down at the robe I was wearing and nodded.

“You gave me the rank of steward, but today I realized...” I hesitated, softening my words. “Staying safe and controlling the lives of others isn’t for me. It’s not my path. My path is down there.”

I stepped back against the wall, away from most of the potential stares, and tore off the black embroidered sleeves, then the stripes from my chest.

“Brother Iover, may I announce that I am your personal disciple?”

He nodded silently, much to Shandri’s annoyance.

“Not mine?” he hissed.

I shifted my gaze to him, bowed, and brought my fist to my palm.

“I fear that would give me away too quickly.”

“And your abilities won’t?”

“I hope not. But we’ll see.”

“You realize the trouble you’ll cause for yourself and the Order, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Boy!”

“I understand your concern, but I’m afraid this will grow to be an obstacle for my Ascension. Sometimes, we have to choose, like Tola once did.” Shandri turned pale at the name, and I bit my tongue. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry if I let you down today. Rest assured, I won’t go against your plan. The Order will lose the tournament.”

Shandri remained silent this time, gritting his teeth.

“The Order will do what?” Iover’s disbelief sounded behind me as I jumped onto the railing.

I remained silent. I wasn’t the one who should answer that question.

Chapter 28

I took off with a Dash.

I waited until I was nearly on the ground to Dash again, landing next to the other six volunteers.

“I, Atria, the personal disciple of Commander Iover, have come to defend the Order’s honor.”

The eyes of all the Order members standing under the flag were fixed on me. My older classmates, my fellow students, Reika and her classmate, the six personal disciples who had outweighed my patience and obedience, and the stewards of the arena.

Reika raised her eyebrows mockingly, obviously laughing at my new appearance and name, laughing even with her lips, white with pain and suffering. To appear as Rimilo would have been too on the nose. I’d try to stay low for a while, and hide my real name. Hide all my real names. I hoped the Disirians wouldn’t be disappointed by my appearance.

“Commander Iover’s?” asked one of the personal disciples, Dem, I think, in a puzzled tone of voice. “Isn’t his apprentice Talaf?”

I smiled.

“One of many.”

“But...” Dem paused, still indignant, and bombarded me with questions. “Why do you look like a Mad spat you out? What kind of rags are you wearing? How long has commander Iover had such an old disciple?”

“Do you think I’m lying? Did you see the lodge I came from?”

Judging by his face, he did. I wanted to ask him something else, but then the arena steward got in the way.

“Enough of this,” he snapped.

He was right. We had more important things to do.

I took a step toward Reika, clenched my fist, and nodded.

“Junior, I admire your resilience. You are a worthy student of our Order.”

But my thoughts suggested otherwise.

“But your brother will punish you for your recklessness with a week of hard training.”

Reika, unable to respond with a thought, craned her neck in indignation, just barely, protecting her wound. I grinned and stepped closer to her, placing a hand on her healthy shoulder.

No Appeals — I remembered at the last moment.

In a breath, I was in Reika’s body, rushing through her darkness toward the mist of the wound, washing it out with the healing glow of the Waters of Itrea.

Regretfully, I returned to the real world, leaving her body and never seeing her image there. Given the fact that no one around me was screaming about violating the rules, I had done exactly as I had intended. Judging by Reika’s rosy face, she was relieved. I wished I could continue her treatment, but...

One of the disciples glared at me, apparently outraged at my freedom, but that was all. They were all more interested in what was going on in the ring.

And what was happening there was a beating. Reika’s classmate was being chased all over the ring and showered with techniques. He already had a dozen wounds on him, but his opponent cared about it as much as a fox did about a hare. I had the feeling that he was deliberately taking his time to end the fight.

But it only looked like that.

The stone spikes struck from below, throwing the boy up, bashing him, and breaking his legs. Immediately, the gong struck, forcing the Disirian to extinguish the Appeal.

Was he going to strike again?

“A victory for the Disir clan! The sword has no eyes, and not every blow can be stopped. The Order has only itself to blame for removing the safety net.”

“And not the Disirians for making the first tear in it?”

The Disirian commentator replied with a laugh that spread throughout the arena.

There was no denying it anymore. The Disirians had been waiting for this moment, and even Reika’s victory had been to their advantage, forcing all the brave and talented disciples of the Order into the arena and raising the ferocity of the fights, wounding and maiming us beyond measure. But two could play that game. Reika had shown it well.

I looked at our participants. They were all listening attentively to what the steward was telling them.

“We’ll choose someone strong enough to end the fight quickly. The Disirians can do whatever they want, but I remind you that—”

Ignoring him, I walked into the ring.

“Atria! Hey! Come back here!”

I just quickened my pace.

In three breaths, I was under the defense formation. I couldn’t hear the commentator’s voice behind me, although I could hear the crowd and Reika.

“Show them how it’s done.”

And not just her voice.

“You know him?”

“That Atria guy?” Reika chuckled. “It’s the first time I’m seeing him, but you have to root for your own, even if you don’t know them, right?”

I grinned. Well said.

No Roak’s Shell or Claw, I reminded myself. They were very conspicuous. The rest of my arsenal was allowed, but highly undesirable.

I touched the Bag, a part of my mind going through the things inside.

Where did I put them...?

“There it is.”

I quickly forgot my promise to always wear a dagger on my belt so I wouldn’t be unarmed. Oh well.

In my hand appeared a jian in a worn sheath. It was just as I had asked Tizior — no sign that the weapon had come from the hands of a cultist.

Most importantly, it had a Spirit Vessel on it.

I hesitated for a moment, then drew my sword, leaving the sheath in my left hand. Let’s see if I can repeat the trick I had once used on the streets of Frost Ridge.

With another breath, I stepped into the large square area paved with stone slabs.

“Atria!” our commentator announced.

Just Atria? No rising star? No hidden talent of the Order? Nothing?

Fine. I was sure my nickname would change by tonight.

“From the Waterfalls. A second-year student with four stars,” Shandri’s voice echoed in my head as my opponent stepped forth. “None of their best ever came to our city. Fast, strong, relying more on sword and weapon techniques than ranged combat. They sent whoever they could spare to test you.”

“And the element?”

“Don’t you see the strands in his hair?” Shandri’s answer dripped with impatience. “Wind.”

No sooner had he finished than the Disirian commentator announced the name of my opponent,

“Velius!”

Only Velius?

Two unsuspecting, unheralded students entered the ring.

I’d start by stalling as much as possible. Since we were outnumbered and needed more time to recover, I’d try to give us more of it.

The artifact in the steward’s hands flashed scarlet.

I raised my eyebrows in confusion. I thought the tournament was for the younger generation, regardless of your Ascension level. Whether you became a Leader at ten or not was entirely your thing.

“Artifacts,” he clarified. “Your master has entrusted you with Leader-level artifacts. You must leave them outside the ring.”

Indeed. I had artifacts created by Leaders in my bag. For example, the flying sword. More than that, I had artifacts created by those who had gone beyond the Leader stage. Like the tracking bowl.

I shook my head and apologized.

“Sorry, I was in a hurry to defend the honor of my Order. It slipped my mind.”

I glanced inside the Bag to sift through its contents and decide what to take out. The flying sword for sure. Or rather, all swords. The bowl. The other Bag, with the Beetle artifacts and the stuff that belonged to their Master of Decrees...

My whole Bag, actually.

Better not to risk it.

I handed him my Bag.

“Give it to one of the Academy students.”

With a nod, he put the Bag under his arm, and repeated the test. This time, the orb flashed a calm blue.

I smiled.

No ancient rings, bracelets, or masks were found by this test. Nor any of the other things that weren’t weapons or defensive artifacts. Nor Viost’s energy bundle, nor the Thief’s mark...

Good to know. Good to know...

Gong.

I tensed, but I sensed no heat. Not a single prick of invisible steel between my shoulder blades.

I tilted my head to my shoulder in disbelief and stared at Velius as he walked leisurely toward me. Was he really not trying to attack me? Did my Combat Meditation not recognize him as a threat? Should I lower my Ascension level to see him as an opponent?

I moved toward him slowly, using Unity’s first constellation, the one that kept the patterns on my skin from creeping out of my robe.

When there were ten feet between us, Velius stopped and scoffed.

“Atria, huh? This is the first time I’ve heard your name.”

I shrugged indifferently.

“This is the first time I’ve heard your name as well.”

Velius grinned and raised his sword.

“Attack.”

In one breath, he closed the distance, making me feel a warm breeze.

I stepped left, letting his sword pass by, swiped with the scabbard through some technique flying at me, and retreated three steps back.

Velius grinned, shrugged, and lunged forward again, showering me with blows. I met his steel with mine, barely holding back the onslaught of his enhancement techniques. Sword to the chest, scabbard to the knee. I smiled, glad to see that I still had it in me. I just wished I had a heavier, metal-studded scabbard like the last time.

Velius didn’t even notice that I had hit him in the knee, didn’t even use his Veil, relying on the strength of his body, just lunged forward and pummeled me with a hail of blows.

I kept going, barely fending him off, barely trying to defend myself. I had plenty of elemental threads to spare, so I didn’t care that Unity was soaking them up like a sponge. I couldn’t use them for anything else, anyway. The crumbs I spent on the Steps and Saul weapon techniques didn’t count. I didn’t have much energy left in my meridians after searching for the assassins, so I had to employ other methods. I’d have to regenerate it with the Cycle soon.

But not after this fight.

Velius was acting strange. Not at all as a Master should. Yes, one was allowed to be angry when your opponent dodged half of your attacks, but to this extent?

The scabbard cracked from the impact, splintering in all directions. I Dashed forward and to the left, buying myself time.

Where was that thing? Where was Simar’s Sword Breaker? I just saw it somewhere.

“How long will your Atria keep running around the ring?” the Disirian commentator wondered.

“Why? Is your Velius too slow to catch him?” our commentator taunted him.

There it was.

I managed to locate the strange weapon. A leather-wrapped, gilded hilt in the shape of a Beast’s mouth, and a four-edged sword with engraved edges.

Velius froze. The Appeal glowed beneath his feet and he lunged at me, speeding up. I didn’t need a second Unity. It was just that I fought to block his blows instead of just pretending to, and the Sword Breaker came in handy.

I didn’t like that more and more blows were aimed at my eyes, heart, and focus.

The jian traced an arc in front of me, destroying the incoming techniques. The wind of danger swept over me and I retreated again, ghostly blades hitting air, and my sword crossed Velius’s jian once more — he couldn’t fall for the same trick over and over again, could he?

The blow to the shoulder was met with steel, and the blade passed a finger above its target. The thrust to the groin was knocked back. The jab to the chest — met with the Breaker, deflected left, and countered with a jab to the exposed armpit.

Strike, strike, strike, strike...

The heat of danger!

The ghostly sword that appeared in Velius’s left hand failed to penetrate my Veil. I escaped again, with a Dash forward and to the right.

“Finally! Velius managed to get a good grip on his opponent! Is Atria getting tired?”

I lowered my gaze and stuck a finger into the hole of my robe. The blow came from the left, sideways, at an angle, hitting me right in the focus.

I looked up at Velius.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He grinned.

“What’s the matter? Too much for you?”

I scoffed and shook my head. He was playing a dangerous game...

I faced him again, steel against steel, steel against technique. This time, I tried to subdue his Decrees and contracts. Nothing. There was nothing forcing him to serve the Disirians, nothing about crippling me.

He decided on his own that I had done... what? Humiliated him in front of the audience and his comrades? That was enough to beat me to death?

“Two can play that game.”

I had had enough of running around.

Unity’s second constellation spread over my body.

Step forward. Steel against steel.

As Vilikor had explained to me long ago, the Veil was a useful thing, but it wouldn’t protect you if your opponent was stronger and faster than you.

Sliding closer, I let his jian pass by my chest, let his technique hit me, and drove the Breaker between his legs, slamming my shoulder into his torso, hugging his left arm.

It took one push for the arm to break.

There was a short cry of pain. Before anyone could notice anything and strike the gong to stop the fight, I spun around Velius, once again standing sword to sword in front of him.

We looked at each other for a moment, and then he tried to strike with a technique, but I stepped through it, absorbing it into my Spiritual Protection. Frustrated, he tried to strike with steel, but it slipped harmlessly through my Veil. I grabbed his right arm, disarming him.

A fifth-star Master couldn’t compete in strength with a Unity-using, first-star Leader. Its seven nodes were as good as average Human Techniques. Meanwhile I was fighting with sixty-one. If Velius knew a similarly valuable strengthening technique, he hadn’t had the time to use it.

His right arm crunched gruesomely, unpleasantly, when I broke it for the first time. At the shoulder. When I broke it at the elbow, Velius screamed, causing the steward to strike the gong.

I let go and took a step back, not wanting to give anyone the chance to accuse me of breaking the rules. No one said anything for a few moments, and then the voice of the Order’s commentator rang out.

“How unusually this fight ended! Who would’ve thought that Atria had such outstanding strength? Or perhaps it was a very good enhancement technique? I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve seen a Master match end like this. Perhaps Atria was supposed to fight unarmed? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

I was listening to the commentators arguing, either to entertain the crowd or to buy time, when someone called me from behind.

“Atria, get back.”

I turned around. Gilai was calling me from the edge of the protective formation. I stared at him for a moment, then smiled.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? You won the fight, leave the ring.”

“Right.”

Catching my breath, I walked over to him.

Stepping out of the formation, I stopped. Gilai, who had already moved away, froze and stared at me.

“What are you doing?”

I shrugged.

“That was a nice warmup. You rest. I’ll go again.”

Gilai rolled his eyes.

“I understand that you’re Iover’s personal disciple and that he’s a commander, but here and now, we are all just participants in the tournament. We have a designated elder, we have a plan, and everyone must follow it. You’ve already distinguished yourself, my friend. You showed character when you stepped into the ring without orders. I’d appreciate it if you worked together with the rest of us. I don’t think we should add to the crowd’s entertainment by arguing who should fight.”

I didn’t recognize the old, brash Gilai in him. He was being very reasonable.

Unable to hold back a smile, I nodded.

“Alright.”

I stepped forward, leaving him behind, preventing him from seeing my grin.

It was nice to be down here, among the others, not sitting in a lodge, not talking and thinking about things bound to drive me crazy. I’d see how Reika was doing. With a wound like that, no matter how many healing techniques I put into her, the next fight would be her last. I had to make sure she realized that.

I also had to find out who had my Bag.

Gilai caught up with me. We walked shoulder to shoulder.

“One more thing, Atria. Things aren’t going as expected today, so don’t make it any more difficult for us, friend. There’s been enough cruelty and blood today. Don’t give the Disirians any more reason to get violent.”

“Did you go blind from the Appeals?” I paused and put my finger into the hole in my robe. “The blow came from the left. Do you see where it landed? Do you?”

Gilai frowned and pressed his lips together.

“Accidents happen in fights,” he said meekly. I raised an eyebrow in a wordless response to this naivety, making him swear. “What’s wrong with everyone? He’s not even a Disirian! Why all the hard feelings between us?”

I shrugged, preoccupied with something else.

Vilikor was walking toward us as cold and unimpressed as always.

I looked back for a moment. The next Disirian was already in the ring. I hadn’t heard his name. Who was he if they were sending Vilikor to fight him?

When I regained my composure, I looked at Vilikor again, assessing the depth and impenetrability of her focus, almost pressing my lips together.

It was a deep lake, but the water was clearer than before the City. She was lagging behind, just like Gilai once did.

I didn’t like that I was seeing that. In the City of a Thousand Levels, when Vilikor gained two stars, I rejoiced at her growth, wondering how much stronger and more dangerous she would become as she added new techniques to her combat arsenal.

Why was this happening? Why was she falling behind after getting two stars and a bunch of Academy techniques?

Was she lagging behind or was I just advancing too quickly? I did gain new techniques and open new nodes. The series of deadly battles in the Lands of Itrea did reward me with ample combat experience. As a Leader, I could keep the Veil on at all times. The size of my second focus was commendable, and it was full of threads just waiting to be turned into elemental poison.

I could guess for a long time, but the reality wouldn’t change — Vilikor, a ninth-star peak Master was no match for me.

A shame.

Vilikor glanced back at me and walked past, grazing me with her shoulder.

No sooner had we reached the others than the Order’s commentator announced the next fight.

“Vilikor! The Order’s most valuable treasure! The Ice Queen enters the ring once again!”

I shuddered. That was a lot of praise. Was it to intimidate the Disirians? To let them know that she wasn’t to be underestimated?

I squinted a little, forcing the ring closer so I wouldn’t miss any details of the fight, but as if to spite me, the Order’s steward blocked my view.

He only repeated what Gilai had already told me — to follow orders, not to disrupt the strategy of the fights. What a speech. I felt like I was back at the Academy for another lecture. It was good that Xilim didn’t suffer from such abstruse language and expressed himself clearly and simply. Even rudely.

I nodded and wholeheartedly agreed with the middle-aged man.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, of course.”

He gave me an angry look. Had I forgotten how to maintain the indifferent mask of understanding calm? Or was there something wrong with my voice? Either way, the steward stepped aside, allowing me a glimpse of Vilikor fighting.

It was just as magnificent. The same mesmerizing beauty of unstoppable steel — the dance of a blade that destroyed everything in its path.

No matter who fought against her, no matter what level of Ascension he had, he was no match for her. No matter what he used, no matter what techniques he unleashed on Vilikor, he was unable to stop or hurt her.

It took her fifty breaths to break through all the techniques, trap her opponent, and wound him three times.

This time, Shandri didn’t fill me in about the fighting Disirian, so I turned to Gilai.

“Who’s that guy?”

He glared at me but answered.

“One of their young talents. Seventh star. Fast, tough.”

I nodded. Concise and clear.

“Isn’t he a little too good for a seventh star?”

Gilai frowned but only shrugged, and then the fight ended.

Vilikor, who had cornered her opponent on the edge of the ring, froze with her blade drawn to his shoulder.

“Surrender,” she offered.

As a Leader, I could hear her voice clearly, despite the nearly two hundred feet that separated us, but the roar of her opponent’s reply could be heard by everyone.

“Never!” he shouted, raising an Appeal-shrouded hand.

A flurry of firebolts flew at Vilikor. Her jian shone, smeared with speed, and shattered the technique. Its tip shot through the rain of sparks, striking the Disirian. Or rather, his Veil.

For a full breath, we heard only the clash of steel. The Disirian was pushed to the very edge of the ring. Half a step back and he’d lose. Vilikor’s sword prevented him from breaking through to the side, waiting for his Veil to fall. As soon as it did, she stabbed him again, this time in the thigh. First one, then the other.

“Admit defeat,” she demanded angrily.

“No!”

But the gong disagreed with him. It sounded, ending the fight. Vilikor retreated immediately, and the Disirian’s flaming sword cut through the void where she had just stood.

“Enough!” the steward roared. “The fight is over!”

Vilikor took another ten steps back, keeping her eye on her wounded and defeated opponent. Losing, but not accepting defeat. Only then did she turn and show him her back, and as soon as she was under the Order’s flag, among us, she sank to the ground and began to meditate.

The fight had been more demanding than it seemed, taking its toll on her. Or was it just time? How many duels had she fought since the tournament began? Four, five?

The next couple of rounds didn’t go so well for us. Perhaps our steward made mistakes, but more likely it was the weakness of our fighters. Reika’s classmates were out. Four of the personal disciples were also out. The two senior students who couldn’t keep up with Vilikor or Tochtal even after being healed were out as well. All of them fought fiercely, but their efforts didn’t change anything — their opponents were too strong and too violent. Our guys gave up only after receiving serious injuries, often more than one.

And none of the Disirians, Arkonians, Kenkuts, or Orazes thought to fight like Vilikor, striking the limbs. No. But none of them targeted the focus either.

There were fewer and fewer of us and the Disirians were getting tired much more slowly than I would have liked. Gaval hadn’t been quite right when he told me that the Order needed more participants so that each fighter could rest longer. It didn’t make much difference. At least Vilikor got more time to meditate.

Gunvol stepped forward.

I wanted to nudge Gilai with my elbow and ask him to tell me about Gunvol’s opponent, but he wasn’t there. Surprised, I turned my head to look for him and found him next to Iraya and Reika. Good. I needed to check on her too.

She looked better: her lips were back to their natural color and her complexion wasn’t nearly as pale. The wound was bandaged, her arm bent at the elbow and strapped tightly to her body in that position. Even a bone as thin as a collarbone couldn’t heal overnight.

When I was shoulder to shoulder with Gilai, I elbowed him again and pointed to the ring.

“Who’s that?”

He glared at me in annoyance.

“Buddy, we’re not here to talk. Watch in silence. Like the rest of us.”

Iraya smiled, tucked her scabbard under her arm, and raised her hands, folding them in greeting.

“Forgive Gilai. Sometimes I think his element is rubbing off on him, making him fiery, impatient, and hot-tempered. I’m Iraya. I try to balance him.”

For a moment, I didn’t understand what she wanted from me, still holding her fist in her palm and staring at me intently. As it dawned on me that I wasn’t the man she knew, I returned the gesture and introduced myself.

“I’m Atria.”

Iraya nodded and lowered her hands.

“Nice to meet you, Atria.” She removed the scabbard from under her arm and waved it at the ring. “As for the Disirian, he’s someone our Gunvol can’t handle. Rylan. One of their brightest talents. It is said that he was apprenticed to Leader Arik. You’ve heard of him, right, Atria?”

“The Invisible Death. Yes...” I glanced at the ring where they were locked in a sword fight. “He should be good with formations then? Why doesn’t he use them?”

Gilai snorted.

“Maybe because he’s an eighth star, two stars stronger than Gunvol, and can win without them?”

I nodded. So that was the weight of talent. Even after passing through the City, after weeks of meditation in the Health Pavilion, and with all of the Academy’s support, Gunvol had only gained six stars in one year. Apparently, he had hit an obstacle. And while he struggled, Vilikor, Gilai, Tochtal, and the others had risen to the ninth or even tenth star.

I stared at Gilai and Iraya, assessing the depth and darkness of their power. The former wasn’t as dangerous as Vilikor, and the latter was weaker than him still. And decently so. Her talent was far lower. A shame.

When I realized that I’d been staring at her for too long and far too intensely, and in the presence of Gilai, a hotheaded guy jealous of Rimilo, I shifted my gaze to Reika. I didn’t want Atria to have the same problem.

“I see you’re feeling better, Diehard.”

“Hopefully I’ll get a more pleasant nickname,” she snorted in response.

“One that appreciates your beauty?”

“Why not? Don’t I deserve it?”

Smiling, I stepped closer and put my hand on her shoulder.

“You’re doing great,” I said and glanced into her body.

The first thing I saw was a tiny figure of her floating in the dark void, shrouded in a green glow.

“Can you hear me?”

She nodded.

“But you can’t answer?” I asked out loud.

She shook her head.

A shame.

I thought for a moment that at least here I could bypass the limitations of telepathy. But no. I wasn’t strong enough to let two people communicate.

“Let’s have a look at your wound.” Reika waved her hand dismissively, but I insisted. “I want to see for myself.”

She was right. The fog around the wound was thin. It only needed time to heal.

I waved my hand.

“Let’s go back.”

The first thing I heard when I beheld the real world was Gilai’s voice.

“Do you know each other?”

“Yeah.” I thought for a moment, then made up a story as usual, mixing lies and truth. “I’m an apprentice to the Commander of the Roads Division. She and her party helped us at the end of the Wild Times.”

“I see.” Gilai nodded, glanced at the hand I still had on Reika’s shoulder, and repeated: “I see...” After a moment, fixing his squinting gaze at me, he asked: “Why did she say she was seeing you for the first time then?”

I was confused for a moment, but Reika snorted immediately, anticipating my excuse.

“Would you have believed me had I told you otherwise? How was I to know he’d remember me, an ordinary graduate? What am I compared to a commander’s personal disciple? The situation’s embarrassing enough as it is, don’t make it worse for me, I beg you. And you, move your hand. People are gonna start talking!”

Gilai shook his head and stepped away, muttering under his breath. Grabbing Iraya by the elbow, he hurried back to the others while Reika chuckled to herself, mighty pleased with her little performance.

I looked at her with a smile and then realized what Reika was implying and how we might have looked to everyone around us.

I let go of her arm as if stung and shook my head.

Oh, I’d kick her butt myself once she recovered.

***

And so it came to pass. What was long awaited had come to pass. Legard in the arena...

It was time to remind him of his place.

Chapter 29

Gunvol failed. Rylan didn’t need to use formations to win; his heavy sword and techniques were enough. In the beginning, he fought Gunvol with his blade, deflecting energy with bare steel, breaking through everything his opponent tried to throw at him, showing both him and the whole arena that he was the better swordsman, forcing Gunvol to retreat with a bleeding gash in his thigh.

I’d even say he gave him a chance to end the fight by admitting defeat. But could Gunvol do that after the resilience and thirst for victory shown by Reika?

No, of course not. Gunvol had never been a coward; he had always been a fighter. Even when we sparred and he knew he couldn’t win, he attacked me without a second thought, fighting with everything he had.

He took a few breaths to seal the wound with energy and then resumed the fight.

It was no longer a simple tournament match, for Gunvol spared neither himself nor the energy in his focus in his fight with Rylan. He knew as well as anyone else that he had only one chance, and he tried his best.

But he failed.

Rylan’s amulet deflected Gunvol’s steel, and then he bent over and slipped under the glowing Appeal to get close to his opponent. He slashed at him with his sword, without swinging, almost imperceptibly, then turned, and struck twice. This time, with full force, crisscross.

Gunvol collapsed at the same time the gong struck. Rylan showed enough restraint not to strike again, aware of how powerful his blows had been.

Gunvol fell, spilling blood on the stone slabs. I didn’t know what it was about the first blow, about that cut, why it stunned him so much, but those two from behind...

Was he conscious for those?

“Healer!”

I turned to look at Gilai.

Should I say something?

But the Disirian commentator was quicker.

“I apologize to all spectators. Apparently, Rylan didn’t expect that his opponent would forget to use the Veil.”

Gilai pressed his lips together. What a load of jair crap. Gunvol wouldn’t forget such a thing. No. He hadn’t had the time to use it. Rylan made sure of it. That first, almost imperceptible blow was a technique. It stunned Gunvol. Or rather, it caused him to waste the Veil.

Also, why did the Disirians have Masters of Formations and we didn’t? Why was there so much animosity between the Order and this Invisible Death? Was this another depressing story about an escaped apprentice who sold some of our secrets to the Disirians?

“Gunvol is well,” our battlemaster reported. “Wounded, yes, ribs broken, but he’s alive, and that’s the only thing that matters. The Veil cushioned the blow. Again, I urge you to be careful.”

He was answered by a small and unruly chorus.

“Yes, sir...”

“Our next fighter will be...”

“I’ll do it,” Reika interrupted him. “I can’t win anyway, I’d rather let Vilikor meditate longer.”

The battlemaster nodded.

“Very well. I wouldn’t have asked you but I’m glad you volunteered. Your fight was great, but you don’t need to repeat that stunt again. Go out there, take three hits, and give up. Everyone knows that you’re badly injured and that you should see a healer.”

“I’m a healer,” Reika snorted.

The battlemaster smiled and waved his hand, motioning for her to make her way to the ring.

I dismissed her with a stern look and an admonition that went unheeded by the others:

“He’s right. Don’t be a hero. Get hit and leave.”

She glanced at me over her shoulder in response and stormed off.

Her opponent entered the ring as well. Iraya cursed through her teeth. I gave her a displeased look and immediately poked Gilai in the side, demanding to know who my sister was fighting.

“Urmal. Not a good opponent. She’s no match for him.”

I didn’t doubt it.

“How come?”

“He relies on speed. His element is Wind and he’s very good at enhancing techniques. Very good,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“What can we expect? Will he spare her or hit her with all his might?”

Gilai shrugged.

“How should I know?”

“Little sister!” Urmal called out as he saw Reika approach. “I suggest you surrender. There’s no reason to make your condition any worse.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“Surrender,” I told Reika.

She remained silent.

“Reika,” I pressed.

She raised her sword in front of her.

“Damn it!”

Urmal shrugged and raised his sword as well.

Test.

Gong.

At the same moment, Urmal took off, running along the left side of the ring. Where was he going so fast? Reika had only one good arm; it was unlikely that she was trying to use some kind of long-range technique...

Urmal accelerated. Nothing else. Ten breaths into the fight, and he was just darting in front of Reika like a fly without attacking. But his speed was already so great that without Unity, I could barely shift my gaze when he changed direction.

It was like when I took the Academy exam, when I tried to move so fast that the audience saw my figure split into four.

There was a clash.

Urmal changed his direction and attacked Reika. She blocked the first blow with her sword, relying on her Combat Meditation, and closed the distance with a defensive technique. There was nothing more she could do.

In three breaths, her defense was exhausted, shattered into a hundred pieces, and Urmal drove his sword into her thigh. Reika was saved by the Veil, but it lasted only two breaths.

In those two breaths, Urmal struck five times. Slowly. Softly even. The sixth drove the sword into Reika’s healthy shoulder. The seventh in her left thigh. The eighth in the right.

I lunged forward, only managing to interrupt my technique at the last moment and escape the heat of danger. To put it simply — I barely avoided running my nose into the formation surrounding the ring.

The rest of us weren’t so lucky.

“Get back! Now!” the battlemaster roared at the same time the gong struck.

His voice could barely be heard over the roar of the stands. Few could see how Urmal won, but everyone could see Reika collapse, bleeding from her wounds.

They all burned with revenge and cursed the Disirians.

“This is only a fight!” the Disirian commentator howled. “The sword is blind and the blow was hard to stop! Our candidate didn’t expect it to end so quickly! He offered her to surrender at the beginning! This was just an accident!”

“Stand back! Don’t dishonor the Order!”

Gilai, who had run face-first into the formation, hissed through his teeth:

“Who’s doing the dishonoring? Us? Not Urmal and the Disirians? By the Heavens, I’m holding back as much as they are.”

Reika, who had been administered a healing technique, moved and attempted to sit up.

I breathed a sigh of relief and turned around so I wouldn’t have to see her bloodied, helpless body and Urmal’s satisfied, not the least bit embarrassed smile. I hoped Gilai wouldn’t get to him before me. That damned Beast ought to receive just retribution at my hands.

Was I Reika’s seventh brother or not?

I moved to the left, where Reika would be carried out of the ring. The others immediately followed.

We met her at the edge of the ring. Iraya was the first to get to her.

“Take care of your wounds. I’ve heard that the Academy will be accepting new students this fall. I’ll be waiting for you at Sword Mountain. The Sword Pavilion needs people like you. I’ll be honored to call you my sister-in-arms.”

I fought my way through the wall of well-wishers who praised Reika for her resilience and courage, and finally laid my fingers on her wrist.

But before I could do anything, she twisted her arm away and shook her head.

“Don’t.”

Iraya stood between us.

“She doesn’t want you to touch her.”

I chuckled.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Iraya.”

I swayed in place, thinking. After a moment, I stepped to the side and forward, rounding Iraya, and threw an ugly Bag at Reika.

“In our first Battlefield, I thought about giving you these records. They’re from the place where you were imprisoned. You’re already the star of the Sword and Lotus Pavilions, so add new potion recipes to your fame. Let the Order use them. The new students will surely appreciate it. Select the best ones for your family. It’s about time your second uncle got some competition.”

Iraya gave me a displeased look, but when she saw how Reika, albeit frowning, covered the Bag with her hand, she didn’t say a word to me.

The battlemaster met us with a reproachful look and sighed heavily.

“I understand your thirst for vengeance, but we cannot give the Disirians a single reason to doubt us. Yes, we will lose, but we’ll show everyone that we fight to the end and with dignity. With dignity, do you hear me? They’re making you angry on purpose to embarrass us before the audience. Before our guests. There’s nothing worse than interfering in a duel, let alone as a mob.”

I didn’t know if anyone would have disagreed with him as the voice of the Disirian commentator resounded across the arena, reminding us that the tournament was still in full swing.

“Kaymar! Not a bad bet! How will the Order react? Which of their talents will they consider strong enough to handle him?”

I turned around.

“Kaymar... A familiar name. I must’ve heard it earlier today.”

I looked at the ring. Yep. Kaymar was the guy who knocked out Reika’s classmate. The one with the vines.

The battlemaster sighed.

“We need a girl to defeat him to spoil their last victory.”

Iraya lowered her eyes while everyone shifted their gazes to Vilikor. She had been meditating this whole time, but now she opened her eyes and nodded.

“I’ll do it.”

She had barely taken five steps when the Order’s commentator roared, his throat rasping and squeezing everything out of whatever technique or formation carried his voice across the arena.

“Vilikor! Welcome the Ice Queen!”

The stands began to scream, chanting her name and nickname as if it were a prayer.

“Vilikor! The Ice Queen!”

I really needed to learn the names of these people, or at least what their positions were actually called. One commanded us, the other rallied the crowd, and the third attempted to calm us down and instruct us.

As Vilikor entered the ring, I forgot about these trivial matters.

She stopped before her opponent, relaxed, her jian resting at her hip.

Gong.

Vilikor leaped forward like a panther and darted to the other side of the ring. There was a clash. Kaymar didn’t dodge, accepting the blow to the chest. As it sank into his Spiritual Protection, he raised a wall of spiky vines between himself and Vilikor.

Dodging the thin and sharp shoots hitting her from all sides, Vilikor pressed forward, found a weak spot, and cut a hole in the plants.

This time, Kaymar ran away, preventing Vilikor from getting any closer. More and more vines sprouted in Vilikor’s path, interfering with her, attacking her, trying to pierce her. For every vine she cut, it seemed, two more took its place.

Vilikor’s sword lit up, grew ten feet in size, and cut a swath through the vines that stood between her and Kaymar. The strike broke through five of the seven walls. Some kind of technique flew through the gap, hitting the sixth.

With a Dash, Vilikor blew it to pieces. Chunks of greenery melted in the air like snow in the sun.

The last, strongest, and thickest wall. It formed a dome so thick around Kaymar that not even sound could penetrate it. I couldn’t spot a single gap with how thickly the vines were intertwined.

Vilikor smashed into it, slashing with her jian, and then retreated as the vines unleashed spikes on her.

I raise my head toward the commanders’ lodge.

“Didn’t you say that Vilikor should be sent to fight him because she would EASILY turn the tide of the battle in her favor?”

Shandri could detect the bitterness and anger in my voice.

“If Kaymar had six stars, as our records show, that would have happened. At least now we know the answer to what the Disirians gave to the other factions for their help.”

I glanced beyond the fight to the side of the ring where the Disirians stood. Where Samum stood.

“Ascension Potions?” I asked bluntly. “I remember talented clansmen avoiding them, trying to reach the Leader stage on their own. Saref Tamim called himself such a talent, a generational genius, and yet he was only a Master in his thirties.”

“The main branches of the ruling family try to achieve as much as they can on their own,” Shandri confirmed. “But who told you that these people are members of the main branches? A faction will consider itself lucky if there are two outstanding talents per generation.”

Perhaps these were ancient potions then. Their side effects weren’t as harmful. It looked like I gave Reika the recipes just in time. Maybe the Order would find something interesting in the Dark One’s legacy.

Leaving Shandri be, I focused on the fight. Vilikor seemed to have stopped holding back and saving her strength, fighting with everything she had.

All Kaymar could do was run away, wasting his strength to buy himself time. Within ten breaths, Vilikor caught up with him. Thinking he had a chance, he Dashed into the blue glow that stood in his way, only to find himself trapped by a veritable block of ice.

In a flash, Vilikor was standing close, her sword resting on the surface of the block. I didn’t see the blade fall, only her turning. Behind her, the block cracked from the point of impact, the fracture spreading with every step she took, freeing Kaymar from its icy grip.

It wasn’t an easy victory. Like many in the arena, I was sure that Vilikor’s strike had ended the fight, but as it turned out, it had only destroyed her technique. The block of ice hadn’t only trapped Kaymar. No...

The sliding chunks of ice exposed the Disirian, strung up on icicles.

How much energy had she invested in her technique that he couldn’t defend himself with Spiritual Protection or the Veil?

The gong struck, ending the battle.

I was reminded of the carnivorous bird that liked to hang its prey like this as the crowd shouted in unison.

“Queen! Queen! The Ice Queen! Queen! Queen! The Ice Queen!”

Perhaps they only wanted to see the beauty of the ice, not the blood that stained its melting shards.

Our battlemaster nodded at Vilikor with satisfaction.

“Well done. The next fighter will be...” I patted my chest and stepped forward to draw attention to myself, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Tochtal.”

Tochtal entered the ring without arguing as a mocking voice echoed in my head.

“My patronage doesn’t seem to be doing you good,” Iover taunted me. “They don’t appear too eager to let you fight.”

I raised my head to catch his gaze.

“I can only hope this isn’t your doing.”

“It would’ve been a good joke, but this isn’t the time for that. I’m surprised you’re listening to them, seeing how you disobeyed us up here. Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Come to my department. Your sharp wit and brash nature will be put to good use, I assure you. Actually, I’d have the perfect task for you. A couple of freeloaders got a little too cocky, started to allow themselves a little too much...”

I interrupted him.

“Now’s hardly the time for business talks either. The only thing that concerns me right now is the tournament.”

“What are you worried about when you promised Shandri that the Order would lose and that you’d play nice with the Disirians?”

There was enough venom in his voice to poison half of the Disirian competitors.

“It wasn’t my decision to have the Order lose,” I reminded him.

“It’s a decision I disagree with regardless.”

I sighed again and tried to drown out Iover’s voice, to get him out of my head and out of my mind... But he was right, in his own way.

There wasn’t much to see in the ring. Tochtal won, but he did so with obvious difficulty, failing to overpower his opponent. He was only slightly better and won only because of experience and stronger techniques.

“We need another victory. So either Iraya or Gilai will go, then we can... Who’s that?” our battlemaster muttered, observing the ring. “I don’t know him...”

But I did.

Chapter 30

Samum Dashed into the ring. Judging by the Disirian participant who stood frozen halfway to the formation line, the gestures and faces of the other Disirians, and the battlemaster, he had chosen to fight out of turn.

“I’ve seen the Order bring out new competitors. But I still don’t see the one I need. I’ve traveled halfway across the Second Circle in search of my nemesis, relying on nothing but a pathetic trail of footprints and scraps of rumors. I see your sister here, Rimilo the Butcher, so you can’t be far off. Stop hiding! Come down and face me like a man!”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. His timing couldn’t have been worse. I had hoped to slowly build Atria’s reputation as a competent fighter over the course of a dozen fights, and only at the end, when I was close to Ketot, to become Rimilo. After that, it would’ve been Samum’s turn.

“Why did you have to lose your patience now...?”

“Come out, Rimilo! I don’t believe you’re missing in action. I can feel your eyes on me. Come down, fight for the Order’s honor! This is the best time to settle our differences!”

“Let’s not take any chances,” our battlemaster announced grimly. “Especially not now. Gilai, you’ll go.”

Gilai nodded and stepped toward the ring, but Samum pointed his sword in his direction and roared across the arena:

“Stop! You’re not Rimilo. I came here to fight him and only him.”

My sigh was loud enough to prompt Iraya and one of the senior students to look at me. It seemed I didn’t have a choice. How unfortunate. I was almost out of energy. Samum also knew about my talent so I couldn’t use Decrees against him. He had probably come prepared.

Besides, that wasn’t what either of us wanted from this fight.

What did we even want? What did I want? I wanted to talk, to explain myself, and not fight him in front of thousands of people while I tried to work out our relationship.

“What is the meaning of all this?” our commentator demanded to know. “We have both picked our duelists. The fight must take place. Explain yourselves!”

“It will take place. Samum against Gilai.”

“No!” Samum refused. “If he dares to enter the ring, I won’t hold back and his death will be on your conscience! Rimilo! I’m waiting!”

The stands grumbled, while I grimaced. Iraya was right when she said that some people become like their element. Samum didn’t wield Fire, but the anger that boiled inside him when he plunged a dagger into my shoulder was so hot that it could’ve set a forest ablaze. And even now he spoke with such conviction and fervor that he had turned the audience, the Order, and the Disirians against him. Though I was sure that the latter wouldn’t mind it if he actually killed Gilai.

There was no way out. I had no way out. Here it was, the moment that couldn’t have been avoided.

I sighed again and raised my hand. Not to rub my eyebrow, but to take off my mask, to go into the ring as Rimilo and lose.

But before I could do that, another voice joined the general cacophony.

“Hah! It seems like I have no choice! Since brother Rimilo isn’t here and cannot answer your call, and little Reika is injured, it seems that I must accept your challenge.”

Someone appeared at the edge of the ring. I didn’t recognize his back or hair, but that voice...

Could it be?

Zotar?

“Samum, I remember you calling Rimilo your younger brother. I called him my elder. Today, I shall stand between you two as the youngest sibling, in hopes of reconciling our little family.”

“Stop!” the ringmaster barked at him as he took a step forward toward the ring. “You’re not a competitor!”

I was about to reach out to him telepathically, to tell him to stay away, that I could stand up for myself, but I forced myself to remain quiet. What right did I have to interfere? This was Zotar’s decision. No matter how angry he was, Samum was still a Walker who respected the Heavenly Virtues. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have jumped into the ring when he saw that Reika was fighting in the tournament.

Unlike me, Zotar didn’t know the tournament’s determined outcome. He could answer Samum’s questions honestly. His saying he didn’t know anything about me wouldn’t be a lie...

And so I held on to my decision to stay away.

“How big of a family do you have?!” Iover wondered. “This is ridiculous!”

I glanced up at the commanders’ lodge. Oh, he’d have a heart attack if he knew that I had a cultist “sister” living in the Sixth Circle and that my actual sister was a Heavenly Whisperer living among the Heavenly Mads.

But I’d rather not see him drop dead today, so I kept these thoughts to myself.

“You cannot participate! You’re not from the Order!” our battlemaster shouted after my friend.

Zotar shrugged.

“How’s that a problem? The Disirians recruited people off the street. I don’t see the issue.”

“Out!” the Disirian battlemaster squeaked in response, almost spouting steam from his ears in rage.

Zotar spread his hands, an Appeal forming between his palms.

“If Reika were here, she’d confirm who I am, but don’t bother her with such a trifle, she needs to rest. You’re an Order that accepts everyone who wants to join, yes?” Without waiting for an answer, Zotar raised his right hand. “I, Zotar, a Freewalker, swear allegiance to the Order of the Heavenly Sword for one day. Here and now, in this ring and this fight, I shall defend its honor!” He lowered his hand and smiled. “Will that do?”

“This is ridiculous!” Horit cried out. “No, it—”

But Samum didn’t listen to him. He took off as if the gong had struck.

A breath later, he was standing where Zotar had just been. His last step caused the stone slabs to shake and crack. Zotar had estimated the level of danger correctly and backed away. Taking Samum on like that would’ve been suicidal. Unless you were used to fighting for your life, of course.

For a few breaths, the commentators were silent, apparently unsure of what to do — the fight hadn’t been announced, but it was happening. If I were Horit, I would’ve stopped it and thrown them both out of the ring by force. Too many rules and customs had been broken today. But I couldn’t deny that Zotar was right — the Disirians had recruited people off the street. Why should we be any different?

But I wasn’t Horit. Hell, I had the least right to interfere in the decisions of my two “brothers.” I didn’t come out immediately when Samum entered the ring and called me by name, so now I had to stand still and keep quiet.

“Sound the gong,” Horit ordered. “Let all our guests remember this tournament. Where and when had they ever seen anything like today’s mad spectacle that the Disirians had concocted?”

The gong sounded at his command, and the formation dome covered the ring.

“Regan is standing next to me and he can’t take his eyes off your little brother. Tell me, are his eyes playing tricks on him, or is your Zotar moving as fleetly and imperceptibly as a shadow?” Shandri inquired.

I took my time answering, watching the fight and wondering what Regan saw that was so unusual. Given the difference in strength, it was understandable that Zotar didn’t want to meet Samum’s attacks head-on.

Shandri apparently got tired of waiting and asked bluntly:

“He’s a Shadow, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But he could be connected to them somehow. It’s been a while since the last time I saw him...”

“Does he have their Decrees on him?”

“I don’t know...” I shrugged, knowing that he could see me. “The ring is very far away from me, I can’t say. If it were otherwise, all the fights would have ended in our victory by now.”

“That’s precisely why the audience is separated by distance and formation from the fight itself. But don’t change the subject. Do you understand why I’m asking you this?”

I cringed. Zotar blurred into a series of ghostly images, swirling around Samum, attacking him from almost every direction at once. In vain. Samum caught up with him, hitting him twice with two different techniques with a slight delay. As Zotar dodged one, he flew right under the second, and the first blood was spilled.

Maybe Regan was right. Zotar wasn’t used to face-to-face combat. He was good on the field near Haven, but in the end, he was badly wounded there, too.

“Are you going to talk to me or should I send Regan down there to speak to you in person?”

“After the tournament, I’ll have Zotar answer his questions. But only those he wants to answer,” I stated firmly. “He can question Amma all he wants. But if I hear that he was rude to her, I’ll break his legs.”

Shandri’s laughter was audible even through telepathy.

“That’ll put a smile on his face for sure.”

Most likely. Zotar wouldn’t like it, but I’d have to ask him to cooperate. He did, after all, decide to pledge allegiance to the Order for one day, under his real name and the gaze of a thousand pairs of eyes. Someone would have picked up on his fighting style.

In the ring, Samum pushed harder and harder, saying something to Zotar from time to time. The distance prevented me from hearing the words, even with my Ascension. Though something told me that they weren’t discussing the weather.

Within ten breaths, Zotar suffered two more injuries and was trapped in a solid cage of sharp spikes, the only way out blocked by Samum.

Zotar raised his hands with a smile and said something to his opponent. I could see the former’s face, but the latter was turned with his back to me.

The gong sounded.

“Victory for the Disirians! Rimilo’s brother turned out to be all bark and no bite!”

I scoffed. Was he deaf? Didn’t Zotar say they were both my brothers or did the Disirian commentator conveniently forget that?

Once again, the duelists were slow to follow the rules. Samum approached Zotar without lowering his sword. As if Zotar’s Combat Meditation had extended to me as well, I could feel the threat that Samum and his blade radiated.

Would he dare to strike after the gong? Was he threatening to attack him?

I shrank back, my eyes fixed on the ring, ready to jump in.

No. Unlikely. Samum was hotheaded, but he was honest.

“Zotar, don’t be stubborn.”

As if he heard me, Zotar nodded, and Samum lowered his sword, stepped closer, and held out his hand.

Zotar put his palm on the offered Amulet of Truth.

I exhaled, forcing my muscles to relax.

“A win is a win, I won’t argue,” our commentator spoke up. “But it was your duelist who broke the rules, starting the fight without passing the check.”

“As if a check would have shown anything. He did well on his own; anyone with a functioning pair of eyes could have seen that. His advantage is undeniable but there’s no proof that he used any foreign powers.”

“If you say so.” Our commentator grinned. “If you say so. But it’s time to clear the ring for the next contestants!”

“Samum,” the Disirian battlemaster called out after a moment’s hesitation.

A breath passed, then ten, then twenty, but Samum didn’t even turn his head in his direction, continuing to question Zotar.

“Samum!” the battlemaster growled again.

Our commentator laughed aloud, adding fuel to the fire.

“What else could you expect from their recruits? What faction is this guy from? Or is he a Freewalker?”

I couldn’t see the battlemaster’s face, but he was probably purple with rage right now.

“Samum!!!”

“If the Disirians think I‘m going to give the order to pull him out of the ring, they’re wrong. They should deal with their own.”

A handy thing — telepathy — you could give an order no one would hear then sit back in your lodge and watch with a smile. Too bad I was far away from the ring, Samum and Zotar, and the battlemasters, so I couldn’t eavesdrop. I wondered if the order came from one of the commanders or Horit himself.

“Samum! Get out of the ring at once!”

The lower stands must have heard the cry, perhaps even those above them.

Samum finally turned his head.

“I came to fight under your banner for a short time under strictly defined conditions and for the sake of a fight with a certain man. What do I care what you want?”

“It’s in my power to prevent you from fighting at all!”

Samum waved him away.

“Empty threats. The man I want isn’t here anyway. I made this deal for nothing. His sister was badly wounded and he never showed up. His brother came down from the bleachers to answer my summons, and he never showed up. As soon as I’m done speaking with Zotar, I will leave both the ring and the arena.”

My eyes widened. What? What about the fight we were supposed to have later?

The reproach was justified. Reika had been wounded twice before my eyes and I hadn’t been able to help her, nor could I heal her wounds. And I ignored Samum’s challenge for too long, as if I were afraid of meeting him in the ring...

Perhaps today wasn’t meant for our battle.

A conversation. That was what I needed. A conversation with Samum.

“Wait for me, Samum. I’ll find you, and we’ll try to resolve our differences in private. I made a mistake, but can I be blamed that you followed me across dozens of lands and nearly half the Circle? Perhaps you were sent to find a ring, like Agost? A ring with a panther, or even a dragon? I can’t give it up, I’m sorry. But I can and will be honest with you.”

After ten breaths, Samum removed his hand and walked out of the ring, past the plum banners and the stunned Disirians, and through the door.

Zotar walked out of the ring as well, resuming his position under the Order’s banner.

And I... I just sent him a thought.

“Thank you, brother.”

He didn’t falter, didn’t bulge his eyes, just raised an eyebrow.

“Right in front of you. Two blue strands and a robe with ragged sleeves.”

Our eyes met and I thanked him again.

“Thank you for fighting Samum instead of me. I see you come bearing bad news but I am glad to see you. We’ll meet after the tournament.” I nodded and added a warning. “You gave away your affiliation. The Order’s security department wants to speak with you. I agreed, but I warned them that you would only answer the questions you wanted to answer. If a man named Regan approaches you, don’t run away. But don’t give him a free pass either; tell him right away that Rimilo won’t stand for it.”

Zotar seemed to believe that it was really me and not some outsider. He stepped out of the ring, smiled, and folded his arms in greeting.

“Talents of the Order, your colleague for the day greets you. It’s been a pleasure to step into this ring and fight on the same side as you.”

Unexpectedly, it was Vilikor who answered him.

“We are pleased that this injustice has touched the hearts of visiting Freewalkers. You’re a guest, are you not?”

Zotar bowed once more, laughing.

“Yes, I am. But you make me look too good, sister. I came down because my brother’s name was mentioned. The Order is strong and proud enough to do without my help.”

Gilai chuckled.

“Silver-tongued. Eloquence is a forgotten art.”

Zotar just laughed.

“I do my best.”

“Nominate a candidate! What are you waiting for?” the Disirian commentator reminded us.

“Are you really Rimilo’s brother?” Vilikor asked.

“By blade and name alone. As far as I know, Rimilo has only one blood sister.”

“He does.” Vilikor nodded. “You lost, so you have to leave the arena, but I’d like to ask you some questions. Would you come see me after the tournament?”

“Of course!” Zotar smiled broadly. “I have a feeling that many people will want to talk with me today.”

With that, he left, head held high. I was so focused on observing him that I didn’t immediately notice that people were calling out to me.

“Atria! Your turn, I said. Atria! Did you fall asleep on your feet?”

I finally heard my name and turned to the battlemaster. He waved his hand, pointing to the ring.

I shook my head. I had to prepare for a more difficult fight.

“I can’t. I must regain my strength.”

“You’ve only fought one battle and you’re already out of energy?” he hissed, taken aback. “What were you doing all this time, why weren’t you meditating? Did you come here to have fun?”

I spread my hands and shrugged. The battlemaster cursed silently, but I could make out the word “jair.” He turned away from me and looked at the others. But there was no one to choose from; slowly but inexorably, our ranks were thinning.

“Mithai. Your turn. Avoid heavy injury and don’t let them corner you. Don’t be in a hurry to end the fight. Atria needs time to recover.”

Mithai glanced at me and stepped into the ring. I watched him go. I didn’t have the best opinion of him after the City, but I couldn’t say that he didn’t have skill. After all, he had been chosen to compete today. Well done.

However, I suspected that he was here to fulfill a quota. He was weak, even weaker than Oriya, and certainly much weaker than Iraya, Gilai, and Vilikor. I was surprised he hadn’t lost yet.

“Atria, are you going to start recovering or what? Drink some potions, do what you want, but when I tell you to get in the ring, you’re going to do that, even if your focus is empty. Do you understand me?”

I nodded, turned away from Mithai, and stepped behind the others. I spread my arms, assumed the Cycle stance, and pushed the energy through the meridians.

Five breaths, ten...

I pressed my lips together with displeasure. There was barely any energy around me. No, actually, there was a lot, more than outside the city, more than in the stands. The concentration of energy was higher under the banners but the formation seemed to be sucking it all in. It didn’t help that my focus needed more of it to fill up.

Mithai’s opponent was stronger than him. Our comrade didn’t last a hundred breaths in the ring. Luckily, his wounds were only superficial.

It would have been better if Oriya had gone instead. Ah, but she was too old... Stupid age limit.

At this thought, I turned cold, remembering Shandri’s words.

Volunteers who were too old or too strong, but who were willing to give their lives for the Order... Already heading for the City...

Oriya was not only too old for the tournament but she also knew the City like the back of her hand...

No. She couldn’t be the key. She wasn’t the right age... Her Ascension was also too low...

But... She could be one of the people the key was leading to the city.

Still, she had already been there. You couldn’t enter the City twice. All she could do was share her experience with the others. It’d take them two or three days to get there. She could relay all the important information to them in that time.

This made me breathe a little easier. She’d be fine. She was a tough woman.

The battlemaster gave me an angry look, but he didn’t ask me to break the Cycle while the Disirians picked out their next duelist.

“Ilak!”

Hahpet’s former opponent.

Who would we pick? And did it really matter?

Chapter 31

The duels continued one after the other, only with a slight change in our battlemaster’s admonitions. He too had noticed that the longer the tournament went on, the fiercer and more ruthless the Disirians became. On top of that, they were all stronger than expected.

I was still recovering when our top fighters were forced to go out in the ring. We had run out of “meatshields,” as Shandri had called our weaker brothers and sisters in arms.

Tochtal came back with a limp. Quickly, with pressure and steel, Vilikor managed to defeat her opponent, though she paid for the last blow with deep, nasty-looking wounds, one of which crossed her cheek.

The help of outside healers was forbidden as long as we were fighting, but I had no intention of letting poison go unnoticed in the commotion and disfigure Vilikor.

I sped up my recovery, forcing the heavenly energy to rush to me and refill my focus. I was done in ten breaths. My comrades, standing with their backs to me and greeting Vilikor, paid me no attention. Only the battlemaster turned around in confusion.

“What?” I wanted to ask. Energy tended to go wild when there were so many Walkers about. Things happened.

I lowered my tingling hands and stepped closer to Vilikor, or rather to the small crowd that had gathered around her.

An interesting conversation was going on.

Tochtal shook his head.

“It wasn’t my imagination, was it? He was using a set of techniques that required more than two hundred and sixty nodes.”

Vilikor nodded.

“Him having seven stars was a lie. It’s as if they were all hiding their powers until today.” Frowning, she raised her hand and gently touched her cheek, feeling the edges of the wound.

I hurried to her, but Gilai stood in my way.

“What do you want, friend?” he asked sullenly.

“I want to ask Vilikor how she’s doing.”

He scoffed.

“You seem to be a nice guy, Atria, but your habit of grabbing girls’ hands isn’t very nice, you know. You can ask from here. Or you can just use your eyes. As you can see, she’s fine.”

I nodded.

“I get it, brother Gilai.” I glanced over his shoulder. “Isn’t it your turn to fight?”

Gilai didn’t even turn around, just narrowed his eyes at me.

“Something in your voice tells me you’re lying, friend. You don’t get it at all.”

“Let me pass,” I said, tired of arguing with him.

But he didn’t budge.

Annoyance turning to anger, I reached out to him through telepathy.

“Get out of the way!”

Gilai twitched and turned his head up and to the left, looking at the upper lodges. Grimacing, he took a step aside.

Did he not recognize my voice in his head? Frowning, I tried to remember if Iover’s normal voice was different from his telepathic one. It didn’t seem to be.

Or did he recognize my voice, and realized that I was a Leader?

Whatever the case, he was finally out of my way.

Wiping the smile from my face, I grabbed Vilikor by the arm while Gilai grumbled behind me.

“Sister, was there elemental poison in his technique?”

My spiritual gaze swept over her entire body, inspecting every wound. Nothing, clean. Including the cheek.

Relieved, I let go of her wrist and took a step back.

Vilikor glanced at my hand and replied calmly:

“There wasn’t. If he had such a technique, he didn’t have time to use it. Just because they’re stronger doesn’t mean that they have learned to control the elements outside of their bodies.”

The battlemaster was next to us. Again, he gave me an attentive look.

“Atria, I see you’ve regained your strength, so...”

His gesture was more than eloquent. I nodded.

“Of course. There’s just one thing,” I added, thinking it unfair to risk their health and Ascension without their knowledge. “Only the strongest are left. You know that our defeat is inevitable, and our only task is to prove ourselves in the ring.”

“Get to the point.”

“Don’t you want to bring the Disirians down to earth a little bit and make their victory bittersweet?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you want to or not?” I asked with a grin.

Gilai waved his hands.

“Of course we want to! What do you think we’re doing here?”

I nodded.

“Great. Then it’s worth stinging them a little, regardless of the danger. Right?”

I received only perplexed looks. Vilikor narrowed her eyes at me.

“Did you suffer a concussion in your last fight?”

I took a step back, pulling my Sword Breaker and jian from my Bag.

“Finally!” Gilai exclaimed. “I thought we’d stand here until nightfall, listening to you talk...”

“I think we should make sure that Atria isn’t just Hahpet in disguise. Those sure sound like his speeches,” Iraya remarked with a laugh.

I shook my head. Amusing themselves at my expense. Well, they were entitled to it.

My opponent entered the ring. I didn’t know his name, and Shandri wouldn’t tell me anything about him.

“Surrender,” I offered as soon as the formation rose above us.

He just frowned and scoffed.

His choice.

The fight didn’t last long. A strong fifth, maybe a sixth star, fast, agile, skillful. But I didn’t want to prolong the match, and as soon as he closed the distance for his second strike, I put a Decree on him, making him stumble. Amazing how you could be let down by the technique you had performed thousands of times...

He survived three blows to the head with the Sword Breaker, but the fourth knocked him out.

No one expected that. Not even me. I wasn’t used to enhancing techniques. Could the Order’s techniques be that good? I doubted it. I once shattered one of my weapons and cracked the Monster Hammer, so I had a good idea of how hard I could strike with Unity. It wasn’t even close this.

But the gong still sounded, breaking the stunned silence of the stands and commentators. I shrugged and exited the ring.

On the other side of the formation, I held the Sword Breaker up to my eyes. Was it as simple as I thought it was? Could it be that...?

Gilai’s angry voice came from behind me.

“You’re too close to the ring. You’re supposed to stand at least ten feet away, in case you didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll fight the next opponent as well,” I replied without turning around. “You should rest.”

“You think you’re the strongest here?”

I turned around.

“Of course I am. Do you want to test it?”

He blinked once, then again, seemingly looking for an answer that didn’t involve cursing, but then the Disirian commentator spoke up.

“Step away from the ring. You won’t be warned again.”

I answered, clearing my throat:

“No need. I’ll fight again. I’d rather not waste time walking back and forth.”

“For once, I agree with the Order. This tournament has gone on long enough!” A few breaths of silence and a familiar name rang out over the arena. “Urmal!”

I stared at the other side of the ring in disbelief. No, it was really him. Urmal, the bastard who hurt my beloved little sister. I’d thank the Heavens if I didn’t think they were watching me too often and too closely already.

And yet...

I looked up for a moment at the blue sky that hung over the arena.

“Thank you.”

I took a step forward, crossing the edge of the ring.

The Disirians must have decided that speed was my strength so they put someone who could counter it.

Well. They were wrong.

Check. Gong.

No sooner did we step into the ring that Urmal vanished, reappearing twenty steps to the right, gaining speed.

Just like he had done with Reika.

I went after him with a Decree but ran into an obstacle that burned me with pain. He came prepared. Interesting, but it didn’t change anything.

Putting caution aside, I tucked the Sword Breaker under my arm and launched a wave of small spikes from the palm of my hand. A simple and fast technique. But Urmal ducked between them and finally came at me.

Ice Dome.

Urmal took it down in two breaths, shattered it into a hundred icy shards, and drove his sword into my shoulder, forcing me to use the Veil.

I retaliated with both swords.

Urmal landed ten blows in two breaths. I only parried half of them, paying with superficial wounds for my negligence, but that didn’t matter.

He felt the heat of danger and tried to retreat, but I was closing in. Before he could escape, I slammed the Breaker into his head and intertwined his arm with mine. I rooted myself to the stone slabs with Support. I didn’t let him run away, standing right in the gust of warm wind, pouring all my power as a Leader into the defensive technique the Order had given me.

Urmal grinned and swung his sword. Fast, unbelievably fast, so fast that I didn’t even notice the movement.

His blade slammed into my shoulder, burning me not with the heat of danger but with pain, scorching my flesh. He froze for a split second before striking again, but I just grinned and pressed harder.

His arm crunched as I broke it, twisting downward, causing him to duck and miss the blow, but he didn’t even have the time to scream in pain. I swung as his Veil fell.

Once, twice, from the left, thrice, four times...

I wasn’t as fast as he was, lacking the speed technique he owned, but I managed to hit four times with the jian and twice with the Breaker before the gong sounded.

I barely had the time to twist my arm and drive the Breaker into stone instead of Urmal’s other leg. Slowly, I stood up and took a step back from my opponent. A broken arm and a leg, plus four gaping wounds... He’d spend some time in the infirmary.

I raised my head, addressing the commentator and the judges.

“This is only a fight. The sword is blind and hard to stop. I didn’t offer him to surrender, because I thought him a worthy opponent that’d be able to prove himself. I was wrong.”

This time, the commentator’s voice wasn’t as soft, but neither was it as booming and rumbling as before. I had a feeling he wasn’t speaking to the audience.

“I heard you, Atria. I’m sure that everyone under our banner heard you as well.”

“Victory for the Order! I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing — our rising star Reika has been avenged! What a tremendous victory! Two in a row, might I add! Even his injuries cannot dampen the spirit of our avenger!”

I was pushed aside by the healers running into the ring. Half of them seemed to be wearing Disirian colors. They didn’t trust me? Fine by me. There was no poison in Ulmar’s wounds. I’d pass on that for now.

I stepped out of the ring but I didn’t go far, aware that they’d send me in again.

Like clockwork, ten breaths later, I heard my name.

“Atria!”

“Olar!” the Disirians answered.

“Sharp Peaks. One of their younger talents,” Shandri informed me. “Seventh star. Listed as such in our records. Earth. Favors strength over speed.”

I took a good look at my opponent. Too bad the distance didn’t allow me to judge his strength. All I could tell was that he had an amulet to protect him against Decrees and that his weapon was a large staff. At first glance, I thought it was a spear, but no. It was a regular staff, with a closed, ball-shaped flower at the top.

I wasn’t sure my jian would withstand a collision with that thing, let alone the Breaker. Whatever strangeness I suspected in it, it was only a Warrior’s weapon.

“Surrender.”

Olar grinned and remained silent.

Gong.

We remained standing. Olar squared his shoulders and stepped toward me, swinging his staff in front of him. Steel against steel? It would have been interesting if I hadn’t decided to save my Destroyer and Rimilo’s miraculous return for a more serious fight.

I squinted, touched the Bag, put away the Breaker, and raised my left hand, summoning a Terrestrial Appeal.

Bloody Whips

Third constellation.

Blue, tendril-like jets shot up from the stones, swirling around Olar’s figure, enveloping him. He lunged, sweeping the Whips from his path with a single swing of his staff, but I had already raised my right hand.

Storm Spear.

First constellation.

Olar took exactly one step to the side, out of the technique’s path, and then came at me with a Dash.

In vain.

I had already retreated, still maintaining the Whips.

For a few breaths, we darted around the ring. I ran, he chased, and then I changed our roles.

He tried to catch me with another Dash, and I charged at him.

Shandri was wrong. Olar was fast. He almost got away from me, but only almost. The jian grazed his side, leaving a bloody trail.

I snorted in disbelief. I couldn’t believe that he had no time to use the Veil. Was he saving it for a more serious attack?

We clashed again. The Whips struck from all sides except the right, leaving an opening for me and my jian.

I ducked under the air-cutting staff and retreated.

Closing the distance, I struck three times, and backed away, covering my escape with the Whips.

It didn’t work.

I retreated. It was time to change techniques.

As I prepared, the air around me flared with the heat of danger, forcing me to Dash upward.

Down below, all my Whips disintegrated into blue dust. It was hard to grow anything in a field of thorns.

I fell into the ring, managing to twist just enough to avoid impaling myself on the stone spikes. I was surprised to feel debris under my boots. How much power did Olar put into his technique to shatter the stone plates, and how did he do it?

It didn’t matter.

I raced through the stone thicket without even seeing Olar, relying on my senses.

He must have sensed me as well, alerted by his Combat Meditation.

We clashed.

This time I had weapons in both hands. Jian in my right and the Breaker in my left. Too bad the latter didn’t have a Spirit Vessel.

The jian, on the other hand, greedily absorbed the energy poured into it and transformed into seven spears that hit Olar from all sides.

Seven Blades.

Third constellation.

I doubted even Vilikor could defend against nine simultaneous blows from all sides.

I remained close to Olar, gliding alongside him, just a hair’s breadth away from his staff and the techniques he tried to use to defend himself.

I hit, hit, hit, chewing through his defenses.

It took me fifty breaths to topple him. He was covered in wounds.

I stepped back without waiting for the gong. It was a good fight, a perfect demonstration of the power of the Seven Blades. Olar wasn’t good enough with his staff, and I was a little faster than he would have liked.

I pressed my thigh and checked the deepest wound. Nothing a simple healing technique couldn’t handle.

Stepping out of the ring, I looked at my four remaining comrades, then turned and froze on the shattered slabs.

“Atria, you’re wounded. Would you like to rest?” our commentator asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“No.”

“Would you at least take a healing potion?”

“No. My pain tolerance is high. These scratches don’t bother me much.”

“Scratches... Ahem!” The commentator raised his voice after a moment. “Disirians! It’s your turn to choose! Atria has demonstrated that he’s as strong as he is fast. How will you react? Strength, speed, or will you send someone who’s good with techniques? Try a different approach?”

There was a short cheer from the Disirian ranks and a boy stepped forward. Modest. I missed his name, too. Shandri didn’t say anything about him.

My Decree stuck to him like a fly to jair dung.

A weakling sent to buy time and make me waste some of my strength. Not a bad plan, I suppose, if not for the glaring holes in it. I had a lot of energy and elemental threads in me, while my opponent didn’t even own an amulet to protect himself against Decrees. Did they forget that our Order was famous for its Decree-like formations? Did they think we wouldn’t use them because it was unfair? Probably, but I didn’t mind playing dirty.

“Surrender,” I advised my opponent.

“What a silly suggestion,” he replied. “I didn’t come here to surrender.”

I shrugged. Fair enough.

Gong.

The guy immediately started throwing techniques at me.

This was pointless. I wouldn’t have survived Herb Ridge if a single volley of weak techniques could kill me.

One symbol.

One breath.

Raising my arm, I sent a single Spirit Blade at my opponent while inscribing the final symbol into the Decree.

Pain.

He deflected my technique with some sort of Veil, but then he bent over in agony, the masterful execution of his technique thwarted. By the time he straightened up, my Dash was ready.

The Breaker struck once, twice, thrice. The guy dodged all three blows and arched, reaching for me and pushing the warm wind away from him.

Hold.

I stabbed my sword into his shoulder.

The Crusher. An old weapon technique learned from the former Saul guards. Eighteen nodes.

That was enough for him. I tore half his shoulder open.

I took a step back.

“Do you want to continue or do you want to give up?” I mocked him loudly.

The gong struck and prevented him from answering.

But I could see it in his eyes — he would have continued.

Not a bad one.

The others weren’t all bad either. All those who came after him tried to wear me down. Some were a little weaker, some a little stronger than him. They all wore different clothes: Sharp Peaks, Yellow Rocks, Weeping Falls... The only thing they had in common was that they were following their elders’ orders, banding together under the Disirian banner. This alone made them my enemies.

I didn’t give two years of my life to the Order of the Heavenly Sword, made comrades in it, helped Vilikor and her brother join it, promised to make it stronger, only to have some cunning bastards tear it to pieces.

I removed the Breaker from my opponent’s leg and reminded myself that the Order had to lose.

The gong sounded.

I took a step out of the ring and immediately returned.

“Atria!”

The number of people under the Disirian banner had thinned out significantly. How many had I eliminated? Fifteen, twenty?

“We demand an age check.”

Chapter 32

I blinked once, then again, trying to figure out why the next opponent’s name sounded so long and strange. Then it hit me.

“Why?” the bewildered commentator asked.

“He looks older than twenty.”

I chuckled. Of course he did. Atria was in his early twenties, if I understood Fatya’s stories correctly. But Atria was just a mask.

“Why now?” I asked. “You didn’t care when you urged the audience to come down from the stands and defend the Order’s honor. You didn’t ask to test anyone else so far. So why me? Why now? Some of your fighters didn’t look like baby-faced youths either.”

That wasn’t entirely true, of course, but who said I couldn’t have a little fun at their expense? Shandri? He was as quiet as a mouse.

“That’s what the rules say. Only those under the age of twenty can participate in this tournament. This is a junior competition, after all.”

“May the Heavens be my judge then. But don’t shift the blame onto us when you make fools of yourselves.”

Five breaths passed, but no one standing outside the ring moved.

“Ringmaster, something has gone wrong with the Disirians. Examine me yourself, so that their slander doesn’t cast a shadow on our righteous Order,” I demanded.

With a chuckle, he sent over one of the novices to run the test. While he approached, I put a Decree on myself. I’d rather not have this test reveal my true strength too early. I doubted the Disirians were that worried about my age.

Once he was beside me, the novice extended his hand with the artifact, slowly, as if he wanted everyone to see it, placed his other palm on it, and read out the numbers that lit up above it.

“Test! Fifteen!”

He held the artifact out to me.

I placed my hand on it just as slowly.

“Eighteen!”

I shrugged and tried to apologize with ostentatious embarrassment.

“I just look older than I am. I guess I’m the kind of guy who goes gray early.”

There was no reply, but from behind the thinning crowd of Disirian participants, someone jumped out and rushed into the ring. He also had an artifact in his hand.

“Our guests have decided to be arrogant today!” I said, laughing. “They distrust us so much that they have to run their own test. It’s ridiculous. What’s next? Are they going to start setting up defensive formations around the ring?”

The Disirian boy drove his feet into the ground and stopped running. Confused, he turned his head, apparently trying to catch his senior’s gaze.

Without waiting for that moment, I waved at him.

“Errand boy, bring your artifact over here, and let’s see just how fair the Disirians are.”

The Disirian blushed, hid his hands behind his back, and stepped away, but I, seized by an unhealthy and bloodthirsty glee, filled my meridians with energy, and was at his side in an instant.

Despite my disguise and Ascension restriction, I was much faster than a young Warrior.

I took the artifact.

I squeezed it in the palm of my hand.

Nothing.

I poured some energy into it.

Thank the Heavens, it was easy to use even by an incompetent artificer such as myself.

“Eighteen!” I even raised my hand above my head so that all those allowed by their Ascension could see it for themselves. “For once, the Disirians are being honest!” I added, intent on hurting their pride as much as I could. “For once, they’re not trying to make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Rimilo, you’ll make a great son-in-law for my daughter. I have a granddaughter just about your age...” Iover said, choking with merriment.

It's a good thing I had already finished talking and shut my mouth. Otherwise, I would have either choked on my words or bitten my tongue.

“No, thanks. I’m in no hurry. Let her heart find a worthy suitor.”

“Among the pompous aristocracy? She’ll die of boredom. My son-in-law is so serious that I think his face would crack if he smiled.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather not leave her at the altar. Cold feet and all that.”

“It’d be even more interesting if I had to hunt you down. Now that’d be a story for the ages!”

I turned around and caught a glimpse of the lodge and Iover himself. There he was, grinning from ear to ear.

He didn’t even have a granddaughter.

The bastard.

I shook my head with disapproval, causing him to roll over with laughter, and turned away, reminding myself that I was in the ring, a tournament was going on, and I had just tried to sting the Disirian pride as viciously as possible.

The boy jumped up and snatched the artifact out of my hand. I didn’t try to retrieve it. I watched him run and bring it back to his elders. Even if this artifact somehow checked the Ascension level as well, they wouldn’t know the truth about me.

My solitude in the ring was short-lived.

A grim, stern-looking man approached me.

“Darin,” Shandri informed me. “Now that’s an interesting candidate. Especially for you. He appeared four years ago in the lands of the Weeping Falls and joined one of the branches of the Oraz family. The Hyster Service hasn’t been able to find out much about him, but there’s a persistent rumor that he’s from Zero.”

This was very, very interesting indeed.

Test. Gong.

Neither did Darin try to strike immediately nor was I in any hurry to offer him to surrender.

After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped forward.

I followed.

The wind of danger turned into a storm as we stood staring at one another with only ten feet of distance between us.

“Darin,” I called softly.

He tilted his head to this shoulder, but that was all.

“I was told you came from Zero,” I said and tensed up, prepared to defend myself, but Darin entertained me with a reply.

“So? What about it? Are you gonna tell me how we’re all a bunch of nobodies? How you’re superior and how my parents were weaklings?”

“No. Actually, I was wondering what village you’re from.”

“What does that matter?”

“Is it really such a big secret? Or is it so small it doesn’t even deserve a first star? Is it far from any of the big cities? Plekto? Crisol? At least give me a name. Black Wasteland, White Wasteland, Waterfalls?”

Darin tilted his head to the other shoulder, as if looking at me from different angles, and chuckled.

“You know the geography of Zero very well.”

I suddenly regretted entering the ring as Atria and not Rimilo Aradesh. After all, I took this name after the hero Crisol so no one from Zero would wonder where I was from.

But what did it change if I had a different name now?

“Maybe because I’m from Zero myself?” I teased with a smile.

Darin narrowed his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said hesitantly. “Alma. Does that name mean anything to you?”

I shook my head in disbelief. Darin curled his lips in contempt, misunderstanding me, apparently thinking I was signalling my ignorance, but I had a surprise for him.

“What a small world. Alma. A travelling village. It made an indelible impression on me. Never before that day had I imagined that you could put an entire house on wheels.”

Darin looked me over from head to toe.

“Really? Who’s the village elder and what does he look like?”

I was prevented from answering by the commentator’s booming voice.

“Something strange is going on in the ring! I didn’t know it was possible to fight a battle with words alone! What are they talking about, I wonder...?”

Darin pressed his lips together. I raised my hand and shook my head.

“Don’t amplify our voices! Our conversation is of no interest to the public!”

“Then fight!” the Disirian commentator urged.

“We will! What’s the rush?” I replied and looked back at Darin. “You were sent here to exhaust me, weren’t you? Among your teammates, you have the biggest focus, right? You don’t have to answer, I know. But you’re not a Disirian. Yes, your family has made a temporary alliance with them, but do your elders care if we talk first and then fight? What if you knock my teeth out? How will I talk to you then?”

Darin chuckled.

“Wiseass... Answer my question.”

“Dirman Stone. Tall, lean, with sharp and hard features, as if carved in a piece of leadwood. Short haircut and beard, all gray. That’s how I remember him at least. It’s been a while.”

“Hmm, you can’t find something like that in the books, and even if you could, they’d describe him as young... People like to embellish things.” He shook his head. “What a meeting... Two Zeroes facing off each other in the Second Circle of all places. Where are you from?”

“A village so small it’s underserving of a name.”

“And the city that made you a champion?”

I opened my mouth to answer but froze. After a moment of thought, I sighed.

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. Let’s keep it my secret. Not that I really think the Disirians will be able to harm the faction that took me in, they’re still too small, but... I don’t want to risk it.”

“Too bad.” He swung his sword. “Ready to have your teeth bashed in?”

I thought, flexed my fingers, and counted.

“Let’s settle it another way,” I suggested. “In the year three hundred and sixty-seven, I not only saw Alma but also had a private conversation with Dirman Stone as the settlement passed by. Could you not have seen me then?”

Darin shook his head.

“No. I became champion the prior year.”

“Unfortunate.” I sighed, and then a memory popped into my head. “Since Zero is long gone and all its secrets are unimportant... I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I’ve begun to suspect that Dirman took Black Mushrooms to stay in Zero forever. I think that’s why he looks like that — morbidly thin, like he’s dried up,” I clarified, just in case. “You’ve heard of the Black Mushroom, right? Its poison stops Ascension.”

“Hah!” Darin shook his head again. “There’s no doubt about it now. You really are from Zero. Too bad you and I have to fight.”

I grinned.

“It really is. Unfortunately, it’s commonplace for me, being a fighter. Let’s consider today’s duel a friendly spar, shall we? As your senior, I’ll teach you a useful lesson. Hopefully, you can learn something from it.”

“Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Darin’s severity peeled off for a moment, like the skin of a dragon plum, revealing his other self. “You have a lot of self-esteem, brother.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” I reminded him.

“I never thought about it, but you could be right. He’s too good to believe he stumbled on the path and failed to break through with all his skills and connections.” Darin spread his hands. “But I understand him. Had he left, he wouldn’t have been able to realize his dream. Without him, there wouldn’t have been Alma. I’m wondering if I should push further myself. But the Circles aren’t so strict. The higher you go, the fewer the restrictions on Ascension.”

I nodded.

“Yes. Potions, Forms, runic seals, transfers of power...” I chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Third turned a blind eye to sacrifices as well.”

Darin shook his head.

“The audience can’t hear us, but there are plenty of eager ears around us. You should watch your words, brother, you speak of ill things.”

“Sorry, sorry...”

“Either way, I thank you for the conversation, brother. It was a pleasure to meet someone who’s walked the same path and understands the injustice of the Circles, but let’s not forget where we’re standing and why. I’m grateful for the talk and the memories it brought back, but...” His eyes darkened. “I hope you realize this doesn’t change anything. I’ll fight with all my might.”

I grinned and brandished my sword.

“I’ll answer truth with truth. This isn’t a weapon I’m good with. Let’s see if you’re strong enough to force me to use my main weapon.”

“I was just remembering how cleverly you managed to defeat the previous opponents and I suddenly realized why you’re so good at unarmed combat. I think I know what your main weapon is.” Darin grinned. “Since we’re both hunters from Zero, shouldn’t we fight without steel? Do you dare fight me fist-to-fist like a man?”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” I laughed for a long time. It was an honest, genuine laugh. “Commentator, let our voices resound throughout the arena! Say it again, brother.”

And he did. Loudly, enunciating each word.

“Do you dare fight me fist-to-fist like a man?!”

Chapter 33

Darin laughed. I joined in. Our mad laughter echoed through the arena.

I nodded, and Darin repeated the gesture, stepping toward me.

“What about enhancement techniques?” I asked when we were two feet apart.

“No techniques at all. Let’s keep it interesting, Nil.”

“Nil?” I rolled the word around on my tongue and I nodded. It had a nice ring to it. “I like the way you think, brother. Maybe our friends can learn something from this.” I raised my right hand in front of me and clenched it into a fist. “One... Two... Three!”

We stepped forward with our left foot at the same time. I didn’t know who taught Darin in Zero, but there were probably enough hunters, guards, and teachers from the First in Alma. I did what Vilikor and Gunir had taught me in Frost Ridge, twisting my body, adding leg, back, and shoulder strength to my strike.

A draw.

We exchanged punches, but neither managed to hurt the other or push him back. As promised, I didn’t use either Unity or Support. Judging by how the leather of Darin’s boots squeaked on the stone, he did the same. He was an honest guy.

And it made me feel ashamed. What was I, a Leader, to do? Limit myself? What about my body? I could lower my Ascension level, but my bones would never again be as weak as they used to be at the Master of Spirit stage.

There had to be something I could do to give Darin a fighting chance.

I withdrew my hand, took a step back, and straightened up.

“How many stars do you have, brother?”

“Seven. I hit a barrier. How about you?”

I sighed.

“More than you, I fear.”

A Decree appeared above me.

Time limit: one hundred breaths. Ascension Restriction: Master of Spirit, seven stars.

Darin chuckled.

“Why the long face? I’m from Alma, after all. An obstacle isn’t always a bad thing, right? Sword City is still two Circles above my hometown. Even if I stayed here, would that be so bad?”

“You’re right. Shall we add techniques then?” I offered.

“Let’s.”

“It’s your turn to count.”

Darin nodded, and then the commentators, whom I had completely forgotten about, reminded us of their presence. I was glad they removed the voice-amplification technique they had put on us so that our conversations were private once more.

“This is probably the first time I’ve seen a fist-to-fist fight at the younger generation’s tournament. I’ve seen alchemists brew incredible potions and blacksmiths forge unusual weapons. I’ve even been to a healer tournament. But I’ve never seen an unarmed duel like this.”

“One... Two... Three!”

Unity’s first constellation. Support. Step.

Clash.

There was a barely audible crunch as my fist landed half a palm’s length farther than the last time and Darin’s arm gave way under my blow.

He grimaced.

“You got me,” he said, pulling his hand back and gingerly feeling his fingers, cursing under his breath. “I felt like I hit a stone.”

I chuckled.

“Ready to give up?”

He flinched.

“Not while there’s still an intact bone left in my body! Besides, I’m not allowed to,” he added in a much softer voice.

“I understand. Let’s keep throwing jair dung on the fire then, shall we? Body techniques, no weapons.

Darin nodded.

“Deal.”

“One, two, three!”

We lunged forward at the same time, colliding, limbs intertwining, exchanging blows.

I felt like I was back in Frost Ridge, with Gunir facing me. Strong, sharp, stubborn, unyielding.

For a few breaths, I took a decent beating, but then my body seemed to remember everything I had hammered into it.

I stepped to the left, ducked, drove my elbow into the back of Darin’s head, and twisted around, attempting to knock him off his feet.

It didn’t work.

Support.

He dodged a blow from above, turned, and dug his heels firmly. He hit left, then right, and I countered with my knee, knocking his arm back. Before he had time to react, I punched him under the armpit, right where a node was located, knocking the energy out of his body.

“Damned jair!”

Darin leaned to the side, pressing his hand to his body, and tried to kick me away. I grabbed his ankle and kicked his supporting leg.

A dense wave of air hit me in the chest, throwing me back and allowing him to walk away. Still leaning, he removed his hand from under his armpit and looked at his palm.

“You got me again. What was that thing? I didn’t feel any danger, and then, suddenly, it’s like you drilled a hole through me.”

“It’s not a technique, if that’s what you’re wondering. Just a trick I learned from a friend back in the First. Hurts, don’t it?”

“Shall we move to steel and techniques?” Darin asked instead of answering.

“Whatever you want, brother.”

“One.” A heavy sword appeared in Darin’s hand, something between a jian and a dao. Very similar to what Fatya used. And here I thought he wielded a spear... “Two.” Darin chuckled. “Three!”

I moved away from the wind of danger and hurried to arm myself and raise my Ascension level. I barely had time to push energy into my meridians before we clashed again. This time, I took Darin head-on.

Sparks flew all around us as our weapons collided.

Darin pierced me with stone spikes from the left, forcing me to use the Veil. I answered with seven Blades.

A draw.

Shoulder strike, groin strike, deflect, move my thigh out of the technique’s way, deflect the sword with my bracer, Ice Spike, jab to the eye, kick to the leg...

Six breaths and we retreated simultaneously. We paused for a moment to assess our wounds. Four times we used the Veil, and three times it fell, opening gaps to strike. My right blue strand got a trim and my shoulder was split. Darin had three wounds.

He grinned.

“What nice bracers you have hidden under your robe. I wonder if they’ll handle a Terrestrial technique...”

“Come test them out. One. Two. Three!”

We clashed.

This time, Darin used stronger and more dangerous techniques.

I only had the Seven Blades. I tried to make do with the Storm Spear and Bloody Whips, but I couldn’t risk using Water-based techniques...

We retreated and assessed our wounds again.

“Seems they can handle them...”

I didn’t doubt it, but the result of the battle wasn’t in my favor — three more wounds for Darin, but two major ones and a dozen minor ones for me. It was a nasty thing, his exploding spheres. You couldn’t see how dangerous they were at first glance.

“Do you really have seven stars?” I asked and thought it’d be best not to beat around the bush. “When did you acquire the seventh one?”

Darin curled his lips and let out a barely audible sneer.

“For someone who came from nothing and has seen how tough life can be, you swallow everything your caring elders tell you, don’t you?”

That was good enough for me. A hint in return, more than understandable.

The commentator yelled something, the stands screamed, but we didn’t care.

“One. Two. Three!” Darin counted down,

Just enough time for me to change the Decrees hanging in front of me.

“You are a worthy opponent, Darin, my fellow brother in Ascension, my brother from Zero, for forcing me to use my strongest and most favored techniques.”

The first constellation of the Star Blade didn’t lengthen my jian, only covered it with a blue film, giving it incredible sharpness.

Three breaths, six breaths, nine breaths.

We separated.

Darin limped away. The Bloody Whips had butchered his leg. His left shoulder was cut to the bone, and the fingers of his sword-holding hand were dripping with blood.

I had a gash in my side and a cut running across my arm. Just above the bracer. Darin knew where to hit.

“Shall we stop holding back?” I suggested with a smile.

“Yes. I guess I can’t force you to change weapons. It’s your turn to count.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice.

“One, two, three.”

Clash.

Steel to steel, technique to technique, face to face.

This time, Darin was completely covered in stone armor. He was slower, but my weak Star Blade couldn’t pierce his defense.

“Sorry, Darin, but the third constellation of the Star Blade is one hundred and fifty nodes. Only that’s available to a seventh-star Master.”

Ten breaths and not even the huge, jagged flying disks that tried to grind me down despite my defenses could turn the tide of battle.

I froze, clutching the jian that pierced Darin’s other shoulder. He twisted away from the blade, only making the wound worse.

“That won’t take me down!”

Once again, the hint was more than clear.

Steps hurled me toward him. Left, right, down, punching gaps in the armor, tentacles stabbing Darin in the back...

Seven Blades.

A ghostly blue jian was embedded in each of the old wounds, in each of the gaps in his stone armor.

As they disappeared, Darin fell to his knees.

“How about this?”

I was answered by the gong and the commentator’s shout.

“Victory for the Order! What a fight! What a fight! I swear it was as hot as the Wasteland’s sun!”

Chapter 34

Darin was dragged out of the ring. I watched as they took him, removed my Decrees, and used three healing techniques on myself, one after the other. Secretly. I wanted to appear weak after this fight, but I didn’t want to bleed to death.

At the same time, I checked my focus. There was enough energy in it. I could probably take one, maybe two more fights as hard as this one.

I raised my hand.

“Can I just stay here? I’m sick and tired of walking in and out of the ring. Just bring out the next fighter.”

“Stay?” the commentator was confused. “Shouldn’t you take a break?”

“I can continue.”

“Then at least use a healing potion,” he insisted. “It’s allowed. We wouldn’t want you to bleed out.”

Shrugging in response, I took a Tiger’s Heart out of the Bag and raised it up so that both the ringmasters could see what it was.

They nodded, granting their permission.

I tipped the potion into my mouth.

My head spun. My limbs were pins and needles. Every wound, down to the smallest bruise, made itself known as the pain doubled.

“Glaut!”

“From the Arcon family,” Shandri informed me. “Eight stars. Ambidexterous, wielding twin axes. Not very fast, few techniques, but very strong. I wouldn’t advise you to fistfight him.”

What was the point of my Ascension and path if I avoided difficult fights and ran away from challenges?

“Surrender,” I suggested when Glaut entered the ring.

He gave me the same look as Darin and smiled.

“Do you dare fight me like a man?”

My grin stretched just as wide.

“Let’s skip hand-to-hand combat, shall we? Straight to enhancement techniques.”

“Agreed.”

Nodding, I raised my arms and brought my left foot forward, assuming the necessary stance. I was curious to see if Glaut was full of potions and fake stars. Was his reward enough to overcome the last obstacle on his way to the Leader stage?

Unity.

“One, two, three!”

Support. Step.

Clash.

Pain.

Crunching.

Only it wasn’t my bones that gave way.

I pulled my hand back. Glaut bent over, clasping his wrist.

No. He wasn’t a Leader. And the basis of his strength wasn’t good. Why did Shandri bother warning me about such a weak opponent?

Shame I wouldn’t be able to see him dual-wield those axes now.

I clenched and unclenched my right hand several times, checking my fingers. It hurt, but that was it.

It was an unfair fight. Our bodies should be the same since I claimed I was a Master, but... But did it matter? The Disirians weren’t fighting fair, so why should we? Worse even were the men and women whose loyalty to the plum blossom was bought for a handful of Ascension potions. Or perhaps their elders were to blame, selling their clan’s talent for empty promises... It didn’t matter. Though this explained why there were only a couple genuine talents among them. For once, I’d be glad if these potions turned out to be watered down and riddled with impurities.

Glaut straightened up. The fingers of his right hand were swelling before our eyes, each as thick as cucumber.

“I’d advise you to give up,” I offered.

“As if!”

He threw himself at me, ax in his left and an Appeal in his right hand.

He shouldn’t have tried to imitate my fight with Darin. He angered me and suffered the consequences.

The Sword Breaker emerged from the Bag.

Ten breaths later, Glaut had three wounds.

I had to hand it to him, he was stubborn and brave, unwilling to give up, but to continue fighting when blood was literally gushing out of you like a fountain?

The gong sounded just as I took a step back, giving Glaut enough time to realize that his resistance was pointless.

With a curse, he threw the ax at his feet, and then nearly tripped and fell when he was escorted out by one of the attendants. Another came after to pick up the discarded weapon and return it to its owner.

I glanced up at Shandri. Our gazes met but he didn’t say anything.

I looked down. The Sword Breaker had a fresh, deep notch on its blade — using it to deflect an ax was a bad idea.

I put it back into the Bag. I didn’t own many things that carried a memory with them. There was no need to test the limits of its durability.

“Prime!”

“I wouldn’t call him a talent,” Shandri sounded again. “But he could be a hidden dragon for all we know. His Ascension was rapid. A year ago, he was listed as one of the youngest Walkers Sharp Peaks had to offer. His element is Steel. Very rare.”

I glanced over at my opponent, comparing him to the only other Steel user I knew — Iraya. But he had neither silver locks in his blond hair nor a blade of grass in his mouth. He didn’t even have a sword in his hand. The only similarity was the hairstyle — his hair was also pulled back into a ponytail.

Check.

I removed Unity so I couldn’t be accused of fighting unfair. I wasn’t sure whether the Order’s artifact could notice this particular technique. Technically, it wasn’t a technique, which were forbidden before the gong sounded, but a Form, based on my element. But why risk it? This wasn’t the time to test my guesses.

“Surrender,” I offered.

“No.”

“Do you also want to make a show out of this or can we just get on to beating the shit out of each other?”

Prime shook his head.

“Raw strength isn’t my strong suit.”

“Then?”

“You’ll see.”

Gong.

I paused for a moment, listening to the wind of danger.

Nothing.

With a shrug, I took the first step forward. Prime responded in kind, walking slowly toward me.

It all began when there were ten steps between us — Prime took off, pushing a wave of warm, gentle breeze in my direction.

I slipped between its currents, opening gaps in them with my jian.

Needles. A Human technique that created thin, almost invisible steel needles. They scorched subtly under my blows.

I backed away with a cut on my thigh. A shallow one, but still.

He was a better swordsman than I was. Not as good as Vilikor, but good enough to best me. Even the Seven Blades didn’t help me. Prime’s weapon technique ignored my amulet, piercing me from all sides.

Aware of his advantage, Prime didn’t let me catch my breath, piling blows, stinging with steel from all sides like an angry bee. Swords, needles, blades — every now and then they overcame the thin defenses of my Spiritual Protection.

I floundered in the hot wind, trying to decide if it was time to reveal another one of Atria’s surprises.

But which one? The Destroyer? Unity’s third constellation? Roak’s Shell? Claw?

As with most things, I was overthinking it.

The swords clashed once more, the glow of the Terrestrial technique almost blinding, and my jian rang one last time, loudly, raggedly, shattering into pieces.

Veil.

Two breaths of invulnerability for a Master, or as long as the body was filled with energy.

I used it until the last moment, breaking through the wall of sharp blades.

I stopped the Dash twenty steps away and heard a taunt behind me.

“Come on, I robbed you of a blade you’re not good with. Take out your real weapon. I want to test its strength as well.”

I looked at the hilt in my hand. It was all that was left of the jian. I threw it aside. Why would I agree to dance to his tune? I managed to escape in the two breaths the Veil gave me. I could handle Prime without a weapon.

I had every right to humiliate the Disirians and their accomplices. The Order should be the one to win glory in this tournament, not the Disirians and their henchmen.

Who said that a spear and a set of Roak techniques were all I could rely on to win?

I had seen many extraordinary battles today; couldn’t I use their experience to my advantage?

Vilikor had spent a lot of energy to win against one of her opponents. Couldn’t I do the same right now?

“You consider yourself good with a sword?”

“With any weapon. Now get yours out. What do you have there? Twin blades, a spear, a javelin, a club, a flail?”

Instead of answering, I formed an Appeal and filled it with energy and elemental threads.

Bloody Whips

Shackling Technique

Rank: Terrestrial

Quality: High

Element: Water

Transforms heavenly energy into whips that squeeze enemies in a deadly embrace, staining the water with their blood. The strength and sharpness of the whips depend on the constellation and the infused element.

I had the third constellation, one hundred and twenty-two nodes, but the threads... I had more elemental threads than any Master could ever have.

For a moment, I was annoyed — I managed to get by with two breaths of the Veil, I could make do without the Star Blade and other things, and here...

And then I calmed down and poured a generous amount of threads from the second focus into the technique, and then another, and another, and another...

Blue jets shot up from the stones, swirling around Prime’s figure, entangling him...

Rather, trying to entangle him.

He shredded them in two breaths, dissolved them in his spiritual energy, broke free of captivity with a wide grin...

...only to fly into a cage three times as large.

The technique greedily absorbed everything I poured into it. Never before had I been able to pour so much power into it and create so many Whips. But I had never tried to put so many elemental threads into it before, as I never had that many back then.

The Whips had filled half the ring by now, rising in a veritable forest between Prime and me, surrounding me, rising above my head, weaving a protective dome together. I used all the tricks I had learned from Kaymar’s fights.

Prime was strong. Half of the Whips he destroyed with steel and techniques, the other half with Spiritual Protection, not even thinking of sparing his energy reserves.

But that wasn’t enough. The closer he came to me, the more solid the Whips became. His defenses couldn’t handle the elemental energy I was putting in, and I kept pouring more of it, familiarizing myself with a new facet of my old technique.

Prime’s Dash got stuck in the Whips. By the time he realized he needed to move up, it was too late.

He managed to take down the first wave of the Whips but got caught in the second, twenty steps above the ring.

One breath and he collapsed, crashing against the stone slabs.

Another breath and everyone finally saw why the technique bore the name it did — the whips, transparent until now, turned red, full of Prime’s blood.

I waited a moment, but the gong never sounded.

“Admit defeat,” I demanded.

Silence.

I swore, took another breath, and dispelled the Whips.

They moved for two more breaths, still pressing against Prime, still protecting me, and then they turned pale and crumbled to dust, revealing the body beneath.

Prime’s clothes were torn into hundreds of shreds, not a single piece intact, and he was covered in wounds. Most of them were shallow, but there were actual holes where the Whips had broken through his Spiritual Protection, the Veil, and the amulet.

This was different from the battle with Ketot. If the Whips had been half as good then as they were now, Berek would still be alive.

Finally, the gong sounded.

“Another victory for our Order! What a display of power! I don’t know about you, but Atria never ceases to amaze me. That’s the kind of apprentice I expected to see from commander Iover. He could probably beat a Shaggy Bear with his bare hands! He’s faster than a Panther! He’s not bad with a sword either, and just look what he’s done with his technique! It’s a pretty common technique, a lot of Water Elementalists have it. Bloody Whips, if I’m not mistaken. But the way he did it! It was incredible!”

“Of course it was.” The Disirian commentator’s voice was muffled and oozed displeasure. “He put everything he had into it. If Prime had lasted one breath longer, your Atria would have had to deflect his sword with his body.”

“But he didn’t, did he? And it wasn’t his first fight, so he used only half his strength.”

“What was left.”

“And that was enough. Why argue about something that didn’t happen?”

Letting them bicker, I assessed my energy reserve. They were both wrong. I hadn’t spent half my strength on this fight, and I was perfectly capable of continuing. Only I wouldn’t. My jian had been destroyed by an unusual weapon technique, and all I had left was the Destroyer. If I pulled it out, many would get suspicious about who Atria, Iover’s personal disciple, really was.

I was being paranoid again. The Destroyer wouldn’t be enough to blow my cover. The Order’s Butcher didn’t get his name by running around with an unusual spear. Still, I’d rather eliminate most of our opponents before I reminded everyone why I got that nickname. At the same time, I’d regain my strength and prepare.

I turned around and left the ring, rejoining my group.

I nodded to my fellow students. Vilikor stepped forward.

Her? Then again, why not? We didn’t have many participants left anyway.

Vilikor didn’t walk past me into the ring but toward me. She reached out and grabbed my forearm. Quickly, deftly, suddenly, without even giving me a chance to fight back.

Her fingers gripped my arm, clawing at me, sinking into one of the wounds that had begun to heal.

“Hey! What are you—?!”

But Vilikor had already pulled her hand away, brought her fingers to her face and inhaled the smell of blood. Just like the day I had brought her to the Academy.

I didn’t even dare to speak under her gaze. It was predatory, anticipatory, and promising.

“What’s going on?” Gilai asked, approaching.

“We found our missing leader,” Vilikor announced with a smile. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

“Our...?” Gilai looked from me to Vilikor, and then he got the hint. His features sharpened. “Of course... Zero... I should’ve known... It is you!”

I spread my hands. It was stupid. The conversation with Darin gave me away. Not many people from Zero came to the Second. Vilikor could count them on the fingers of one hand. I couldn’t remember if I mentioned my homeland to Gilai in the City but I must have if he remembered my native Circle.

“Welcome back.” Vilikor chuckled. “I hadn’t expected to see you so soon. Now I might even consider accepting Shandri’s offer.”

“What offer?” I asked with interest.

“To stay in the Order, to find a new family and a new purpose. It was my father’s dream to return to the Third and prove himself to everyone. Father is gone, and so—”

“Tochtal!” the battlemaster called, interrupting her.

I turned around to see if he had the time to heal or not. He didn’t seem to be limping anymore.

“...I can finally live for myself,” she finished as I turned back to her. “Even my brother is a free bird. Thanks to you. But since you don’t need to be found, since you don’t need help...”

She shrugged and smiled. I understood the meaning of her words. Shandri was urging her to stay in the Second and take over the Order in twenty-five years. And to think he told me he had it all worked out when what Vilikor really wanted was to go to the Third and look for me...

It would have taken them a long time to find me. Years at best. At worst, she would have never found my bones in Herb Ridge in the Sixth Circle.

“You owe me an explanation,” Gilai hissed into my ear, clinging to my arm. I could only be glad he didn’t sink his fingers into my wounds as well.

“I don’t know how I’ll explain it to you...”

“To the best of your abilities. And don’t try to wiggle out of it,” he added sternly.

I agreed with him without saying a word. He had heard my real name in the City during the argument with Izard. Mads take that demented spirit. Why couldn’t he keep the conversation between us? Why did he let the others hear it?

Gilai gave me a strange look and walked away, leaving Vilikor and me alone under the eyes of thousands of onlookers.

Still, it was as good of a moment as any...

I held out a Bag.

“I had an unusual encounter on my way here. Perhaps the Heavens themselves wanted me to pay a debt on your behalf.”

Vilikor frowned, tilted her head slightly, and looked at the Bag before accepting it.

A brief moment, an unpleasant sensation, and the Bag changed hosts, allowing Vilikor to peer into it.

“No way...” Vilikor looked up at me. “Who did you get that from?”

It was madness to continue this conversation out in the open, where dozens of ears could hear us, and the last thing the Order needed was a vendetta from the Livat family, a second Wild Time, or even a Calamity.

“His name was Ravut of the Livat family. I believe he was the family’s scribe. A Leader,” I told her telepathically. This wasn’t something anyone else should hear.

Vilikor lowered her hand and shook her head.

“Sand Beast. I’m always catching up to you, burning with envy at the speed of your ascent. Somedays, I wonder why I even try...”

“The winner is Tochtal!”

I frowned, unhappy that we were being interrupted.

It was a familiar conversation. I thought I  it before. In the First, in Frost Ridge, in the school, in its ring. Or near it? Vilikor carried me out of the ring that day. But to hear it again, here, in the Second, during the tournament? That bitterness in her voice... It wouldn’t be long before it became a barrier.

I chuckled.

“Are we having a competition to see who can run the fastest? I’ll never be able to compete with you in the art of sword fighting, and that will never change. Ten, twenty years will pass, but I’ll always be fascinated by the way the steel dances in your hands.” I smiled. “And envious, of course. Of your talent and your knowledge.”

Vilikor smiled back.

“Your sympathy is accepted. You’re right. We need not compete.”

I didn’t like what lurked behind her words. It was a good thing that after the tournament Shandri’s and Horit’s games would end, and Vilikor would...

I lost my train of thought.

She would what? Gain access to places with her element? Get an ancient potion? A medium one, hopefully, like the one I got in the City. But I doubted the Order still had them. It was very hard to get one of those. You had to be a Shen and go to the Trade Pavilion, and you couldn’t enter the same ancient city twice — its guardian spirit wouldn’t let you in, according to the terms of the contract.

I’d have to ask Shandri about that. How were they going to help the Order’s talents become Leaders? Wasn’t there any way I could help before Klatir or Viost showed up? Also, where was my Bag? What did I need those two flying swords for? Wouldn’t it be better to auction them off outside the Order’s lands?

Vilikor looked over her shoulder.

“You’re exhausted, so hurry up and regain your strength. Iraya will finish her fight soon and there aren’t many of us left.”

“Iraya?”

I turned around. I must have missed the announcement. I couldn’t tell if Iraya would win or lose because her opponent was rather strong. Shame that he got so close to the edge of the ring, and how convenient that I never bothered to return under the banner...

I reached out to him, but it was like hitting a wall, and that wall wasn’t that far away from me. It wasn’t his amulet. Was the formation preventing me from using Decrees on the people in the ring?

What an interesting formation. I’d have to practice with it, figure out how to remove it. I hadn’t seen anything like this at the Academy.

Turning around again, I nodded to Vilikor and stepped away, moving under the flag. I froze as she grabbed my sleeve.

“Thank you. Thank you for your retribution. I’m not sure if that man orchestrated what happened, but if he ended up with my father’s things, he was still involved and benefited from it. Thank you.”

I nodded and took her hand, squeezing it tightly before stepping aside. All the trouble I had gone through being chased by those two Livat dogs was worth that gratitude and the relief in Vilikor’s voice.

There was no need to mention anything else. Who was I to remind her that the death of her family was also her fault? Did I have the right to do that? My father’s death was my mother’s fault. She hit Cardo at the meat market, and that was where it all started. But did I have the right to remind her of that?

I didn’t.

Standing up so that I could see the ring and Iraya’s fight, I touched the Bag and pulled out a handful of spirit stones. I needed to regain a lot of strength, and I needed to do it very, very quickly, but Vilikor was right — there were far fewer of us under the banner now, and only Iraya, Gilai, and Vilikor stood between the ring and me. Three fights were my allotted time.

How many Disirians knew my real name by now, I wondered.

I wasn’t sure if even peak Masters were strong enough to destroy spirit stones during the Cycle, and this wasn’t a good time to give the Disirians another reason to be suspicious.

I had to be careful...

“Come on... Break!”

The stones crunched in my fists, showered my feet with tinkling debris and sparkling sand, and I spread my arms and twisted the energy in my meridians.

“Faster, faster. Faster!”

I felt dozens of eyes on me, observing me like a prowling Beast.

“Not only did you show off in the arena, win with a look of longing on your face, and start a conversation about your past in front of thousands of spectators, literally begging to be exposed, but you decided to make everyone’s eyes pop out of their sockets too. Why?” Shandri inquired, curious to know why I was acting like a bashful youth trying to impress his crush.

The rebuke was fair, but I had my reasons. Ones that Shandri should’ve been aware of since he already knew a part of the story. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to remind him.

“Do you remember when I said that I helped my former Order resolve internal differences by siding with one of its factions?”

“I suspect me you didn’t tell me everything about that incident.”

“I didn’t.”

The air around me thawed with hundreds of colored threads oozing from the crumbling spirit stones. The blue ones rushed toward me, swirling around me like a whirlwind, while the others drifted away.

But not for long.

The more I spun the Cycle, the wider it became, and the farther away from me the colored threads danced in the vortex of heavenly energy.

They swept over Tochtal and Vilikor and plunged into their bodies. Dark ones, almost brown, went into the former, and a few blue ones into the latter. Ice, the daughter element of Water.

It was a shame that I was absorbing most of it myself, but it couldn’t be helped — the Cycle was a one-way technique. I had already pulled Saref’s trick with the stones, essentially sharing the excess threads.

Realizing what was going on, Gilai stepped closer, taking Fire for himself and spreading his arms to assume the Cycle’s Form.

I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between what was happening now and the events in the ancient dungeon. With a chuckle, I continued my conversation with Shandri.

“My allies had a plan for me. A detailed and quite elaborate one. Go to the gates, use the Decrees to make it seem like cultists were attacking the city, wait for the strongest opponents to appear on the walls, and so on...”

“Am I safe to assume that things didn’t go the way they wanted?” he asked reluctantly.

“I didn’t like their plan, so I acted on my own.”

“Seeing that you’re here, it’s safe to say that you managed to pull it off. So, whose plan was better?”

I shrugged, pretending I was rubbing my shoulder.

“How should I know? Their plan would’ve given their opponents a heroic death, fighting the cultists before half the city. As far as I’m concerned, they died as traitors to the Order, which they were. In front of the novices and ministers.”

“Looks like Iover’s right, much as it pains me to admit that. I thought I knew you, but I was only fooling myself. I tried too hard to fit you into my plans, forgetting that you’re the kind of man who’ll break the rules sooner or later. Another one of my mistakes.”

“Another one?”

Shandri didn’t answer.

“Senior?”

I lifted my head and looked up to find him. He was still sitting in the lodge, his forehead pressed into his fists. I hesitated but didn’t push for an answer. I lowered my gaze. Why bother someone whose plans had just been ruined? I couldn’t ask him whose plan was better, could I?

I didn’t need to. I knew.

It was his. Hide my powers, hide Rimilo, hide the Leader Shen, and silently, secretly, restore the Order to its former glory.

It’d be hard hiding Rimilo. Tizior’s sword broke too quickly. Then again, he did warn me that both his and my materials were of low quality and that the blade wouldn’t be durable. A couple of hits at the most, he had told me, and it’d shatter.

He had seen my bracers and asked for them more than once, but to give them up for a sword that was only an insurance policy? Who would have thought it would turn out like this?

The next fight would force me to remove one of my masks. Atria would be a thing of the past, but I’d still try to hide my power. The Disirians would win the tournament and claim the City, but just barely. The tournament’s fame would spread to all the surrounding lands. And if it didn’t, Regan should get off his ass and send messengers to all the trade caravans to tell them about it and how the Order stood alone against everyone, defeating almost three times as many opponents.

After all, why should I, a collector of rocks and shit from Zero, think for them? My job was simple: kick as many Disirian asses as possible today and nothing more.

Maybe I should really join Iover’s department. Or even go see that Shui. Fighting and acting when words failed was what I did best. Even Shandri, despite his best attempts, couldn’t stand such a headstrong student, so maybe Iover, who didn’t hide his opinions and expressed himself openly, would be able to work with me?

It wouldn’t happen today, but it was a thought worth entertaining.

I stood in the center of the energy vortex and watched Iraya fight.

Her duel didn’t last long. She tried to use her strengths, but her opponent was by no means a weakling. And if my suspicions about the bribes were correct, then she could only thank her lucky stars that he didn’t manage to break through his barriers all the way to the peak of the Master stage.

Iraya again failed to trap him in her attack, but he managed, forcing her to back off and switch to defensive techniques, clearly intending to keep fighting at long range.

Her Appeal glowed. Ten paces from her, a halo of spectral swords hung in the air.

It was a great technique, but it consumed a lot of energy and gave the initiative to the opponent. It was a good choice when paired with someone else’s abilities, but alone...

As soon as I thought about it, Iraya grabbed the sword with her other hand and slid it along her arm, the blade glowing with ancient symbols.

I had seen it before, this...

Iraya caught the hilt and aimed the blade at her opponent. The phantom swords repeated the movement, twisting in the air, staring at the Disirian. The steel glowed ravenously and snapped into place.

The Disirian Dashed and turned to the left, but it didn’t help, Iraya’s arm movement was just as fast, the flying swords only hesitated a little, wobbled in pursuit, and then struck right on target, slamming into the glow of the defensive technique.

It went on like this for a few breaths — Iraya created sword after sword and sent them at the Disirian while he hid under the shimmering dome.

But as soon as it cracked, he stepped directly toward the stream of swords and raised his weapon.

Good as he was, he wasn’t Vilikor either. His movements lacked her grace, her speed, and her incredible ease. Rather, the Disirian resembled me — the Ice Queen’s clumsy apprentice, whom she had taught her tricks, but who’d never be able to match his teacher.

He didn’t need to. He had the strength, dexterity, and skill to fight his way through the stream of swords and attack.

Left, right, left, up, lunge.

Iraya ended her technique and met him with steel, but it was only the beginning of the end. Five breaths later, she bore two wounds.

“Surrender!” Gilai begged, standing next to me.

As if Iraya could hear him, as if she’d obey him.

A new Terrestrial Appeal erupted beneath her feet, summoning a hail of steel needles. The Disirian didn’t even think of retreating. He raised his left arm above his head, covering himself with a new dome, and charged at Iraya, inflicting a third wound.

The clash of steel, the scream of pain, and the sound of the gong merged into one.

“Step back! Step back, you Disirian dog!” our battlemaster yelled.

But the Disirian only smiled, snatched the sword from Iraya’s hand, and then stepped back.

Gilai was no longer beside me, banging on the protective dome that surrounded the ring.

“Remove this damned thing!”

Iraya’s blue robe was completely stained with blood on the right side. Slowly, she turned to us, her lips barely curving into a smile.

“I’m fine...”

And jair shit didn’t stink.

From the front, the sight was much more horrible. The last blow was a weapon technique — the entire right side of her body looked like it had been torn from the inside out — you could stick your fist through the hole in her chest, past the ribs and a blue lung.

Iraya’s sword clattered on the stones, slipping from her fingers. The dome had barely disappeared and Gilai was already by her side, cradling her in his arms.

“Wait until I get in the ring!” he hissed at the Disirian. “Don’t you dare run away! Show me if you’re that good against an equal!”

The Disirian waved him off.

“Don’t snarl at me, mutt. Why do I have to prove anything to you?”

There were already five ministers and novices near Iraya and Gilai, two of which were taking care of her wounds.

“Don’t worry, Gilai. If you don’t manage, I’ll take revenge on your behalf and make sure the taste of steel never fades from his tongue,” I said.

“Why such threats?” the Disirian commentator asked. “Is it worthy of those who call themselves the most righteous faction of our humble Circle?”

Our commentator didn’t hesitate to answer:

“If we called ourselves the second fairest, would the Disirians claim they’re the first? The rules forbid the use of body and meridian mutilating weapon techniques.”

“They do, but the sword is heavy and the fist is blind. This was nothing more than a mere accident. When opponents of equal strength are fighting, it’s hard to know whether a blow will be blocked or not. Or will the Order argue that your member’s life is in danger?”

I curled my lips into a grin. Good. Today was the day of excuses. I found an excuse to come down here. I also found an excuse for a Leader to hide his power by humiliating Masters in an unequal fight. Now I had another excuse to remind everyone how I got the nickname Butcher.

“I’ll go.”

“Not a chance!” Gilai snapped at me and carefully passed Iraya to the healer next to me. “I’ll go. And you.” He pointed at the Disirian who had reassumed his place under the banner. “You get back here. Only my blade will taste your blood.”

I shrugged and took a step back. I didn’t care if I’d fight now or later. Besides, Gilai had the right to take his revenge. Though if he thought that the Disirian would fight with honor, his opinion of that clan was too high.

“I’m sorry, Gilai, but the fewer of you are left when I enter the ring, the better.”

Chapter 35

Unsurprisingly, the Disirian didn’t come out. Their commentator said something about the inadmissibility of personal insults at the tournament, about virtues, and so on. It was funny. To me at least. Gilai got very angry, though.

In fact, he flared up as if he always had a fire burning in him, ready to burst out at any opportunity.

I couldn’t nudge him to ask about his opponent. Shandri was silent as well. If Iover knew anything, he wasn’t sharing it. Though I doubted he did, as his department didn’t deal with combat.

Not knowing what else to do, I turned to Vilikor.

And her explanation was more detailed than theirs could have ever been.

“I saw your name on the stele at the academy. Every faction has one to encourage their students’ competitive spirit. Others may use a grading system similar to ours, giving points based on performance and merit, or they may have one of their own. Either way, Rundar,” she gestured toward the ring where they were already fighting, “ranked in the top ten on their stele, but never higher than seventh.”

“Not yet,” I corrected her.

She watched Rundar maneuver skillfully past Gilai’s two swords and nodded.

“Not yet.”

They faced each other in the ring, steel against steel, Spiritual Protection destroying their opponent’s techniques. They didn’t shy away from weapon and enhancing techniques either, using everything that’d give them even the slightest edge over their opponent.

Gilai also had flames around him with which he tried to burn Rundar.

It didn’t work.

“Is this the first time he’s entered the ring today?” I asked.

“Yes.”

It didn’t mean anything. Gilai had literally just used the Cycle next to me, so he couldn’t complain about lacking energy.

Remembering the Form, I spread my arms again. I didn’t have much time left until it was my turn to get in the ring again. I needed quite a bit more to recover fully. It was better to be safe than sorry.

“You’re using the Cycle too often. It puts a strain on the meridians and...” Tochtal sighed and waved his hand. “I’m wasting my breath schooling you. You won’t listen, will you?”

It was impossible not to notice the mockery in his words. But I wasn’t offended. Things were the way they were. The body, if attuned to the soul, allowed many things. As Ramas once told me: “Your body is your greatest advantage over others. Judging by the scars on your meridians, anyone else in your place would be a cripple by now.” But was he right about the body? Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that my greatest advantage over others was a very strong soul?

“Doesn’t this remind you of something?” Vilikor asked, interrupting my train of thought.

I blinked a few times, forcing myself to focus on the fight. It took a few breaths for me to realize what she was talking about. Rundar was closing in on Gilai, robbing him of his dual-wielding advantage. His edge in speed allowed him to pull off this trick. Once he was through the whirlwind of blades, he used a Terrestrial technique on his bare hand to grow a glowing green claw.

Basically, he was doing exactly what I would have done, using a technique very similar to Roak’s Claw.

Gilai opened up as if inviting the Disirian to attack, wounding him three times in such close encounters. He charged forward, exchanged a couple of blows, and suddenly retreated. Spinning his swords, he surrounded himself with a veil of steel, but Rundar wrapped himself in Appeals and tore through the swords, blocking them with his claw and blade. He then slipped under Gilai’s elbow and delivered a dozen blows.

No sooner did the last one land that he backed up and demanded the gong to be sounded.

With his swords drawn, Gilai grinned tensely, took a step forward, then another... And then he stopped and swayed, his flames dying out. Anyone with keen eyesight could have seen the drops of blood drumming on the stones beneath him.

He took another step forward just as the gong struck.

Vilikor shook her head.

“The seventh on the Rocks’ stele couldn’t have found a weakness in Gilai’s defense so easily. They invested well in him. One hundred Phantom Flashes?”

Tochtal chuckled.

“Looks like you’re right. They’ve strengthened everyone outside the main branches.”

Vilikor tilted her head.

“I wonder how they persuaded all the side branches to do this. After all, they’re all striving to raise a pureblood Walker. For that to happen, they can’t taint their Ascension with potions.”

“I don’t know. I’d bet on ancient potions, but looking at how many of them have suddenly gained stars and levels, I doubt the Disirians have found enough to bribe them all.”

“Potions from the Battlefields,” I suggested. “Or potions that burn your life force in exchange for stars.”

“Would they be crazy enough to pay that kind of price for a silly tournament?” Tochtal wondered.

“You saw how they fight and what they’re ready to do to win,” I countered.

“Perhaps... But it still sounds too risky. Just like your Cycle.” He sighed again. “But there’s no point trying to convince you, is there, Atria?”

I frowned, not liking the tone of his voice.

Could he have figured it out?

“What about the Battlefield potions then?” I asked, quickly changing the subject before anyone else could notice.

“Those won’t achieve much. You should know that. We covered that in—” He stopped and waved his hand. “Ah, right. I forget you’re younger. You haven’t attended those classes yet. In any case, these potions aren’t true ancient potions, and their effects are limited. They are defective. Something about a piece of the formula going missing when the cities were destroyed in the war... Wait a minute...” He frowned. “As Iover’s apprentice, you should have gotten something as a reward for your hard work. Didn’t they warn you about the side effects and injuries when they gave you the potion?”

“I didn’t get one. I chose a different reward.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. In the chaos that ensued after the destruction of the Gorge, I was more interested in techniques.

“I knew about the side effects, though. I just didn’t know they were that serious.”

Tochtal shrugged.

“As far as I know, the Academy’s top ten are advised to either save these potions for when they have children or sell them.”

“Children?”

That was new.

“Why does that surprise you?” the battlemaster answered me. He had just returned from the ring, where he oversaw Gilai’s treatment and asked the healers about the severity of his wounds. “The Order isn’t a family or a clan. Our magister is chosen based on merit, not pedigree. We aren’t bound by the rules of inheritance, but we make sure that as many talented Walkers as possible are born in our families. And how can we do that if our members take potions and ruin the future for the sake of fleeting power? That’s why both the school and the academy limit the amount of potions their best students can take. Scarred meridians can be mended, but once a certain threshold is reached, the potions affect the progeny.”

“I see...” I drawled. “I... See...”

It was a good thing that I chose training over destroying golems to collect as many Battlefield potions as possible when I was tasked with handling the junior students. Had I given them all those potions...

Too bad I gave Reika one way before that...

What an interesting detail. This shed a completely new light on one of Zero’s Ascension laws. The one that forbade all forms of Ascension potions.

As it turned out, if regular folk took them, they were more likely to permanently damage their meridians and nodes. Or even their focus. Some, like me, could handle the potions without consequence, but everyone eventually got married, had children, and the cycle repeated itself, every generation being born weaker than the last...

...until the family either lost prestige, paid someone for patronage, worked harder than before to make money, or abandoned potions altogether. And if that didn’t save them, they went to the First. There, the demands were lower, and they had a chance to cleanse their bloodline of impurities.

But if they fell into the Zero Circle, things got a lot tougher. The Faction Controllers, Warriors among Temperers, would make sure that anyone who passed the Ascension flaw from generation to generation stayed in Zero, and no amount of money or potions could get them out. The only way to escape from there was through hard work, not by relying on outside help.

It was strange that people from Zero weren’t the most enviable brides and grooms in the First. But what did I know? All I saw there was a small Order and a slice of life in the neighboring lands.

Was there talk of brides and grooms in the school? There was. They told me a lot about it. They even told me that one of the girls stole her parents’ money and ran away to avoid marrying someone she hated. I didn’t remember her name, just the gist of the story. With whom did she go to school? With...

Tochtal tapped me on the shoulder.

“Enough talk, my friend. The Disirians are waiting. It’s time for me to take one down with me.”

With a smile, he jumped straight into the ring, making the battlemaster yell after him.

“Tochtal!”

“Does he even believe he’ll win?”

“Considering who’s left under the Disirian banner, and that he’s never even been among the top ten on the stele?” When she realized that I didn't understand her, Vilikor sighed. “No. He doesn’t.”

“What about you?”

She was silent for a moment, then shrugged.

“If I could kill them...”

“Vilikor!” the battlemaster hissed.

She grinned.

“But since I have to follow the rules, I have to hold back... You should, too,” she said sternly. “You’re more used to fighting for your life than I am, not in a tournament.”

I nodded. I understood her. I had had many fights where I had to restrict myself.

What was stopping you from hitting, but not killing? Hands and feet were small targets. They moved a lot and were hard to hit unless restrained. The torso, however... The focus was right there, and if you weren’t careful...

I cut off my idle musings. So far, caution hadn’t hindered me. Not to mention that no one here was my equal. Not even Darin under limited Ascension.

Could I even consider these brawls as actual combat experience? I was a Leader frolicking among Masters. It was more like a play fight between siblings than anything else.

I glanced around the Disirian formation, stopped at Ketot, who was talking to his friend, and imagined driving a Claw into his focus. He gritted his teeth and turned to look in our direction, but I had already shifted my gaze to Tochtal.

Something told me Ketot wasn’t a Master. He was probably not the only one. If the Disirians hadn’t been setting traps for us all day today, could they have relied on chance to win the tournament? What if instead of ten, two hundred young Walkers had come down from the stands to fight for the Order’s honor? Three hundred? What if there had been hidden dragons of Tola’s level among them?

Ah, who was I kidding? Sly as the Disirians were, they probably had a plan for that as well. There were Leaders among our opponents after all. How many? One for each faction? Two? How long had they been drinking Disirian potions? How experienced were they? How big was their second focus and how many elemental threads had they managed to gather in it by themselves?

I shook my head. Unnecessary thoughts. What did it matter? I had to get them all out of the way if I wanted to reach Ketot. Unless he decided to stop being a coward and finally step into the ring. That’d make things a lot easier. I’d easily settle the score and fulfill Shandri’s plan. But that wouldn’t be enough for me, would it? I needed to hit him a few more times, make him angry, see if I could get him in the ring if he wouldn’t come out.

“Faldi!”

I chuckled.

“Took them a while to decide...”

“Faldi is one of the best in their faction and would be a worthy opponent even on a normal day. But today...” the battlemaster drawled and shrugged.

I understood.

“Best at what?”

“Everything. He’s strong and fast. He knows many techniques, and he’s good with a spear.”

“Spear?”

I stared at the ring with interest. It wasn’t often that I got the chance to face such an opponent. Or to appreciate their talent from afar.

The spear was ordinary. I’d even say unremarkable. No rich ornaments, no extra bits, blades, or anything else I was used to.

The overall length of the spear was just over Faldi’s height. Polished brown wood. The foot-long steel head glinted threateningly in the sun’s rays as they slowly settled behind the arena’s edge.

Check. Gong.

Chapter 36

Tochtal and Faldi took off at the same time, testing each other with techniques. Even I couldn’t really tell who hit first.

Both used simple Human techniques, both took less than half a breath to fill their meridians and launch their attack. Earth and Fire.

They struck and retreated at the same time.

They slid across the ring, cutting through the techniques, closing the distance...

An Appeal. Terrestrial one this time.

They both missed.

Faldi slipped through the thicket of stone blades that grew in his path and Tochtal took several Dashes in different directions to avoid the spinning scarlet disks.

The Appeals shone even brighter now. A new strike, clearly a constellation higher. They weren’t wasting time.

Twice as many disks flew at Tochtal just as Faldi was engulfed in flames. A moment later, the stone forest swelled not in front, but all around him, reaching out with jagged branches.

Weapons came into play. The spear in Faldi’s hands dissolved into a series of ghostly images, crushing everything in its path. Tochtal surrounded himself with a veil of steel. The disks missed, but came back at him like a boomerang.

Two breaths and they were right next to each other. Not a scratch on either.

A quick Dash ended in a shower of sparks.

In the first few moments, you could see the Appeals, but even from here, I could notice the glow of the spiritual power they released from their bodies. They were both capable of destroying their opponent’s techniques the moment before they manifested.

The Appeals went out. Pure steel came into play.

Faldi was indeed good with a spear. For a moment, I even wished that Tochtal would lose so that I could fight his opponent...

But only for a moment.

I shook my head in shame to get rid of the stupid thought and lowered my arms because heavenly energy was no longer flowing into me, I was only getting dust on my skin.

For a good fight, I was ready to do just about anything. At my level of Ascension, dangerous encounters couldn’t help me with my obstacles and wouldn’t get me any stars, but I just couldn’t seem to shake off this ridiculous habit of looking for a worthy opponent.

And Faldi was worth fighting. His spear snapped like a snake — fast, dangerous, each time from an unexpected direction — from below, from above, twisting around Tochtal’s sword.

This time I saw for sure that Tochtal decided to raise the stakes. He rekindled the Appeal around his right arm and decided to swap steel for weapon techniques. Faldi responded in kind.

Tochtal was hammering away at the spear with such force that the clashing of steel could be heard in the stands without any sound amplification abilities. What an interesting weapon technique; I had seen something like it in the academy’s Trade Pavilion. I couldn’t remember the name, but I had it in my token.

Faldi pulled through just long enough to fill his meridians and summon an Appeal. As soon as his spear turned scarlet, he launched another attack.

They glided across the stone slabs, circling each other, showering each other with blows. Tochtal less often, making Faldi’s spear vibrate each time, his opponent more often, letting scarlet sparks fly from his blade.

The movements became faster and faster, the blows more frequent and harder, and then Tochtal spun.

The arena gasped and leaped out of its seats, shouting something in support of Tochtal, and he immediately sank to the ground.

A breath, a second, a third. The sound of the blows weaved into a mesmerizing melody that made me want to pull out my guqin and try to add its strings to their music. But I didn’t even think about reaching for the Bag. Old Yerty, my guqin teacher, could create a martial melody, but not me, with the single tune I had more or less learned. Even the specter, or rather his part, the musician girl, would have done it better than me.

Four breaths. Tochtal failed his thrust and gained his first wound. The fabric on his shoulder tore under the razor-sharp blade and soaked with blood — the wound was deep.

“Equals,” Vilikor said dryly. “Faldi is also a Master Craftsman, but he is better with steel. Tochtal had no spearman to train with.”

I felt a pang of guilt. As if it were in my power to change what happened in the past. I fought with Tochtal. I gave him my best, and then our paths parted. The rest was up to the Academy. Wasn’t there a single spearman in the entire Order?

Then again, many teachers died in the Gorge...

Tochtal didn’t back down under the pressure, nor did the second wound make him step back. Instead, he removed his hand from the hilt of his sword, spread his fingers, and summoned a Terrestrial Appeal.

He lunged at Faldi, trying to close the distance between them, to strike him with both his sword and left hand.

None of his attempts worked.

Tochtal growled under the onslaught and charged, ignoring the new wounds, and managed to break through.

His sword pierced Faldi’s thigh and his left hand, curled like a bestial claw, and hit him in the chest.

Faldi either retreated or fell over. I couldn’t quite tell.

From the way he clenched his chest and lowered his spear, the second option seemed more likely.

Tochtal rushed after him, gliding across the stone slabs, drawing his sword forward. Faldi jumped up, drawing a defensive circle in front of him with his spear. The crowd heard only the clash of steel, while I traced a dozen exchanged blows. I also saw blood running down Faldi’s chest.

The wound seemed to infuriate him. He was engulfed in flames, flames that Tochtal’s Spiritual Protection couldn’t quell. They pressed down on Tochtal like another spear, causing the sleeves of his robe to burst afire, something Gilai had failed to do in his fight.

“Has he begun to Ascend to the Leader stage?” the battlemaster wondered aloud. “Why is the manifestation of his element so strong?”

“There’s no other explanation,” Vilikor remarked indifferently. “The formations would have reported the use of borrowed power.”

I nodded. So that was how it worked. The next step was something akin to my water serpents, which could destroy your opponent’s insides with a single touch. If they were weak, that is. But who’s to say that they couldn’t cause trouble by entering a wound? Humans weren’t Beasts, they were much weaker against the elements, and I was yet to test the water snakes on worthy human opponents.

My lips curled, and it was only when Vilikor elbowed me that I discovered how crooked my smile was.

“Calm down, Sand Beast.”

“I have a name,” I hissed angrily, barely moving my lips.

“Names are many, but there’s only one Sand Beast. You haven’t changed since Frost Ridge.”

The battlemaster squinted at us, forcing me to keep my answer on my tongue. I spent another moment trying to stop myself from responding to Vilikor with a thought, and then my attention was drawn back to the ring.

Tochtal was shrouded in a cloud of fire. It covered Faldi as well, hiding their figures from us. Only their vague shadows could be seen, swirling in the scarlet haze, twisting, intertwining.

A breath, a second, a third. The flames faded, revealing Faldi standing and Tochtal falling to his knees, leaning on his sword and trying to rise.

Faldi raised his head and pursed his lips.

“Strike the gong. Or shall I inflict another wound to prove my victory?”

The gong sounded. Tochtal sighed heavily and gave up trying to get up.

The novices and servants of the Order rushed into the ring, flooded him with healing techniques, and then lifted him up under his arms, the horrible wounds on his stomach and thighs visible to all.

Faldi turned in our direction and asked with a sneer:

“Why such a desire for murder on your part? Have I broken the rules? Did I inflict mortal wounds on him? Is it my problem that he ran into a stronger opponent?”

“Beast,” Vilikor hissed under her breath.

“Not me,” I replied.

I was telling the truth. Faldi was right. Who was Tochtal to me? To Atria? Just another member of the Order. I even ignored Reika’s wounds, so I didn’t need to imagine ramming the Claw into Fal...

I shook the thought out of my head. It wasn’t me!

It was someone else, and they were strong enough to make a peak Master uncomfortable. Maybe one of Tochtal’s relatives or acquaintances. Or maybe it was the thousand ordinary Masters and Warriors who hated Faldi. Who knew?

Faldi shook his head and left the ring. There was a short silence before the Disirian battlemaster announced his next candidate.

“Rylan!”

The name sounded familiar. I had heard it before today. One of the brightest Disirian talents, the late Arik’s apprentice. The same one who beat Gunvol without using his powers.

“A worthy opponent to end the day.”

Vilikor took a step forward, but I grabbed her by the sleeve.

“Wait. I need your help.”

“With what?”

“With recovery,” I hinted. The decision was up to her. “But it’ll be risky. Even riskier than before.”

Vilikor turned away from me, glancing at the remaining Disirians. There were too many of them, but it was too early for us to give up.

The battlemaster turned to us, confused.

“You...” Shaking his head, he swallowed whatever insult he had prepared for me. “We need at least one win to break the losing streak and finish the tournament with dignity.”

I grinned at him.

“Wouldn’t it be better to leave Vilikor for last and send me in?”

Without waiting for the battlemaster’s answer, Vilikor took a step back.

“Far be it for me to stop you,” she said. As the battlemaster turned away, she slipped a plain gray Bag into my hand. “From Erast and me. As a thank you for everything you’ve done.”

I took the artifact and tried to look inside, but it was bound. Now wasn’t the time to break the seal and change owners. Not in front of thousands of people.

So I just smiled and hid the gift. Vilikor had it with her all this time so I didn’t worry that the formation would detect it. Neither of the Trazado siblings was a Leader yet.

“Thank you.”

“Break a leg, Atria. Not your own, preferably,” she said as I walked away.

No sooner did I cross the ring’s boundary than Rylan turned to me with an audible sneer.

“Atria, I’ve heard a rumor about your conversation with Darin. I wonder if I can make you reach for your main weapon...”

I shrugged.

“I’ll have to disappoint you. My only sword broke so I’ll have to fight with my main weapon either way.”

The Destroyer’s blade gleamed hungrily in the light of the setting sun.

Rylan raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth to say something, and froze. Frowning, he stared at me intently.

Check. Gong.

My opponent was in no hurry to attack, and I waited with interest to see what his intentions were. Did he recognize it? Would Atria fight another duel or not?

“A very, very conspicuous weapon,” Rylan said finally. “May I ask why it has such an unusual shape? Imitating the Order’s rising star, are you?”

“No.” I grinned. “Why would I imitate myself?”

“What?”

Slowly, almost theatrically, I raised my left hand to my face and touched my temples with my thumb and middle finger, hiding my expression. Everyone could see the outline of my forehead and chin change as I lowered my mask.

“Oh, Legard, Legard...” Shandri sighed.

Rylan stared at me for a few breaths, then gasped in disbelief.

“Rimilo?”

“In the flesh.”

I noticed that my voice had changed a little, along with my face; at least I didn’t sound as hoarse as I used to. It was closer to my real voice.

The arena was abuzz, the stands shouting something polyphonic and incoherent. Unfortunately, no one was chanting my name. They didn’t need to. The Butcher’s reputation preceded him. Everyone knew how much I disliked the Disirians.

Still, the Order would lose with honor.

Just not this round.

I tried to put a Decree on Rylan, but all I managed was to curl my lips into a grin — an amulet. A prickly one at that.

Rylan chuckled.

“Why did you come out now? That other guy nearly tore his throat out shouting for you.”

“I don’t like clingy people. Indulge them once and they’ll stick to you like a burr... It gets annoying.”

Rylan scoffed and shook his head.

“Answer me.”

“Why do I have to explain anything to you? Are you gonna fight me or not? Are you scared? Maybe you should surrender?” I nodded at the Disirian battlemaster. “Or do you need to wait for your dad’s permission?”

Rylan raised his eyebrows again, and a moment later, the warm wind of danger enveloped me from all sides. Even from above.

Two flags emerged from Rylan’s sleeves. They literally appeared in the air, but it was a cheap trick meant to deceive a Warrior or a weak Master. I could perfectly see his hand fly to and from the Bag.

But I had to admit that he was fast.

Rylan disappeared without so much as a swirl of dust picked up from the stone. After another moment, the stands disappeared, as did everything outside the ring, and the wind became a little warmer.

I grinned. How did Iover and Sillus explain it? Five flags — Shell formation, right? Five breaths to get through.

Two had already passed.

I threw the spear up, caught it with both hands, and filled the meridians of the Star Blade with energy.

Dash.

The edge was twenty feet from me. My hands shook from the impact, and then the entire shell-like formation shattered with a quiet, glassy clink.

I Dashed at my opponent through the heat of danger.

I flew into him at full speed, no longer able to cancel or interrupt the technique.

Clever bastard.

I used my Spiritual Protection to surround myself with thick armor and broke through the wall of fire.

To the right. Toward Rylan.

The flames came at me from two sides at once. I let one pass over me and cut the other with the spear as I watched my opponent’s shadowy figure move, throwing flags out of the Bag one by one.

Each struck with a different element. Fire, lightning, hundreds of small blades, sharp pikes swelling beneath my feet...

And each blow was worthy of a full meridian connecting three constellations of a Terrestrial technique.

In moments like these, I understood Iover and his dislike of Formation Masters like never before. If I tried to do this, it wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t have the time. I wouldn’t have enough meridians and nodes or energy to unleash a hail of such powerful techniques.

I was running around the ring, dodging, cutting through techniques, breaking through punches and obstacles, until my Dash led me to another flag, which I split in two.

“Come on, Disirian, show me what you can do, use up all your reserves and spirit stones.”

I even slowed down, restrained one Step, another, giving Rylan time to take out two more flags.

“Go ahead, spend your supplies, try to defeat a Leader. Do you think my scorched clothes and bloodstains mean you’ll win?”

No. It meant I was giving him a fair chance by not using the Veil.

Stupid, yes. But how many of them were left? Three dozen? I had to look half-dead and weakened so Ketot wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of pummeling me into the ground when the time came to face him.

The momentum of the canceled Dash threw me through dozens of ghostly swords. I fell and rolled, pushing off the stone slabs with my left hand, and Dashed to the flag.

The heat of danger burned so hot it seemed to make my hair crackle.

A trap.

A trap I fell into willingly, headfirst.

All I could do was raise my spear and spin it in front of me, cutting through the heat and pushing through the first constellation of Rylan’s simple defense.

A moment later, gritting my teeth, I activated Spiritual Protection and shattered the stone disks flying at me, jagged slices hitting me in the face.

Spiritual Protection held off the vines that burst out of the ground under me for a moment, then vanished as if it had never existed, scattering silvery dust.

Razor-sharp tentacles swept toward me, trying to grab and bind me, and behind them, a wave of flames was already rising, threatening to engulf me.

It hurt. It hurt really bad.

I didn’t have time to cut them all down. Some broke through and struck, slicing open the skin. Fire came with them, pouring into the gaps in my defense, cauterizing the wounds.

The Star Blade crushed all three flags, preventing them from striking a second time.

No more fooling around. If Rylan managed to put down ten flags, there was no telling who would win this fight.

I spent two breaths filling up the Bloody Whips.

“I’ve had enough playing around with you...”

Seeing the Appeal, Rylan pulled out a sword instead of a new artifact.

***

On one of the stands, Xamt, the loyal captain of his lord’s bodyguards, who had long since lost his strength but was the only one still faithfully following him, dug his fingers into the railing until his knuckles turned white and the wood began to crack and burst.

It was him. There was no doubt about it. The voice wasn’t the same, but since he changed masks like underwear, it didn’t mean anything. Even a cheap one would distort the voice, and a mask that held two disguises couldn’t be cheap.

It was him. Different weapon, but the same style. Unsightly, unlike any he knew, but just as deadly and mesmerizing.

Different techniques, but the Whips... What difference did it make what you used to restrain your enemies? Under Haven’s walls, it was Ice, while here, it was Water. Then again, what were those two if not sister elements?

It’d be foolish to expect the techniques to be the same after all this time. Anyone would be happy to exchange weak techniques for stronger ones, especially after joining such a prestigious faction as the Order of the Heavenly Sword. Their legacy was profound.

However...

Xamt fixed his gaze on the glow that extended Legard’s spear. Some techniques he never gave up. It was no coincidence, as he had thought before. It was probably the payment for joining the Order.

He had to find the young master and tell him that Legard was standing a hundred paces away from him and didn’t answer his summons. The young master left too soon. He thought too highly of this cretin. Legard didn’t care about the wounded girl, and he didn’t care for the young master’s challenge.

He had to find the young master so that he could finally settle his grievances. The young master was more talented than even the old lord, and he, his loyal servant, couldn’t allow an obstacle to stand in the way of his Ascension.

Xamt unclenched his numb fingers and pressed himself against the railing, nearly knocking his neighbor off his feet.

“Hey! What are you doing, asshole?! Don’t you have eyes?!”

Xamt silently shoved the outraged man aside to make room for himself, pushing him down with all his might so as not to waste time arguing and fighting. But where in this strange city would he find his young master? He had left the arena, there was no doubt about it; otherwise, he’d be standing under the Disirian banner, glaring at Legard.

Xamt knew his young master well enough to say with a degree of certainty that he hadn’t returned to the guest quarters.

An inn or a guesthouse with a large empty hall on the first floor. No doubt about it. A place where no one would ask questions to someone who didn’t want to hear them, a place where he could be alone with himself and his thoughts, where he could send everyone away. But which inn? There were dozens of them in this city, even near the arena itself. The closest? The best? The largest? The cheapest?

Xamt kicked the door that was in his way.

It didn’t matter. He’d search them all. He’d find the young master. He’d bring him word of Legard’s return.

***

It took me ten breaths to close the distance between the two flags and me, and three more to bring the Destroyer within striking range of Rylan.

The shaft slid swiftly in and out of my hands, the blade’s tip snaking around my opponent’s face, stinging him from all sides. The Whip hit him in the back, grabbing the flag in the air, preventing it from falling into the ring, breaking it a moment later.

Rylan Stepped back.

I followed.

There was no point running away from me. It was useless.

Seven Blades. One thrust.

Eight steel spikes hit from all directions.

Rylan managed to fend off half of them with his sword, half with defensive techniques, trying to escape, to retreat, to buy time.

Escape from a Leader? Ridiculous. Buy time? I didn’t intend to give him any more.

The Tread burned beneath my feet with a steady glow, carrying me step by step after Rylan, not giving him an inch to gain.

A backward Dash? I couldn’t do that, my technique didn’t allow it, but it was great for face-to-face stalking.

Seven Blades. Seven Blades. Seven Blades.

He first deflected them all, then only half. He threw three flags that managed to sink into the slabs, covering him with three blue banners. The seven ghostly spears splintered helplessly against their surface, crumbling in fragments.

The Destroyer itself trembled violently in my hands, unable to break through the formation.

Rylan reached for his Bag again while I channeled energy into Star Blade’s meridians.

He was quicker.

Three flags were joined by three more. The protective triangle became a hexagon, with Rylan in the center.

It was empty.

Star Blade, third constellation, one hundred and fifty nodes filled to the brim with spiritual energy and elemental threads. Too much. I noticed a pale blue circle in what should’ve been a Terrestrial technique.

The Destroyer pounded against the shields, and the narrow, ghostly blade destroyed everything in its path.

The technique shattered like glass, breaking into shards. Two of the six flags turned black, unable to withstand what I had unleashed upon them.

The ghostly blade rested against Rylan’s chest. I twisted the shaft slightly.

The Star Blade went out, erasing the smoldering Appeal, and I straightened my back.

It was over.

The gong sounded.

Rylan clutched the stump of his arm and screamed:

“Objection! There’s been a violation! Objection!”

A moment of silence. The defensive formation fell slowly to allow the healers in, and then the air was filled with roars and shouts.

The bleachers howled, Rylan yelled again, and this time his voice echoed throughout the arena, drowning out the crowd.

“Objection!”

The Order’s commentator cleared his throat.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“The Six Steel Veils Formation is capable of defending against a Leader! Look!” Rylan pointed at the burnt flags with his healthy hand. “He didn’t just break through their defenses. The force of his strike was so great that it shattered the flags! Shattered! He clearly used someone else’s power! His weapon was obviously made by a Leader!”

I chuckled.

“And even if it was, so what? I’m not going to fight cultists using a novice’s handiwork, am I?”

“You—!”

Rylan choked on his indignation, or perhaps the healer touched his wound carelessly and caused him pain.

“The ring’s formation would have detected the use of any energy other than that of the participant,” the Order’s commentator countered Rylan’s argument.

I shrugged and poked one of the surviving flags with the toe of my boot.

“I could also object that you’ve filled these sticks of yours in advance. No focus can compare to the supplies that Formation Masters carry in their Bags. But you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

“It’s my energy, it’s by the book! You used borrowed power!”

“I didn’t. Did the formation react to me? No. Or do you want to accuse the Order of playing games again?”

The healer poured a potion on Rylan’s stump. He groaned, his teeth chattering as the entire arena heard him.

Barely out of breath, he barked:

“Yes! I do!”

“Brazenly, before all the spectators and even the great Garoys?”

“Yes!”

The stands shouted with renewed vigor. The voice of the Disirian commentator rumbled through it.

“No! No! We won’t accuse anyone. Rylan overreacted. It’s understandable after such a wound. We—”

I spread my hands, interrupting him.

“The sword is blind. I had to work hard to break through such a strong defense, is it any wonder that Rylan’s body was more fragile than his flags? It was his own fault, really. You can’t rely on artifacts to do all the work, no matter how good they are. I would have thought that a Master as strong as he would at least move away when he was in danger, not just stand there in fear.”

Rylan hissed something unintelligible, but the Disirian commentator persisted in his stead.

“We just want to understand how you managed to break through such a strong defense.”

“Strong, I agree. But strong enough to withstand multiple blows from a Leader? Not a chance. I used Master nodes, and I only struck once. Perhaps Rylan messed up the formula.”

“Formula?”

I shrugged.

“Or whatever they call that thing he uses to make his flags. Admittedly, I’m far from that profession, and I have absolutely no idea how to make them. I only know how to break them.”

“How did you find the weakness so quickly?” Rylan asked, lost.

“Lucky guess.”

“My ass!”

“Enough!” our commentator snapped. “This tournament has gone on long enough, and if it continues like this, we’ll be here until morning. Disirians, do you have a complaint about the fight? Do you claim a violation? Do you want an inspection of our formation?”

A few moments of hesitation were spent waiting for Bolain or another senior Disirian to give the order, and then the answer rang out.

“No. The winner is Atria. Or is it Rimilo?”

I waved it off.

“Call me whatever you want, I’m used to both.”

Rylan was led out of the ring, cradling his arm. I watched him leave with a venomous smile. If you measured him by the Order’s standards, was he worthy of the Sword Pavilion? He needed an escort because of one arm? I didn’t see Reika ask to be babysat.

I turned and walked away as well, toward the silver jian on the black background, toward Vilikor, who looked at me with a faint smile. I moved only to take a step out of the ring, turn around, and immediately step back in.

“This going back and forth is so tiring. And it takes too much time,” I complained. “Maybe we can do without it for now.”

I looked at the Disirians, then at Ketot. Perhaps it was time. After this fight, it was clear that I should be treated with caution. He wouldn’t come out, of course, but I’d smoke him out. Oh, I’d give him a reason to step into the ring...

“Voice. Amplify my voice,” I demanded, waited two breaths, and began my speech. “You—”

I fell silent, realizing that the formation wasn’t working.

I looked around the line of novices and other members of the Order, searching for the ringmaster.

There he was.

“Amplify my voice,” I told him.

Nothing.

“Amplify my voice!”

I saw him flinch, raise his head, and make a strange gesture with his hand.

“You!” I tried again.

Good. My voice rattled as it should.

I jabbed a finger at Ketot so the whole arena would know who I was talking to.

“You. Come out, Ketot. Last time, you ran away from me on the slope of Sword Mountain. I ask you to be brave this time.” I raised my head to the officials’ lodge. “And since the Disirians want to accuse me of violating the tournament rules, shouldn’t we punish Ketot for killing an Academy student during the Wild Times?”

Chapter 37

There was silence.

Finally, the Disirian commentator woke up from his stupor, his voice hot with anger.

“What’s going on? What kind of show is your foundling putting on here?”

“A show?” I was outraged. “What? Is the truth too harsh to hear?”

“Enough is enough!”

“I say when it’s enough!” I shouted even louder. “You came here and accused my Order of breaking the rules of the Wild Times at the Academy of—”

“Legard, what are you doing? What’s this all about? Why are you so sure you’re smarter than all those you recently called your teachers and elders? Didn’t I convince you not to expose yourself?”

Shandri’s tired reprimand overlapped with the Disirian commentator’s loud and threatening rebuke.

“And the whole arena heard your magister agree with the accusation, which was supported by the Garoys.”

I managed to listen to both of them without missing a word. I turned and caught a glimpse of Shandri’s face but said nothing to him. I turned away, looking back at the officials’ lodge, where our esteemed guests were seated, half of whom I’d gladly provide with Decrees to teach them how to do business honestly.

“The Garoys? You shouldn’t have mentioned them.”

“The Garoy clan? The ones who add their words to Sentinel speeches and think they can get away with it forever?” The arena gasped, but I didn’t stop. “The clan that keeps its eyes wide open when there’s nothing to see, but looks away when there is?”

“This is slander, young man!” One of the Garoy elders leaned in his chair to look at me. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“Is that so?” I wondered. “Let’s go over it again, shall we, elders? During one of the first challenges, a student of the Flag Pavilion, a young man named Berek, a future Master of Formations, was killed at the foot of the Academy. Killed by Ketot, the Disir rising star, if I’m not mistaken. Someone Berek, by definition, couldn’t compete with on equal terms. Are you saying that didn’t happen? That his body doesn’t lie buried on Sword Mountain? Your people were at the Academy, watching, but they turned a blind eye to the death of a young Walker. If that’s true, let the esteemed Bolain step forth and say it didn’t happen. That the Disirians are innocent before the Order. That Berek’s blood isn’t on their hands.”

“Rimilo, have you lost your mind?” Bolain inquired, his eyebrows raised in wonder.

“What are you trying to do, young man?” Horit inquired at the same time. “Do you want us all hanged for slander?”

“I’m trying to get justice,” I replied. “I want everyone to know that these bastards tried to get rich at our expense and that the pockets of the Garoy clan are full of their spirit stones. I want to humiliate them so bad they’ll want to dig their heads in the sand like a herd of quarts.”

“Can you do it?”

“I won’t know until I try, will I? Though I have a talent for pissing people off. Just ask senior Xilim.”

“I can see that. No wonder Shandri lamented that he didn’t want to let you go, that he saw you as someone he’d be relieved to pass the burden of the Magister onto in his time.”

“What?” I blurted out in confusion.

But Horit didn’t answer me. Instead, he turned to Bolain.

“I’d like to hear the answer to that question as well. I’ve filed charges against both the Garoys and the Disirians, forwarded all the witness statements, but,” the venom in his voice flowed like a stream, “I suspect that all my letters have somehow gotten lost in the correspondence.”

Bolain waved his hand.

“We’ll discuss this after the tournament; there are more important things to do now.”

“No. Not after,” Horit replied unexpectedly harshly. “We’ll talk about it now. In front of everyone. What will become of the Order if it turns a blind eye to the murder of its talents?”

“Let me hear it then! What proof do you have? None! You have nothing, you are the murderers! It was your bastard Tola who killed innocents in front of hundreds of witnesses! It’s you who have the Wild Times on your hands! If you ask me, they should’ve sent a Calamity at you!”

“Yes.” Horit nodded, his calm voice a stark contrast to Bolain’s angry outburst. “You have witnesses. Our witnesses, who saw your Ketot slit Berek’s throat, were not believed. Funny how that is, don’t you think?”

“The Observers found no conclusive evidence at the scene.”

It was hard, but I managed to get my voice to overlap with Bolain’s, nearly tearing my throat out.

“Oh, yes! The Garoy Observers who suddenly went blind! The Garoy Observers who might even have written that Berek slit his own throat to spite the Disirians!”

Bolain stood up and jabbed a finger at me.

“Shut up, junior! You’re in the ring, so fight!”

“This junior won’t shut his mouth before he tells you seniors his grievances!”

“Who the hell do you think you are?!”

Bolain jumped up as if he was going to come down and choke me until my face turned blue.

He could have just as well managed had Horit not gotten in his way.

He also got up from his chair and raised his hand. Making sure Bolain didn’t move from his seat, he nodded.

“Rimilo will say whatever he has to say before he starts his fight,” he stated.

Bolain curled his lips in a grimace.

“I refuse to take part in this farce.”

Horit grinned.

“But I take part in your farce, don’t I, young Bolain? Or do you want to stop the tournament?”

“Stop it?” Bolain shook his head. “Don’t get your hopes up, old Horit. Your juniors talk too much. Perhaps the ancient city isn’t enough anymore. Maybe we should raise the stakes.”

I hastened to intervene.

“Why would you do that? You accuse the Academy and the Order of breaking the rules when you were the first to violate them by killing our student. Any agreement you might have made is invalid.”

“Unprovable.”

“Of course. As long as the Garoys say what you want to hear. As long as it benefits the Disir clan”

“Legard!” Shandri’s voice rang out in my head.

“Be careful without proof.” Horit’s reprimand was much gentler. “You may be a Shen, but even the Sentinel, if you demand to summon him, will need serious evidence and witnesses. Believe me, words alone won’t work with them.”

“And if I can prove it with a Decree?”

“Legard.” Horit sighed. “People on the level of the clan head or his elders would never deal directly with such matters. Do you think Bolain put his hand on Ketot’s shoulder and told him to kill someone? Believe me, you won’t prove anything.”

“A shame...”

Bolain scoffed.

“Thousands of people are listening to you. What are you trying to do with all this? What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing.” I threw up my arms in frustration. “Nothing that could denigrate the status of the first and most honorable clan in our Circle.”

The Garoy elder waved his hand in my direction.

“All you can do is spew venom with your speeches.”

“Oh, I can do much more. My esteemed elders are too proud to apologize for petty things, but I, their humble student, don’t have their pride or wisdom.”

“It’s been a very long day, age takes its toll.” The Garoy elder grinned and settled into his chair. “You have swallowed your pride long ago by blaming your elders. Come on, speak quickly, we are tired of listening to your empty speeches and would like to see if you’re as good with a spear as you are with your tongue.”

“I’ll be brief then. The defensive formation activated to shield the academy from the cultists.”

The elder tilted his head to his shoulder like a bird.

“Pardon?”

“A portal had opened up in the academy. We had no choice but to protect ourselves.”

“What...?” Bolain looked over to the elders and asked again, squinting to the side: “And Horit remained silent about this... Why?”

I spread my hands.

“Pride. Our branch was founded to destroy the cultists in the Second Circle. How can you be proud when you’ve turned your back on your roots? What would our brothers in the Fourth Circle say?”

Bolain snorted.

“But you’re not proud and you have no brothers in the Fourth. You’re all that’s left of your Order.”

I grinned.

“Can you prove that? How do you know?”

Bolain grimaced and didn’t answer. He turned his gaze to Horit.

“You fought for two months?”

But the Magister waved him away with a tired look without saying a word.

Bolain looked at me.

“How can you prove this nonsense? Fighting cultists for two straight months?”

“Not every day, of course, but the portal never went away.”

“A portal?” Bolain grinned. “At the academy? Did the Heavens punish you for my brother’s murder?”

That reference to the Heavens scratched my ears unpleasantly. I had no proof that the Disirians destroyed the Gorge. If Shandri was to be believed, they weren’t strong enough to do so, which meant that Tola took revenge on the wrong people and killed innocent bystanders.

That was what I would have thought if this tournament hadn’t happened today. I already hated the Disirians with a burning passion. For both nothing and everything that had happened. And I wasn’t exactly an Imperial anymore. How did Fatya explain it to me? You chose your path and what was allowed on it. You chose it. I had chosen. The Disirians were my enemies.

Bolain stared at me with thoughts of my death. His bloodlust stabbed me in the back. Deep. Hard.

“I’ve had enough of this nonsense. The fight with Ketot you’re so desperate for? Never going to happen. You? Such a liar? You’re not worthy.”

I just grinned.

“Nonsense? Liar?”

I touched my Bag and held up a handful of cultist tokens and medallions.

“Is this proof enough? No?”

The chains rattled as they settled on the Destroyer’s blade. I took out more and more until the steel was completely hidden beneath them, turning the Destroyer from a spear into a strange scepter.

“How about this? Is that enough? Your entire tournament, your entire wager, has only taken place because our magister considers it beneath his dignity to justify himself to you.”

“What are you talking about?” Bolain jumped up again and stood at the edge of the lodge, clinging to the railing. “I can smell lies in every word you say!”

“Me? Lying? I’m ready to confirm every word I say under an Amulet of Truth. I, Rimilo, a disciple of the Order of the Heavenly Sword, fought cultists day after day, night after night, and for that reason alone I couldn’t rejoin the Wild Times and continue to hack off the legs and arms of your people. It was only thanks to our Order that dozens of cultists didn’t visit our neighbors, built their hideouts in the forest, and went after the Disirians who were cluelessly wandering it at that time.”

“That’s enough!” Bolain roared. “All these lies are meaningless! Horit has accepted the wager!”

I nodded.

“And that’s great. It really is. How else would I have managed to face Ketot? I challenge him to a duel!”

Bolain glared at me again. Once more, I was keenly aware of the fact he’d be very happy to kill me. Tear me apart with his own hands, to put it bluntly.

Like I said to Horit, I was really good at pissing people off.

I curled my lips a little, as if to hide my weakness, and moved my shoulders, trying to chase away the invisible steel. All to convince Bolain that I was dangerous and strong, but not too strong. Just strong enough to lure Ketot out to face me.

Perhaps I ought to take this madness a little further.

Could I piss him off even more?

I imposed a new restriction on myself.

Master. Ten stars.

I moved again, as if I wanted to get rid of the steel drilling into my back.

I slowly raised my head and looked into Bolain’s eyes.

“Why don’t you come down and punish me yourself? Here I am, talking nonsense, making false accusations.” Bolain’s eyes flashed. “You want to, I can feel it. You know I feel the steel between my shoulder blades.”

“Feel?” Horit stepped aside, disrupting our staring competition. “Bolain! It’s unworthy of the older generation to threaten the younger. This isn’t our tournament.”

I could barely keep from grimacing in displeasure.

“Horit! Why? I’ve only just started!”

Bolain chuckled.

“Old man, I’d never stoop to such a thing. Your youth is your shame. Our youngsters can manage on their own. Battlemster, why are you standing there listening to this idle chatter?! Bring out the candidate!”

This time I did grimace. I couldn’t help it. I was still not good enough to make a man snap out of anger and forget himself. I’d have to work on that.

I still felt sorry for my opponents who weren’t my equals. But what if I didn’t? Would I be able to get Bolain to come down and intervene personally?

I lowered my gaze and fixed it on Ketot.

“Do you hear me? Come out!”

He snorted and looked away. Another Disirian stepped forward.

A Disirian indeed. I could tell by his clothes.

I let his name pass by my ears, and as soon as he stepped into the ring, I offered:

“Surrender.”

He stared at me and didn’t dignify me with an answer.

Gong.

A weakling who wasn’t even given an amulet to protect him from my Decrees. A weakling who was counting on wasting some of my strength.

Five breaths later, he was missing an arm and a leg.

The gong sounded belatedly, but I was already standing three steps away from him, my arms outstretched.

“I didn’t expect him to be weak enough not to handle two blows. I didn’t figure it would be over so quickly either, even though I did tell him to surrender.”

“YOU!”

“What?” I was surprised by the commentator’s shout. “It was an accident. Isn’t that what your Urmal said last time? No, wait, it was you who said it. Do you want me to lie? I’m only telling the truth.”

“Butcher! Butcher! Butcher!” the stands shouted.

“The Order won!” our commentator stated, drowning them out.

I grinned and raised the Destroyer above my head. I also erased all the Decrees above my opponent without reading them.

“Use your freedom wisely.”

Without waiting for him to be carried out of the ring or for the blood to be cleaned up, I looked up at the lodges.

“I’m still here, waiting. It’s your turn, Disirians. Hurry up! You wanted to be done with this before nightfall!”

My next opponent wasn’t a Disirian. Yellow and gray robes. Yellow Rocks and the Arkon family? Good. Just the thing I needed to warn and frighten everyone who came here lured by empty promises and bribes.

An amulet and a high level of Ascension? Pointless.

Gong.

We clashed in the middle of the ring and intertwined in a fight, destroying each other’s techniques with our Spiritual Protection. I was in no hurry to push him back and show my strength. I didn’t need a quick victory right now. Not with him. He was a victim, even if he didn’t realize it yet. The fact that I was under a new restriction didn’t change that.

Was he an eighth or a ninth star?

The tip of his long sword rattled along the Destroyer’s shaft. I pushed upward, but it was only a trick: his steel aimed for my other arm, sliced through the sleeve of my robe and grazed the skin below the elbow. I could see the elemental threads crawl into the wound.

Nine stars.

The air groaned, parting under the force of the swift steel. I hit him in the shoulder, knocking him back a step.

“Running away? It won’t do you any good.”

I followed, hitting him in the other shoulder, in the face, in the chest, across, cutting through his robe and exposing his chest.

“There you are!”

I twisted the spear, pushing his sword aside, and lunged forward, forcing him back another step.

Once again, he was saved by the Veil and the fact that he wasn’t using Support.

Cunning. But it was no use. I had already achieved my goal.

I switched hands and stepped slowly to the right, circling my opponent. He watched me warily for a moment, then raised his arm, deciding to use a technique now that he had freed himself from my Spiritual Protection.

Another foolish attempt. Not only was he too weak to defeat me, but my last blow shouldn’t have hurt him. I was aiming for the amulet, not his heart or focus.

And I got it.

The restriction Decree melted away, its time spent.

At the same time, my opponent’s Decrees and contracts also disappeared one by one.

The last line unfolded with a row of ancient symbols.

Anger. Impatience.

Those were surely working.

Persistence. Contempt. Rage.

Should I add more?

Two techniques came at me at once. One hit from beneath my feet, the other scattered hundreds of tiny shards of stone across the space between us.

But I held the Destroyer in my hand.

The shaft groaned as it bent in my hands, the steel ringing as it destroyed everything that threatened me.

A breath, a second, a third...

The rock shards continued to rain upon us.

Did he think that the stone chains binding my waist would bring him victory?

Fool. They couldn’t even touch me, frozen around me like a second garment, fading with each passing moment, destroying themselves in a vain effort to wound me.

“Is that all you can do? Two techniques? They don’t feel like they’re of high quality. You have more free nodes, but you don’t know the techniques for them, do you?”

Anger was working overtime.

My opponent growled, forgetting his techniques, and flew over the ring in one leap, almost catching up with his stone shards.

Naive.

Steel met steel, intertwining, ringing in a desperate attempt to sate its hunger, unable to reach my body.

“Thank you, Vilikor, for teaching me the basics. And thank you, cultists of Itrea, for helping me perfect them.”

My opponent seemed to have forgotten everything but the battle, but I hadn’t. What did it matter? How many had transpired today already and how many more were yet to come?

The only thing I cared about was humiliating the Disirians and sowing the seed of doubt in their allies.

I turned my thoughts to the Order’s ringmaster.

“Amplify our voices.”

A breath, a second of silence, and then my opponent’s roar echoed over the stands. I curled my lips into a grin.

Excellent.

“That’s a great potion you’ve been given. There are only two problems with it,” I taunted him. “The first is that it’s a ruse. An empty Ascension. You unlocked the nodes, yes, but you didn’t learn the techniques for them. Did you not expect to get those stars in the next few months?”

“Shut up!”

I chuckled. He still had the presence of mind to have a conversation with me. And here I expected Rage to take over completely. They really were talented Walkers, most of them — strong, brave, tenacious. They just chose the wrong side, picked the wrong ally.

My enemies.

“The second problem is the side effects. The longer you fight, the more your anger takes over. Anger and the desire to fight, to kill. Am I wrong?”

“Shut up!”

His sword whistled past my ear, burning me with hot wind. He picked up speed, overtaking my Unity. His blade emitted a gray mist, probably meant to burn me, poison me, or wound me.

Probably.

All it could do was dissolve into the blue waves of my Spiritual Protection. Bare steel was more dangerous to me than his Earth, and the rock spear that erupted from underneath was a step closer than I would have liked, robbing me of the advantage of the Destroyer’s length, every blow to my neck, my face, my chest, threatening to wound me.

Threatening, nothing more.

Unable to see the blows, unwilling to reveal Unity’s third constellation or my continuous Veil, I relied entirely on Combat Meditation, slipping between gusts of hot wind.

A breath, a second, a third.

“Weak,” I scoffed.

My soft voice echoed across the arena, rumbling from all sides, intertwining with the screams from the stands.

“Butcher! Butcher! Weakling! Weak!” the audience chanted my name and echoed my insults

My opponent’s mind had finally left him: his eyes turned red as he began to burn his stamina and maybe even his life force.

“I forbid it!” the Disirian commentator and battlemaster shouted at the same time. “Stop it!”

The gong sounded, stopping the fight, or trying to stop it. My opponent didn’t care about the sound, the shouts, or the orders. His rage had taken him over, subjugating him to his sole purpose — to kill me.

The sword caught me once, twice, three times, and then a shining wave of energy rose from beneath our feet and swallowed us up, as if we were waist-deep in water, restricting our movements.

Damn it. May the Mads take them!

I was already sliding on the very edge, and this jair took away the advantage of my movement technique. I was too slow to retreat, so when he pounced, slicing for my shoulder and chest, I could only raise up my arm and wrap it around his. I held onto him with all my might, gluing my feet to the ring with Support, staring him in the face.

Four servants came at us at once, tearing us apart and helping me break my opponent’s arm.

When I stood up, constrained by other people’s hands and the formation, my opponent continued to rage, to fight, to tear at me, paying no attention to the broken arm. He stabbed one servant with his sword and released a Terrestrial technique at another, not listening to the orders and shouts.

The servants holding me looked at each other, released me, and rushed over to help their colleagues.

I touched my wounded shoulder, used the Hand to stop the bleeding, and looked up at the man struggling in the servants’ arms.

Scarlet eyes, foaming mouth... He had completely forgotten that he had techniques. The servants, on the other hand, did not. They finally managed to pin him down using the Punishing Hand. I didn’t envy him. Xilim had used it on me before, so I knew just how much it hurt.

They certainly didn’t split it among themselves like the cultists would, dividing it into four. No, that wouldn’t have strengthened it. They were using it at the same time, crushing the poor guy with the energy infused into the technique. Their Hands strengthened each other, overcoming the difference in Ascension and talent, just as hundreds of Human-level combat techniques would eventually exhaust the defense of a Terrestrial one.

I pushed the unnecessary thoughts out of my mind and focused on my task — finishing off the Disirians and their allies so that all the spectators would see what was really going on here.

“These are the effects of your payment, Disirians. It’s no wonder you brought only low-ranking members of the side branches here! You didn’t tell them about the side effects when you bribed them, did you?”

“Enough!” the Disirian commentator interrupted me. “What do you think you’re doing? Are we at the market to gossip like old ladies?”

I chuckled.

“It’s slander when it doesn’t suit you, is it? But this isn’t about you, pureblood Disirians, but those who stumbled under your banner. Those who were ordered to do so by their elders. Your elders sold you for a handful of spirit stones, and what did you get in return? Power? It’s poisoned, in case you didn’t know.”

The symbols above the Arkonian disappeared. Tonight, all who entered the ring against me would walk out free. They’d hear what I have to say, think, and decide if they wanted to remain in their factions.

Their elders had hedged their bets, and while their juniors did gain strength, their Decrees hadn’t gone away. In fact, I was stealing them with no small loss in strength, because they were clearly imposed by a Leader equal to me.

But after today’s tournament, it wouldn’t matter. They and only they would decide whether to stay loyal to their families and mentors. Pity that I didn’t think of this sooner. If anyone among them deserved to be free, it was Darin. I’d have Regan reunite us tonight and correct my mistake.

In the meantime, I had other matters to attend to. As long as the voice amplification formation was in effect, I’d keep talking, keep spilling poison.

“So what did you end up with? Broken limbs, burst organs, and bleeding wounds. Glory for defeating our Order? Is there glory in your victory, I ask you? Is there glory in crushing us with sheer numbers? No. Even if we lose today, we’ll emerge as victors. The Order, who stood alone against all four of your factions.”

“You have a lot of nerve, talking about our elders like that!” one of the Waterfalls protested, clenching his fists.

“And they have no pride. Where are they today, huh? Why didn’t they come to support their juniors? Strange that none of them are here, isn’t it?”

“You—”

“You know why they aren’t here? Because they’re afraid. Afraid that we might protest and rise up and start a massacre. Afraid to see me slaughter you, knowing full well that they were the ones who sent you into the hands of the Order’s Butcher.”

“That’s enough!” the Disirian commentator cut me off.

I was outraged.

“Enough of what? Let everyone hear how you plan to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat in this tournament. It’s funny that you need to summon three of your strongest neighbors to fight the Second’s tenth strongest faction.”

“Silence!” Bolain roared, burning my back with cold steel.

But I only strained my throat further, adding the strength of my voice to the formation.

“Yes! Enough talk! Who will fight me next? Who will take the risk? Just remember that the longer you fight, the more those rotten potions will affect you. What has your comrade just burned? Stamina or his life? What does he have to show for it? A month of weakness or a few years of shortened life? Don’t prolong the fight, surrender as soon as you feel you’re losing control.”

“Enough! Tame your tongue or—”

“Or what?” Horit asked.

“You...”

Horit turned his head to Bolain and asked again,

“Or else what? You’ll demand that the tournament be stopped? Come on, say it — the Disir clan is dropping out of the tournament. Say it. Show everyone that you weren’t strong enough to defeat the Order of the Heavenly Sword. Show everyone that the truth coming out of this young man’s mouth made you run away from the tournament with your tail between your legs.”

“Old man...” Bolain glared at Horit and scoffed. “What are you waiting for then?” he asked his battlemaster. “Pick someone!”

“Ketot!” I demanded.

And then I clenched my teeth. Someone else.

“You’re a coward, Ketot,” I spat.

“Non-combatants, out of the ring! Now!” the Disirian commentator ordered.

The healers, who had been standing over the unconscious Arkonian, looked at each other, picked him up, and carried him out of the ring while I laughed.

“Here it is, the price of your life and your health, your Ascension — your fellow Disirians didn’t even help your comrade. They left everything to the Order. Well done, well done. You thought you were strengthening your branches, but in fact, you’ve only weakened them. The only people who’ll benefit from this are those who couldn’t be bothered to come to the tournament.”

One of the Waterfalls stepped into the ring and muttered under his breath, not wishing to be heard throughout the arena:

“Enough. Our families’ business is our families’ business. Stay out of it.”

I snorted.

“Give up before you lose your mind too.”

“He was an eight star. Likes to combine techniques and steel,” Shandri’s tired voice echoed in my head.

A gong struck.

They didn’t even announce the name of my opponent.

Good.

That’d save us some time.

To the left.

Where I just stood, a flower of fire blossomed. Weak. Though this was probably just a warmup.

I was willing to bet that he had a protective amulet as well.

I could have ended the fight quickly. I could have even crippled him, ensuring him long days and weeks of recovery under the care of healers. I could have even poisoned him with my element...

But that wasn’t what I needed. I needed him to go crazy from the potion as well. It didn’t matter if his madness was real or not.

It would be.

The longer the fight lasted, the harder my opponent fought, the worse he thought out his traps and deceptions, the more recklessly he closed the distance between us, dancing to the tune of steel.

Just what I needed.

Seven Blades. Star Blade. Ten breaths under the blows of his fiery whips and he was at my mercy, having lost the amulet.

Fury. Rage. Impatience. Persistence. Contempt.

As soon as his eyes flashed scarlet, I ended the fight.

Star Blade.

My opponent’s Spiritual Protection was unable to destroy my technique. His Veil was powerless to stop it.

Two strikes of the Destroyer were enough for the stands to erupt with screams.

“Butcher! Butcher! Butcher!”

I didn’t like that nickname. It had neither beauty nor grace to it. But today I wanted to avenge Berek, to show that it took the Disirians the assistance of three neighboring factions to take us on. For that, I’d tolerate this moniker, the blood underfoot, and the pain and hatred that burned in my opponent’s scarlet eyes.

“You are free.”

In the final seal over his head, I added the symbol for time. By nightfall, both “persistence” and “contempt” would be gone and he’d be himself again, free to choose his life. He could harbor hatred for me and try to quench it somehow if it pleased him. If he could do it before Viost came to collect me.

“Victory for the Order.”

Chapter 38

The gong signaled the end.

The gong signaled the beginning.

“Victory for the Order.”

“Victory for the Order.”

“Victory for the Order.”

The stands screamed, going crazy, my nickname tearing the air, rolling from one side of the arena to the other like a wave.

I lifted my gaze from the blood beneath my feet and called again:

“Ketot! I’m waiting for you! There’s no need to be afraid! Killing is forbidden in the tournament.”

“I’ll decide when and if I should fight you,” he snapped back.

Again, instead of him, a guy I didn’t know stepped into the ring. A talent incomparable to Vilikor, Tola, and me.

Again, his name wasn’t announced.

I shook my head.

“Once more, an unsuspecting daredevil shines for the glory of the Disir clan!” I mocked him. “They’re learning your ways, I see.”

The guy tried to answer something, something about there being no glory in avenging humiliation, but I didn’t try to compete with him in the sharpness of his words. He was just an obstacle that I had to remove to get to Ketot.

I reminded myself again — the Order had to lose. But that’d be very difficult if Ketot turned out to be the last man standing.

In one breath, all the thoughts were blown out of my head. My opponent was covered in a network of green patterns. Unity of Wood? Third constellation?

A true talent.

I found myself both slower and weaker with the second constellation. I retreated, fending off the onslaught of two blades that occasionally found gaps in my defenses.

He grinned with contempt.

“One fist can’t stand against two; one spear can’t keep up with two swords. I am the end of your glory.”

I chuckled.

“Does my end have a name?”

“I’ll tell you my name,” he promised, “as soon as I bury you in the dirt.”

Where would he find dirt here, I didn’t know. It was all stone underfoot. Battered, crumbling in places. The attendants hadn’t had the chance to enter the ring to repair it. I was in a hurry. And so were the Disirians.

My opponent was good. I couldn’t defend myself against all his blows, let alone reach his amulet. To see him and Gilai fight would be a spectacle. But Gilai was out of the tournament, having been beaten and exhausted in a series of fights and then pitted against someone who was only slightly stronger than him.

Eight stars, Shandri had said. So he had broken through the barrier of the seventh on his own, unaided. Plainly a talent. How much had this boost given him? Everything it could have? Was he a peak Master now? Stronger? Half a step closer to being a Leader?

I doubted it. He didn’t seem to be trying to poison me with his blows, but I could see sparks of his element in the air whenever his fist would whizz past my face. I expected to see green dust falling from his blades at any moment.

But I didn’t.

Was this the line between a hard worker and a talent? He knew Unity, but he hadn’t reached the necessary level of elemental understanding yet? Was that how it worked?

Who knew?

Two more wounds.

This was getting tiresome.

I spent a few breaths trying to decide which of my dice to throw on the table. The third constellation of Unity? Elemental poison? Roak’s Claw?

I curled my lips into a wicked smile. None of them.

I reached for my opponent, clutching at the spiked ball that prevented me from touching his Decrees.

Break.

Break.

Break!

It was a good amulet, but it still didn’t hold, stabbing me violently as it crumbled, burning the owner with pain.

That should have warned him that his defenses were down. He probably even realized what had happened, but did it matter?

It didn’t.

Five breaths later, he stumbled, screwed up a technique, and I seized the chance to mess with his mind.

Who said you fought better when you were angry? Anger, no regrets, nothing more.

But this guy was good. Very good.

He never broke the rules, never started burning his stamina trying to beat me.

I had to trade a serious wound to get him.

A hand for a wound. A fair exchange if you asked me.

I stepped back from my panting opponent and glanced at the stands.

Gong.

“Victory for the Order.”

The guy grabbed one of the healers with his surviving hand and whispered heatedly into his ear.

I was impressed. My bicolored Decree didn’t muddle his mind...

“Objection! Objection!” the Disirian commentator protested ten breaths later. “The fight was unfair! The Order has influenced the behavior of our contestants and clouded their judgment!”

The spectators gasped and jumped to their feet.

“The Order used the ring formation to cloud the contestants’ minds! Our contestant’s amulet shattered! It was supposed to protect him from Decrees! The Order is violating the rules!”

The stands buzzed and churned like the sea before a storm.

I took a breath and roared as loud as the commentator.

“Objection! Unfair?! What ring formation?! It’s a lie! I did it! I used my energy and nothing more!”

“Your energy?!” The commentator needed three breaths to realize what I said. “Are you saying that you can break amulets?”

“Not exactly...” I threw up my hands and declared loudly to the entire arena: “I am the flesh and blood of the Order famous for liberating those who come under its banner! No Decree can stand before me!”

“Why? Why?!” Shandri hissed in my head.

I let his anger pass me by. I had used my talent too much today for word of it not to spread throughout the Order. I didn’t hide it during the interrogation. Shandri didn’t hide it when he introduced me to the commanders and Regan either. And once the rumors started, they’d reach the Disirians as well. All factions had a Master of Decrees. It was no big deal.

I turned to the Disirians and strained my voice. The formation was still in place but I also needed to be heard by the losers who were now sitting somewhere backstage licking their wounds and doubting their choices. Besides, if I visited them all tonight, I wanted them to know that they were free to go to their homelands and choose a new life for themselves.

“I am the destroyer! I am the annihilator! I don’t need the Order’s formation! All those who opposed me have lost their contracts and Decrees. Remember this when you return home. Your elders have used you—”

“Shut your mouth!”

“—for their selfish goals! Today, they’ll watch you go insane from the potions they shoved down your throats, and tomorrow—”

“Silence!”

“—they’ll send you to your death!”

“Enough!”

This time it wasn’t the Disirian commentator who shouted, but Bolain. He jumped out of his chair and grabbed the railing, his glare stinging my back again, piercing it with sharp, hot steel.

“Enough slander from your rotten mouth!”

I stared him down, my gaze unblinking.

“Come on, Bolain, come on. Jump down into the arena, shut my mouth. How long are you going to put up with this?”

“Since when is talking against the rules?” I jeered.

“Since you started slandering my clan and me, you mongrel!”

“Then do something about it, master Bolain.”

We exchanged glances for two breaths. The hatred in his eyes didn’t scare me. I had stared down Mads the size of his lodge.

“Not coming down? Fine. Then send a worthy talent to face me. Send Ketot and let him bring victory to the Disirians! Stop raking chestnuts from the fire with other people’s hands!”

“Horit!” Bolain turned away from me and stared at our magister. “You are allowing your students too much! Do I, the head of a clan, have to put up with all these insults?”

“What do you want me to do? Disqualify him for bad manners?”

“Shut his filthy mouth!”

“The boy’s allowed to express his opinion. If you mind his tongue, you are free to withdraw and leave the tournament. I remember you did that twenty or thirty years ago. Just be aware that that means immediate disqualification.”

“You—”

Bolain’s hiss could be heard in the stands. I almost shuddered. It was the same as the hissing of a viper, only this viper had reached the Leader stage.

“What a great plan... Corner us... You won’t see the day, Horit. Mark my words. And you, mongrel, shut your filthy mouth and get it over with!”

I shrugged and fought the grin that was forming on my lips. I was fine with either outcome. If it didn’t work out the second time and I couldn’t get Bolain to interfere personally, that was fine. I was fine with a replacement in the form of Ketot so long as there was someone to bag the victory for the Disirians.

I looked down at the plum blossom and met Ketot’s gaze.

Come on, you heard your leader. Come out.

I beckoned him over.

Come out, come out...

“Wait,” a hoarse, aged voice spoke up.

I raised my head to the officials’ lodge.

One of the Garoys.

“So your name is Rimilo.”

I remained silent. I didn’t hear a question in those words, just a statement of fact.

“You have a very interesting talent. You come from the First. Young Samum sought you out and traveled halfway across the Circle to find you, meaning you didn’t meet here. No. Elsewhere. In Haven.”

I raised an eyebrow. Okay, so he could solve a simple puzzle, so what? I was ready for it.

Ready for...

I froze, turned away from the old man, and looked around the stands.

Where? Where the hell were they?

Even my eyesight couldn’t find them quickly among the thousands of other spectators.

Down there, they had to be down there...

Where were they...?

There!

I fixed my gaze on the novice behind Aledo’s back and forced a thought through to him.

“You! Take the girl and get her off the bleachers! That’s an order! To the barracks, to the guards, outside these walls, wherever you want, but she must neither hear nor see what happens next in the arena! NOW!” I barked when I saw that he froze and looked around.

The novice grabbed Aledo’s shoulder, turned her toward him, leaned in, and explained something. She looked indignant as she jabbed a finger in my direction. Our gazes seemed to meet for a moment, and then the novice pulled her behind him, behind the backs of the other spectators, and out of my sight.

I was just glad he didn’t stop to figure out who was giving him orders. I knew where this was going.

“Why are you silent?”

I turned back to the Garoy Elder, for whom I had no respect whatsoever, and shrugged.

“I was thinking about something. What were you saying?”

“Hah!” He clapped his hands for some reason. “Indeed, the audacity is impressive. Then I won’t beat around the bush. Fact one: Samum was looking for Rimilo. Fact two: you are a Master of Decrees. The obvious conclusion is that Rimilo isn’t your real name; you just took it when you joined the Order. Your real name is Legard. Is that correct?”

It was exactly as I thought. The Garoys wanted to discuss the Saul incident.

I exhaled slowly. Had I gone too far?

No. I hadn’t gone far enough.

“Yes. My name is Legard.”

The arena was silent. The elder and I were, at least, staring at each other. The stands were buzzing. Here and there, someone shouted. The heat of Bolain’s gaze hadn’t gone away; he still wanted to kill me. He probably wasn’t the only one, though unless they wanted to cross blades with me, I didn’t care about the phantom steel.

I gave up the weird staring game with the old man and glanced to the side and behind him.

At Lir Garoy.

Our gazes met.

For a few breaths, we looked at each other.

A long story of my stupidity and desire to make things better. All I had to do was look like a weak, worthless man who didn’t want to be taken in by the Gate guards.

All I needed was a day or two of freedom to get settled in Ash Tree, and then I’d disappear with the rest of my family. No one wanted me.

Who would have thought I’d get Lir so hooked on my made-up story?

Of all the Heavenly Virtues, I most often mentioned Justice, while Lir valued Loyalty the most.

But what did he have to do with any of this? If anything, he helped me carry out my plan despite knowing nothing about it.

In fact, he did me a favor by cutting off the pleas of all those who were waiting for the talents arriving from the First. He even threatened to punish those who tried to take me in. Who knew that Domar and his whole family had been doing dirty business for a long time and wouldn’t be afraid of that threat, having long spat in the faces of their ancestors and relatives?

No one.

So all that stood between Lir and me was a slap in the face.

A slap given to the coward and weakling Legard, the healer of a small family from Hundred Bridges, who outlived all his opponents and bought his Ascension with money. He earned it by right.

Today, Legard stood here on the stone of the arena, the talent of the Order of the Heavenly Sword, who dared to mock the head of the Disir clan.

I was the first to look away.

“Why don’t you show your true face?” the elder demanded.

Why not?

I raised my fingers to my temples and returned the mask to the Bag.

The old man nodded.

“One to one. Lir painted a good portrait.”

Lir? I looked back at him. Well, he could draw better than I could play the guqin.

The old man leaned forward and stared at me with faded eyes.

“So this is the young man who destroyed the Saul family and stole the Gate Seal from them.”

“Lies!” My voice echoed amongst the surprised gasps.

“Need I remind you of the Calamity’s announcement? Have you not heard it? ‘The Free Master of Decrees, Legard, subjugated the Saul family in the city of Ash Tree, making them his servants and pitted them against each other. He forced the last survivor, Domar Saul, to flee Ash Tree by stealing the Gate Seal.’”

I turned to see if Aledo had returned. No. Her place had already been taken by some skinny guy.

I waved the accusations away.

“A lie that Bareris told the other Sauls to somehow justify himself. If only your guardian dogs—”

“Watch your tone, boy,” Shandri warned me. “There’s a limit to everything. Even impudence.”

But I didn’t even think about listening. Watch my tone with him? It was clear where he was going with this. There was a reason he mentioned the Seal so often.

“—didn’t look away when it suited them. Do you know how it all started? The real story? Domar Saul broke the Ascension Law first. His family forced Walkers from the First into debt contracts. They broke their oath to the Sentinels. For this, the Calamity was brought upon them and all of their family.”

“And who caused these transgressions?”

“Old man, are you accusing the victim of being a conspirator?”

“You’re a criminal, wanted by the Garoy clan!”

“Lies! Lies again!” I shouted. “How low has the Garoy clan fallen!”

He didn’t expect that. He recoiled and jumped up in anger.

“How dare you?!”

“Dare what? I was only wanted by Bareris, the head of a family long gone. He announced a reward for my capture, nothing more.”

The old man slammed the railing with his dry fist.

“But you were put into our Jade! It doesn’t matter if the Saul family is extinct or not, you’re still a criminal! You have no right to stand here, you must be punished!”

“Punished for what? The Jade? Why don’t we see if my spiritual imprint is actually there? Should an elder speak for the entire clan?” I looked around at the others. “How many of you claim that I am a criminal wanted throughout the Circle?”

One of the other elders stood up.

“You are a criminal!”

Another jumped up and repeated:

“A criminal!”

Lir alone stayed where he was, gritting his teeth. Loyalty. I’d remember that, Lir.

I turned my gaze back to the first elder, the one in charge.

“Bring your Jade down here. Test me then. Let’s see if I’m a criminal or not. Or do you expect everyone to take your word for it?”

“The only reason you’re so bold is because you know there are ways around the test. Do you really expect me to believe that the Order hasn’t taken care of it by Ascending you so high?”

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

My cheerful laughter was amplified by the formation and carried across the arena like a tidal wave. Laughing, I threw up my hands.

“Did you hear that? The Garoy elders accuse the Order of violating the laws of the Circle and its own rules. The Order accepts all who wish to join, but with one restriction: the candidate must not be a criminal. Are you three saying that the Order broke its own rules and concealed my power?”

Half the arena was looking at the elder, the other half at me. I glanced up and saw a smile slip across Lir’s lips. Did he see where I was going with this? Too bad, I wanted to punch the old men in the face.

Surprisingly, he stayed where he was. He said nothing. His lips did not move. Was he talking with telepathy? Was he a Leader already? I shouldn’t doubt it; he was already strong when we first met.

But we weren’t done arguing yet.

“I demand—” I began but the elder interrupted me angrily.

“We accept!”

I couldn’t believe my ears. What? Really?

I felt my lips forming a smile.

“People of the Order’s lands, guests of the tournament, I’ve always believed the Garoy clan to be fair and just. I’ve assured myself of that time and time again, but today has finally shattered all my trust and respect for them. Their elders claim that magister Horit, the leader of our humble Order, has used his power to distort my spiritual imprint and get me into the academy by cheating the Garoy Jade. Are you hearing this slander?”

The roar of the crowd was my answer.

“Magister, are you hearing it?”

Horit nodded slowly.

“I hear it. We don’t have many Leaders, especially in the academy. The elder’s words cast a shadow over Shandri, my successor.”

The elder pressed his lips together in displeasure.

“He may have had help with the cover-up from outside the Order. I accuse only Legard.”

I nodded.

“Good! That makes it easier. Since the Order doesn’t have to prove anything, only I remain. Then how is it that I, a Leader, stand here and pass the ring formation test? Am I not using that power? Storing it within myself? Then all we need is the Garoy Jade and an artifact to verify that I’m carrying someone else’s energy in me. Bring it!”

The elder tensed, clearly aware that he was walking into a trap.

Viost told me that the Sentinels had forbidden the Garoys from searching the entire Circle for me, denying the Saul family’s request. I was only wanted by five factions, no more.

The Garoys had my imprint, but they still couldn’t identify me because Viost had marked me with his power. Would the Garoys or the Disirians have an artifact that could detect the strength of a Lord of Spirit? I didn’t think so. It wasn’t within the power of this Circle. That power was cut off by those standing on the border of the Third.

The elder waved his hand.

“This is ridiculous. You don’t deny that you are the same Legard whose name has been proclaimed throughout the lands of the Ringing Creek, but you deny that you are an outlaw. Ridiculous!”

“You’ve repeated that word so often that it has begun to lose its meaning. Funny how one, well, two, alright, three elders try to pass off their desires and actions as the will of the entire clan.”

The elder jumped up.

“What?! You brat! Watch your mouth!”

“Or what? I’ll be accused of insulting the Garoys as well?”

“You’re doing just that! I accuse you of insulting the clan and demand that you be punished! Magister Horit! Do it! Or I’ll punish him myself!”

Horit was silent for a moment, then shrugged.

“With all due respect, elder, I want to do this properly. Have your men bring the famous Garoy Jade into the ring. I know each of them contains the imprints of all the Second’s criminals.”

“What?!”

Horit cut the elder off harshly.

“You heard me. First of all, I want to clear the good name of the Heavenly Swords. We are a righteous Order and follow the laws of our Circle. Criminals have no place in our ranks. If Legard is wanted, that’s one thing, but if you’re just throwing around empty accusations, that’s another matter.”

“Magister Horit, are you threatening me?” the elder whispered incredulously.

“I’m just telling it like it is,” Horit replied. “The Jade, elder, go on. The Order has bent its back enough today, there is a limit to everything.”

“Oh, you’ve made a mess of things, boy. Perhaps I should fan the fire further...”

What?

I twitched when I saw Iover jump out of his chair and shout something over the parapet.

After five breaths, it was clear what he was shouting. The roar swept over the arena like an avalanche.

“Test! Test! Test!”

Chapter 39

I shook my head.

Well done, Iover.

“Come on, Garoys, come on, thousands of spectators are demanding that you check one poor, long-escaped criminal...”

The Elders, Horit, and Bolain were clearly talking about something in the lodge. But they spoke in a language of thoughts that I, with all my talent, couldn’t understand at this distance. They were probably trying to twist Horit’s arm or persuade him to calm the crowd.

He obviously refused. It didn’t matter if I or the thousands of others in the arena could hear them or not, since we could all see.

We could all see the elder’s face slowly turning purple.

Finally, he interrupted his inaudible argument and roared loudly, easily overpowering the screaming crowd:

“So be it!”

He inhaled and jumped over the parapet, using some Terrestrial technique.

All I had time to do was impose another limitation on myself. They were all, no doubt, wise, experienced people who knew all there was to know about Masters of Decrees and their limitations, but if this seasoned, wise old man had trouble with the test once, who was to say he wouldn’t trip again?

There was a reason I had been tearing my throat out there, shouting about removing everyone’s Decrees. Everyone knew the Order was exempt from Decrees and contracts, so no one would be surprised that my talent was one-sided and matched this philosophy.

Or so I hoped.

All they could know about Domar was that I used a contract on him. Domar obviously told that to his captors. Only because it was the truth. That was what happened that night in Domar’s bedroom. I had tried hard to pretend back then that I wasn’t a full-fledged Master of Decrees, but someone very much like his brother Simar, a scribe. Just as I was now trying to convince the entire arena of yet another incomplete truth.

“I’m sorry, Shandri, but this is the best I can do. I don’t have long to stay in the Order anyway; the time limit Viost and Klatir gave me is coming to an end. I’ve already failed one of their tasks, so I must at least complete the other. As Viost pointed out, he’s not as good-natured as Klatir.”

I grinned, but my smile was short-lived. Viost had also told me not to be so self-centered, yet that was all I was doing. It wasn’t my fault that he was so vague.

I could swear on everything that what I was doing right now would make the Order stronger and serve its interests.

“I’ve led the Order along this path for many years, but I’ve lost some of its legacy. Then I tried to lead it along the path my successor had laid out, not rushing to hand over my position to him, taking all his decisions, often controversial, in my name, together with their consequences,” Horit told me. “But all this has only led to this tournament and the Garoys twisting our arms like dishrags. Shandri and I had high hopes for Tola, but the death of his beloved ruined everything. Tola is no more, but you are still with us, every bit as proud, stubborn, talented, and mysterious. Today is your time, my successor’s successor. Today, the Order has nothing to lose. Perhaps it is time for you to raise your head and do what the young want you to do. Today I will support you in your endeavors. Whatever you plan, whatever you lead us all to do.”

I swallowed, realizing the weight of the burden he had placed on me. I should be frequently reminded that stubbornness had boundaries. Heavens forbid that I, with Iover’s help, should prompt the Garoys to unleash the Army of the Limits on us.

After pausing to register what I had just heard, I pushed the thought in the opposite direction.

“Thank you, magister, for your faith in me. I remember that the Order must lose.”

“Have I not made myself clear? It’s for you to decide. If you wish to win, if you feel you have the strength to do so, then tear the Disirians apart. Remember that Ketot is also a Leader.”

I pursed my lips. I suspected that if the Disirians had given the potions to other factions, they had also given them to their own people. But it was one thing to have a suspicion, and another to meet a Leader and know for sure.

I was glad that I didn’t use up my elemental reserve, saving it for my fight with Ketot.

“Thank you.”

The Garoy elder, meanwhile, buried himself in his Bag, not rushing to approach me. He’d cast strange glances at me from time to time, which made my skin crawl. Evaluative or something else equally unpleasant.

He was hardly older than Horit, and he looked like an old man, gray-haired and wrinkled. Well, he was a bit more dried up than Horit, but I still insisted on calling him an old man, even in my mind. His friends, too. It wasn’t the first time. I think I had been doing it since Zero, when my mother called the merchant who poisoned my father an old man. If I didn’t like someone, then he was an old man.

I watched as the elder finally took out his Jade and stepped into the ring with me. I couldn’t resist another taunt.

My lips curved into a grin.

“So this is my new opponent!”

The old man stumbled, blinked once, then again. I laughed.

“I can’t imagine how much it cost the Disirians to drag you in here, old man.”

“Shut up, mutt,” he hissed. “Don’t you value your life?”

The smile turned to a grin. I imagined the Claw stabbing the old man in the heart, and pushed the energy into the meridians.

The Tread brought me close to the elder, forcing him to raise his free arm and place a defensive technique between us, the pressure of his power bearing down on my shoulders, but I threw the bloodthirsty thoughts away as if they never existed and roared:

“Steward Legard has arrived to report to the Garoy Elders!”

The old man turned scarlet and gritted his teeth as he realized how I had embarrassed him in front of the entire arena.

“Will you call me out?”

He didn’t. But in his mind he began to kill me, cruelly and for a long time, cooling my back with steel.

The protective technique dissolved, melting away, allowing me to reach out to the old man; the pressure on my shoulders was gone as well.

He smelled just as I had imagined — something unpleasant, heavy, almost musty.

He lifted the Jade, burning me with his gaze, and I placed my palm on the cold black surface.

A breath, a second, a third.

“Nothing? I’m not on the list?” I chuckled. “Who would have thought?”

My voice echoed through the arena. What a show we had tonight, what a show. Not just a tournament, not just faction leaders bickering, but a fight with the Garoys themselves. If the Order said it was the first to dare such a thing, who would think to repeat this madness?

I continued to say what I thought was necessary, addressing all those who were watching this insane spectacle.

“Three elders aren’t the entire clan. The three elders may think whatever they want about me, but the Garoy clan itself doesn’t consider me a criminal.”

The elder just grinned.

“The test isn’t over yet.” He snatched an artifact from the Bag. “Let’s see if there’s a distorting imprint of someone else’s power in you.”

I was about to raise my other hand when I froze. Surprisingly, Darin’s words came to my mind in time. And I gladly repeated them.

“Should I, who rose from the First and fell into the clutches of the Saul family, those who spat on the Laws of Ascension, accept the trash my elders give me?”

The elder just grimaced.

“Mutt! Magister! Tame your insolent steward and come check my artifact, add another one to my clan’s grievances.”

Horit didn’t have to be asked twice.

Three breaths and he was standing in the ring.

He looked around at the broken stones and the blood on them, but instead of stepping toward us, he raised his head to the lodge he had come from.

“Bolain, I wish you had agreed to fight with me. Down here, where my Order gets its glory today, your absence is felt the most.”

“Your Order will gain nothing but loss today.”

“Did I mention winning? You’re younger than me, Bolain, and you’re hard of hearing. I speak of glory.”

Horit turned slowly, looked around the stands, and said suddenly:

“Test him.”

For the fourth time, the stands realized what he wanted them to do, or maybe it was Iover riling them up again, but for the fourth time, Horit’s voice was lost in the chanting.

“Test! Test! Test!”

The roar swept over the stands like a wave, circled them twice, and only then began to subside.

I could also hear the gnashing of the elder’s teeth. I could hear his thoughts, in which he threatened Horit with consequences.

But Horit just waved it away.

“Wild Times again? Calamity? Outcasts? All this requires the Sentinels’ approval. We can summon them right now and let them decide if your humiliation is worth all this.”

“Laughing and reminiscing about their punishments, you forget that our clan isn’t just a mouthpiece in this Circle. Go on, deepen the pit that will be your grave.”

“How can I forget your strength? You are the first and the strongest of the clans. Unless the Tyriot clan dares to say they are second.”

“Do you think you can bruise me with their name? They know their place and you don’t. Do you think that none of your neighbors will challenge you?”

“We don’t have many neighbors, and the strongest of them are the Disirians. We’ve lived side by side with them for decades and they’ve never challenged us. Even after Tola’s madness, they only dared to protest before you and the Sentinels.”

“Times are changing, and the Order is growing weaker.”

“So far, I see the Order growing stronger. If you can prove me wrong, elder, by all means, do so. A fist shouldn’t be waved unless it’s ready to strike.”

The shouting stopped and the silent exchange of threats and barbs ended.

Smiling, Horit finally approached us, took the artifact from the elder’s palm, and turned it in his hands, examining it from all sides.

“An ordinary verification artifact to test the power invested in a Master and his Ascension,” he informed me.

“Can it detect the embedded power of a Lord of Spirit?”

“You mean the power of a Sentinel? No.”

That’s what I thought. However, I didn’t mention that I not only had the power of a Sentinel but also that of a hostile cultist.

After taking a breath, I placed my hand on the artifact.

Immediately, a glowing pagoda began to grow over it, sprouting through my palm.

Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten levels.

Bigger than what it showed the last time, but smaller than what it actually was. I didn’t know how my Restriction Decree worked, but it was as if the artifact didn’t see the fortress that was my Leader body, or the second focus, or the opened elemental nodes. I could see them, even though I couldn’t reach them.

I didn’t know how the artifact was supposed to show the power invested in me, maybe by an additional glow on the floors, maybe by a symbol above the roof of the pagoda, but none of that happened. Nothing at all happened to this pagoda anymore, and the old man, gritting his teeth again, was the first to pull the hand with the artifact to himself.

“Announce the results, elder,” Horit demanded. “Announce them. The entire arena is waiting to hear them.”

He slowly inhaled air through his teeth, then breathed out.

“Clean. No trace of spiritual power.”

Horit nodded and roared:

“All the accusations are false! Legard isn’t a criminal! He had every right to become one of us! Let us repeat the name of our rising star! Rimilo! Rimilo! Rimilo!”

The stands didn’t hesitate to support him. Only they added a bit of flare to their chanting.

“Rimilo the Butcher! Rimilo the Butcher!”

I threw my arms up in the air and spun around so that my face could be seen from all the stands. It wasn’t an elegant nickname but I’d make do with what I had. Standing on the blood-soaked slabs, it was foolish to hope for a pleasant one. Let some be proud and praiseworthy, while the others struck fear into the Order’s enemies.

Horit waved his hand.

“Elder?”

The old man gave me another strange look, and then I suddenly heard his evil voice in my head.

“You have passed the test, strange Master of Decrees who can use his art in battle. I think that’s enough for now.”

An Appeal lit under his feet and launched him back to the lodge, leaving me to try to figure out what it all meant. But I didn’t think long. Wrong time, wrong place. All that mattered was that I hadn’t deceived him.

I turned to face the plum blossom. I looked at Ketot.

“Fight me!”

He shrugged, his voice low, inaudible to the arena.

“You tear your throat out in vain, you who bear many names. I always act strictly according to orders. I’m not to give in to your yelling and screaming. I don’t enter the ring unless my superior commands me to do so. Obedience, have you ever heard of it?”

“Were you ordered to kill Berek, you obedient dog? Ordered by whom? The Leader who wouldn’t dirty his boots with the Mountain’s soil?”

Ketot pressed his lips together, my accusation echoing through the arena.

“It was an accident, my technique missed,” he cut me off. “I had no intention of killing him.”

“Liar...”

I cut myself short and turned away, gritting my teeth and stepping away. If he didn’t want to fight me now, he’d do it later. No more showing off here in the ring with a half-empty focus. I asked Vilikor to help me out for such an occasion.

“What’s that? The man who spoke so much and so loudly is suddenly leaving? Does he not want to extend his winning streak?” the Disirian commentator jeered.

I smiled with the corner of my mouth. Did he think that’d hurt me?

“He has declared himself a participant! Is the Order withdrawing its wager and admitting defeat?”

I stumbled as our commentator’s voice boomed overhead.

“Nonsense! Which other participant had to undergo such an extensive examination? Our contestant is tired of waiting for your bid. Since you haven’t placed one for so long, perhaps you’re the one admitting defeat?”

Vilikor was already approaching me. We met exactly halfway between our flag and the edge of the ring.

“A while ago I said this would be a good time to call it a day, but I don’t think so now. I’ll try to last longer,” she said quietly. “The Ice Queen cannot choke on the dust the Sand Beast had kicked up.”

The corners of my lips twitched in a smile. Another competition?

But Vilikor passed by without noticing anything. I had to look over my shoulder and push the thought back at her.

“It’s not a competition between us and you don’t have to prove anything. Not to anyone. If Ketot or another Leader comes up against you, make sure you don’t get hurt. The Order will need you in the future.”

She didn’t turn around, didn’t wave her hand to let me know that she heard my words, and more importantly, that she accepted them.

No matter. She was strong. I used to grit my teeth as she beat my ass over and over in the ring, but it only made me stronger and eager to try harder.

Now it was her turn.

I was sure none of this would be an obstacle for her. Not for Vilikor Trazado, who once lived in the Third Circle. Not for someone who was still more capable than I was. Not for her, who had always been wiser and more prudent than me.

The shadow of a smile turned into a wide, anticipatory grin.

“Show those Disirian bastards how sharp the Ice Queen’s steel is!” I shouted after her.

That got her. She hesitated, looked over her shoulder at me, nodded, and stepped into the ring.

“Vilikor! The Ice Queen!”

Chapter 40

Her opponent was Faldi. The other spearman.

Check.

Gong.

Clash.

Vilikor was magnificent.

Fast, unstoppable, deadly.

She didn’t want to kill Faldi, but that didn’t make it any easier for him. There was nothing he could do against Vilikor’s talent or her sword.

Ten breaths and he was covered in wounds.

Twenty breaths and his blood was dripping onto the stone slabs.

Twenty-five breaths and his hand, still clutching his spear, fell to the ground. The gong sounded even before it touched the stone, causing Vilikor to freeze mid-strike.

She lowered her sword to her hip and squared her shoulders.

Was this really a contest between us?

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that the Disirians would now try to accuse us of somehow violating the rules. I was worried that Vilikor, engrossed in the fight, would miss the gong that announced the end of the battle. If she continued to swing after it, it’d be a violation on her part.

Fortunately, she had the kind of control I could only dream of.

“Vilikor! Vilikor! Vilikor!” I joined the shouting.

She didn’t leave the ring.

“This walking back and forth is tiring. I think I’ll give my feet a break. Who will be my next opponent? How about you, Ketot? Brother Legard had a chance to fight you once, but I didn’t. I was too late for the Wild Times, and then you disappeared from the forests. Perhaps you’ll take pity on a girl today.”

“Probably not.”

I snorted. Still, I was glad. For Vilikor and myself.

She sighed.

“Pity. Who will go in your place? I promise I won’t try to end the fight as quickly as this time.”

The battlemaster appeared beside me and hissed:

“What are you standing around for? Did you leave the ring just to watch her fight?”

I touched the Bag, grabbed handfuls of spirit stones, and smashed them together. Some crumbled under my feet and others, which held, flew in all directions.

It didn’t matter.

Spreading my arms, I formed three circles of the Cycle and let them spin.

Faster. Faster. Faster!

The crumbs under my feet quickly disintegrated, disappeared, melted into dozens of colorful threads. My body absorbed them greedily. I wasn’t sure where they were going as the elemental focus was full.

Only it wasn’t enough for me. Slowly now.

Restriction. Remove it.

Faster. Faster!

The whirlwind expanded sharply, sucking in the scattered stones. The battlemaster retreated from me as if he was afraid of getting caught in the maelstrom, and the whole stones gave up the first threads and the first portions of heavenly energy.

I didn’t care about the threads as I used very little of them, but the spiritual power...

I didn’t care about it either. Things would follow their course. I had done everything I could have, collected as much as I could collect. I’d use it in the duels.

I kept my mind on the rotation of the Cycle and stared at the fight going on in the ring.

I didn’t know if the Disirian was stronger this time or if Vilikor was really stalling.

Ten breaths had passed and there was no wound on her opponent.

Twenty breaths. The stone slabs were clean.

Twenty-five breaths... Finally, the first wound.

On Vilikor.

She brawled with her opponent, steel to steel, gliding a step away from him, showering him with dozens of blows and deflecting dozens of lunges.

I was too far away to see her Spiritual Protection, but I knew they were facing each other right now, trying to break through, trying to destroy whatever techniques they were trying to use.

All I could see were Appeals that were wasted with each breath.

Fifty breaths and the steel vortex disintegrated.

Vilikor and the Disirian stood five feet apart. The Disirian’s left arm hung uselessly like a bloody whip.

“Do you surrender?” Vilikor asked.

Only an angry gasp came from the Disirian. He flew into a rage even without my Decrees, covered himself with a huge Appeal, and...

And nothing. Vilikor turned into a blue shadow and threw herself at her opponent, shattering his technique before it even manifested.

Nine breaths and there was a scream. Not of pain, but of rage and hatred.

Five steps between Vilikor and the Disirian again, but now he was one arm short and had a deep gash on his thigh.

My lips curled into a mocking grin. Poor Disirians. I taught Vilikor bad things and now she was trying her best to follow my example. She even tried to cut off her opponent’s leg before the gong sounded. It didn’t work, but I knew how fast she learned.

“Come on, hurry up. Before Rimilo the Butcher refills his focus,” she jeered.

“Or scars his meridians with a third Cycle in half a day.”

“But will your contestants feel better if they’re beaten by an already injured opponent?” Vilikor countered. “That sounds even more shameful to me.”

From the small group of remaining Disirians, another one made his way to the ring.

Unless my eyes were deceiving me, and there was no way they were, our opponents were the only true Disirians left. Only their colors, only the plum on their robes.

It was a shame that such a beautiful symbol had been given to such wretched people. But that was the least of my worries right now.

Test. The gong. The clash.

This time, it didn’t take me ten breaths to realize that Vilikor wasn’t stalling, but was actually barely able to defend herself.

The damn Disirian wasn’t only an excellent swordsman; he was also very good at techniques, so he kept her at a distance, at a disadvantage.

He concentrated only on the one Terrestrial technique that formed away from their fight, and from there slammed ghostly blades into Vilikor’s back, forcing her to show off her mastery of the jian to fend them off.

The crowd and I stood frozen, breathless, staring at the fight, hoping for Vilikor to emerge victorious.

I simply didn’t believe that something like this could stop her.

A new Appeal shone under Vilikor. Ten feet away from her, to the right and left, ice crystals the size of a man’s head condensed out of the air, hung motionless for a moment, and then suddenly took flight, drawing a circle around their summoner.

Or rather, tried to draw — in their path was a Disirian, whom they crashed into at the speed of light.

I expected everything from him splitting them with his sword to shattering them with his Veil, but not that he’d just ignore them.

The crowd gasped as the first crystal shattered into hundreds of thin icicles that melted away, unable to reach their target.

I gritted my teeth. How was that possible? Was the quality of the technique inferior? Vilikor, the talent of our Order, had an inferior technique? What was Shandri doing here while I was running around the Lands of Itrea? Was he making her earn points to gain access to the Technique Pavilion?

I was so eager to find out what was going on that I didn’t realize I was letting my new skills take over once again. Surprisingly, even the defensive formation that covered the ring couldn’t stop me. Or was that no surprise at all?

A moment later, I was inside the dome, its wall faintly glowing behind me. Another moment, and I seemed to be floating three steps away from the battle, this time clearly seeing the gray veil of spiritual power that Vilikor and the Disirian were spewing.

It was darker, not gray, but black, and I could see blue sparks in it.

A Leader.

Vilikor was fighting a Leader.

Unsurprisingly, she lost the confrontation in a battle of Spiritual Protection. No wonder the Disirian’s technique didn’t dissipate. Like me, he was putting as much elemental energy into it as possible. A Master like Vilikor couldn’t possibly compare.

I could see how each slash of his sword seemed to split Vilikor’s spiritual defenses, to thin them, letting his energy seep in through the cracks, his elemental sparks stinging Vilikor, trying to penetrate her body.

For a moment, I fought the urge to send Vilikor a telepathic message, but I controlled myself.

Who was I to give advice to someone consumed by battle? Who was I to tell Vilikor the obvious? She knew what she was up against without my help.

I was circling the fight, keeping my mouth shut and withholding advice that would only distract Vilikor.

All I was doing was trying out my talent, but the fact that I was close to the fight only visually meant nothing to it. My physical body, still maintaining the Cycle, was still too far away from the Disirian.

I glanced in my direction, noticed the elemental dust crumbling from my skin, and concentrated on the fight again.

“Vilikor, come on.”

She didn’t disappoint.

First, a black tattoo appeared over her neck and hands, much like my Unity. A body inscription, one of the secrets and legacies of the Trazado family.

The jian in Vilikor’s hands radiated a cold glow, as if covered in ice.

The Disirian didn’t even see the first blow that sliced through his chest, ignoring the Veil and the amulet, causing the blood in the wound to congeal into a cluster of frozen scarlet droplets.

Vilikor pressed down on her opponent, forcing the Disirian to stagger backward, retreating from her stinging steel, the ghostly blades slashing at her back with increasing frequency.

Vilikor ignored them, using no defensive techniques, relying entirely on the Veil.

I counted my breaths.

One. Two.

The stands gasped.

Vilikor was only a Master.

Two breaths and the Veil fell, and the first two ghostly blades ripped the robe on her back open.

The next two embedded themselves in her body, forcing blood to flow.

Vilikor stopped, frozen in a lunge. Her jian sliced through the Disirian, impaling him on steel. Ice-covered steel. The jian no longer glowed with an iridescent sheen, but the wound and the hand grabbing the blade were covered in ice.

Vilikor’s soft voice could be heard in the silence.

“You have lost. Admit defeat and let me withdraw my sword before the ice reaches your heart.”

The opponent just growled and his eyes turned red.

“Strike the gong!” our commentator shouted.

Silence. Only the crowd’s screams and the roar of the Disirian could be heard. He slashed at Vilikor again and again, his sword ringing against her weakened Veil. A moment later, her blade shone again. She twisted the steel, the ice burst, and the sword was jerked aside.

I had seen this somewhere before...

There were three steps between Vilikor and the Disirian. The fingers of his left hand and the elbow of his right arm were missing. Blood was spurting from the stump, but that didn’t stop him from showering Vilikor with ghostly swords. But what good would that do? Having gained some distance, she easily dismantled them with her sword.

The gong finally sounded.

Nothing changed. The Disirian still pummeled Vilikor with his technique, still drenched the ring with his blood.

Two breaths and the ringmasters appeared beside him, arms raised, using the Punishing Hand. Fools. The three of them couldn’t even handle a Peak Master like that, what were they trying to do against a Leader?

They managed. They knocked him down, piled on top of him, holding to his chest a huge artifact that the fourth servant had brought into the ring.

The Disirian collapsed, spinning his scarlet eyes frantically, and then lost consciousness, no longer bothered by his wounds.

The healer cast a single heal on him, then turned to the Disirian battlemaster. Silently. But our commentator spoke for him.

“Why are you standing there? Take your wounded and treat him as you see fit. And explain yourself for this violation of the tournament rules. Another violation.”

“What’s there to explain?” The Disirian commentator’s voice was calm. “Our duelist got carried away. I can’t blame him. It’s been a long, difficult day, too many accusations and discoveries were made about the nature of your Order. He will be punished as appropriate. At home.”

Vilikor interrupted the conversation.

“He’s punished himself enough. I offered him to surrender.” Shaking her hair, she dropped her hand to her belt and raised a vial before her. “I ask the ringmasters to verify. Healing alchemy.”

I pressed my lips together and reached for her, trying to penetrate her body. It didn’t work. My mental sight, though it could see the ring as if I were standing in it, was unable to do what a body could do — touch Vilikor with my hand. However, I used to need a healing technique to do that. Who knew, maybe that would change. But not now, unfortunately.

The wound on her back looked serious...

Her impassive face didn’t flinch as she tipped the vial’s contents into her mouth.

The onlookers appreciated her stoic nature.

“Ice Queen!”

Vilikor threw the vial aside, shattering it into dozens of pieces, and waved her hand.

“I’m waiting.”

As soon as the gong struck, her next opponent raised his arms and displayed three Appeals at once.

I clenched my teeth. It reminded me so vividly of my set of Roak techniques. It used all Master nodes.

Vilikor recognized the threat and jumped to the side, dashing across the ring.

It took her one breath to fill her meridians and one breath to reach her opponent.

He used those two breaths to the fullest as Vilikor flew into a veritable wall of fire.

It was unlikely that she hadn’t received the warning from her Combat Meditation, unlikely that she didn’t know the risk, but she had relied entirely on the spiritual energy she radiated from her body to break through the roaring flames.

I felt a chill run down my spine. It had been many years since I had met with Pratius at the foot of one of the Brothers. Then, too, I had seen walls of fire. I had long since recovered from my wound and thought that even my aversion to that particular element was behind me.

Wrong, as usual.

For a moment, I thought it wasn’t Vilikor in the arena, but me, licked by the greedy flames, trying to break through the protective film of spiritual power.

Vilikor’s sword split the air. The Disirian was no longer there, as one of his Terrestrial techniques was a movement technique.

There was an elusive moment of silence as Vilikor changed from a Dash to a Step, and there she was, stalking the Disirian, showering him with ice spears. She pursued, breaking through more and more walls of fire in her path.

The Disirian dashed across the ring, nimble, not like a headless jair. His Appeals glowed brighter and brighter. There was more and more fire in the ring. Unsurprisingly, he started off with the weakest and fastest constellations and moved on to stronger ones.

The walls of fire raged higher and higher, thicker and thicker. They no longer extinguished behind Vilikor’s back, remaining and coalescing into a true labyrinth.

The Disirian infused the technique with his element, drawing generously from the second focus. A Leader. Another Leader. A Leader created by a potion, but what difference did that make here and now?

Our commentator shouted something about the Leader, explaining to the audience what was going on in the ring, but I wasn’t listening to him, focused on what was happening around me, around Vilikor.

Her techniques were no longer able to pierce the walls of fire, to catch up with the Disirian and make him waste time defending.

The walls of the labyrinth changed from scarlet to blue, the flames roaring upward and then falling down on Vilikor, trying to incinerate her.

I, or rather my mental vision, was thrown out of the ring, making me nauseous for a moment, as if I had been tossed around in a storm. Or it could’ve been the consequence of a failed technique.

I licked my dry lips.

Asshole.

I checked the state of my body.

The Cycle was steady and the meridians were sore. Sore, but habitually sore, nothing more.

If this had something to do with the Disirian’s technique, the effects were almost imperceptible. It couldn’t compare to what I experienced when my spiritual vision was interrupted during my first attempt to create a technique without Appeals and constellations.

There was a reason that a healer examining a patient was not to be disturbed.

Surely the power of a Leader had similar restrictions. Especially a weak one like me.

A little wiser, I was in no hurry to get close to the battle again, satisfied with what I could see from here. Just because it worked once didn’t mean it’d work again.

At the place where Vilikor should have been standing, a huge flower of blue flame blossomed. Its glow was perfectly visible through the scarlet walls of the labyrinth, even to me, and from the stands above it could be seen in all its splendor.

The Disirian’s technique was beautiful, that was for sure. Beautiful and dangerous.

I stared at the fiery flower for two breaths, and then it faded, changed color, and became a regular scarlet flame.

Within another breath, Vilikor blew it apart.

The flower burst, scattering wisps of flame in all directions, revealing Vilikor standing with her sword above her head, illuminated by the glow of the Appeal burning on the jian’s tip.

I didn’t know that technique. I hadn’t seen anything like it in the Order’s vaults.

The flames around Vilikor roared again. This time they didn’t change color, didn’t burst upward, but slithered slowly toward her.

All the fire in the ring surged toward her, thickening. I could no longer see where the Disirian was hiding in those flames, as if he were using an invisibility amulet. I was too far away to see his Decrees, too far away to help Vilikor with a hint.

But did she need my help?

A quick movement, barely noticeable even to me, and the jian was no longer pointing to the sky, stuck in the ground. Vilikor injected the Appeal into the stone. Whether it or the symbols within it had changed, I couldn’t tell through the thicker and thicker walls of flame.

Everything beneath Vilikor’s feet was covered in ice, as was she herself. I expected her to cover herself with the Veil to prepare for the Disirian’s attack, but this wasn’t a defensive technique.

Or should I say, it wasn’t the kind of defense I was used to seeing.

Vilikor lunged to the left, and the circle of ice beneath her feet flickered in her wake. Was it under her feet? Perhaps she was its epicenter?

I couldn’t see how she broke through the first wall of fire, but I could trace her passage through the second in detail.

The fire fell as soon as the circle of ice touched it.

Vilikor flew across the ring, then ran twenty feet along its edge, crossing it from corner to corner, tearing the flames into four unequal pieces.

She was so close, unobstructed by the flames, that I could see every feature of her face beneath the blue ice. Even whiter than usual skin, an icy, expressionless stare. Two Appeals. One under her feet, the other, familiar, before her chest.

A Dash and she fell back into the flames, her sword in front of her.

The flames roared, rising in a wave she couldn’t bring down.

Her lips curved into a smile. She had found it.

She had found it.

The Dash was replaced by a leisurely, almost strolling step.

Was this leisure a sign of disregard for her opponent?

I doubted it.

Rather, her technique was struggling to break through the Disirian’s.

The fire didn’t fall in front of her, but she pushed the wall of flames apart and wedged herself into it.

The circle of ice beneath her feet shrank, turning into a narrow wedge. Or maybe it was the flames that had squeezed it, trying to destroy it, to melt it with their heat.

The Disirian made no attempt to flee or move away. On the contrary, he brought together all the flame that had filled the ring, revealing Vilikor to the audience as the fire turned into a huge column no less than twenty feet across.

I tried to figure out how I’d deal with something like that.

If the Disirian was standing in the middle of the flames, it’d be useless to go around and hit from the other side. You’d have to take ten steps through the flames everywhere you went.

Hit it at speed?

Slash with the Star Blade, penetrating both the flames and the Disirian in one blow?

Cloak yourself in Roak’s Shell?

Use Elemental Armor, trading spiritual energy for protection from fire?

Vilikor chose the latter approach.

At least now I knew she had access to it, that Shandri spared no expense on her education.

I shouldn’t have doubted him. I shouldn’t have doubted her either.

I would have used the Armor’s two hundred and sixty-six nodes but Vilikor added another Terrestrial technique — the very ice beneath her feet. She wasn’t using it to show off, was she?

It seemed to strengthen the Armor or help it fight her opponent’s element — the flames couldn’t break through the icy wedge.

Perhaps it allowed her to expand the Armor’s boundaries and even change it. It wasn’t at all like the blue film that covered me when I used it.

The Disirian realized things weren’t going well for him. He turned to run, visible by the way the column of flame shook and shifted.

Both he and Vilikor were using too many nodes to manage anything else. One was retreating and pushing, the other — advancing and pushing just as hard.

Everything would depend on speed.

Ten, twenty breaths of this strange chase. The pillar of fire was moving along the edge of the ring, the flames licking greedily at the stones beyond. Vilikor was eight steps inside the fiery storm. One more and her outstretched sword would reach its center.

But then the flames dropped in height and changed color, turning blue again. The wedge of ice beneath Vilikor’s feet held the increased pressure for only a moment, and then it collapsed with an audible crack as the flames engulfed Vilikor, covering her head.

They collapsed, covered her, and then, after a breath, crumbled away like a wave crashing on the shore.

Powerless, the fire no longer hid anything.

Vilikor stood tall, the Disirian impaled on her sword.

He fell at the same time as the gong struck.

Only then did I notice that Vilikor no longer had the protection of the Armor on her. Her clothes were smoking, her skin was blistered, and her white hair was scorched.

She had traded safety for the chance to strike with a weapon technique and won.

But at what cost?

A vial appeared in her hand, and the entire arena heard her hoarse voice.

“A healing potion.”

The ringmasters hesitated, taking their time to direct novices to her.

“It was a magnificent battle, one that we won’t forget soon!” our commentator said. “It’s not every day you see a Master defeat a Leader. No one will think less of you if you withdraw from the tournament after this fight. No one will dare to say a word to you. You must have poured all your energy into this fight, to end the tournament as the winner, Vilikor the Ice Queen.”

I sent her a thought.

“He’s right, Vilikor. I’ve never seen anyone use the Armor like that before. You don’t want the audience to see the next Disirian defeat you. The Order’s star should leave the tournament victorious.”

She turned around to argue, but I cut her off.

“Thank you. I’ve recovered.” I was lying a little. “Now it’s my turn, I’ll try to finish this tournament with a bang.”

Vilikor nodded, put the vial back into her Bag, and slowly raised her hands and jian to the sky.

“The Order of the Heavenly Sword!” she cried out.

The stands screamed and shouted their hearts out.

Vilikor left the ring to the cheers of the crowd. A winner. At least someone’s heart was light tonight, at least someone walked out of here undefeated.

I couldn’t afford that.

The Order had to lose.

Chapter 41

I, the last of the Order’s duelists, stepped back into the ring under the gaze of hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of eyes on me. They looked at me with joy, support, enthusiasm, indifference, and hatred. The latter wasn’t as strong. How many Disirians and their allies were there in the arena? A hundredth of all the guests? A fiftieth? But their gazes were heavy, full of killer intent, enough to make me feel them on my skin.

Did they really think that their mere glances would be enough to make me stop?

Of course not. It was ridiculous to even think about it. The Disirians would need more than just hateful looks and the desire to kill.

Horit said that today I could choose my path and lead the Order, that I could win, that I could tear the Disirians apart if I had the strength to do so.

I supposed I did. But it was one thing to be angry when you were forbidden to fight and win, but another to decide for yourself how your childish prank would affect the whole Order.

Winning was good, but why did the Order need this useless burden of the City of a Thousand Levels? Shandri was right about that. But he was wrong about something else.

I stepped to the edge of the ring and made my usual demand.

“Ketot, come out!” My voice was amplified; I didn’t even have to ask the ringmaster to tend to it.

Ketot let my summons pass by his ears, and just stared at me with an unblinking gaze.

I pushed my opponent’s name from my mind as soon as I heard it. Who cared about him? Just another obstacle on my way to Ketot. Just another practice dummy.

A daredevil who dared challenge the Master of Decrees.

Of course, he was covered by an amulet, beyond the reach of my Decrees, but so what? Who was going to benefit from that today?

The gong sounded.

I leaped forward.

First breath.

The Disirian lit three Appeals in front of him.

Of course he did.

Second breath.

A hundred feet turned into thirty. I could see the depth and darkness of his focus. A Leader, no doubt. A Leader who could cause me some trouble.

Third breath.

A blue, barely visible vortex swirled around the Disirian. At the same time, the Destroyer extended twenty feet.

A blow, a brief movement of the shaft, and the Star Blade crossed the Disirian, slicing through the vortex, unnoticed in its path.

In an instant, there were two dozen whirlwinds in the ring.

They were in my way, growing, spinning, shooting sparks from the stone slabs.

The Star Blade went out as I rounded the first vortex, sliding across the ring in something akin to a stumble.

I rolled, pushed off the stone with the Destroyer, lifted myself to my feet, and changed my approach to a series of short Dashes, moving closer to the Disirian.

The whirlwinds grew, reaching for each other, filling the entire ring. But it was all too, too slow. At least for me.

Ten steps through a whirlwind of tight, razor-sharp air currents roaring around the Disirian...

Once upon a time, when I first fought a Leader, I couldn’t hurt him with the Star Blade. Now I was a Leader myself, and things were different.

The Star Blade was full of energy and elemental threads. Right now, there was more elemental energy in it alone than there had been in me as a Master.

I carefully measured its amount so as not to reveal the essence of the Spiritual technique in the Star Blade. There was no point. None at all.

The narrow ghostly blade plowed through the vortex, piercing the Disirian’s Spiritual Protection, forcing him to use the Veil.

A breath, two, and I stripped it off him with dozens of swift blows.

It seemed useless. A Leader could use the Veil continuously, but I didn’t want to hurt him. My goal, as before, was the amulets.

The feeling of a hot, prickly ball in my palm disappeared. Abruptly, suddenly, and immediately, I did three things.

I reached for the Disirian’s Decrees, removed my hand from the shaft, and sent a water snake at my opponent.

Invisible to all, the serpent broke through the vortex unnoticed, slowed down slightly in the wall of Spiritual Protection, blurred, but still hit the Disirian’s chest and...

Nothing.

Only the vortex widened and tried to swallow me.

It was foolish to hope that one snake would be enough, especially against an opponent of equal strength. Humans were weaker than Beasts when it came to the elements. A Warrior Beast could poison even a weak Master.

I retreated two steps and sent out six water serpents, slicing the air after each with the Destroyer.

After five breaths, there was no time to run — the whirlwinds merged into one, filling almost the entire ring.

I didn’t even bother. I froze in place, fortifying my body with Spiritual Protection and elemental mist.

It’d be enough to protect me from the razor-sharp gusts of wind.

There were a dozen and a half steps between the Disirian and me.

He stood still, pouring energy and elemental threads into his three techniques.

I did likewise, focusing on the Star Blade, sending hordes of water snakes at him, and subduing his Decrees.

The thought that the Disirians had bothered with these people, given them the potions, and even brought in a Master of Decrees of immense power just for that flickered in my mind like a spark and then disappeared.

Ruining all their efforts would be that much sweeter.

Five breaths. The wind tore at the hem of my robe, throwing dust into my eyes. My snakes crashed against the Disirian’s chest, unable to overcome his defenses.

Ten breaths. The wind rumbled, shredding the stone slabs, and scattering the debris, trying to grind me down with it.

I just blinked and pushed a wave of energy out of the focus. Just as I had done hundreds, thousands, tens and hundreds of thousands of times before. As a Warrior. As a Master.

And now as a Leader.

The wave of power rolled through my body, reached the surface of my skin, and froze, making me many times stronger, taking its time to roll back.

It’d only happen if I wanted it to.

I no longer wished to count the breaths or pretend to be a Master.

Powerless, the stone shards tore my robe, hit my face, but I didn’t even cover my eyes.

There was no point.

Twenty breaths and another snake suddenly sank into the Disirian’s body.

Another breath and he shuddered all over, forgot about his techniques, wrapped his arms around himself, and coughed.

Blood.

He forgot his defenses as well. The Star Blade pierced him once, twice, thrice...

The gong sounded.

I struggled to break the technique, it grated unpleasantly on my meridians, but once the fight was stopped, what choice did I have?

The huge whirlwind that had been whipping me slowed down and collapsed, covering the ring with a thin layer of sand, ground into the slabs beneath my feet.

“Victory for the Order!”

Was there any doubt?

I didn’t deny myself the pleasure of taunting the Disirians.

“You seem to have forgotten to teach your fighters how to use their skills. His technique was a bit off; even his body had a hard time with it.”

The Disirian tried to say something, but he just coughed again, bloody bubbles bursting on his lips.

Yeah, he’d better shut up. His Decrees were mine too. Fury would be gone in a few hundred breaths, and by nightfall, all the others as well. Regan could check if their Master of Decrees had come to Sword City or not.

There were four more still standing beside Ketot.

Once again, he let someone else do the dirty work.

The poor servants who had jumped out to clean the ring froze in confusion, not knowing whether to continue restoring the stone slabs or run away and not interfere with the fight.

“Come on! Come on!” the Disirian ringmaster urged them on. “I’ll count to twenty. The arena better be ready by then. Your Order is wasting time!”

I nodded in agreement.

“Let’s get it on then. Sand or stone, it really doesn’t matter to me.”

I turned away from the Disirians and returned to the edge of the ring, under our banner.

I counted twenty breaths and turned to face the Disirians.

I wouldn’t say the ring was as good as new, but there was certainly less sand under my boots.

The last of the servants scurried away just as the formation rose.

Check. Gong.

This time, I dashed forward as quickly as I could. With all the strength I could muster, I employed a Dash filled with energy that tore the meridians. The old but well-honed ability carried me right up to the Disirian, making him forget his technique. The Appeals faded as he was forced to block the Destroyer’s blow, shifting as I lunged at him.

He might have been a Leader, but it wasn’t easy to defend yourself while simultaneously filling up several dozen nodes. Terrestrial technique? Or was it a Spiritual one this time?

I didn’t know. I didn’t know what kind of techniques the Disirans used. I could only assume that it was at least Terrestrial.

And that its first constellations required at least a few breaths of concentration, which I wasn’t about to give.

Whips, Star Blade, Seven Blades — I put pressure on the Disirian, forcing him to retreat, to spend time defending himself, to put energy into his weapon techniques so he didn’t get a few holes in his body.

I also sent spiritual energy and elemental threads at him.

And while the former only destroyed the techniques he tried to use, the latter ate away at his defenses.

I saw the gray cloud around him. I saw my element pushing through him, chewing him up, and with each breath, I was closer and closer to his body.

I grinned into his face. When else would I have the chance to face a Leader without fearing for my life? The last time I had to run, I was stabbed in the back repeatedly.

My opponent was good, I couldn’t deny it. No matter how much pressure I put on him, he managed to dodge my blows and even complete one of the techniques I originally interrupted.

An Appeal erupted beneath his feet, and immediately the gray cloud of his Spiritual Protection expanded dramatically, pushing my blue dust a step away from him.

A step forward.

My spear pressed against his jian, sliding it aside.

Another step forward.

The shaft went up and to the left, pushing the Disirian’s arm away. I was close. I pressed into his defense, pushing it aside with my body. My right hand let go of the shaft for a moment and pressed into the Disirian’s chest, feeding it a water serpent.

A step back and to the left, drawing a semicircle around the Disirian.

I took a moment to assess the effect of my strike, delivered at full power.

None?

None at all. But my tiny hiccup, the void in the whirlwind of blows, was enough for him to prepare his second technique.

The sand, which the servants hadn’t had time to remove, suddenly crawled toward my opponent, as if driven by an insensible wind.

It slithered up his boots and covered him with armor.

Only this armor wasn’t manifested by the power of his technique but was made of real stone.

It wouldn’t get through my Spiritual Protection.

I grinned to myself. So that was why the Disirian ringmaster rushed and didn’t let the novices clean up the ring...

Although... What difference did it make to me what kind of armor I pierced? Steel, stone, or energy... They all hid flesh underneath.

The air groaned, unable to move out of the Destroyer’s path, the Star Blade stripping the Disirian of his defense, causing him to stagger back. But I didn’t let him go anywhere.

He was good at techniques, I’d give him that. But swordplay, let alone a fistfight, wasn’t his thing.

I lowered my hand and touched the Bag with my fist, returning the Destroyer to its place on the weapon rack. I deflected my opponent’s sword and the weapon technique with my bare palm. One step, and I was right next to the Disirian. Holding his blade, I hit his elbow. His wrist, still bare, cracked, but resisted.

I hit a second time, third...

It didn’t work.

I had to dodge, the wind was too hot, and duck under his arm, punching him in the armpit with energy-infused fists. He didn’t even twitch. I didn’t get past his Veil.

He was girded with a new amulet. The slabs beneath me suddenly swelled with sharp spikes that tried to pierce me, to pull me down upon them.

The heat of danger warned me a moment before they appeared. I spit out a new wave of Spiritual Protection, but the heat of danger didn’t even think to let up. I barely had time to take a tiny Step to the left, pulling my right foot up and away from where the giant stone needle emerged. It shot up, not even thinking to dissolve into my Spiritual Protection, reaching to my waist. It took it a breath to disappear. Rather, it was swallowed by the ground, ready to emerge elsewhere in the ring at the Disirian’s command.

Dodging, stepping away from the stone sting, punching the Disirian left, right, kicking him on the next step.

Each of my blows was accompanied by a water snake, past the Veil, the stone armor rising higher and higher, and into his body, seeping past his Spiritual Protection.

How many snakes would it take before one of them managed to wound him?

It was time to find out.

Five, six, eight...

The Disirian suddenly twisted to the side. I took advantage of it, piling on, guiding his body, forcing him to fall right into the path of another spike.

But it didn’t pierce the stone armor, just tossed him up, forcing him to straighten up again.

No matter.

Half a step to the left, back a step, left again...

Not a bad technique, but the number of spikes was limited. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that his influence over the ground was limited.

It didn’t matter.

I jumped and danced around the Disirian, dodging his spikes and showering him with a hail of punches and kicks. The armor had long since covered his head. Thin but strong. There was no way I’d manage to break his arm now. There was no point in trying. I just kept punching him.

Another water snake splashed across the armor, unable to penetrate his body.

I reached for the Bag for the Destroyer and gritted my teeth. I ignited several Appeals in front of me, filling my meridians with energy, adorning my hands with Roak’s Claws. The first constellation, the only one that could be used like this — doubled and mirrored for each of my hands.

I swung his sword aside, sending sparks flying, and stepped to the right, ducking under the blow, cutting down the spike, stepping back to take its place. I hit with my left arm, with my right...

Once more with my right...

Each of my blows stained the stone armor, hammering it into the Veil without penetrating it, but there’d be many of these blows.

He should have been practicing more with his sword.

Maybe the third and last set of techniques could have changed the course of the fight, but the problem was that I didn’t give the Disirian that chance. I was too close and hit too dangerously, forcing him to waste time and nodes on weapon, movement, and enhancing techniques.

He was already running out of time. He could neither fight back nor retreat.

He even stopped with the spikes, using his energy to speed up, but it didn’t help him. On the contrary, it only made things worse.

Since I no longer had to run away from the danger under my feet, I stood in one place and concentrated only on striking.

Dual wielding wasn’t my thing.

But it was enough to handle the Disirian.

Left, right, left, left, painting the stone armor on his flanks, deflecting the sword with the Claw, twisting my wrist, sliding the Claw over the steel, and slicing through the stone armor to his elbow.

The Disirian recoiled, blood spurting from his wound, fingers seeming to fall beneath his feet, while I kept pursuing like a bloodhound.

I aimed at his throat and ducked, letting a fan of stone needles pass over me, and then stabbed him in the thigh and stomach twice.

The Disirian grabbed my shoulders and fell on top of me, scorching me with the heat of danger. His body burned with it, forcing me to twist my arms and claw at him, pushing him away.

The stone armor swelled with lumps and sharp spikes.

Was he trying to impale me on them?

Fool.

Sure enough, his armor crumbled, succumbing to the Claws, letting them sink into the Veil.

He let go of my shoulders and pressed against my chest, now trying to push me away, leaning back.

Like I’d let him.

His Dash pulled me behind him. I used Support, barely noticing he was trying to escape.

I raised my right hand, the Claw drawing sparks from the stone armor, and then I opened my palm and wrapped it around his neck, pulling him toward me. He tried to break free, to throw me off, but only stumbled as I braided his legs.

In a breath, he was on his back.

I rooted myself into the ring with Support, pressing from above while pulling the Disirian toward me.

It didn’t work.

An Appeal circled us.

One spike.

Two...

What a cunning bastard.

I grinned and answered with a Dash, driving myself into the ring and the Disirian. He grunted underneath me, but that was all. I poured energy into the Dash.

One, two...

He couldn’t take the third. The Claw sank into his chest up to my wrist, pinning him to the ground.

He gasped, but he didn’t give up. Some techniques dissipated before they could even take shape, but other stone chunks smashed into my face, thigh, and shoulder, tearing my robe.

I twisted the Claw. The Disirian arched in agony.

“Gong!” I demanded.

Silence.

“Do I have to make another hole in him for you to admit defeat? Gong!”

It sounded, allowing me to finally let go of the technique.

The Claw disappeared and I pushed off the Disirian, rising to my feet. He gasped underneath and outstretched a stone-covered hand toward me. I hastily retreated three steps, afraid he’d try to hit me with something bigger in the heat of the moment.

Not that I wouldn’t like to hurt him again, but it wasn’t worth it.

Healers and novices rushed in, trying to examine and treat him, but he fought them back. Maybe they should have put another hole in him to make him more cooperative.

“Butcher! Butcher!” the stands chanted.

I grimaced. Those cuts were too clean. What kind of butchers did they know?

“Victory for the Order! We’ve just witnessed a battle of equals! A battle between two Leaders! This hasn’t happened in the past two tournaments! What an amazing spectacle!”

It wasn’t. Tola had been smarter and luckier than me. He didn’t have to expose himself; he didn’t have such brutal fights. At least I didn’t think so. I only ever saw him fight for the disputed lands.

A vaguely familiar voice echoed in my head.

“My greatest dream is to one day burn the caves from which you rats keep crawling out.”

Ketot.

Chapter 42

It was Ketot. He had told me about the caves before. At the foot of Sword Mountain, when he killed Berek.

Did he decide to let his tongue run wild now that it was clear that I was a Leader too?

Should’ve been this obedient under the mountain... Or had he been obedient and done exactly as he had been told?

The thought disturbed me, kept me on my toes.

“Why wait?” I asked. “Start right now. Come out and push me back into the hole I crawled out of.”

“Don’t worry, your turn will come. I’m going to push you in so deep, you’ll emerge in Zero. But all in good time, Legard-Rimilo, all in good time.”

His hint was more than obvious. He wanted to cripple me.

I looked away with indifference. We’d see who’d get crippled tonight. Sometimes, Ketot, winning wasn’t everything.

My side was sore, my thigh as well. I was surprised to discover that the Disirian had hit me more times with his spikes than I had thought. I assumed I was so agile that I could dodge everything, but no. I should have released more elemental energy to dispel or weaken this technique, but I got carried away...

When I snapped out of my thoughts, I reached for the Disirian’s Decrees, only to encounter the amulet’s barbed defense once again.

I squeezed, squeezed, squeezed the amulet, almost squirming against the unpleasant sensation. Three breaths later, I could feel it finally crumble, cracking like an eggshell, leaving its owner defenseless.

It took a while longer to steal the Decrees.

The Disirian twitched one last time, knocking the healer’s arm off him, then collapsed.

He didn’t need Fury. Let him sleep for a while and wake up free of all Decrees and contracts. I took the time to read them. There wasn’t much written there. An oath that he’d remain loyal to the clan and serve Bolain for another twenty years as payment for his power.

An oath, not a Decree as I had originally thought, but rather a contract. A contract that bound a Leader. Expensive for the Second Circle, there was no doubt about that. Expensive and powerful if Bolain thought it’d last another twenty years. That was a long time, more than I had lived under the Heavens. Enough time to grow old and raise children and grandchildren and gain a star or two, even in a place as impoverished in elemental energy as the Second Circle.

“His insides are a sieve! It’s as if he’s been torn apart by the Beasts. It’s elemental poison! Quick, who has the antidote?!”

I met the gaze of one of the Disirian healers and grinned at him. My snakes were working hard.

The healer whispered a curse to himself as he helped his colleagues carry their patient out of the ring.

“Next!” I shouted.

One, two, three, they came out without delay, and when they came out, they fought without sparing themselves. Just like me.

I had expected to feel half-dead after so many fights, but I was still full of zeal.

I could congratulate myself — I had done a good job.

I started ruining my robe myself, in the commanders’ box, trying to hide the fact that I was Rimilo. I tore off the colored trim on the sleeves and collar, but all I did was wreck something that belonged to the First Circle. It could have been a great piece of memorabilia, but now it was hanging in rags on me.

I hadn’t been such a ragamuffin since Zero — I could see the Unity pattern on my skin through the holes. And if I could see it, so could my opponents. I could have used its third constellation without worrying, but I’d still save it for the last fight.

Just like I wanted, standing in the ring, bloodied, barely on my feet.

That was what I wanted them to think.

It took me barely five breaths, one speech from our commentator, who shouted over the audience, praising me, to check my body with my spiritual gaze and patch up the biggest holes. For the last time. There was only one opponent left on the other side of the ring, beyond its boundaries, under the plum blossom.

Ketot.

I leisurely lowered my right hand to my Bag, pulled out my third potion for today, and raised into the air.

“Check.”

The fourth, fifth, and sixth potion for today appeared in my left palm.

“Check.”

The results of the check are announced throughout the arena.

“Healing Potion! Warrior Ascension!”

Our commentator immediately rushed to explain everything to the spectators.

“One can only envy Rimilo’s willpower! Not every Master can withstand three healing potions in one day and the pain they cause. But let us not forget — Rimilo is a Leader! As for Warrior Ascension, even Masters can use them to restore their energy reserves. Rimilo’s rank allows him to use Master Ascensions as well, the damage from which would be barely noticeable, so—”

“Enough talk,” the Disir commentator interrupted him with a groan. “It’s time to end this wasted day.”

I swallowed the first potion. By the Heavens, there were many wounds.

For a few moments, it felt as if I was being roasted alive again.

“...don’t even think about arguing. He is in his right.”

I put the empty vial in my Bag and emptied another.

“Ascension Potions! This can only mean one thing — Rimilo is so battle-weary that his focuses are exhausted. No wonder, considering how many battles he’s fought. Let’s support him! Rimilo! Ri-mi-lo!”

“RI-MI-LO! RI-MI-LO!”

The stands were screaming like they had never screamed before today. I couldn’t help but notice that both the commentator and they insisted on using a name that didn’t belong to me. To Legard. I suppose that was the price to pay for all my disguises and many names.

For them, I wasn’t Legard from Zero, but Rimilo the Butcher.

It happened. Who was to blame? What did I care?

The last, third Ascension Potion sank into my stomach and settled there like a hot lump.

I didn’t really need it. Vilikor had given me plenty of time for the last recovery, and I had used my reserves equally in the fights. The reserves of my two massive focuses. I still had half of my spiritual and even more elemental energy.

It was all just another sham. Not with names and faces, but with appearances and weaknesses.

Luckily, the distance between Ketot and me was rather big, rendering him unable to feel my power and danger. If I couldn’t see the depth and darkness of his focus, he couldn’t see mine.

It was a shame that I had to lose, but who said the victor had to walk out unscathed?

The previous Leaders each withstood twenty to forty snakes. How many could Ketot handle?

“Ketot!”

This time, I heard the name being announced. In all truth, I didn’t even hate him anymore. I was tired. It had been a long today...

My return had started out so well — the creation of the second focus, the flickering of the Water Heart in the dark, new powers, the first swordfight... And then it all went downhill. And on top of that, the tournament.

But could I complain? Should I? How many months had I dreamed of making Ketot pay for taking Berek’s life?

I’d do it. Calmly, without hate or anger.

“No Unity,” the commentator reminded me.

I nodded and obediently erased the pattern, not wanting to argue that this wasn’t a forbidden technique, but a Form, and a very unusual one at that. I didn’t want to admit that I had forgotten to extinguish it before, while my robe was still intact. There was no need for such confessions.

Gong.

We spent the first two breaths standing in silence.

Ketot lit three Appeals with a grin. I wasn’t surprised. The newly-minted Leaders had all been trained by the same teacher.

I used Unity again. Only this time I lit up the third constellation instead of the second. I no longer needed to hide that part of my power. Ketot thought he knew how fast I could move, but I could move even faster.

Elemental Unity

Rank: spiritual

Third constellation: one hundred and twenty-two nodes

I filled it to the last node, completed the full cycle, returning the elemental energy to the center. Unity manifested as a blue tattoo that covered my torso, arms, legs, and face.

At the same time, I finished filling Roak’s Tread with heavenly and elemental energy.

Roak’s Tread

Rank: spiritual

Third constellation: thirty-five nodes

With the Darkness gone, I could use the Tread to its fullest. Ketot wouldn’t be able to run away from me like he did on the slope of Sword Mountain.

I took off, pushing against the stone slabs, trying to get to Ketot as fast as I could before he showed the full force of his element.

There were fifty steps between us, but the hot wind of danger was already swirling around me.

Air. Ketot’s element. I had already seen it today, having fought another Leader using this element.

When there were twenty steps between us, I felt my lips curl in an anticipatory smile. Not hateful, but excited.

After another step, the grin froze on my lips.

We were close enough for me to see that the lake of his power was almost bottomless. I couldn’t see the bottom, all covered by the blackness swirling in the water.

I was running too fast. The Tread had done too good of a job, carrying me against the wind. It was too late to stop. All I could do was keep going. Just as I intended.

With the Destroyer clutched tightly in my hands and the Star Blade filled to the brim, I lunged forward.

Ketot dodged the blow with a tiny step to the left.

A moment later, the Destroyer and Ketot’s sword met, clashing furiously, trying to cut each other off.

In vain. The second-constellation Star Blade was no match for the steel of his sword.

No wonder, since I was facing a Leader with two stars. Or was it three?

The change of the Blade’s constellation had cost me three notches on the Destroyer and a cut shoulder.

Better a cut shoulder than missing fingers.

Clash.

Spiritual energy tore out of us, colliding, clashing, swirling around us, squeezing in and out of our bodies.

While in all the previous fights, I was able to squeeze through other people’s defenses, here and now I was barely able to keep my opponent from squeezing through mine.

How did he become so strong? Where had the Disirians been keeping him that he had time to gather so many elemental threads and open so many nodes?

Or maybe it was just that he was dangerous and could kill me? Could it be that his power was dwindling under the darkness of the water?

I was burned by the heat of danger and the flash of a thought — this looked like nothing my last opponent showed. Even the wind that had risen had subsided. We were beating on steel. If Ketot’s three Appeals didn’t create a giant vortex, then what were these techniques? Weapon, enhancement, and...

All I could do was spit out more spiritual fog, push it as far away as possible, trade reserves for defense, and retreat, backstepping away.

The Appeal in front of Ketot suddenly gained another ring, blue, and a bird flew from his left hand.

Clearly visible.

A small, fist-sized bird.

I could see it.

It flapped its wings, pierced the mist of Spiritual Protection, dodged the Destroyer’s thrust like a living thing, flew through both the Veil and the amulet, and embedded itself in my chest.

It hurt, damn him.

However, it wasn’t the first such technique to hit me. Ravut had done this to me before.

There was no doubt now that Ketot had at least two stars. The first constellation of the Elemental Essence that Tizior gave me for my help with the Blood Puppet occupied twelve Leader and twelve elemental nodes.

Good thing there weren’t more. Tizior’s elemental birds were impressive, but even they only managed to hit me thrice. I supposed the old man felt sorry for me at the time. After all, as he later explained, the point of the technique was to give elemental threads a shape, and it was foolish to think that someone like him couldn’t defeat me on the basis of experience and the amount of that power alone.

“You look surprised,” Ketot sneered.

A breath ago I was retreating from an unknown threat, but now I was rushing forward, toward a familiar danger, closing Ketot’s mouth.

Did he think I’d listen to his taunts? Did he think me that weak?

Let the commentators talk for us, the stands scream, and the steel ring in our name.

I was on top of Ketot, pushing him as hard as I could, but that damn bastard didn’t waste any time either — he had gotten noticeably better with his sword, and then there were those damn birds...

Every now and then, one or even two of them would fly toward me. It wasn’t a simple hit of an ordinary technique; these creatures dodged the steel, the glow of the Star Blade, and slammed into my chest, making me blind with pain for a moment each time.

Drinking the Tiger’s Heart potion before the fight was a bad idea.

Hate, joy? I was filled with rage. I should have been the one to cripple Ketot with elemental threads, not the other way around.

I unleashed the snakes at Ketot, and was amazed to see one of them collide with his bird, destroying it, gnawing off its wing, weakening it — I didn’t even feel the pain as it plunged into me, as if the Veil and Fimram’s amulet didn’t exist.

Excellent, excellent. Tizior didn’t mention this, but I should have guessed it myself. If this technique was just a means of manifesting one’s element, didn’t that mean that I was performing it right now with my snakes? Or that I would do it, sooner or later, even without the necessary constellation? In any case, the fact that they could affect techniques was something to think about. But not now and not here.

None of my snakes reached Ketot, dissolving at most a palm away from his body, but that was fine.

Three water serpents met the bird halfway, scattering it with blue sparks. Ketot retreated, shocked by what was happening, cursing, but who’d let him go now? Me? Never.

I was just redoubling my efforts. I couldn’t seem to move any faster. But Ketot wasn’t Vilikor.

He’d never hold a candle to her.

I slashed his shoulder, then did a tricky feint where the scales of Roak’s Shell didn’t protect me, but held back Ketot’s sword for a moment.

A wounded thigh was a small price to pay for luring me into a trap.

The blow that should have wounded Ketot in the forearm hit nothing. His sword, shining blindly, struck the spear’s shaft and shattered it, leaving me with two useless pieces of wood in my hands.

Anyone else would have continued to fight. Who cares if the long spear turned into a short one, the main thing was that your fingers were intact. Everyone else, but not me, who couldn’t feel his weapon and imbue it with his power without the Spirit Vessel inscription. The very inscription Ketot had just destroyed.

I still tried to resist, to swing away with the broken handle. But the Star Blade was out, burning the meridians, and the bare steel couldn’t take a single blow.

Ketot’s sword cut through it like paper.

Two breaths, ten steps back, and four wounds. Four more wounds on me as I tried to fight off the steel imbued with Terrestrial techniques with my bare hands.

Or were they Spiritual?

With Ketot, I was no longer sure of anything.

But these wounds weren’t in vain — on each of my hands shone a second-constellation Claw.

I grinned at Ketot.

Hitting with my right hand, I reached for him with my left, barely managing to move my head out of the way in time to avoid getting half an elbow of steel in it — Ketot’s sword sliced through the Claw, only barely slowing it down.

I staggered back, but the sword was stinging again, stalking, looming in front of me.

All I could do was deflect the blows with my bracers.

At least they didn’t fail me, as indestructible as ever.

And so it went on, me defending myself with my bare hands, relying only on armor, trying to strike back with my Claws, reminding myself that I wasn’t Gilai, that I couldn’t use both of my hands as deftly as he could.

My strikes became predictable and repetitive. The first constellation was still too weak for a Ketot-level opponent, his Veil could withstand all my blows.

I continued to pummel him into the night but he wasn’t a fool, he had figured out my bracers, and his sword hit so strongly that it became harder and harder to dodge it with each new blow.

The left Claw went out, but the right one, disappearing only for a moment, became stronger.

The third constellation, one hundred and fifty nodes, the one that could tear through anything.

I realized with annoyance that for Terrestrial techniques, for spiritual energy alone, this was nothing more than an exaggeration by whoever created the scroll.

Ketot’s sword survived the fight.

At least his Veil didn’t.

But I was still much worse with a sword than Ketot. I, too, was not and never would be Vilikor.

Every now and then, he dragged me into the web of steel and energy. His sword pierced my defense and left new wounds in its wake, and more and more of my blows came to nothing.

The heat of danger. Left, right, down. Fight back, fight back, fight back, step back, cover myself with the quickly disappearing scales of the Shell, fight back again.

Trap, deception!

Ketot disappeared for a moment, finding himself to the left and behind me. A gust of wind pushed me back, hit me like a battering ram, interrupting my Step, and pressed me against the Shell’s scales.

I barely had time to twist my body, my left bracer not so much deflecting the sword as pushing it away from myself, and yet, glowing with a weapon technique, it still entered my side, burning me with pain.

Shandri’s angry voice echoed in my head.

“Stop this foolishness! This isn’t training, and losing doesn’t make you a cripple! Give up already!”

What kind of nonsense was this? I was fighting at full strength, but I couldn’t get close enough to Ketot to grab his sword.

“I’m not giving up yet! Not until he bleeds! Not until I make him bleed!” I growled back.

“Then get him with your spear! It’s your main weapon, isn’t it?”

“It’s broken!”

“You idiot! Did you even look in Vilikor’s Bag?”

I blinked like stupid and then ran away from Ketot. He tried to chase after me. It was as if we swapped places. On the slope of Sword Mountain, I ran after him and couldn’t catch up because the second constellations of Unity and Steps didn’t give me his speed. Now he was unable to catch up with me as long as the former burned on my skin, drawing out its third constellation.

Half of his birds didn’t make it around the Shell that covered me from behind. Half of them reached me already riddled with my snakes.

It took me a breath to find the right Bag. I spent another breath breaking the bindings. On the third, I pulled out my spear.

Or rather, the Monster Hammer.

Just like the one I had held for years. It even had a bright blue ribbon tied around it.

Only this one felt like a useless piece of iron. But I knew what to do. I had already done it with a flying sword.

Thanks to Ketot, I had plenty of blood.

All I had to do was run my left hand over the wound in my side, moisten it generously, and then dab it on the shaft and blade.

A wave of luminescence immediately traveled up the weapon, momentarily illuminating the bright red ancient symbols and intricate pattern beneath the blood, then traveled to the blade, revealing the same pattern, and faded away.

I felt the Hammer as part of my body.

Stopping my flight, I turned in place, dispelling the Shell that stood between Ketot and me, no longer protecting me, only hindering me.

Lunge!

Idiot!

I realized with horror that I had been too hasty, that I had tried to use bare steel to counter the impact of a weapon technique that even cut through the first constellation of the Claw.

The clang of steel.

For a moment, I even forgot about the fight — the Hammer held, just got a nick and that was it!

Only for a moment, because Ketot didn’t care if my weapon held or not, if I was surprised or not. He finally caught up and charged at me, trying to get closer and deny me the advantage of the shaft’s length.

As if I’d let him.

The Hammer slashed through the air, deflecting the blow, and sliced through the air from top to bottom, threatening his outstretched leg.

Ketot didn’t even try to pull away or protect it. He deflected the attack with the Veil and slashed at me with his sword, aiming for my fingers.

Only they weren’t there. I had already pushed the shaft forward with my left palm, already lunged, thrusting the Hammer forward. Ketot’s sword sliced through the air.

I had already twisted the shaft, spun the Hammer, hooked his leg, and stepped back.

Almost.

I managed to knock him off balance, made him take a wrong step, and then he dug into the ground with Support, and I got another wound in my shoulder.

It had been a while since I held a Monster Hammer, so even that move was misdirected and too slow.

What was it Vilikor said about not having a worthy opponent to practice with?

Here he was in front of me. The fact that this wasn’t a training session was even better.

I retreated, moved away from the stinging steel, habitually and almost without noticing it, sent three of my snakes to meet the birds, finally filled all one hundred and fifty nodes of the Star Blade, and poured my element into it. A little, a little less than the limit beyond which the blade would manifest a halo characteristic of Spiritual techniques. Even though the Blade was once recorded in my scroll as a mere Terrestrial one.

Kaori’s gift was as unique as it was difficult to use properly. It helped me when I was a Warrior, it served me faithfully when I was a Master, and it looked like it might even be useful for me as a Leader. I’d have to find three more constellations for it, for the elemental nodes, but first I’d have to get to Ketot.

The blade of my new Hammer danced through the air, round and round, intertwining with Ketot’s sword, stinging now and then as it lengthened into a Star Blade, but still failing to break through and wound him.

Ketot danced in front of me, surrounded by the swirling wind, bending to dodge each blow.

Metal glided over metal, filling the air with a-drawn-out chant, now and then punctuated by furious, ringing blows.

Sliding half a step forward, I threw my arms up and pressed against the departing sword, piercing Ketot’s thigh from above, manifesting the Star Blade on the spike adorning the bottom of the Hammer’s shaft.

Ketot’s Veil held, so he swung at my head with his sword, barely missing the shining blade.

A clash.

He slammed his palm into my chest, sealing a bird within me. I responded by shifting my grip and swinging my Star Blade at his head.

With a flinch, he broke the distance, coming within two steps of me.

He reached for my head with his left hand, for the wound, but I wouldn’t give him time to act.

I stepped forward, stabbed to the left, braiding the sword with the spear. I pulled toward me, throwing off Ketot’s dance of steel and steps, twisted the Hammer, and stabbed.

And stabbed...

And stabbed!

I approached slowly, each step landing as many hits as my agility and speed would allow under the full force of Unity.

Only half of the threads remained in the center, but that was enough for me.

I attacked not only with steel but also with the Star Blade.

Attacked, attacked, and attacked.

I stabbed again, this time adding a lunge and the Dash.

Got him.

Ketot deflected the Blade with a snarl, bounced, and the whole arena saw his right arm hang limp.

He pawed at the Bag, literally driving the vial into the wound, and retreated two more steps, holding his sword with his left hand.

The crowd yelled something, as did the commentator, but I didn’t care.

There was no gong, which meant the attack wasn’t that bad. In a way, I understood Ketot. It was hard to go against your old habits.

I understood, but I smiled and pushed a thought to him.

“Why don’t you take a sip of Boiling Blood? Just to be on the safe side, since you don’t have enough strength of your own.”

Ketot only snarled in response, bracing himself for another Appeal, but Shandri sighed tiredly in my head.

“Is this what I asked you to do? Is this what we wanted? Twenty more years of paying taxes for the City of a Thousand Levels? Legard, must I really beg you not to ruin this plan? You’ve already given yourself away. Everyone in the arena has already realized that you’re a Leader. The Sentinel challenge is a foregone conclusion. What will you leave the Order with when you go?”

I gritted my teeth. Shandri was right. I had gotten too carried away. So what if I proved to everyone that I was stronger than Ketot? Was that what I wanted to do? No. I wanted to avenge Berek, show his killer what it was to be helpless and in pain...

All I had to do was wear him down in a fight, piss him off, show everyone how hard I could fight back, and pour a few dozen snakes into him. The elemental poison would ravage his body from the inside out.

How did it come to this?

A memory came to mind. Vilikor standing a step away, hissing at me angrily.

“Sand Beast! You just need to fight!”

While I listened to Shandri’s rebuke and felt guilty, Ketot wasted no time. Fortunately.

I had seen this before. However, it had been done by a weaker Leader who never had the time to show his true abilities.

Ketot was quicker.

A dozen whirlwinds rose in the ring, swirling in the air, sucking in all the dust and sand from the stone slabs, turning into gray, translucent columns, and then hurtling toward me, coming together as one giant tornado.

Ketot seemed to vanish instantly. I couldn’t see him behind the shroud of the murky vortex. I couldn’t see his body, but I could see the Decrees above his head perfectly.

An invisibility amulet? No one in the tournament had ever used one before. But it was useless against me.

For a moment, I felt the urge to smash Ketot’s amulet, get to his Decree, add Fury, and so on... But only for a moment.

Shandri was right. I had already revealed everything I could have. I should at least keep it to myself that I could steal Decrees even from my seniors in Ascension.

How long did it take for all these thoughts to sweep through my mind? They seemed to flash like lightning before I could even move, but Ketot and his techniques appeared even quicker.

The tornado accelerated, spinning even faster, chiseling away at the stone slabs. Now I could call it a sand vortex with a clear conscience. The sand in it had somehow gotten out of balance with the air.

I caught myself thinking how something more durable should have been used instead of the stone slabs so that tricksters like Ketot couldn’t take advantage of it.

It was one thing to have sharp, body-tearing air currents, but it was another for that air to carry sand and seem to grind your clothes off. Spiritual Protection couldn’t help you with this. Not even its last constellation.

I burst through the vortex, losing my robe, leaving me in just my pants. The blue fabric disintegrated into threads, the remnants fell down, still tied by the sash. My skin was sore; the wind had peeled it off, despite my defenses.

Spiritual Protection didn’t see it as a blow, and the Veil didn’t see it as a technique to be dispelled.

I could only be glad that I had taken off my mask for this fight; otherwise, it would have been damaged just the same.

Even though I could see the Decrees, fighting an invisible opponent wasn’t fun. I couldn’t see the position of his feet or his sword.

The latter I managed to deflect with sharp swings, forcing Ketot to meet me steel to steel; the former I had to predict through experience alone, for there weren’t many stances a man with a sword could take against a spear.

I didn’t know what the spectators saw, but at times I saw nothing at all, the tornado catching up to me, shrinking, engulfing me, thickening to the point where it seemed I was fighting this very force of nature itself, pushing the sand out of the Hammer’s way as if I were breaking through a wall.

Why couldn’t Ketot wield Air instead of Earth? It was easier to fight when the armor was on your opponent’s body than when it was alive and surrounded you instead of him, hurting you, making you pay for every blow.

I didn’t care.

Dash.

Lunge.

I broke through the thick wall of sand in front of me, arms tensed, not letting the Hammer go sideways.

The blade pierced through something. Ketot’s leg, I wagered.

The sand burned the fingers of my left hand, sinking into it completely, tearing my cheek with pain, but Ketot was worse off.

There was a scream, blood on the stone.

“What good is your invisibility now, Ketot?”

My shoulder burned with a wild pain that made me bite my tongue and Dash backward out of the vortex. But Ketot had no intention of letting me go.

The vortex swung around, thickening behind me, dampening my momentum, piling up on all sides, breaking through my defenses, clogging my eyes, my nose, and my throat, preventing me from breathing.

Why didn’t my Combat Meditation warn me of the jian? How did I miss it?

After a moment, I got my answer.

Danger was everywhere. The whirlwind tore at me, ripping off my skin, cutting me with blades of air compressed to a sharp point. I had been standing in the center of the scorching tornado for a long time. One more danger, one less, it didn’t matter. The only difference I’d feel now would be if the next blow hit my focus or blew my head off my shoulders.

I snarled and spun the Hammer around, fighting to open my eyes even for a moment.

Where was his damn Decree?! It couldn’t be...

There! To the left!

I struck, trying to sink the spike into Ketot, then grab him with the hook. No luck. It was like hitting nothing.

Eyes burning from the sand, I could hardly resist the unbearable urge to drop the Hammer and rub them, clawing the sand out of them.

Danger behind me. Hot, scorching even here.

Turning, ducking, and throwing the Hammer forward, I poured energy into the Star Blade.

Missed.

Something touched my chest, fleeting, barely perceptible, making me gasp in pain. Not something, but an elemental bird. Ketot was about to hit me with it and...

Growling, I covered myself with Roak’s Shell, buying myself a few moments to spill out my threads and turn them into swirling mist, dust, jets, weaving dozens of snakes around me, protecting myself with them as well.

Or at least I hoped that’d be the result, I couldn’t vouch for invoking them blindly.

I growled again, this time at myself.

“Have you had your practice, Legard? Are you satisfied? Did you manage to cripple Ketot in the end and lose gracefully? Did you think your strength would be enough for everyone and everything? You are a fool, not a Leader. What’s the point of being a Leader? You’ll only last longer than a Master in this trap.”

The Shell burst with a clang, unable to withstand the pressure of the vortex. A Dash. Up and to the left, through the wall of sand and sharp blades.

In the blink of an eye, I was out of the trap, coughing, spitting out sand, managing to inhale a full breath, but before I could even reach for my eyes, I collapsed to the ground, kicking my legs. A moment later, the vortex was upon me again, tearing at my skin with pain, as if it were skinning me again.

Another Dash to the left. Short, very short. I didn’t even know where I was, damn it. One more step and perhaps I’d find myself outside the ring, losing not through fighting, but through running away.

I didn’t want that.

If I made two Dashes to the left, now I had to go right and back...

I had already pushed energy into the meridians when I felt like I was being burned by two memories at once. About time. At least now I knew how to buy some time for myself and lose the way I needed to.

Chapter 43

Thank you, Vilikor, and thank you, Regan.

The former had reminded me that my defensive arsenal wasn’t limited to Roak’s Shell alone, while the latter, with his venomous words, made me question just what kind of a Leader I was if I couldn’t sense an assassin thirsty for my life.

May the Heavens strike me for my foolishness.

Was I or was I not a Leader?

Still, I used the Shell first, filling its elemental constellation generously, no longer caring that it might give me away. Not even Ketot could see me now, let alone the rest of the audience. I was sure no one noticed that another circle had appeared within its Appeal. I didn’t see it myself, full as my eyes were of sand, only its glow.

The Shell lasted three breaths, and it was only the threads that had allowed it to manifest and protect me for so long. Ketot’s spiritual energy had dissolved it, rendering it useless.

But I made good use of the time.

It was as if I was removed from what was happening. From the burning in my eyes, from the pain in my skin, from the heat of danger... I focused only on the meridians, the nodes, and the constellations, filling them all with energy more quickly than I had ever done before.

By the Heavens, even when I was being chased by two Leaders who wanted to kill me, I couldn’t fill the Surf Barrier that quickly.

Eleven parts. Three hundred nodes.

The wind had died down. The sand had stopped rubbing against my face and chest. The heat of danger was gone, as if my body had been submerged in cold water. So great was the difference between what had been and what was to be.

I reached for the Bag.

My eyes could see perfectly inside it, and nothing hurt or burned. It couldn’t have been otherwise. When you used spiritual vision inside an artifact, it didn’t matter if your eyes were closed, filled with sand, or covered with blood.

What I needed was a very simple thing: a waterskin.

Emerging from the Bag, I removed the cork and splashed some water into my palm to wash my face. After a breath, I tilted my head back and emptied the whole thing, tipping the flask over.

I blinked once, then again, letting the water rinse every pore.

Finally, I could see again.

The first thing I saw was the Surf’s shimmering dome above me. Surprisingly, this synergic defensive technique not only withstood the blows of Ketot’s birds but also ignored the destructive power of his spiritual mist that pounded uselessly against its walls.

Well, not entirely uselessly, it just seemed that way to me. The combination of the sand vortex, the birds, and Ketot’s spiritual pressure literally destroyed my defenses in front of my newly opened eyes, leaving cracks and even dents in the Surf.

It had already lasted a breath, how much longer could it hold? One more breath, two, three?

That was enough for me. Enough of being stupid and succumbing to your opponent. Why did I allow him, someone who had obtained his power through shady means, to force me to defend myself?

I unclenched my fingers, releasing the waterskin, and spread my hands apart, covering my eyes a little, trying to again feel that strange sensation I felt when Aledo had run away from me, when Regan had shamed me, the same one that had allowed me to watch Vilikor’s fight.

There it was.

It was as if I floated above the fight, above the ring, just out of the way of the raging sand tornado, and watched it push against the dimly flickering dome. Most importantly, I saw Ketot.

Elemental Armor?

We’d see about that.

I gripped the Hammer with both hands, closed my eyelids tightly, bent my legs slightly, counted down the breaths, and cleared my mind of all thoughts, concentrating only on my element, Dash, and hearing.

Crack, crack, crack, crack went the Dome, but it still stood.

NOW!

The Surf fell apart before me with a shattering of glass. I stood among the rain of shards, raking sand with my body, breaking through the tornado, driving the Hammer into Ketot’s thigh.

After a moment, I opened my eyes and savored the grimace of pain on his face.

Pain and fear.

Without the Star Blade, the Hammer didn’t pierce his Veil. I couldn’t invoke it so quickly just yet, it was beyond my capabilities. Sooner or later, as a Leader, I’d be able to weave any technique without Appeals, with a single wish.

All I had to do was break free of the sand tornado and get to Ketot. Not just get to him, but get into his face, as I had already done. I needed to let him know that it was too soon to declare victory over me.

Much good that invisibility amulet did for him.

Dozens of water snakes swirled around me, invisible to everyone, a reflection of my will, my knowledge of the elements. They weren’t protecting me from Ketot’s birds, no. They were devouring his element, literally chewing through the tornado, preventing it from touching me.

No matter where Ketot got his Leader stars from, he couldn’t compete with me in elemental understanding. I withstood a lightning storm, damn it! A tornado was nothing in comparison!

The Hammer clattered across the stone slabs as Tread drove me into Ketot, preventing him from closing the distance between us first. The tornado piled up behind me, now sandblasting my back, but Ketot couldn’t maim himself, could he? An element wasn’t a trained dog, taught not to bite its master...

“Let me show you a trick, friend.”

Smirking, I grabbed Ketot with both hands, clutching the skin along with rough linen. Tighter, even tighter, so that I couldn’t be thrown back.

Hands full of coiled snakes, I pushed through Ketot’s spiritual defenses, touching his skin, sending one serpent after another into his body.

“Eat him. Eat him! As the Darkness had once consumed me!”

With both hands.

Faster, faster!

Ketot roared, sprang to his feet, and swung his sword at me twice. The first blow was bare steel and couldn’t hurt me; the second, more serious blow was deflected by the Veil.

As he prepared the third strike, Ketot’s body shuddered, his eyes wide open, and blood spurted from his mouth. I did say that humans weren’t Beasts and that our elemental immunity was inferior.

One of my snakes was able to display its unusual properties. Even against a Leader. Perhaps it bit off something important, got into a meridian, or perhaps it even took a bite out of Ketot’s focus.

He dealt with the pain and the wound and raised his arm, twisting his sword, the wind scorching my temple so hot it felt like my skin was going to bubble.

“Die!” I heard his voice in my head.

At the last moment, I managed to raise my elbow, slightly shifting the trajectory of Ketot’s blow, and the sword cut only the skin on the top of my head.

It hurt, blood rushed down my temple and forehead, but no more.

A gash for two dozen water snakes eating him from the inside out? A good trade.

Ketot struck at me with his left hand, trying to tear me away from him, using a technique that only managed to hit me lightly in the chest. And then he raised his sword again, threatening to stab me.

“Die, die, die, die, die!”

This time, it was much more serious — from top to bottom, right toward my focus.

Ketot’s arm twisted in pain again and I Dashed to the side, turning a fatal blow into a shallow wound.

He hit me in the chest and made me cough up blood, but something told me that that wasn’t what he was aiming for.

Perfect time to admit defeat. Perfect. All I had to do was add another dozen or so snakes, hoping that one of them would manage to sprout icy needles inside Ketot again or boil his blood.

I clutched Ketot’s wrist with my left hand, preventing him from pulling the sword out of me.

Five snakes, seven snakes...

Damn it.

“Die!”

I was blinded for a moment, this time from the pain.

A weapon technique.

Damn him.

With a scream of hatred, I broke Ketot’s wrist and sent snakes into it, sure to fill his arm with my element and either burn everything in there with it or flush out Ketot’s Earth.

The heat of danger that had flared up again vanished without a trace.

“What’s the matter, Ketot, can’t use your techniques anymore?”

Ten snakes.

I spat out a mouthful of blood at Ketot.

Fifteen snakes.

Ketot collapsed abruptly, panting, convulsively waving his sword and reigniting the Appeals in front of him.

Could I send a thought to the ringmaster to sound the gong before Ketot actually finished me off?

It didn’t work. The thought I pushed out of me apparently went nowhere. It took me a moment to turn away from Ketot’s face, twisted with pain and hatred, and look for the ringmaster. As I did so, it was as if Ketot’s sword had forked inside me, another blade slamming into my back, dousing me with cold.

I didn’t even realize at first that it wasn’t a wound or my Combat Mediation.

It was Epiphany.

“You...” an angry, whistling whisper in my head sobered me up.

It wasn’t Ketot.

I knew immediately who was whispering, what had happened, and how to use it to my advantage.

I lunged for Ketot’s arm, tearing my chest apart, twisting his wrist and elbow. Three snakes and the elbow crunched. I finally let go of Ketot’s sword, pressing myself against him, not giving him the slightest chance to escape or reach for a new weapon. The hilt of his sword rested against his chest, impaling me. I couldn’t see because of the pain, but I didn’t need to. With my right hand, I was still pouring water snakes into Ketot’s body, and with my left, I was forming the Claw.

The first constellation would be enough to dissolve Ketot’s defenses in a single breath, but with my fist pressed against his side, he wouldn’t get that much.

Ketot shuddered again, gasped, and went limp in my arms.

As I unclenched my hands, dispelling the Claw, Ketot slipped out of my grasp and collapsed to his feet.

I blinked a few times, the purple shroud of pain before my eyes blurring. When my vision cleared, Ketot was still lying in front of me, unmoving. For a second I panicked, thinking I had killed him, but then I saw the Decree above him. But my relief was short-lived. He didn’t look too good.

“Legard! By the Heavens! What did I do to deserve this?”

I ignored Shandri, opened my mouth to demand victory, and nearly threw up. I coughed, almost choking on the blood that seemed to be waiting for this moment to gush down my chin.

“G-Gong,” I managed to wheeze. “And a healer for him. Unless you want him to die.”

“You—!”

But the gong struck.

Chapter 44

I pulled the sword out of my chest, covered the wound with my palm, and put on a bloody smile.

“What? The sword is blind. He almost hit me in the head, too. I was within my right to defend myself.”

“Victory for the Order,” the commentator announced slowly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “The Disirians have no more duelists. The Order wins the tournament.”

The crowd shouted over the commentator, not even listening to him. It wasn’t hard to notice the void under the Disirian flag, and it wasn’t hard to remember that the fight with Ketot was the last one.

But they were wrong. They were off by one person...

I shook my head slowly and argued, not caring if anyone could hear me or if my voice was amplified:

“Not yet. Not yet.”

I looked away from the ringmasters, to the side, to the place where losers had gone before, none of whom had ever returned.

Samum hadn’t lost, had he? He could come back...

I had felt his bloodthirst a few breaths ago...

But it was gone now, as if I had imagined it, just like the whispering in my head.

It could have been him dealing with an outburst of anger. If I had been in his place and discovered that I had been tricked, I would’ve been angry for much longer.

I glanced over at Ketot. Two healers were huddled around him, illuminating his pained face with the glow of Terrestrial techniques. I had stepped out of the Surf with the expectation that my water snakes would cripple him enough to undermine his health and Ascension. I didn’t know if I managed, but the fountains of blood spurting from his mouth indicated that his wounds weren’t light. I tried to direct the last Claw toward the focus. I couldn’t be sure if I managed that either, but...

“That’s a violation of tournament rules!”

“You want to talk about violating the rules? Look at our fighter. He looks like he had been mauled by a pack of Beasts!”

“Neither you nor the esteemed Garoys were bothered by such things before. You want to complain now that you’ve had a taste of your own medicine?”

“Not a single duelist so far has suffered this many wounds. Not to mention their severity!”

“There’s a first time for everything. The sword is blind and the fist has no eyes. You said so yourself.”

“Let’s settle this without recriminations. We have one more competitor and he has the right to enter the ring.”

“He has left the arena. Who knows what he was doing outside?”

“What could he have done there?” the Disirian commentator hissed. He knew his clan was well within their right to send in their last combatant. Or maybe he had received the order by means of telepathy. “Regained his strength? He could have done it here, just like your Atria-Rimilo-Legard. You can only accuse him of treating his wounds, but he had none! He defeated your competitor without injury.”

“The rules say otherwise.”

“Rules allow for exceptions. Imagine he had a stomachache and had to leave. Would you complain about that too?”

“Yes!” our commentator shouted.

“I wouldn’t,” I countered as his voice faded. “I’ll fight if they want me to.”

I was heard. I saw our battlemaster grit his teeth and clench his jaw clearly unwilling to give in so easily. But in all the madness that was going on today, Shandri tried to stop me with lectures and mournful exclamations while Horit was supportive.

Shandri’s plan for the City of a Thousand Levels could only be saved by my fight with Samum.

I couldn’t fail. Not this time.

Both Horit and Shandri needed a successor and if I proved myself...

I even winced as I realized what I was thinking. No, no, no. No way. I’d rather join Iover’s department and chase away freeloaders who had miraculously Ascended to the Leader stage. Sitting in a chair and sending people to fight and die with a wave of my hand wasn’t my thing.

In the meantime, the Order’s commentator had discussed the matter with his superiors, gotten over his anger, and reluctantly agreed to the Disirians’ objection.

“The Order accepts your objection. The last Disirian competitor will be allowed to enter the ring.”

“Samum!” the Disirian battlemaster shouted immediately.

Shoulders squared and head held high, Samum moved leisurely toward the ring, toward me. I kept my eyes on him and sent one healing technique after another into the wound under my palm, hastily treating it.

My opponent paused at the edge of the ring without taking the final step, muttering to himself.

“No one asked if I wanted to fight against a man who can barely stand on his feet and whose blood covers half the ring.”

“Stop fooling around, boy!” his battlemaster scolded him. “Do as you’re told!”

“He’s right,” I told Samum. “There’s a reason why you were allowed to join the Disirians, isn’t there? You must have promised them that you’d support them.”

It took a while, but Samum answered me. Using telepathy.

“What do you know about my promises to them?”

I tilted my head instead of shrugging. It was just as I thought. Samum was a Leader with no qualms about ensuring the Disirians’ victory in this tournament. It was possible that Ketot shouldn’t have entered the ring at all.

“I only know that promises should be kept and honored. You were looking for me and you found me. Forgive me, brother, for hiding from you and ignoring your summons, but I had no choice.” I waved my hand around the battered ring. “It was the only way I could avenge a comrade’s death.”

“A comrade, not a friend?”

“I don’t have many friends.”

“And brothers?”

I ignored the barb, thought about the question, and answered honestly.

“Only slightly more.”

Meanwhile, the ringmaster leaned close to Samum’s ear and hissed something. So softly that even my hearing, even my enhanced perception, failed me. I could literally see the ringmaster’s lips moving, but I could only hear scraps of words that didn’t add up to a coherent whole.

Samum wrinkled his nose and elbowed the man away.

“Stop making such ridiculous threats. You won’t change my mind.”

“You wanted to fight me. Here I am.”

“In one piece! Not crippled! Look at you! You can barely stand!”

I snorted.

“You should’ve seen the other guy. No? Not funny?” I chuckled when Samum frowned. “What’s the big deal? Are we going to fight or not?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there are many misunderstandings between us. But none that warrant a fight,” I said. “And nothing worth a dagger in the back.”

Samum grimaced, but the ringmaster took that as a sign that he’d fight. When he turned back to Samum, he was elbowed in the chest again with such force that he was tossed ten feet away, silencing the stands for a moment.

“Then how do we resolve our misunderstanding, Legard?”

“With a conversation.”

“Here?”

Samum’s gesture was more than eloquent, but I wasn’t disheartened.

“Why not? My original plan was to track you down after the tournament and talk to you, but since the Heavens reunited us here, why not?”

“The Heavens? Hah! My bodyguard brought me here. He had searched half the city to find me.”

“Guided by the Heavens and their will, no doubt.”

Samum rolled his eyes.

“Do you really think the Disirians will accept us just talking?”

“What do they care if you win with steel or words?”

Samum narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

“Win?”

“I’m no match for you, brother. Not because I’m swaying on my feet like a drunk, but because your power is still out of my reach.”

Samum shook his head. He was having none of it.

“This isn’t how I imagined our reunion.”

I just waved my hand and invited him to take the last step.

Accepting my invitation, Samum sighed and stepped forward.

“Samum!” the Disirian commentator shouted.

As soon as his voice died down, I bent in a polite bow.

“Greetings, brother Samum.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he responded in kind.

“Greetings, brother Legard.”

I exhaled slowly, ignoring the roars rising from the stands like waves. Up to that point, I had tried to speak confidently, as if I knew what I was going to tell Samum. The problem was that I had only imagined how this would go. Just imagined, without even trying to anticipate what I’d actually talk with him about. Even though I knew it’d happen tonight.

I had more pressing matters to attend to in the arena, so I couldn’t allow myself to be distracted with imaginary conversations.

The gong sounded, causing me to close my eyes in confusion. Did we even go through a check? Did it really matter?

Trying to buy some time, I removed my palm from the wound and asked quietly:

“Will you let me take care of this hole before I faint?”

Samum nodded.

“Go ahead.”

This time, I didn’t hide my skills. Or rather, I didn’t hide the fact that I was treating myself. Hesitantly, I filled the Terrestrial technique with energy and maintained it long enough to finish healing the wound. It didn’t heal completely, of course, but the edges had thickened and scarred, no longer oozing blood and bodily fluids, and the hole itself was covered with a whitish film, finally allowing me to breathe fully.

Nearly fully. I tried not to breathe in too deeply.

Extinguishing the Hand of Rebirth, I looked up at Samum.

“Ask away.”

This conversation would be private. Neither the Disirians, the Order, nor the audience needed to know even a fraction of what had come to pass between us. Those events and stories belonged to us and to us alone. And a little bit to Reika. But only in fragments.

Samum pressed his lips together, his face grew pale.

“How did you meet my father?”

“It’s a long story that starts with the Sauls. Domar made me an indentured servant and—”

“How is that possible?” Samum cut me off. “You are a Master of Decrees and a very unusual one at that, as I heard while I was running here.” His lips curled into a pale, barely perceptible grimace. “I’m the flesh and blood of the Order! No Decree can stand before me. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

I pressed my lips together in frustration. He had heard it. My own fault for shouting such things at the top of my lungs. Was it worth hiding it in the fight with Ketot? I could have just stolen his Decree, put him to sleep for a moment, maimed him all over, and then brought him back to his senses. Then remove my energy and leave the Disirians wondering what happened.

It was easy being wise in hindsight.

“I didn’t say when it happened, did I?” I objected. “Domar did his best, and it took me a month to find the strength to destroy the Decree.”

“I see. Continue.”

I didn’t point out to Samum that we’d be done with this faster if he wouldn’t interrupt me. This wasn’t the time for such trivialities. Nor the kind of conversation to exchange barbs like friends or brothers.

“When I regained my freedom, I also returned to Ash Tree, for my family remained there. I was horrified to find that one of the cults had attacked the city just before that. They took many with them. My family was gone, too. All of them.”

“But you found them not in a cultist den but in one of the dungeons under a Battlefield?”

“My trail led me there. In case you’re wondering, Domar thought the cultists were nothing more than a mask used by the men who paid him.”

“Paid?” Samum slashed me with his glare, hearing only what he wanted to hear. “Are you saying that Domar Saul was involved with cultists?”

“With people pretending to be them.”

Samum let my words pass by his ears again.

“Pathetic bastards. They got off easy by dying.”

I shook my head. This was going to be a difficult conversation. How much did he have to hate the cultists to forget about his father. I wondered what he’d say, or rather, what he’d shout, if he found out that I was involved with the cultists. And that my dealings with them deserved a much harsher word than “involved.” Fraternizing, forming an alliance, becoming one of them myself?

What if he found out that this alliance allowed me to wipe out one of the cults? Small, weak, but still one of their top leaders? Would he think it was a good tradeoff?

Hardly.

Still, there were things you hid from teachers, friends, and brothers alike. Or whoever they thought they were to you. Samum called me a little brother under Haven’s walls. Did I think of him as a brother? Or was I just playing along now, using the advantage that title gave me?

It was a difficult question. One I wasn’t ready to answer honestly.

Was I ready to tell Samum that I was a Sentinel? That I dealt with cultists, that I even respectfully called the head of one cult an elder?

No. I wasn’t.

I didn’t think I’d ever be.

From now on, I’d only speak of Saref and the Dark One.

“When I was set free and began to search the cells for my family, I found your father in chains that prevented him from channeling heavenly energy.”

“How was he captured?”

“He, too, sought those who, year after year, made pacts with Walkers in your lands, hiring them so that they’d never return again.”

Samum narrowed his eyes.

“I know who you speak of. We didn’t solve all of these cases, because I didn’t hear that they pretended to be cultists.”

“The chief among them, the one I called the Dark One, was stronger than your father expected. A Leader. And he was a good fighter.”

“Was...” His voice faltered, and as he swallowed, he clenched his fists. “Damn the faction that spawned this bastard.”

I didn’t answer or nod. It was still a curse on my faction, the Heavenly Sword. It wasn’t for me to find out what really happened there. Orkrimar’s upbringing was flawed, or the venom in Izard’s words was so strong that it poisoned his protégé as well, or he wasn’t strong enough when he gained access to the spirit’s knowledge and resources. I killed him and destroyed everything he created, that was enough. I killed him together with Saref Tamim.

“...so he persuaded me to help him in battle. Unfortunately, the weapons I was able to give him couldn’t withstand his new power and broke, hindering him. Only Rein Tamim’s sword was of any use.”

Samum nodded slowly.

“That’s another question I need you to answer. What did you have to do with Rein’s death?”

“Oddly enough, that’s the same question your father asked me,” I said with a smile.

“I believe you. It’s one thing to fight hand-in-hand with an unknown liberator, but it’s another to fight with the murderer of your kin.”

“I can only repeat what I told your father. I was an indentured servant in Aymar Saul’s service. Aymar killed Rein to settle an old score between your lands, then fell at the hands of his nephew Simar, and after that, I got all their belongings, including Rein’s.”

Samum wrinkled his nose.

“What a family. A bunch of poisonous snakes. It’s a good thing there’s no memory of them left to be erased by time,” he stated. “You said ALL of Rein’s belongings?”

“I didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter. A ring. There had to be a ring among the things you got.”

For a moment, I considered lying to him, but I didn’t. I nodded slowly.

“I figured you were looking for me because of the ring.”

I fell silent, but Samum understood me perfectly well. His face turned pale, his features sharpened, and he roared, forgetting the discretion of telepathy.

“How dare you! Bastard, if it weren’t for your disdain for my father’s body, I would have...!”

“You would have what? Wouldn’t have made the long journey? Wouldn’t have fought under a foreign flag?”

For a moment, I was scorched with the heat of danger, and then it vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. Samum covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head.

“I cannot deny the truth.”

He continued using telepathy, making our conversation a secret again from all those who were eagerly watching our figures in the ring.

“You’re both right and wrong. I would have still looked for you, and I’m not the only one. But only I, driven by a thirst for truth and anger, was able to trace your steps, find your party, and even talk to two of them.”

“Two?”

“You let the first one go just outside Haven. It was a stupid thing to do.”

I rubbed my temples. I remembered. His comrade was killed in a fight with the cultists. And yes, I let him and two others go. It was my decision, and I didn’t regret it.

“You sent the other one to collect rumors about me. That was a wise move, but your spy let you down by being too rude. I brought him the rumors about me myself. I traded truth for truth, so to speak.”

“I hope he’s still alive.”

“I was angry with you, I’m still angry with you, but I’m not a madman who’d kill everyone connected to you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

I smiled, but the smile froze on my lips when suddenly there was a voice that I had already managed to forget.

“My patience is wearing thin,” Bolain grunted. “Stop talking and finish this tournament.”

It was a strange trait of mine that allowed me to eavesdrop on other people’s thoughts. The fact that he sent this thought to Samum surprised me.

He looked up.

“What do I care about your patience, elder Bolain? Practice it if you lack it.”

“You’ve become too arrogant, Samum.”

“Did you mistake my courtesy at our first meeting for ingratiation? I’m not only a Leader at my age, but the nephew of the head of all the lands of the Tamim clan, the nephew of a fourth-star Leader, Itef Tamim, the nephew of one whom you, elder Bolain, wouldn’t be ashamed to call your elder and superior. Yes, my lands are far away, but what difference does distance make to Leaders, elder Bolain?”

I kept a smile on my face, eavesdropping, memorizing, and drawing conclusions. It seemed that Bolain was either a third or even a second star, but in any case weaker than Itef. It was no wonder that old Sirk had decided to kill himself when he came to Ash, thus diverting Itef’s wrath from his last son.

A fourth-star Leader. I wondered if it was possible to Ascend higher in the Second, and how much time and resources it’d take.

The head of an entire faction, the man who concentrated all its wealth in his hands, an old man who probably already had great-grandchildren, only managed to open six dozen nodes. Even if it was more than that, the point was that he never managed to reach the one hundred and twenty-node limit.

Yes. Living as a Leader in the Second was a waste of time and years. But by what miracle did Ketot get his power? How many years did he trade for those stars?

When I realized that my silence was becoming very suspicious, I continued as if I hadn’t heard their conversation.

“I realize my words sounded unnecessarily judgmental. I apologize.”

Samum grinned.

“Judgmental. Zero’s Wastelands are described as places where people barely have the strength to survive.”

“And that’s true.” I nodded and repeated my favorite story with enthusiasm. “I’m also but a simple collector of rocks and dung from Zero...”

Samum bent over in laughter. He must have looked insane, suddenly laughing after breaths of prolonged silence. What would all the people looking at us think?

“Our duelists are continuing the battle of words, still using telepathy,” the Order’s commentator explained, his voice booming over the silence of the arena. “We’re left to wonder if Samum’s laughter means that he’s bested Legard? Who is winning this silent duel? Rimilo the Butcher or Samum the Butcher’s Brother?”

“Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Now I was laughing my head off. Was I complaining that my name didn’t sound proud? Poor Samum didn’t get the little I did. He was just the Butcher’s brother now. Nothing for the Disirians. Not a shred of glory for their last contestant. It’d be very amusing if the tournament were won by the Butcher’s Brother.

Samum stopped laughing just moments before I did.

“You think too highly of yourself,” Bolain growled.

“I came to this country with nine loyal bodyguards. But you and your men have only seen two of them. Do you think that the other seven, whom I’ve just informed that you’re threatening me, will not bring this news to my grandfather? That is, if I don’t take advantage of the Order’s protection first.”

“I haven’t threatened anyone. You’re taking it too far. Especially for someone who comes from so far away and from a lowly faction that can boast nothing but the power of its leader. After all, reputation is something that young people can ruin very easily.”

“Ah, elder Bolain, drop the hints. We both know very well what you wanted to tell me. Victory? Don’t worry. Sit back in your chair, ask the Order to bring you some mountain plum tea, the merchants say it’s the best in the Second, calm your nerves with this precious beverage.”

Bolain must have had a lot to say to Samum, but he didn’t utter a word, or in our case, a thought. I gave Samum a respectful look. He was good. I, a collector of stones and dung, could only throw accusations, threats, and insults. Samum did without all that, but he still hit a nerve with his eloquent speeches.

The line about the tea, what did it mean? The Disirian symbol was the plum blossom. So asking the Order for plum tea meant something. Nothing nice, that much I understood, but the true meaning escaped me.

Samum stared into my eyes.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t find the ring. Or that you lost it.”

“I had it.”

“Had it?”

“I gave it away.”

“To whom?”

“The Sentinels.”

“To...” Samum was silent for a moment, then said slowly, staring at me intently. “You came from the First. You are a Sentinel yourself. That’s why the Sauls’ punishment was so swift and harsh.”

“Just a Shen.” I didn’t deny what would be foolish to deny. “In the eyes of today’s Sentinels, nothing more than a disenfranchised whelp to be given a hard job. And so I did as I was told. I sent word of your father’s death to the Tamims. The ring...” Here I lied a little. “I was told it shouldn’t fall into the hands of the Tamims or the Sauls.”

“I see.” Samum curved his lips into a faint smile. “My father told me right away that my grandfather had clung to that rumor for no reason, that even if it were true, the Sentinels wouldn’t allow us to wield such power. That it’d be good if they didn’t punish us for finding a loophole,” he added with a shake of his head. “Or perhaps we’ve already been punished. Father, Rein, all these losses in the battle for the Saul lands.”

I waited for him to calm down and finish to offer an explanation.

“If you’re about to ask me about the Gate Key, I didn’t—”

“Key? For Ash Tree? It was found a week after we took hold of the city. Domar hid it in the main hall of the manor, wisely not getting involved in the theft of such an item. The Sauls, I believe, knew exactly where to find it, but chose to lie at the trial and try to blame it on some Master of Decrees. Forget it. I did my grandfather’s bidding. I found out what happened to the ring. Now I want to know how my father died and why you left his body to rot in that dungeon.” Samum’s features sharpened again. “If you fought shoulder-to-shoulder with him, as you shouted to Agost, why didn’t you honor his memory, protect his body from decay in a Bag, and hand it over with the letter? Why, Legard? Only vile, useless servants are treated this way.”

For a few moments, I tried to remember who this Agost I’d yelled at was. Once I remembered, I pushed the knowledge out of my head. It wasn’t important.

Slowly, I touched my fist to the palm of my hand and bowed before Samum.

“My fault. I admit it. Forgive me. Your father fell victim to the Dark One’s experiments with new potions. He became a Leader, but when he was freed from his bonds, he succumbed to Elemental Devouring, his body slowly eroding.”

“Did he know this would happen when he asked you to free him?”

“He did. He prepared by asking me for all my elemental potions. He was trying to balance on the edge of Devouring by suppressing his Earth.”

“I hear your admission of guilt in my father’s fate, but I don’t hear why you ended up doing this to him.”

“I’ll get to that.” I glanced at Samum without straightening up. “Your father recognized his weakness and asked me to fight beside him, even if all I could do was deflect some of the Dark One’s blows. I was too weak then. And eventually your father could no longer resist the Devouring. Not being able to kill the Dark One in the time allotted to him only exhausted him and wasted his strength.”

Samum was silent. I took a breath and continued.

“So your father trapped the Dark One, pinned him to the ground, covered the two of them with stone, and ordered me to stab him in the back to kill the Dark One.”

Samum was still silent. I kept talking, no matter how hard it was.

“Three times I tried to kill the Dark One by striking him in the head with my strongest technique. Three times I failed to leave even a scratch on him. My technique dissipated and my steel was unable to pierce his Veil. Your father informed me that I only had three breaths left, repeating that I had to stab him in the back to break the Dark One’s defenses, that I had no other choice.”

Again, Samum said nothing, but Epiphany told me everything I needed to know.

“I struck. I struck with full force, piercing your father’s stone, his body, and the Dark One.” The steel in my back felt icy. “I hit the Dark One right in the focus, but your father’s wound wasn’t serious.” I straightened up a little and ran my hand suggestively over my chest, where there had been a gaping hole that didn’t even stop me from speaking. “I healed him as best I could, but I wasn’t able to stop the Devouring. Unfortunately...”

“Unfortunately, he died?” Samum grunted hoarsely.

I shook my head.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t kill the Dark One. When I started to heal Saref, I made a mistake. The Dark One activated the lair’s formations and unleashed an incredibly powerful blow on us. Your father and I covered ourselves with protective formations and defensive techniques, but it wasn’t enough. The fiery needles tore everything to shreds, penetrating the defenses of the amulets and the Veil, and piercing both Saref and me. By some miracle, I got out. But your father...”

Samum was silent again, staring at me, chilling me with murderous intent, so I added, mincing my words:

“I did my best, I made one mistake when I rushed to help him instead of finishing off the Dark One, and I honestly admit that mistake. My only one.”

Samum parted his lips and spoke but two words.

“The body...”

“The Dark One, even as he was dying, with his focus destroyed, without any spiritual power, was still alive and could still use both his weapons and elements, but I was empty, completely empty, I didn’t even have the strength to open my Bag. I survived with great difficulty, faced the Dark One, broke his arm, and took his weapon.”

“A true hero.” The sarcasm in his voice was almost palpable.

“I fought for my life, fulfilling your father’s wish, who wanted the Dark One dead more than anything. The Dark One died, but he inflicted another grievous wound on me, and with his death, a sea of fire flooded the dungeon.”

Samum pressed his lips together once more.

“And with that wound, you justify throwing away my father’s body?”

“No. I don’t have any excuses. I barely survived that dungeon, thought for a long time that my family had died in that fire, burned twenty years of my life trying to deal with the Dark One’s final blow...” I sighed, spreading my hands. “Perhaps I was losing my mind. All the cells, all the halls were littered with corpses. Somehow it seemed to me that gathering them all in one place, around a dead victor and a dead murderer, was the best solution. Just like they used to bury fighters after big battles at the beginning of Ram Vilor’s reign, to create a tomb.”

“Nonsense, complete nonsense.”

“I’m telling you, I wasn’t in my right mind at the time. Maybe I was delirious.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“That’s all the truth I have. I can’t tell you anything else. Just this truth, just the way things were. Or at least the way I remember them being.”

“What do you expect me to do after hearing all this?” Samum hissed through his teeth.

I shrugged.

“Judging by my Epiphany, you’re very eager to stick a sword in me. But do I deserve it?”

“Do you not?”

“No. I freed your father from bonds he couldn’t break. I gave your father weapons and potions to take revenge. I supported him in this unequal battle and killed the man he had dreamed of killing for weeks, perhaps months. I threw his enemy’s corpse at his feet and gave him a tomb worthy of Saref the Striking Blade.”

The blades of ghostly steel cooling my back became unbearably sharp, almost penetrating me, almost becoming real.

I sighed loudly.

“I’ve already apologized for my state of mind after the battle. What more do you want? That I kneel before you and let you chop my head off? Is that what I deserve for fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with your father?”

Samum clenched his fists. A breath, a second, a third, and the ghostly steel vanished. Samum opened his eyes and nodded.

“You’re right, you don’t deserve this. I remember how fiercely you fought under Haven’s walls. I remember how I was dizzy with death on that battlefield. I remember how the glory for the hand of the cult elder went to me, not to you. You’re right. You couldn’t have known how quickly you’d be able to bring the news of my father’s death to the clan. The funeral hall was indeed a fitting one, in the spirit of the old legends. I think my father, given the choice, would have preferred the hall and a dead enemy at his feet to the emptiness of a Bag. The only burial hall in the entire Circle, not an ordinary grave like everyone else’s.”

I pressed my fist to my palm again, but this time I didn’t arch my back.

“Thank you for listening. I’m also sorry for running away that day and putting you to sleep. But making excuses, surrounded by Sauls, wasn’t the best choice.”

“They’re gone now.”

“What difference does it make to me?” I lied a little and frowned. “All of them? Including the children?” I clarified.

“For all I know, some could’ve escaped and joined a new faction. I’m talking about the strongest, the base of their power. Who keeps track of the others?”

I nodded. I had heard that before. From Shandri, I think. We were talking about the disappearance of the Order of the Heavenly Sword in the Fourth Circle. When the backbone of the faction died, those who remained were unable to carry the weight on their shoulders. That was the case here too. But this was good for Aledo. There were no assassins following Saul blood through the Circle.

“If we’ve settled our past, let us settle our present. Draw your sword and I’ll surrender.”

Samum chuckled somehow sadly.

“Aren’t you afraid that I’m just fooling you, that I’ve tamed my hatred for a while, and that I’m going to take this chance to, as you said, chop your head off?”

“No. I know your father and you well enough, big brother, to know that you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“I’m not sure if I can still be called your big brother. I called myself that back then to calm my men. Back then, I was the nephew of my clan’s leader and you were a Freewalker. But now...” Samum raised his hands and looked around the stands and the tense figures occupying their seats. “Now, you’re the hope and the genius of the Order of the Heavenly Sword, a faction much stronger than my humble clan. Here and now, and even in the future, your position is already higher than the only surviving child of a clan’s branch, no matter how much dust I throw in Bolain’s eyes.”

“Is it that important?”

“Is it not? I could handle Ketot, no doubt about it, he’s still a Master who has tamed the elements, but could I handle him after so many battles and so many wounds?”

I laughed out loud.

“I certainly wouldn’t call myself your senior.”

“Even considering the twenty years you burned?”

“I got almost all of them back.” I grabbed a lock of hair with my fingers and shook it. “The only thing that remains is this gray strand.”

“Brother?”

“Brother.”

Samum nodded and slowly drew his sword, placing it against my breastbone.

Eye to eye.

After a moment’s hesitation, I repeated his nod and looked up at the stands.

“I surrend— Kah, kah!” I coughed. The wound was a bit more serious than I thought. Managing myself, I repeated: “I surrender!”

The ringmaster finally understood; the gong sounded, and then the commentator announced in a broken voice:

“Victory for the Disirians!”

The stands exploded with indignation, the spectators jumped up, shouting something and shaking their fists.

“Thank you,” Shandri’s tired voice sounded in my head.

“Did you really think I had the strength to handle him?”

“Considering how many talents, secrets, and tricks you have? You could have won with your Decrees alone.”

I looked back at Samum, at the empty air above his head.

“Not in this case.”

“You could’ve pulled out your praised Flag.”

“In front of the Order that was created to fight cultists?”

“Never mind.” Shandri ended our strange and silly confrontation with a sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The novices and ministers had already rushed into the ring, the former taking me under their arms, the latter immediately beginning to treat me with Terrestrial healing techniques.

While they did that, I gazed inward. I found that I was alone inside — none of the healers used the gaze, floating like shadows in the emptiness of my body. Either they weren’t supposed to do that on the move, or they weren’t that good at healing. Almost like me — they could patch up a hole and that was enough, others would do the rest. I guess that was why the Disirians tried to treat elemental poisoning with alchemy instead of techniques.

I was barely out of the ring when I heard Bolain’s satisfied voice booming across the arena.

“Stop! Did you really think that would be the end of it?”

Shandri sighed sadly.

“I warned you, Legard.”

I raised my gaze to the officials’ lodge. Bolain leaned over the fence and pointed a finger in my direction. With the Leader’s vision, it looked like he poked me almost in the face.

“A Leader! I see a Leader in the ring. Young, full of power.”

I averted my eyes and looked around. My pants were completely torn, my robe was just shreds covering my ass and everything else. Pieces of skin and flesh were missing from my chest and arms, and I was covered in clotted blood. My face, I think, was even worse. Probably like my fingers, which were grated to the bone.

Young? Fine. Full of power? As if.

“Lies! The Order lied when it said it had nothing to pay this year’s taxes with.”

Horit slammed the palm of his hand down without getting up from his chair.

“Enough shouting, Bolain. Everyone heard everything. Call the Sentinel if you’re so sure you’re right.”

Bolain stopped talking, turned around, stared intently into Horit’s face for a few moments, then shook his head, grinned, and slowly raised an open palm in front of him.

On it was a small figure of a man in traditional garb, holding a sword. A Sentinel. Just like the one Klatir had given me once.

Suddenly, the Garoy elder was standing beside him, grabbing his arm, and clearly saying something to his face. Using telepathy.

Bolain twitched, but couldn’t tear his hand away, his face flushed purple.

Why was I so far away from them and couldn’t hear anything?

After another moment, the stands erupted in cheers. I glanced left and right and suddenly realized that all of the spectators weren’t looking at Bolain and the elder, but somewhere above me. I looked up, too, and saw a figure in a bright red robe hovering in the air above and slightly to the side of me, probably in the center of the arena.

Chapter 45

I bit my lip and stared at the Sentinel hovering in the air.

What was that supposed to mean? Klatir once said he’d drop everything and come to me within two thousand breaths. In the Dark One’s dungeon, I waited a long time for him to come to my aid, nearly dying in the process. And here, as soon as Bolain called for this man, he—

He what? He was transported here in the blink of an eye? Was there an ancient Pathway Array hiding under the sand and stone slabs? I doubted it. Especially since Bolain never broke the figurine either.

I even turned to the token, just in case, and went to the Formations, Paths, and Maps section. Nothing there. Zilch. The Sword City Arena wasn’t marked anywhere, nor did the token show any Pathway Arrays around us.

Meaning...

Meaning the Sentinel had been here for a long time. He might even have been here since this morning. I didn’t know what the Sentinels did in the Circles, but were there more important things to do today than observe the tournament of five factions?

Probably.

Bolain was also taken aback by the Sentinel’s appearance, which explained his stupefied and sudden silence. Everyone else in his box was silent as well, having jumped up and bowed at almost the same time, their fists clenched in their palms. Bolain was bowing with them.

Having come to his senses, he straightened up and said cheerfully:

“Venerable Sentinel! Bolain, the head of the Disir clan, asks for justice.”

“Ask for it. We’ll consider your challenge accepted.”

The Sentinel’s voice was calm, and just like Bolain’s, it echoed throughout the arena.

I squinted. The sea was calm too, hiding vicious Beasts in its dark depths. Just because I couldn’t hear the sneer in the man’s voice didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

And the challenge...

In front of me—

No. That wasn’t right.

In front of the entire tournament audience, the Sentinel stretched out his arm and...

And...

I couldn’t see it from below, but judging by the way Bolain grimaced and looked at his palm, the figurine vanished and reappeared in the Sentinel’s hand.

Bolain gritted his teeth and clenched his empty palm. Could it be that Shandri’s fears that the Sentinel would be unfavorable to us were in vain?

I glanced over my shoulder and caught Shandri’s gaze.

“This is the new Sentinel, right? Not the one from before?”

“That’s right. Though it makes no difference when you, the Leader of the younger generation, are standing in front of thousands of witnesses. If your Klatir were here, he’d have nothing to say to Bolain. He has a point. One more secret, one less.”

I let the words slip through my ears. I didn’t care. It was a shame that all my plans would be for naught, and it was a shame that another Zero would still be carrying around his new family’s Decrees, but plans didn’t always work out, I should know that. The important thing was that this Sentinel was clearly not on the side of the Disirians. Not with the way he spoke about...

I cut myself off. There was no need to get my hopes up. Maybe this Sentinel was rude in general and liked to make trouble for everyone. It was too early to rejoice. I’d be wise not to mention Klatir and Viost to him if I could help it. It was better to wait and keep silent, see how things would unfold. I should also be aware of my thoughts, lest I babble something best kept secret. Like me, Lords of the Spirit could also eavesdrop on other people’s thoughts.

Bolain managed to control himself and even forced a smile.

“Venerable Sentinel, this year, the Order of the Heavenly Sword claimed that they had no Leader to pay in tax. They lied. There he is.” Bolain pointed at me again. “A Leader. And there’s no telling how many other such disciples the Order is hiding.”

I raised my head. From here, I could only see the Sentinel’s robe, pants, and boots. I couldn’t even see his face. But I could see that under the robe was a white shirt, and on his hands were what looked like bracers, but not like mine.

“Are you suggesting that I personally check all their disciples?”

“I wouldn’t know, venerable Sentinel,” Bolain replied. “I simply discovered a violation and reported it. How you check the Order and punish them for lying is up to you.”

“Wisely said. My records show that the Order is unable to pay the tax in this generation and has been granted a reprieve until the three hundred and ninety-eighth year. Until then, it is obliged to pay double tax for their Leaders.”

“Liars! What do you mean by ‘unable to pay this generation’? There he is — the first of them! Ready for payment!”

“Deciding for me, are you, venerable Bolain?”

“Forgive me, venerable Sentinel.” Bolain bowed his head for a moment, clearly realizing that the Sentinel wasn’t happy about the tax or the way he was presenting his case. Still, that didn’t curb his indignation. “But how can a faction decide whether or not to pay the tax at its own discretion? Either the Leaders are there, and they go off to fight the cultists in the Outer Battlefields, or they are not, and the faction ought to be punished. Am I right?”

“Technically, yes,” the Sentinel confirmed with a nod.

The eldest of the Garoys stepped forward, drawing attention to himself, and spoke.

“Forgive me for intruding, venerable masters, but if we’re talking about technicalities, we should also consider the time when this young man became a Leader. If it was before the declaration of insolvency, that’s one thing, but if it was after, then that’s another.”

Bolain nodded with content.

“That’s right!”

“Standing next to this young man, I was able to assess his power better. He had become a Leader only recently, up to two months ago, after the Order had declared that it couldn’t pay the tax.”

As the old man continued to talk, a satisfied smile bloomed on Bolain’s face. He swallowed hard, stared at the old man in amazement, and finally managed to force himself to speak again.

“When did you manage to do this? Weren’t you the one who checked his Ascension and announced to the whole arena that he was only a tenth-star Master?”

The old man just shrugged and calmly admitted his mistake.

“I was wrong.”

“Of course you were wrong! Since when can you tell how long has someone been a Leader or any other stage?” Bolain was outraged. “My eyesight isn’t the worst either. This liar’s elemental control is so good that two months is out of the question. He’s obviously been manipulating them for at least a year.”

I still couldn’t see the Sentinel’s face, but I thought I heard a sneer in his voice.

“I can’t estimate the time of Ascension by sight either, although I have my own opinion about the moment of this young man’s Ascent. Technically, Master Bolain is right, and so is elder Onkhand. It’s a moot point that we’ll resolve in the simplest way possible. What does the Order’s magister say? Shall he pay a part of the tax with this Walker?”

Horit clenched his fist again and bowed to the others:

“I dare not, venerable Sentinel.”

Bolain turned to him and repeated incredulously:

“You dare not? What’s that supposed to mean? What are you two doing here, conspiring behind my back?”

The Sentinel began to descend slowly, turning to me at the same time. He was young. Then again, Sentinels, especially Lords of the Spirit, could have faces that didn’t reflect their age. This one looked younger than my mother, but how old was he really? Seventy, a hundred?

With a tilt of his head, he turned to face the officials’ box.

“You see, master Bolain, there’s one curious thing about this young Leader...”

Behind his back, the Sentinel crest spread its wings and tail. Three feathers in the tail. A shaul.

His voice faded only to thunder in my head.

“What have you done, you brat?!”

And not just thunder. A clearly visible wave of power rushed from him toward me, crashing down on my shoulders like an avalanche.

My eyes bulged. Not because the weight was so unbearable that I’d complain about the anger of a mere Lord of the Spirit after the City of a Thousand Levels, but because of the realization that all this had already happened.

The wave of power, a Sentinel’s indignation, and... No, Viost had called me a boy last time, not a brat. And I had changed a lot since then.

Last time I bowed, last time I apologized, this time I stood up straight and fought back.

“Was I supposed to sit and watch? Do nothing?”

He made my knees crack but I refused to kneel.

“What are you talking about? I asked you — what have you done?”

I carefully spread my legs wider so I wouldn’t collapse in front of everyone, rolled the question around in my head, and realized we were obviously talking about different things.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, senior.”

“You don’t follow?” The Sentinel narrowed his eyes, his voice commanding. “Turn your head, you’ll see. Just the head.”

I looked over my shoulder and froze when I saw the edge of my Sentinel crest behind me. Before my eyes, the fiery Phoenix turned gray, like ash cooling down, and its only tail feather crumbled into dust, leaving only a pathetic memory.

“What the hell...?” was all I could manage to squeeze out.

“I’m curious about that too, brat. Why are all our years of effort burning before my eyes, why is Klatir suffering, why did I abandon everything else to take this position of an overseer in some intrigue? To see it all reduced to ash?”

He was two steps away from me, still silent to all but me.

He outstretched his hand and demanded:

“List of orders!”

I turned to him and saw the inscriptions glowing in the air. One in silver, one in scarlet.

The silver inscription read:

I, Shaul Viost, command Shen Legard to make the Order of the Heavenly Sword as strong as possible and to serve its interests in the Second Circle. A term of three years.

The scarlet inscription, on the other hand, informed:

I, Shaul Viost, order Shen Legard to go to the City of a Thousand Levels and pass the Sentinel trial. I give you three years for everything.

As if the color wasn’t enough, there was also a note in the same scarlet.

The mission has failed.

I twitched.

“It’s not my fault! That City’s guardian spirit has gone mad over the years. He demanded that I betray the Sentinels, run away from you, and form my own clan that would truly honor the Agreement, not the way you do now. He shortened the time limit from three years to one day. I couldn’t pass that test even if I wanted to!”

“What?” The Sentinel frowned and shook his head. “Nonsense. It was a simple task. Its violation couldn’t be the reason for your status as a traitor. And who’d confirm this status? What Sentinel have you met before me?”

“No one!”

“Stop playing around, brat! The token can’t decide these things for itself! Did they act without showing their face?” The Sentinel pursed his lips. “What does it matter? If they found you, why didn’t they take you?”

I froze, suddenly remembering a Sentinel I had encountered a long time ago in the City of a Thousand Levels. A spirit. A mad spirit who had implanted himself with the eye and soul of his dead friend, a spirit of the Ancient Sentinels. He and only he could have done all this before sending me away to take his test. A vengeful bastard who liked to mess with the Sentinels and made sure I got in trouble if I got near them.

The Sentinel shook his head again and demanded:

“List of violations.”

Before I could open my mouth to report my hunch, the token carried out the Sentinel’s order. And while the first thing I expected to see on the list was a violation for failing to pass a test in the City of a Thousand Levels, the rest...

I swallowed hard, barely removing the lump in my throat, and glanced down on the list of my transgressions.

Violation of the Walker Virtues.

Breaking the promise of communication between cities.

Allowing cultists into the realm.

Did that damn Izard write down the transgressions of every Sentinel in the last three hundred years before sending me to Itrea?

Using talent for whim and profit.

A load of jair shit.

Allying with cultists.

This wasn’t funny.

I looked at the Sentinel.

“You realize this is ridiculous, don’t you? Izard has gone mad, assimilating with his fallen brother Maors, a Sentinel of yore. I bet he attributed all the abuses to me that he’d been accusing the Sentinels and Ram Vilor of for hundreds of years. Allying with the cultists, allowing them to invade the Circles, using talent for profit, and so on. He framed me to take out his anger on all the Sentinels, then kicked me out to survive among the cultists.”

“A spirit that was a Sentinel? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“What about the guardian spirit with different colored eyes? You haven’t heard of that either?”

“I have.” The Sentinel nodded slowly. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not? It explains what happened, doesn’t it? All you have to do is remove these violations, undo them, and everything will be back to normal.”

“I understand what happened and how it happened. But none of that matters now. My rank isn’t high enough to undo the violations. They’ve been confirmed by a Reol, and only a Reol can undo them.”

“Well, get one and fix it then.”

The Sentinel grimaced.

“If we had a single Reol on our side, do you think we’d be in this position? You were supposed to help us unlock those ranks and then become a Reol yourself for your service to your elders.” He jabbed his finger at me. “You!”

“Maybe I can still help?”

“How? You’re a criminal among the Sentinels now. I can’t give you any assignments. I can’t introduce you to anyone. I don’t even have the right to help you anymore, and I have to...” He sighed wearily. “Then again, what’s one more violation after all this?”

I still didn’t understand what was wrong.

“But they’re not true...”

“Not true?” The Sentinel curled his lips. “Then why are you wearing the mark of the Sixth Circle?”

I cleared my throat.

“Izard sent me to the Lands of Itrea. It took me six months to escape. I pretended to be a cultist to gain their trust and...”

“It doesn’t matter.” The Sentinel grimaced. “That mark on you is enough to make any Reol not even look at you.”

“But you’re talking to me.”

“Do I look like a Reol to you, brat?”

“Still.”

He sighed.

“I wanted to deny Bolain, tell him that you’re a Shen and send you on your way. But it’s no use now. This is a path for a Sentinel, for a hopeful Shen, not for a renegade.”

I clenched my fists.

“Damn you, Izard!” I thought to myself. “What have you done? Is this your way of getting back at the Sentinels and me? Yes, they have changed, but such is the nature of things. You’ve ruined the best of them!”

“So.” The Sentinel sighed heavily. “All we can do is pretend nothing ever happened. You showed promise, Legard, so we kept you around, checking, hoping... But we were wrong. You couldn’t even handle simple tasks; we were disappointed in you and sent you away to fight the cultists. No longer a potential Sentinel, but a mere wanderer.”

“That’ll be your story?”

“There will be punishment, but the main thing is to keep rumors of your talent for Decrees to a minimum.” He grimaced. “You shouldn’t have revealed yourself. Didn’t Klatir warn you to hide it?”

“Advised me to hide it.”

“He was too kind to you, former brother.”

Chapter 46

The words hit me with an unexpected pain, but I forced myself to remain silent and stay how I was. It was undeserved, but whom could I prove it to now? The damn spirit had closed the doors of the Sentinel Brotherhood to me.

“I’ll leave you with some advice, boy. Hide the fact that you’re a Master of Decrees, especially one who can use this talent in battle and place a single seal on multiple opponents. Hide the fact that you’re from the Order of the Heavenly Sword as well. Don’t even dare to mention it.”

“Why not?” I asked with indignance.

“Because it doesn’t enjoy a good reputation in the Empire. I don’t have time to tell you the whole long story. Listen to old rumors, ask questions, and find out for yourself. Make sure not to wear its robes or colors ever again.”

“Should I introduce myself as a member of another Order then?”

“No. Wherever I send you, tell them you’re from the Stormy Plateau, so that can explain the mark on you if they discover it. Don’t make the same mistake as in Ash Tree. Leave immediately, don’t give in to any entreaties, don’t join any alliances, if someone pushes too hard, shout, condemn the insolence, call the city guards and other officials.”

I listened in silence, thinking that this was very strange advice.

“It’s a pity that you showed your faces today. You’ll be wanted. I’d like to—”

“Not all of them. There is one more face—”

The Sentinel raised his hand, forcing me to shut up.

“Silence. I shouldn’t know. It may happen that I’ll be interrogated and forced to tell everything about you. The less I know, the better chance you have to escape. There’s hardly any Sentinel influence out there, you should be able to start a new life.”

“Why hide then? I’m not a Sentinel anymore. I won’t be of any use to you...”

“Oh, you will be.” He grinned wickedly. “I’m sure they’ll think of something that’s not bound by our limitations. I’m not helping you. This is the first time I’ve seen you and you’ve caused me nothing but trouble today. I’m helping my brothers who’ve already suffered because of you and for you. To give the fruit of their labor away to Talas? Not a chance.”

Talas... Was he a Sentinel as well?

“Go into hiding. Begin a new life. The Legard who made it to this arena must disappear.”

That wouldn’t be a problem. I had changed names and faces many times, but his advice was still strange. I were to become strong with the help of the Sentinels. I wanted to gain enough influence and strength so that the Mads would let me see my family. Take them with me. I doubted that I could give them a better life than they had in the Mad clan. Especially since it would take years to find the strength and rise through the Sentinel ranks.

No, all I wanted was the right to visit my family at any time. Maybe take my mother with me. I wanted my freedom.

Could I gain such power and freedom by hiding?

Maybe I could, but it’d be harder without the Sentinels. I remembered what they gave me very well: a complete set of Roak Spiritual techniques that allowed me to become a Leader in three years.

Without the power of those techniques, I would have died long ago.

My life was changing too much. Leaving the Order, leaving the past...

“If the Order is so unpopular in the Empire, why did Viost give me the task of making it stronger here?”

“Because we believe the Order did all it could and isn’t to blame for the tragedy. But the Emperor was grief-stricken and listened to no one but himself.”

“Do you believe that? And here? In the Second? The Order is being pushed too hard. Shandri told me that the last attack involved forces that didn’t belong to the Second.”

The Sentinel nodded slowly.

“That may be the case. For years, the Erzum clan has been unable to lay their hands on the Order’s wealth in the Fourth Circle. Perhaps someone there decided to do the head a favor and wipe out the Order’s branch here to sweeten the pill of disappointment.”

“And you’re just going to let it happen?”

“No. Would I be here now if that were the case? We remember who we were allied with. You should be worrying about yourself right now, not them.”

I snorted.

“Izard has accused me of violating the virtues, but it’s a lie. If I’m going to leave, I won’t do so without paying off my debts.”

Speaking of debts and leaving...

Turning away, I looked at the commanders’ box again and caught Iover’s gaze.

“Brother Iover, it’s time for me to leave this Circle, but I’m tormented by thoughts of those sent to the City of a Thousand Levels to set traps for the Disirians. I ask you to fly your sword to the city tonight as soon as you are free.”

“Stopping them isn’t a good idea. Especially if they’re already close to the city, as Shandri says, but I’ll try. The Sentinel is on our side, if I understand correctly?”

“I think so.” I glanced at the man. “When you’re done, go to the top of the falls, where the Disirians can’t hear you, and yell at the top of your lungs: ‘O, Izard, venerable guardian of the ancient ruins, Legard has managed to return from the Lands of Itrea after completing your task and is on his way back to power. Before he left, he asked me to tell you not to lay a finger on the Order and not to let any other guests into the Trade Pavilion or to try to promise them anything.’ Tell him that if he disobeys my wish, I’ll close the doors to his city forever, so that the solitude will finally plunge him into true madness.”

“Yelling at a guardian spirit, calling him crazy, promising to ruin his plans... Are you sure you’re not the crazy one here?”

I smiled, feeling his excitement. I knew he’d like the plan.

“If I were him,” he continued, “I’d try to spite you if you yelled such obscenities at my doorstep.”

“Maybe...” I nodded. “But he needed me for some reason, so let’s hope for the best. Hopefully, he’s cooled down a little by now.”

“Needed you?”

I didn’t answer, wiping away my smile.

“One more thing. About Shandri,” I added carefully. “Make sure he doesn’t know that you’re going to the City of a Thousand Levels, brother.”

Iover glared at me, despite the dozens of feet that separated us.

“What are you insinuating?”

“I don’t understand why he’d send away people who could help the Order here. I don’t understand how all this could have gone unnoticed. I don’t understand why he was so determined to keep me out and what he’s counting on, intending to pay a double tax in the future for all this to go smoothly...”

“On us. The commanders.”

“Perhaps. I’ve made my request known to you, brother. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. A little secret to keep from Shandri... What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, yes?”

“As you wish, Legard. Or should I call you Rimilo?”

“Call me what you like, brother Iover. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The Sentinel, seeing, or rather, hearing that I had finished speaking, remarked:

“I could get to the City faster. You could as well have asked me to do it. On account of former merits.”

“You’d better not show your face there. The spirit dislikes Sentinels very, very much, and believes that they’ve broken all their treaties. If you spoke on my behalf, I’m afraid he’d indeed act out of spite.”

“Then I won’t. But I heard you. I’ll keep an eye on Shandri, I don’t want the last memory of our allies to fade. For the next ten years, I’ll continue watching over these lands.”

“Even if things turn badly?”

“I’m not in the habit of making promises I can’t keep.”

The Sentinel grinned and took a step back.

Now he spoke aloud, his voice echoing over the arena.

“I was wrong. This case is quite ordinary. Legard will be taken as part of the Order’s tax.”

As the stands exchanged glances, he threw to me more quietly:

“What are you waiting for?”

I didn’t want to undress in front of thousands of people, so I put my hand on the Bag, having found it under the scraps of my robe, and suddenly remembered that I was missing a lot of my stuff. I’d rather not go to the Third Circle without my best clothes.

I looked around at the novices. I couldn’t even remember which of them I had given my Bag to.

I sent a thought to the one who was a little taller than the others.

“Junior. I, Rimilo, left my Bag with one of your colleagues before the battle. Find it and bring it back to me.”

The novice shuddered, bowed hastily, and scampered off to the left while I covered myself with a formation that shielded me from the arena’s prying stares.

I pulled out a mirror.

That’d do. A fine tax to come out on the other side, stripped down to the bare flesh instead of skin.

Thanks to my constant training at the Pillar of Pain, I could stand on my feet and even talk. Or rather, I could grin at the horrible mask I now had in place of a face, instead of rolling around on the floor in pain.

But that was just for now.

Because even the thought that I’d soon have to put on a real mask on top of this bloody caricature of a face cut into flesh...

The thought made me shudder.

The “stuff” I had in my Bag was, thanks to Reika’s efforts, organized across various shelves.

It wasn’t often, or rather never, that I needed such weak and very specific things.

Nevertheless, I had a stock of potions and concoctions so weak they could barely pass as alchemical elixirs with which I treated the wounds and washed the sand out of them. They had no pronounced healing properties, and did not increase the pain. On the contrary, they had a soothing effect. A small thing, really, but a small thing that was very, very helpful.

Thank the Heavens I remembered that shelf.

And the shelf with the robes that Reika had chosen for me.

I struggled to pull one of them over my rough bandages, but I managed.

I didn’t choose a blue robe, but a black one. I could almost hear Reika’s voice on the marketplace as she picked it out, telling me that it wasn’t black but obsidian. But that memory remained only a shadow. It was easier for me, with my eternal problem of identifying shades, to just call it black.

I took another look at myself in the mirror and chuckled.

I’d have to wear a mask or they’d think I was a cultist.

I paused for a few breaths to make sure I was wearing the robe Reika had bought me and not the one I had received from Fatya.

No, I was right. It was an imperial robe, not an Alliance one.

I finally removed the formation and froze, my mouth hanging open. Not only was it shielding me from curious eyes, it was also hiding the arena from me.

And there was a lot to see.

There were no Pathway Arrays my ass.

I was standing in the middle of a huge blue formation full of burning lines and symbols.

I immediately checked my token, and what did I see?

The Pavilion of the Five Gardens.

It seemed that Sword City, or rather its arena, was built right on top of an ancient Pathway Array. The pavilion and the gardens must’ve been destroyed many years ago if all that remained of them was a name.

But at least now I knew that the Pathway Arrays could be both invisible and visible, waiting for travelers, visible to anyone with a token and a Shen rank. The only question was, were they invisible until the person aware of their existence awakened them, or were they invisible to someone who was only a Shen? Or to someone who was no longer a Shen even though he was standing in the middle of it? How did Izard manage to make my “crimes” work only when a full-fledged Sentinel approached me?

Once again, this was the wrong place and the wrong time to ask such questions. Rather, this wasn’t the time for questions at all.

A novice jumped up, bowed, and handed me the Bag I had forgotten about.

The Sentinel, whose name I never learned, asked:

“Are you ready? Do you remember everything?”

“Ready. Hide. I remember.”

“Live. Live without telling anyone that you were a Sentinel, that you’re a Master of Decrees. Where I'm sending you, my brothers come once every hundred years, and our last visit was fifty years ago. You’ll have plenty of time.”

“For what?”

“To live. That’s it.” He silenced me with a gesture. “Go.”

Something like an oval window thawed in the air to my right. Beyond it, I could see another stone plaza and other flags.

I nodded and raised my head. First to the right, to the commanders’ box, then to the left, to the magister’s lodge, sending my thoughts to Iover, Shandri, and Horit.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and I’m sorry for ruining your plans today.”

I had only taken one step before Horit’s voice resounded throughout the arena.

“Halt!”

Before I could even turn around, he stepped down from the box and came to stand beside me. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he announced just as loudly:

“Today, before our very eyes, our students have achieved the impossible. And it was you, Rimilo, who led them to it. The Disirians can think what they want, enjoy the tournament prize they stole from us, but everyone present here today knows the truth — the Order actually won. Normally, the tournament of the younger generation is a team victory, but today...”

He stopped talking, slowly raised his clenched fists, and shouted, almost deafening me:

“Champion! Champion of the Order! Champion!”

I heard Iover shout after him. A dozen breaths later, the entire arena declared me champion. Well, maybe not everyone, but there were certainly thousands of people shouting.

With some shame, I admit that it felt good. For the second time in my life, I was called a champion. The first time I earned that title by moving from Zero to... History liked to repeat itself, didn’t it? This wasn’t Arroyo, but the Order of the Heavenly Sword, but the change hurt just the same.

Today, I was leaving the Prison Circles for good.

I really thought that’d be the end of it, but I was wrong.

Horit waited for the cheers to subside, fade away by themselves, and then spoke again.

“Our Order has always been known for rewarding deeds with dignity. Today should be no exception. Rimilo was destined to serve the Order, but the Disirians have denied him that path. Rimilo is the kind of man who values the virtue of justice the most. Tell me, is it fair that we tax such talent?”

“No! No! No! No! No! No!” the stands shouted in unison.

Horit nodded.

“But there is nothing we can do. The Order is a righteous faction and will not go against the laws, the Sentinels, or its promises. Before our very eyes, steward Rimilo is leaving without being rewarded for his contributions in the tournament. This is unjust, and so, I declare by my authority that I appoint Rimilo commander. Hail the youngest commander of the Order!”

The crowd shouted something incomprehensible, which sounded to me like:

“A-u-waa-a-u-aw!”

People jumped up and around, throwing their hands in the air.

When they calmed down a bit, Horit continued.

“Today, we bid farewell to my successor, the heir to the Order of the Heavenly Sword!”

He pulled a small round token from somewhere in his sleeve and placed it around my neck.

I only had time to twitch and grab the chain before it was around my neck. Horit was an old man, but he still had the agility and speed of a Leader in his years. I was glad nothing had happened. I was very suspicious of such chains, but this one was made of ordinary metal.

Or not, actually. It was an unusual round weave, half a little finger thick. Its silver enamel on a black background depicted a jian. Just like the Order’s flag.

“I’m sorry,” he added quietly so that only I could hear. “It’s nothing more than an empty symbol, no real reward. A whim of an old man who can’t give you anything of value for where you’re going. But since our main branch has been destroyed, I’m glad to know that the magister’s token will be with you in the Empire. As if...” His voice trailed off. “Times are hard for the Order and I’m not sure if Shandri’s plan will succeed. I don’t want it to end up with the Disirians.”

“Magister.” I grabbed his arm. “Don’t think such thoughts. I’m not the most talented, the most persistent, or the best of the younger generation. I’m just a lucky and daring headless Seeker. I leave you with Vilikor, who has already been a commander in another Order, who knows and can do many times more than I can. I’m sure that she’ll prove herself far better than I in leading the Order.”

Horit nodded.

“It will be as you say.”

“Time,” the Sentinel reminded us. “Or shall I keep the Pathway open through the night?”

Horit gritted his teeth. I grinned and said nothing.

I nodded to Horit and the Sentinel, and stepped into the oval portal, pulling on my mask.

According to the Sentinel’s claims, it led anywhere but to the Third Circle.

I really should have asked him what hole I was going to live in for the next fifty years.

Epilogue

The bearded Jalat, clinging to the stone that surrounded their box, watched what was happening down in the center of the arena in amazement. Though it’d be more accurate to say that amazement only faintly conveyed the emotions he felt. Not that it’d be possible to express them precisely and strongly enough without the use of profanity.

First, the weak fighter he had imagined Atria to be turned out to be commander Iover’s personal disciple, who enjoyed the respect of many Freewalkers.

Jalat sweated as he remembered what those two fools, Kirt and Gaval, had said in front of Iover’s apprentice. Gaval especially, with his wild tongue and colorful vocabulary.

He, Jalat, had proved himself worthy, had confronted Gaval, but...

Jalat began to think that all this was nothing but a game on Gaval’s part. Especially with the smiles on the faces of the three of them. Atria, Kirt, and Gaval...

Then Atria turned into Rimilo, then into some Legard, who said things that normal people would be afraid of thinking for fear of punishment.

Everyone thought he was being arrogant, talking to the Garoy elder like that, but now that Rimilo had revealed to everyone that he was a Leader, Jalat wasn’t sure that the Garoys could have put him down so easily.

Jalat was no longer sure who his seemingly good friends and drinking companions were, calling Rimilo the Butcher a young master.

Still in a state of utter amazement, Jalat turned to Kirt and found no subtler approach to acquiring answers than direct confortation.

“Just who the hell are you? Commander Iover’s Secret Detach— Gah!”

The words stuck in Jalat’s throat because the ugly woman he had somehow forgotten about was standing next to him, clutching not Kirt’s arm but his shoulders. And his throat.

Terrified, he heard a short, softly spoken question above his ear.

“Shall I kill him, brother?”

***

Kirt smiled and waved his hand.

“Amma, don’t scare Jalat.”

“Yes, brother.”

As soon as she backed away from the bearded man, Kirt continued.

“Jalat, you’re making up such stories that we’ll need a dozen pitchers tonight to stop laughing.”

Jalat took a careful breath, reached up to touch his throat, and froze, squinting at the woman.

He nodded.

“I understand.”

“Good.” Kirt smiled, then said as if nothing had happened: “Let’s keep watching Rimilo tear the Disirians apart.”

The smile on Kirt’s lips was only a mask. His mind racing, he held out his hand and waited for his sister to take it.

How did she slip away from him? Perhaps he had taken the young master’s words to keep an eye on his sister too lightly? She had said she was trained to be an assassin, but hadn’t she been taught to think? Asking him whether she should kill Jalat in a lodge full of people... True, no one had noticed her choking Jalat or heard her concealed threat, and maybe she knew how to kill in a crowd, but why did she do it so deliberately?

As the young master cut down another opponent, Kirt shifted his gaze to his sister.

Amma turned her head as well, hesitating for a moment before asking:

“Do you still love me, Kirt?”

He let out a sigh of relief and shook his head.

“Of course I do, you silly goose. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

***

Meanwhile, in a completely different lodge, a little girl made her way nimbly through the crowd of screaming spectators.

Aledo.

The last row of the people crowded at the parapet was an insurmountable wall in front of her. And even if she pushed her way through, what good would it do? The stone fence was taller than she was.

Aledo thought for a moment, biting her lip, then looked around.

Many months on the streets had not only taught her to be aware of when it was okay to be cheeky and when it wasn’t, not only honed the skills she already had in escaping from hen-pecked servants, but also taught her a thing or two about reading faces.

Not that one, not that one, not that one....

That one.

Aledo squeezed between a guy with a sword at his belt and a woman with sharp cheekbones and made it right up to a scowling burly man.

“Sir!”

He lowered his eyes in confusion.

“What do you want?”

“Sir, could you please lift me up?” Aledo complained, pointing with her finger. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Ahem.”

The big man looked around. Aledo pointed to a small stone shelf, more like a ledge on the wall that separated one lodge from the other. No one could sit on it, and only a small thing like her could stand on it, because it was so narrow.

“What are you doing out here all alone?”

“Please lift me up!” Aledo jumped and curled her lips. “I’m not alone; my brother will be here soon. It’s not my fault he’s a slowpoke!”

“Mhm.”

The big man shrugged and playfully hoisted Aledo up. Clinging to the stone, she flashed him a happy smile.

“Thank you, sir!”

He mumbled something in reply, but she couldn’t hear him, absorbed in what was happening down in the ring and the chattering voices coming from the audience.

She listened and frowned harder and harder.

Too many lies.

Pitting uncles and grandfathers against each other? What kind of foolishness was that? Great uncle Aymar disappeared in the forest. Uncle Simar disappeared on a quest for ink. Grandpa Sirk killed himself to save her father.

Forced to flee? Another lie. Aledo remembered well how her mother complained in the weedy ashes of the road inn that her father’s whole plan was long overdue. Father had wanted to run away and start a new life for a long time. She might have been stupid then, but she wasn’t forgetful. Her mother’s words were imprinted in her memory.

Forced to steal the Gate Seal? She had seen her father, with her mother’s help, place the Seal in the hiding place in the main hall of the estate.

Too many lies to seek truth in the words of this Garoy.

Legard...

Aledo studied the face of the man who had given her hope of revenge.

She didn’t remember seeing him among the servants.

He, on the other hand...

He might’ve remembered her. There was a reason why he asked her questions back then and chased after her.

Legard.

Father had never mentioned his name. Not when they lived at the estate, not when they fled it. Nor when he stayed behind to lead the pursuit away from them.

What Aledo knew for certain was that her father had been captured and then killed by Saul elders. By one of her great-grandfathers, or on their orders. Mom had said that.

But they were all dead now.

Only the ones who killed her mother were still alive.

Legard promised to give her the strength to avenge her death, brought her here, promised to teach her. Why? Just because she had talent? Or was it because he felt guilty?

That guard had dragged her away from the arena for a reason, but all that could be asked later, after avenging her mother.

Or she could find out for herself. She wouldn’t be this small and powerless forever.

***

Samum retreated under the Disirian banner. A foreign flag, but he didn’t care about that in the morning, and he cared even less now.

No sooner had he heard what the Sentinel had declared, no sooner had Legard disappeared beneath the formation’s haze, than Samum froze, lost in thought.

His mission, the long hunt for the legendary ancient artifact that had already cost the lives of more than one member of his family, was over.

If his elders had asked his opinion, he would have told them that trying to strengthen the family with this artifact was madness. Even more insane than what he had seen with his own eyes in this arena today. It was tempting for a family that had never before controlled any Gates or spirit stone mines to gain access to the First Circle.

Resources and people. Something that had always been in short supply. The elders were confident they could do it, but Samum thought otherwise. It wouldn’t work.

The dragon ring wasn’t something the Sentinels could ignore.

And he was right. The Sentinels had taken the ring long ago, and the elders were still pouring spirit stones into the search for it. They should have instead invested them in trading with the new faction. They needed many things right now, it would be more profitable. But who’d listen to him, a member of the third generation?

Yes, he was talented. Yes, he had surpassed his father’s achievements by becoming a Leader. “You’re a good boy, Samum, now wait another twenty years until your grandfather hands over the reins to one of your uncles. Then they’ll listen to you a little more.”

Did he have to? His mother died a long time ago, and his father was gone. The grudge between him and Legard...

Well, it wasn’t like it disappeared without a trace, but it was no longer a lingering pain in his heart. It burned out today in the ring, in Legard’s words.

The tomb.

Father would have appreciated it.

It was a pity that these tombs weren’t as beautiful in reality as they were on the pages of the chronicles.

Samum wrinkled his nose as he hurried to rid himself of the memory.

That stench...

He shook his head.

He had to think about what to do next.

He had been sent here because his grandfather wanted to find the lost treasure that had been paid for with Rein’s blood. If he returned home...

Girls would start hanging around him. A Leader at nineteen. Pure talent, achieved everything without a single Ascension Potion.

His father managed to fend off his second wife, lived almost freely, but only because he remained a peak Master, unable to break through the last barrier.

Unable or unwilling?

Samum couldn’t answer this question honestly. He hadn’t discussed it with his father. He hadn’t even suspected it.

But he’d never see his father’s freedom. No more journeys under a false identity. Not until there was at least one child. Not now that he was a Leader.

Samum grimaced again.

One could hope, of course, that he’d find one to his liking among the many brides waiting for him back home.

One could hope, or one could take matters into his own hands.

Samum nodded resolutely and turned to look for his loyal bodyguard in the audience.

“Xamt! Look, I’ve raised my hand so that you know that I’m speaking to you. You’ll return home to Itef. You’ll tell him everything you’ve seen and heard here. Add that I’ve learned the fate of the ring. The Sentinels have taken it. Tell my grandfather that I felt cramped in this Circle.” He sighed as he saw Xamt jump to his feet. “That’s what I want, Xamt. You have a family and I have no one here. You may argue that I still have my grandfather, my uncles, and my brothers and sisters, but you know as well as I do that I’m not that close to them. Thank my grandfather for everything he’s done for me, and apologize for me. As a reward for your service, take everything from the cache in the beech grove. It’s yours now, along with the auction house map and the house. Farewell.”

Turning away, Samum stepped forward and was disappointed to find that he was a little late — the portal had closed.

Hurriedly, he called out:

“Senior! Wait!”

As soon as the Sentinel looked at him, he bowed.

“I, Samum Tamim, ask the venerable Sentinel to count me as future tax for my family and send me to Legard. I wish to serve the Empire and help it fight the cultists.”

The Sentinel nodded slowly.

“I don’t oversee the lands of your part of the Circle, but your request can be granted. When you have made up your mind, come to me.”

Samum could barely keep a straight face. He had made up his mind; otherwise, he wouldn’t have opened his mouth. But to say such a thing to a Sentinel? He wasn’t a madman. Unlike his eponymous brother.

Samum stopped three steps away from the Sentinel, his face determined.

“So be it then.”

At the same moment, the Array’s sigils flashed beneath his feet, and the oval of the portal thawed in the air, opening the way to another Circle. Samum bent his back slightly before the Sentinel, pressed his fist to his palm, and then stepped through the portal.

***

Elder Onkhand glanced at the grin on Bolain’s face, and a wicked thought crossed his mind.

“What are you rejoicing about? You wasted all of our potions and what have you achieved? What did you expect to gain from this tournament? The Order threw you a bone and you’re happy to get the scraps from their table. Do you think your—”

As his thoughts wandered, he turned to the edge of the lodge.

“Venerable Sentinel, it’s a pleasure to pay my respects to you in person. May I know your name?”

The Sentinel hovering in the air opposite their lodge nodded.

“You may, Onkhand. My name is Ilikan.”

“Greetings, venerable Ilikan.”

One by one, everyone in the lodge jumped up and greeted the Sentinel by name.

But Ilikan didn’t even look at them. When the last man in the lodge was silent, he said thoughtfully:

“While I was admiring the tournament, I heard you bring up the subject of the Calamity in the Saul lands. You’re surprisingly knowledgeable about this event.”

“Venerable Ilikan, it isn’t every year, or even every decade, that a Calamity is declared in the lands of our Circles.”

“True, but my records show that it was you, Onkhand, who declared this Calamity.”

“That can’t be, venerable Ilikan. I’m not the herald of these lands, I—”

Ilikan waved his hand briefly, silencing Onkhand.

“Let’s not engage in such nonsense. His lips spoke your words.”

“I was merely declaring the will of the Garoys; your will, venerable Ilikan, as conveyed by one of your brothers.”

“Again, this isn’t the whole truth. The message my colleague Viost gave the Garoys is in my records. Interestingly, it’s very different from what you said.”

Onkhand raised his chin.

“Venerable Ilikan, do you really care about such trifles as a few mispronunciations? The Sentinels have always left such matters to the Garoy clan. We, immersed in the internal affairs of our homeland, have always been the link between the Emperor’s will and the people of the Second Circle.”

“What big words.” Ilikan looked around the lodge. “Are you saying them for their sake? That’s a big mistake. I don’t care about them. Garbage that has opted to be the strongest in a garbage Circle; garbage that thinks it can do whatever it wants.”

Onkhand gasped and fell to his knees, resting his hands on the ground so that he wouldn’t collapse completely.

The other two elders standing behind him jerked to the side.

“Onkhand, an elder of the Garoy clan, is guilty of perverting the will of the Sentinels,” Ilikan announced flatly. “The punishment is death.”

Onkhand collapsed breathlessly at that moment.

If there had been someone worthy of the title of a Master of Decrees in the box, they would have seen the symbols disappear over Onkhand’s body, with a single sigil inscribed upon it.

Ilikan shifted his gaze to the other two elders.

“Venerable Sentinel,” they muttered in horror, almost in unison. “We had nothing to do with this...”

Ilikan cut their groveling short.

“I know. You’re not guilty in this case. You. Take out your Voice Jade and deliver my message,” he ordered, jabbing his finger at the left one. “The Sentinels are unhappy that the Garoy clan, represented by certain elders, has allowed itself to twist our will and use our name as a cover. Elder Onkhand was executed by Sentinel Ilikan.”

The Elder clutched the Jade with slightly trembling hands, pursed his lips without a sound, and then held the cracked artifact out to Ilikan.

“Your order has been fulfilled, venerable Sentinel.”

Ilikan turned his head to the other Elder.

“Now you take out your Jade. Hand it over. As punishment for elder Onkhand’s perversity, the Sentinels declare the Wild Times in the lands of Emerald Plains. The Wild Times will begin in three days. The fate of the lands will be decided by the strongest.”

The Elder, who well remembered that Emerald Plains, one of the richest lands in the clan, bordered the Tyriot clan, swallowed.

“Venerable Ilikan, I don’t have a Jade of such quality to contact the clan,” he admitted hoarsely.

Ilikan raised his hand, and Onkhand’s Bag literally jumped into his palm. He tossed it to the elder.

“But your late brother has one.”

This time, the elder couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat. The pressure on his shoulders increased, preventing him from breathing. Fidgeting, he bent and bowed again. The pressure disappeared immediately, letting the Elder bite his thumb to draw blood.

Three breaths and the Bag was his, ten more and he had the right Jade in his trembling hands.

Ilikan nodded in approval as the message traveled halfway across the Circle.

“When you return to the clan, let them know that the Sentinels are unhappy about the Garoys forgetting their place. There is only the Emperor’s will in the Prison Circles, and you are nothing more than its channels and enforcers. Don’t get caught up in the intrigues that weaken factions and lower taxes.”

After crushing everyone in the lodge with his strength, Ilikan was surprised to see Lir Garoy step forward.

“Venerable Ilikan, I have a request.”

“Speak.”

“I ask to be counted as tax for the Garoy clan.”

One of the elders pressed a thought into his mind.

“What are you doing?! Don’t you dare!”

Lir curled his lips into an evil grin and answered aloud.

“What am I doing? What do you think you’re doing, elder? I valued loyalty above all virtues and served the clan faithfully. And how has the clan rewarded me for my loyal service? They’ve dragged me into their intrigues among the Peaks, and even here, far from the lords and ladies of the Peaks, the clan has sent you to humiliate me in front of the strongest of these lands.”

“We don’t...”

“There’s no need to cover yourself with more lies,” Lir snapped. “Today, like a careless child, I’ve stepped in the pile of dung your words have made here.”

“You are too young to—”

“And you are reluctant to give up your position to the younger generation. Or rather, you don’t have the desire to make room for the right people, like the son of the lady of North Peak.”

Lir’s lips curled again, not waiting for an answer. He didn’t need to hear what he could read in the elder’s eyes.

He turned to Ilikan.

“Today, I have been shown what true loyalty should look like, venerable Sentinel. I pay my tax to the Garoy clan as a symbol that our paths will now part. I ask you to grant my request.”

“I cannot refuse a Walker who has chosen to do his part in the fight against the cultists.”

“That’s not the nature of my request, venerable Ilikan.”

“Explain,” Ilikan said with a wave of his hand.

“My family. I ask the generous and just Sentinel to see to it that the Garoys release them with me. My brother, father, mother, grandfather, and others.”

“It’s not often that Sentinels are used as mere guards.”

Lir bowed hastily.

“My insolence knows no bounds, and I am unpardonable, venerable Sentinel, but I have no one else to turn to.”

Ilikan smiled for the first time since his arrival.

“Your request has been heard by so many faction leaders and their deputies that if anything were to happen to your relatives, the stain on the Garoy name wouldn’t be washed away in twenty years. If I were you, I would get another Voice Jade as soon as possible and have it guard your family like it guards the treasure of precious and unique elixirs that cannot be found in the Second Circle. Otherwise, for violating my will, the Garoys won’t be able to get away with just the Wild Times.”

The Garoy elder swallowed and nodded, then shook his head.

“No, no! Young Lir is angry about the misunderstanding, but if he wants to leave, that’s his right, and no one would take it out on his family. And there’s no reason to. Lir, really.”

“That’s good to hear.” Ilikan held out his hand. “Come, Lir.”

While the Garoy elders wiped the sweat from their faces, Bolain stared at Ilikan’s back.

The mention of a treasure trove of elixirs, was it a coincidence or not?

Bolain hadn’t made up his mind yet. Below, the portal thawed in the air for the third time.

He took a quick look at the Empire on the other side and turned away. He had never understood people like Lir, willing to give up everything they had achieved to end up in a new place as nothing and nobody.

A weakling. He, too, had once been twelfth or sixteenth on the list of candidates for the position of clan chief, depending on how and who you counted. So what? He was the head of all the Disirians, and it was one of his decisions that would yet again increase the clan’s power. And where were those who came before him? They bowed as soon as they saw him.

Bolain smiled smugly, then suddenly frowned and returned his gaze to the portal just in time to see it close and the Sentinel fly into the air, quickly disappearing as a tiny dot somewhere in the distance.

He stared at Onkhand’s corpse with the same frown. His last sentence. He had made it clear that he knew about the clan’s arrangements, the kind that no one could know about. Or, better said, he could only know if he heard about them from those Bolain had arranged them with.

In many ways, Onkhand was right. The contract was about something else, and he’d have to justify how he had gotten less than he had bargained for. Sure, the mountain and the forests around the City were a trifle, but he had been paid even for those. And no, he hadn’t spent it all.

But if Onkhand was indeed connected to him, he seemed to have something to make up for the difference. He clearly didn’t want some cocky bastard to tax his way to the Outer Battlefields. It was all for a reason.

Bolain pushed a thought to his loyal man, who did a lot of pinch-hitting for him.

“Do you remember what the flags in the first portal looked like, the one that Legard went through?” Seeing the man nod, he ordered. “Draw them now.”

Bolain was only a Leader. Neither he nor anyone else in the box knew that Ilikan hadn’t disappeared in the sky, that he, invisible, was hovering a step away from their lodge, listening to everything that was being said here, even if the Leaders used telepathy to converse. They didn’t see that a ghostly flower had appeared in the palm of the Sentinel’s hand, and then, as if carried by the wind, it flew away and landed on one of them, on the chest.

***

It had been a long day, and Shandri was no longer young. A Leader’s body could endure much, and his mind could endure even more, as his apprentice could confirm, but only if his spirit was strong and his belief in himself unshakable.

Shandri opened the door and froze for a moment. Controlling himself, he bent his old back.

“Elder.”

Not so much to the man, but to the phoenix burning behind him and his status.

Ilikan paused for a moment, then asked quietly:

“And how did someone who served the Order so faithfully for so many years end up like this?”

“What are you talking about?” Shandri began but was silenced when he saw the letter in the Sentinel’s hands, bearing his handwriting. Slowly, he knelt and bowed his head. “It’s my fault. But I only wished for the Order to persevere.”

“Hundreds of your brothers and sisters in the upper Circles choose to die on their feet instead of on their knees, bending their heads and backs to the enemies of their Order. And you?”

“I know nothing of them, but I saw no other option for those who trusted me.”

Ilikan sighed.

“Tell me everything. From the beginning.”

***

“Just tell me as it is.”

The healer brushed a drop of sweat from his forehead and tried to keep his voice from trembling.

“There was a flaw in the young man’s foundation. The damage that neither he nor the healers had been able to repair in the first, most crucial hours had upset his balance. Devouring is inevitable, Master Bolain. We can only delay it. A day, maybe two.”

Bolain nodded.

“I see.”

He glanced over Ketot’s pained face, then turned, and walked away.

The boy could be saved. But it would take two days to get to the Healing Pavilion of the City of a Thousand Levels and waste the last of the elixirs from the vault. He, the head of the clan, had a way of breaking his promises. He’d survive this.

Some of his plans would have to be abandoned, but he could successfully add hatred for the Order to his new ones. Personal. A father whose son was dying, in whom so much hope was placed, would be an obedient sword in his hands.

***

“Uncle Wolf, don’t forget to bring me a stone.”

Miriot grinned.

“I won’t. If the road leads to new lands, I’ll bring you something as a souvenir, but if it leads to the old ones, what will I do then?”

“As if there are only two heavenly ores in Dark Hollow. That’s not how it works.”

“You’ve already got a room full of ores. Perhaps it’s time to think about a new hobby. After all, you’re about to begin your Ascension, so maybe it’s time to start collecting training Forms or instructions from the old sages.”

“I don’t want those, uncle.” The boy shook his head. “I like heavenly ores and stones. I want to be a blacksmith.”

“Then perhaps you should look up handbooks. You’ll need those to become the best blacksmith in the Circle.”

“I...” The boy hesitated. “Perhaps I should.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them then.”

They shook hands.

Miriot straightened up, nodded to Taori, and left. In the evening, he was already far outside the city, in the middle of nowhere, where you’d meet an Artel once a year, and then only by chance — a poor place, no Beasts, no herbs, no other prey.

It was for the best.

Miriot stopped, checked everything once more, and then pulled an artifact out of his Bag. Many craftsmen claimed it to be broken, but little did they know that it only worked in Miriot’s hands. In the hands of a Shen, a servant, a Sentinel, and interrogator in the service of the Imperial Border Guard.

The Pathway Array flashed blue beneath Miriot’s feet, and a moment later, he found himself in a very different place. A great dungeon of the Ancients, filled with light and... people.

For a moment, he froze, ready to fight, and then he relaxed.

Standing in front of everyone was an old man with a short beard and a phoenix behind his back. An Erie.

It wasn’t the first time Miriot had worked with other Shens, but what made the scene odd wasn’t only that the man in front of him was an Erie, the rank he had been promised for good service, but also the fact that none of the others were Sentinels.

Was this the old man’s personal guard?

Miriot chuckled. His people didn’t have access to this place, and apparently they weren’t expected to gain it. But was it the same for an Erie? Or were these people on some special mission for the Sentinels?

Miriot looked at the gathering behind the old man.

A man with an insolent face; a girl clutching a sword and chewing on grass; a sturdy man; a woman with a scar on her face that looked much like her companion; another man, smiling, and next to him like a crooked mirror — a gloomy and disgruntled individual; a girl...

Miriot froze, not even breathing. He knew this girl very well. Vilikor, one of the young stars of the Order of the Frost Ridge.

“Good,” came the muffled, forceful voice of the Sentinel from the side. “Everyone’s here. I have two tasks for you. The first is to find a man and take him alive. The second, and this is where we’ll start, is to break into a place and take whatever you can find. There can be no witnesses, no trace of your presence. Understood?”

The old Erie bowed first.

“Yes, sir.”

Following him, Miriot hastened to press his fist to the palm of his hand.

“Yes, sir.”

From the author

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