Lindon wondered once again when Eithan found the time to work on his own advancement. But then again, the cloudships had never been cleaner.
Eithan ate dinner with Lindon and Yerin almost every night, regaling them with stories from all over the fleet, often including stories that he hadn’t been privy to and that the subjects would probably object to sharing.
His greatest contribution to the trip was undoubtedly giving Lindon and Yerin tips on their advancement.
As it turned out, there were reasons beyond the mystical why Heralds found it difficult to comprehend Sage techniques, and vice-versa. They required almost entirely opposite training methods.
To become stronger as a Herald, Yerin had to push herself to the limit and accumulate power. It took a mind-boggling quantity of resources to push one to the peak of Herald, which was the way to maximize the chances of a successful advancement to Monarch.
She had to cycle diligently, take every elixir she could afford, and fight often.
Yerin found that an easy road to travel.
But to advance as a Sage, Lindon had to meditate on his Icon, and take actions to “align himself conceptually to its deeper meaning.” Lindon began to wish he had another Icon, because “aligning himself” to the Void Icon meant long hours of reaching out toward it and trying to empty his thoughts.
Yes, it was boring. But Lindon found it easier and easier to gather his willpower and exercise his authority, which made the boredom much more bearable.
Reaching Archlord, Eithan said, would come to them with time. Advancing to Archlord required insight into their future, which Lindon and Yerin had already glimpsed by touching on Sage and Herald respectively.
As for how exactly Eithan knew how to train Heralds and Sages to become Monarchs, despite spending so many years stuck at Underlord, Lindon had asked him almost immediately.
“The sacred arts aren’t as reliant on personal experience as people think,” Eithan had responded. “There’s an underlying structure that can be comprehended, if you look at things the right way.”
He wouldn’t elaborate any further, saying that Lindon was already on the right track to see for himself.
Honestly, Lindon was just happy to have gotten a straight answer out of him.
As for Yerin…there had been other times that they had lived together for months at a time. The Blackflame Trials, working for the Skysworn, even not so long ago in Ninecloud City, between rounds of the Uncrowned King tournament.
But in each one of those, they had been working together toward one purpose. Now, they were just living.
When Lindon was younger, learning enough sacred arts to live a normal life had seemed like a distant adventure, ambitious beyond his reach. This ordinary daily life with Yerin gave him a taste of that dream.
Lindon found that he enjoyed it.
When they arrived in Serpent’s Grave, the Emperor arranged another elaborate welcoming display on the scale of a city-wide festival. During this one, Lindon had to make a public appearance. Not only was he an adopted son of the Arelius family, but he was from this branch of the Arelius family. From a certain point of view, this was a huge honor to the current Patriarch, Gaien Arelius.
Lindon had never met the man before, but Gaien was quick enough to bask in reflected glory.
Serpent’s Grave was a city built from ancient, giant dragon bones. Almost every building was either carved into a towering rib, supported by yellowed fangs, or resting inside a skull. When Lindon had last seen the place, it had just weathered an attack from the Jai clan, and he was taken away by the Skysworn.
Now, Arelius family colors were everywhere. Their crescent moon symbol stood out from each street, and their banners flew dark blue, black, and white.
Gaien Arelius was therefore very important here, but Lindon didn’t care much for the aging Truegold. He had far more respect for Gaien’s son, the next heir to the Blackflame branch of the Arelius family: Cassias Arelius.
Cassias sought out Lindon and Yerin after the major welcoming ceremony, his curly hair shining golden. He held a long, thin silver saber at his hip, and he bowed gracefully before the two of them.
“I hoped I would be able to welcome you back someday,” he said. “But I never dreamed it would be like this.”
Lindon was happier to see Cassias than he had expected.
Windfall settled over the city. At first, Lindon intended to stay only long enough to get the refugees from Sacred Valley started in their new lives. But there was always someone who wanted the opinion of the Void Sage, and Cassias was dealing with some rivals who had been sabotaging his operations in neighboring cities.
Once Yerin took a casual stroll in the streets of those cities without using a veil, the obstacles to the Arelius family quietly disappeared.
All in all, there was always something else to do.
Windfall went from waiting in the sky, ready to depart at a moment’s notice, to sitting on the ground inside the city walls. Before long, a camp of the Twin Star sect sprouted around it.
And the seasons slid slowly by.
Reigan Shen tore through a crowd of slavering ghouls made from hunger madra with a sword that blazed like the sun.
His body was so weak as to be worthless, and he had lived among the suppression field for months. He was panting and sweaty, caked in filth.
But Reigan hadn’t always been a Monarch. He had fought his way up, just like the others. And he had forgotten nothing.
The ghouls hungered for his blood essence, for his madra, for his lifeline, for his authority, for his soulfire—for any source of energy he had on him or in him. He gave that energy to them in his attacks, flooding them with power from the edge of his blade, slicing them in half with a weapon of golden sunlight.
He left chunks of hunger madra dissolving on the ground behind him. Some of the other half-formed spirits stopped to feed on the essence flowing out of their comrades.
Reigan Shen finally found his way to a stretch of wall.
This had once been a door, but centuries ago, it had been filled in and sealed off. Never intended to be opened again.
There was no key to this door any longer, and the wall was almost indestructible.
But almost indestructible was no obstacle.
Shen deactivated the sword, noting as he did that the red-gold blade was starting to warp under the strain. Using powerful sacred instruments in this environment was terrible, and his heart ached at the waste.
There was almost no such thing as a true Monarch-level construct. Monarchs died so rarely that weapons formed from their bodies or Remnants were considered final life-saving treasures. There might even be more Abidan artifacts on Cradle than Monarch weapons, though no one would be able to prove that.
But this sword had been made by a Monarch and intended for use by Monarchs. It was a work of art, and outside of this maze, it could cleave mountains.
He placed the tip of the sword against the wall with great reluctance. The prize was worth the cost, but that didn’t make the cost easy to pay.
“You will be used for a great purpose,” he said to the weapon.
Then he activated the binding at full power. At least, the full extent of power it could manage down here.
The Song of Falling Ash shone with fire, light, and destruction. Its bright light filled the hall, illuminating the stone…but failing to pierce through.
The walls here had been invested with authority to make them inviolable, but this sword was the true product of a Monarch, made in the Soulforge and imbued with his will to break.