And, weakened though he may have been, Reigan Shen was a Monarch as well.
“Begone!” Reigan Shen commanded.
The authority on the wall shattered…and then the wall did.
A wave of flaming power dissolved the broad stone wall, leaving a hole big enough to pass a cloud fortress through. The Blade of Falling Ash was twisted and half-melted, its physical shell now leaking madra.
Reigan Shen sheathed it anyway. He could repurpose its material, and the masterpiece of a Monarch Soulsmith deserved more than to be thrown away.
Then again, this labyrinth might be the best place to dispose of such works. No one knew how many genius Soulsmiths had put their life’s work into this place.
And nowhere was that more evident than in this room. Behind the wall, he found a massive chamber filled with blue crystals. But perhaps “crystals” was the wrong word; though they seemed to be solid, they flowed like rivers over every inch of the walls and floor.
This was madra Forged naturally and infused with aura for years. This material would be perfect to make priceless treasures, but Reigan Shen couldn’t afford to open his void space more than necessary. He would risk destabilizing the rest of his collection.
In the center of the chamber, several hundred yards from the entrance, was a shining sphere the size of Shen’s entire torso. It looked like a perfectly round sapphire, and it emitted a thick beam of blue energy into the air.
Inside that ball of blue, lightning crackled every few moments. When it did, corresponding sparks flickered through every river of crystal in the entire room.
Reigan Shen felt the envy grip him as he watched the sphere at the heart of the room. The Storm Core. The impossible treasure born from the Weeping Dragon’s power.
Just taking this for himself and leaving would solidify his status as one of the greatest Monarchs in history. But, of course, he wasn’t content with just being one of the greatest Monarchs. And if he left this project half-finished, he would be forced out of this world in a matter of weeks.
He had to be quick.
For this exact purpose, Reigan Shen had prepared a special container. He pulled a rectangular metal case off his belt and approached the Core. The case was empty, having been designed solely to carry this item.
Just like any other spatial artifact in this environment, it would decay quickly every time he used it here, but that was no problem. It was disposable.
This container only had to open twice: once to put the Core in, and once to take it out again. Then its purpose would be fulfilled.
Reigan Shen had his perception stretched out as he approached the Storm Core, but he felt no hostile presences among the overwhelming power of water and lightning.
Not until a blue lightning bolt crashed down on him.
Weakened as he was, the Striker technique should have killed him instantly. Instead, a golden shell of earth and destruction madra appeared over his head, taking the brunt of the attack.
The shield was made to last, and should have taken ten to fifteen such blows, but it shattered after only one. The ring that hosted that binding went dim on his finger.
This place truly devoured treasures.
The shield ring had bought him enough time to see his opponent: a huge stormcloud, crackling with sapphire lightning, with two limbs molded to resemble a pair of thick arms. A natural spirit, formed from the Storm Core’s power.
And no doubt guided by some script buried here to protect the room. The people who sealed this place off had never intended to return.
Those ancient Soulsmiths were more than capable of crafting living weapons that could do battle with Monarchs, so if this thing could exert its full strength while Reigan Shen was veiled, he would have been annihilated in a breath.
But the suppression field was an even-handed curse. No one could escape it.
Thus, the spirit was only on his own level. And no opponent of the same level could defeat the Lion Monarch.
Drawing a pair of launcher constructs, one in each hand, Reigan Shen began the battle.
Far above the battle in the labyrinth, the Holy Wind School had begun to return to the slopes of the mountain they called the Greatfather.
When they felt the mountain begin to shake again, some panicked, thinking the Wandering Titan had decided to return. Others dismissed it. They were only aftershocks.
When the shaking died down in mere hours, this crowd felt themselves vindicated.
The very next day, a Copper child sent to fetch water said that Greatfather’s Tears were lower than they should be. No one listened to her.
Three weeks later, when they discovered that the Dragon River was starting to dry up, they blamed the change on the Dreadgod’s attack. The Valley had been reshaped by that monster, and besides, at least they were better off than the Golden Sword school. Their mountain was still intact.
So they continued their lives as the power in their water faded, day by day.
The Sage of Red Faith was not the most precise when it came to spatial transportation under his own power. He preferred using a tool, and this was one more benefit of his cooperation with Reigan Shen: the lion had plenty of tools to spare.
A gatekey brought him back to the cloud fortress that was Redmoon Hall’s mobile headquarters. The massive ship hovered over mountains somewhere in the western Ashwind continent; he couldn’t be bothered to determine their location any further.
He strode across the dark wood of the deck as Emissaries and agents of Redmoon Hall saluted him. Men and women in dark robes marked with a red moon. Most of them had their Shadows wrapped around their weapons, and with a few here and there keeping their Shadows in the form of a sacred beast or twisted monster.
Red Faith didn’t acknowledge those who saluted him, and they were wise enough to move out of his way. A young man with a Shadow in the form of a bushy-tailed crystalline fox bowed with fists pressed together, and Red Faith could feel sincere gratitude.
This was one of their most recent recruits, a young Truegold who had reached Underlord quickly thanks to Red Faith’s tutelage and sponsorship of his Shadow. Not long ago, Red Faith would have valued him highly, thinking of him as an investment in the research.
Now, he was useless. They were all useless.
Red Faith chewed on the knuckle of his thumb to calm himself down. They weren’t useless. They still had utility.
Anything could be used if it brought him closer to Yerin Arelius.
Lower-ranking agents ushered him down past the top few decks to the ballroom-sized audience hall where Red Faith’s Blood Shadow held court. Like a puppet pretending to be a king.
The entry to the audience hall was tall and wide enough to make one forget it was inside a ship, and the two agents on the doors hurried to open the towering double doors before Red Faith had to trouble himself.
But he was in a hurry, so he simply ordered them to open. They swung inward, pulling away from the hands of the agents.
The audience hall was cavernous—a waste of space bent to satisfy the arrogance of their sect’s other leader. The Herald of Redmoon Hall had developed a disastrous ego that fully blinded himself to practicality.
For instance, the Herald insisted on being referred to as “Redmoon.” How needlessly confusing. It made far more sense to adopt a title, as Red Faith himself had done.
The Herald hunched on a throne at the end of the hall, an inverted mirror of the Sage, scarlet where he was pale. While Red Faith had lost color in his skin and hair, his former Blood Shadow was all red. Bright scarlet hair trailing down his back, pink skin, and crimson eyes. The only spots of white on him were his Goldsigns, rivers of white trailing down from the corners of his eyes as though he wept milk.