“They haven’t checked in yet, and a number of squads were pinned down on the eastern slope. There.”
She pointed, and it was easy to see what she meant. An Overlord-level battle had erupted involving Emperor Naru Huan himself.
He swept great swathes of destructive green wind madra at his enemy, swinging his Blackflame greatsword in both hands, while his opponent controlled a pair of gold-and-blue serpentine dragons made of madra. A Stormcaller.
Jai Long had seen them in battle many times already, though he hadn’t crossed spears with them. It usually disturbed him that his sacred arts were so similar to a Dreadgod cult’s, but this time his throat was tight.
Kelsa and his sister were trapped behind that. Every Striker technique tore a new path through a forest and broke the clouds apart.
But the soulfire was still crawling through his veins. Slower, it seemed, every hour. There was nothing he could do.
He pressed his fists together and bowed to the Skysworn woman. “Please send someone to inform me when they check in,” he said. She gave him a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder.
“By this time tomorrow, you’ll be an Underlord. You’ll be able to take revenge yourself.”
Jai Long didn’t care what was going to happen tomorrow. He needed results today. And he was still more capable than any Lowgold, even mid-advancement as he was.
So he walked back to his tent, grabbed his spear, and changed into a nondescript outer robe that he stole from an unattended trunk. He veiled his spirit—as best he could, though the soulfire running through his channels meant that he wouldn’t stand up to a direct scan—and unwrapped his face.
Jai Long’s advancement to Gold had left him with an unfortunate Goldsign: sharp fangs of blue light and cheeks split deeply down his jaw to show them off. Usually, he kept his face covered to both protect his reputation and to spare others the sight.
Usually.
He hoped the advancement to Underlord would fix him, but thus far he’d kept the soulfire refining his spirit, not his body, in order to get him into fighting shape faster. It had slipped into his bones and organs anyway, even some of his limbs, but he’d managed to keep the soulfire away from his face.
While it might fix him, it might instead make things worse, and he didn’t want to find out until the last possible second. And, more relevant to his current predicament: no one knew what he looked like.
He strode out of the Blackflame Empire’s camp without anyone stopping him. He had to show his rank chip three times to be allowed to leave, but no one questioned a peak Truegold going out to fight.
It was perfect timing, in a sense. An Underlord would be too advanced to leave unquestioned, and a Highgold too weak.
He wouldn’t be able to re-enter the camp without a direct scan of his spirit, which would reveal him, but he shouldn’t need to hide then. He wouldn’t be alone.
Or he wouldn’t be returning.
He filled the body with his Enforcer technique. His inconsistently baptized channels meant that the technique was imbalanced, half-powerful and half-weak, so the snaking white lines of madra that covered his skin flickered between the verge of vanishing and shining brighter than ever.
His stride was just as uneven as the technique; he would dash forward, then stumble as strength left him, then shoot off far faster than he intended as his Enforcer technique gave him more of a boost. He kept his perception extended in case his team was on their way back, which had similar drawbacks; the distance and clarity of his spiritual sense varied by the second. But he made progress quickly, and soon he passed beneath the Overlord battle.
Which immediately proved to be a mistake.
The battle was hardly stationary; the two sacred artists were zipping across the sky. Jai Long had balanced slipping past them with staying out of the way, but there was only so much he could do.
A blast of wind from the Emperor tore apart a tree to his right, and he was caught with an enhanced gust of wind that tossed him thirty feet back and peppered him with sharp splinters.
He managed to land on his feet and block his eyes with an arm, but his body was covered with tiny cuts and scratches. If the attack had been a few yards closer, it would have shattered every bone in his body. At best.
Jai Long plunged forward.
Lightning dragons screamed through the sky and hands of wind hurled trees, but he kept his eyes and perception ahead. So he saw immediately when a beam of pink light streamed into the sky at an angle.
Jai Long brightened and kicked off again as soon as he could. That was Fingerling’s fire breath; he would know it anywhere. Then the light flashed red, and he felt a sudden surge of overwhelming power.
It was Redmoon Hall. He was certain.
Through sheer will, he squeezed every ounce of speed out of his Enforcer technique. There were no more signs of battle coming from that direction, and he tried not to think about what that would mean. His heart pounded in his throat, and his breath was harsh. He gripped the spear so tight he thought he might snap it.
He crested a hill, and thus saw the source of the blood madra at the same time as he sensed it.
Yerin sat with her arms crossed in the center of a circle of blasted trees, looking sullen, as Eithan danced from one side of a narrow pass to the other at Archlord speed to cut off the retreat of a bunch of Stormcallers. Who looked very frightened.
Jai Long’s squad was battered and burned…but they were alive.
Mercy was there, holding Orthos and Little Blue, and it seemed like she was lecturing Yerin about something.
Jai Chen was on her knees, catching her breath, while an agitated Fingerling swirled in the air over her head. Kelsa was nearby, her Foxfire tail lashing. She faced a Lowgold Stormcaller who shuffled from foot to foot nervously and kept glancing behind him.
Jai Long’s relief almost disrupted his breathing and cut off his Enforcer technique, but he seized the cycling pattern at the last second and dashed down. It only took him a moment to arrive.
He awkwardly tucked away his spear and wrapped his face as he ran. He wouldn’t want to disgust anyone.
“…least he was an Underlord,” Yerin muttered. “Not like I threw a Copper into the sun.”
Mercy shook her head. “No, I’m not saying your heart wasn’t in the right place! But he was as helpless against you as our team was against him.”
“They can keep his Remnant, supposing they still want it.”
A miniature Remnant version of the Weeping Dragon slunk along the ground, shooting fearful glances at Yerin. Nearby, an unidentifiable pile told Jai Long what had happened to the spirit’s body.
“It’s very important that we adhere to the rules of fair play!” Eithan called, blocking another escape attempt by the handful of Golds. “Speaking of which, how’s the duel going?”
Kelsa gestured to her opponent, who was on his knees. “He surrendered.”
“That makes one victory for us! Or…Yerin, do you think your sudden ambush of an Underlord should count as a victory?”
The dragon-Remnant whimpered.
“I don’t feel good about this,” Kelsa muttered.
Eithan nodded in understanding. “Ah yes, by all means let us return to murdering each other more honorably.”
Mercy slammed her staff into the ground, and shadow pulsed out from the base. The Stormcallers flinched back. “There are reasons for this, and you know it! No one wants a slaughter where only the most advanced sacred artists survive!”