Reaper (Cradle Book 10) Read online

  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.

  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.

  Red Faith’s own Goldsigns, bright like trails of blood, made far more sense. And were certainly more useful for intimidating and disconcerting the masses for a psychological advantage.

  The Herald had dismissed several Emissaries when he felt the Sage coming, and those Emissaries saluted with their red-covered weapons before they left the room. Red Faith barely saw them. He was fixed on his opposite. His failed clone.

  “You’re wasting your time on this farce?” Red Faith demanded as the doors shut behind him. “That you remain here instead of hunting for Yerin Arelius, as I have done, only proves that you do not deserve the independence you stole.”

  The Herald, Redmoon, cocked his head to one side. “That you believe searching on your own is more efficient than leveraging an organization establishes to me that you should have ceded to me in our union. The body should always be subordinate to the mind.”

  “I am the mind! You are the body!” Red Faith wanted to scratch his own eyes out. “The Sage advances through understanding, and the Herald through brute force!”

  “Such shallow understanding for one who calls himself a Sage. You were born flesh and bone, while I was born from the spirit. My origin is that of the mind and the soul, and if I were allowed to lead our union, it would be Reigan Shen who begged our support rather than the reverse.”

  Red Faith bit into the skin of his hand, letting the taste of blood and the flow of aura calm him. “Let us at least agree that the perfect fusion is our highest priority.”

  “She is living proof of the validity of our research. Your opinion of me cannot be so low that you think I would abandon our ambition.”

  It was his ambition, which the former Remnant Redmoon had only stolen, but Red Faith didn’t quibble over semantics.

  “Good. Then, since you have such faith in the Hall, tell me what you have learned.”

  Redmoon stared at him and began chewing on a fingernail. Red Faith left him to think. After a long pause, the Herald finally spoke.

  “She is not hard t
o locate with spiritual perception, so we found her weeks ago, but I instructed my Emissaries not to approach.”

  Red Faith’s jaw slowly dropped. He wasn’t sure which would win in the confrontation between his astonishment and his rage.

  “I knew it,” he whispered. “You sabotage our efforts.”

  Redmoon spat a bit of fingernail onto the floor. “If you believe you are the mind in our relationship, then it should not trouble you so much to think. What will Yerin Arelius do if we approach, or anyone approaches her on our behalf?”

  She would inevitably not cooperate, and with the Moonlight Bridge, it would be difficult to find her once she fled. Especially for the Herald, who could not follow through space as Red Faith could.

  Though, granted, it would be complex to track her even for him.

  “You would let shadows of possibility stop you from attempting to attain ultimate power?”

  “We could kidnap Lindon Arelius or Eithan Arelius and hold them hostage in exchange for her cooperation. I suppose that is what you would do, short-sighted as you are.”

  Red Faith’s entire frustration came from the fact that he couldn’t simply threaten a hostage and force Yerin to obey. He needed her to work with him willingly; it would be too easy for her to deceive or harm him otherwise, unless she was positively wrapped in soul oaths.

  Even that was not a viable option. He intended to fuel her advancement as part of his experiments. Who would freely sharpen a weapon that could turn on its user’s throat?

  “That you think my view is so narrow only proves that your own vision is lacking,” Red Faith said. “She is one who hated her Blood Shadow, hated us, hated the Phoenix, but who carefully cultivated a clone Shadow because she recognized its potential for power. She will be persuaded by the promise of more, but only if we find her and make that promise!”

  Identical scowls clashed as Sage and Herald glared at one another from opposite sides of the hall.

  Both of them calmed down and thought for a moment of silence. Red Faith thought about the situation. He considered Yerin’s perspective, and how he thought they should act.