Dreadgod (Cradle Book 11) (90)

Only one figure remained in the sky, and it still wore a white crown. It looked like a man from the neck down, but its arms were outspread wings that seemed made of gel. Its head was a twisted, monstrous abomination that resembled a beaked wolf.

Of course, the whole thing was crimson. Yerin was getting sick of that color.

Redmoon’s Remnant opened its beak and let out a shriek, and a piercing pain shot through Yerin’s head and spirit.

“The Silent King can exert greater control over Remnants,” the Sage said. He had a purple rune-circle over his own forehead; no doubt a security measure like the one Lindon had made for her. “Guard your mind.”

Yerin gently kicked Little Blue up into her waiting hand. “Thanks. You’ll have to tell me how the fight wraps up.”

Then she transported herself away.

As soon as she landed on a cliff overlooking the cloud fortress, she felt the oath she’d taken tighten around her. Until the conflict resolved, she was supposed to act as though Redmoon Hall was her own sect. She wouldn’t leave her own sect in danger.

The oath gripped her spirit tight, but she argued with it.

If the Silent King was after anyone, it was her. The Dreadgod was the real threat here, and Redmoon was just the sword he wielded. By leaving, she was drawing attention away from the others.

Pressure loosened from around her spirit. A little.

She opened herself up to the surrounding aura, sensing the harmony of the world around her. If she could convince herself she was retreating to figure out her next advancement, maybe she could deceive the oath.

Immediately, the grip tightened around her madra channels again. She shouldn’t have thought of it as a deception.

And it wasn’t, she told herself. She would of course retreat from a fight if she thought she had a chance of advancing and returning to tip the scales.

The oath allowed that, but it felt reluctant.

Yerin grumbled at the thought of a soul oath making decisions and judging her. The oath was nothing more than a technique; the mind she wrestled with was her own. So she had to be honest.

As the battle raged in Redmoon Hall, she opened herself up to the aura and thought.

Archlord advancement was about deciding who she wanted to be, the Blood Sage had told her. Others said it was about discovering the goals for the future she already had.

So what did she want to do in the future? What did she want to do forever?

It was a little disturbing how easily the answer came to her: she wanted to fight.

But fight what? Fight who? Whoever she wanted didn’t seem like the right answer for an Archlord advancement.

She thought of the Herald, Redmoon. His Remnant, whose techniques even now lit the sky red. It reminded her of a memory from years ago, one that was fresh because she had recently pulled it up for the Blood Sage’s research.

When they crouched in a basement during a Dreadgod attack, Eithan had asked her if she wanted to be powerful enough to fight the Bleeding Phoenix. She had imagined herself matching people like Malice, fighting the monster that had haunted her entire life.

And a spark of joy had ignited deep inside her.

She felt that same joy now, buried under layers of fear. If not for the oath, if not for Little Blue’s safety, if not for the fact that part of her wanted Redmoon Hall to tear itself apart, if not for her desire to leave and go help her friends…

She would want to fight Redmoon’s Remnant.

It was a monster. Someone needed to fight that monster.

And she wanted to be the one to do it.

The aura around her quivered, and she pulled natural treasures from her void key. Before she left home, Yerin had started collecting natural treasures herself, gathering them from her master’s belongings and hunting them down on her own, only to have Lindon present her with a fully balanced set of treasures already sealed in a package.

She removed the scripted box from her void key and unlatched the lid, releasing twelve treasures that shone with great power. They twisted and empowered the surrounding aura with their very existence, kicking up a cyclone and filling it with a blizzard.

Yerin felt the thralls of the Silent King turn their attention to her. Little Blue cooed a question.

“Yeah,” Yerin responded, “we’ll have to cut this quick.”





The Sage of Red Faith hated Herald Remnants.

The difference between a Herald’s body and their spirit was minimal, so their Remnants were not only more physically robust, but they tended to retain a greater measure of their original will. Even so, it was almost unheard-of for a Remnant to be stronger than the sacred artist that left it behind, so this should have been a glorious moment for Red Faith.

Here he was, putting an end to his rival after so long. Proving himself correct.

But it wasn’t that simple.

Red Faith was hounded by lesser techniques from the members of Redmoon Hall weak enough to be taken over by the Silent King. They were a constant distraction, though the loyal members of the Hall engaged them in combat.

He released a thousand Striker techniques, animated birds filled with his will. At the same time as they flew for Redmoon’s monstrous beaked Remnant, Red Faith released his nine daggers and controlled them according to a pattern he’d worked out years ago.

A less-skilled sacred artist wouldn’t be able to control even one of Red Faith’s techniques, but he had a longer history than most Monarchs. His flock of Striker techniques was a coordinated symphony, his daggers were a precise military strike, and he still had enough concentration left to focus on the crimson power surrounding the spirit.