Underlord (Cradle #6)(57)

The most important among the wounded, the ones who would usually have been given rooms inside the city, were still given special attention. But they couldn’t get through the walls. Even the sky over the walls had been locked down after too many cloudships had run out of power and been forced to make emergency landings.

Lindon had heard that the Seishen Kingdom attack hadn't cost too many lives, as these things went, but hearing the moans and screams from agonized wounded, it was easier to imagine that the Blackflame Empire had been massacred.

Though Lindon could see nothing of the suffering patients, because he had a tent of his own. And a bed. A bundle of yellow-striped flowers on a table beside him, radiating calming dream aura that even soothed his spirit. Steady rain pattered down, but the fabric of the tent was flawless.

A medical attendant from the Brightcrown family stood inside his tent, attending to Lindon alone, hands folded in front of him. Lindon had wondered about the family name before he’d seen one; each member of the family had a floating golden crown over their heads. As the Arelius family commanded the cleaning crews and maintenance workers all across the Empire, so the Brightcrowns controlled organized medicine.

Lindon made a show of rubbing salve over his wounds again. The wounds were still raw, but it had been about twelve hours since the battle—his Bloodforged Iron body had taken care of the worst of his injuries already.

“I'm really feeling much better,” Lindon said, twisting his left arm to demonstrate. It stung, but he didn't show that on his face. “I think it's time for me to leave. I can only imagine how busy you are.”

Somewhere nearby, a grown man sobbed.

The Brightcrown healer—a small, tidy Highgold with gray at his temples—bowed to Lindon. “To answer the Truegold, I could not live with myself if I allowed you to leave before your treatment was complete, especially not in this rain. The reputation of my family is at stake.”

Extending both hands, he sent a breath of golden madra toward Lindon. It not only eased his wounds, but gave him a pleasantly peaceful feeling that made him feel as though he'd had a long night's sleep.

They'd had this exchange a dozen times already over the course of the night. Lindon had returned with Yerin in his arms, both of them covered in blood, with Mercy stumbling exhaustedly after them. Lindon had no idea where Mercy had gone since, but she was unhurt.

He'd kept his spiritual sense locked on Yerin, who was in a tent of her own only two hundred yards away. She needed the attention.

But the Brightcrowns had scanned him, then immediately shuttled him into this tent, with a personal attendant.

“I do not need all this,” Lindon said firmly. He had initially considered his wounds merely scratches, but the course of the night had made him realize that they were deeper than he had imagined. And there were more of them. Even so, he should have been in and out in two hours.

“You are a Truegold ranked among the top one hundred combatants. It is my duty to return you to battlefield condition as soon as possible.”

That was new. “Top one hundred?” Lindon asked.

The man smiled proudly, brandishing a sheet of paper. “I received confirmation only minutes ago. The oracles convened last night, examining what they could of the battle.”

He bowed, ushering the raindrop-stained paper to Lindon. It was a listing of one hundred names, in order; at the top were the words “Truegold Combat Ranking 1-100.”

“Pardon me if you were already aware, but this is an incredible honor. There are fewer Truegolds than Highgolds, certainly, but the top one hundred is even more competitive than the Highgold list. The truly talented do not stay at Highgold; they spend most of their lives at Truegold. And this list does not discriminate by age. The top ten are all old monsters that can compete with some Underlords.”

Toward the bottom of the list, Lindon saw his name: Wei Shi Lindon Arelius, Path of Black Flame. Age: Eighteen. Backing: Arelius family.

Number ninety-six.

[Eighteen years old?] Dross said. [Sorry, I know I’m supposed to be focused on your rank, but…are they sure? I thought eighteen-year-old humans were supposed to be fresh-faced and youthful.]

Lindon was surprised by his age, too.

By the standards of Sacred Valley, he would be considered seventeen still, so these Blackflame oracles must have scanned his biological age. Even so, he couldn’t believe that his second autumn since leaving home had ended while he was in Ghostwater. In all that time, he had climbed higher than he had ever imagined.

Ninety-six. It was only a ranking, and he still had a long road to travel, but his spirits lifted. This was proof of how far he'd come.

He pulled on the shadesilk ribbon around his neck, hauling out the golden hammer badge. Soon, he would be trading it out for...what was the color of the badge that represented Underlord? He would have to check.

[Oh, and look who's eighty-seven!]

Drawn by Dross, Lindon scanned up the list until he saw another name.

Yerin Arelius, Path of the Endless Sword. Age: Nineteen. Backing: Arelius family. Number eighty-seven.

Nine places higher than his.

[You’re closing in!] Dross said. [And just to think, you've come so far since you started. I imagine.]

Lindon stared at the number next to Yerin's name. It wasn't jealousy he was feeling. He knew his power wouldn't stay the same for long, and Yerin wouldn't care what some paper said her strength was anyway. If he had to put a name to it, he would call it despair.