Underlord (Cradle #6)(97)

The effort had left him strained and exhausted. His madra channels had been in better condition, his body trembled with effort, and his Remnant arm was a mangled, useless mess that bled white sparks of color into the air. But all of those problems could be solved.

Then he heard a wordless shout from down the hall.

A helmeted Seishen Daji sprinted at him, his armor dimly glowing gold at the joints, a sword in each hand.

Bloody swords.

At the sight of him, Lindon felt an instant of fear. Not for himself.

The second prince had been fighting Mercy.

The fear turned to anger, and he used his void key. The cannons were not the only weapons he'd prepared for today. He would see if the younger brother could stand up to the same punishment as the older.

Daji pointed his swords, and then Strings of Shadow grabbed him around the arms and shoulders, pulling him around the corner.

Lindon stared, blinking at nothing, for a frozen moment.

[Looks like she's fine,] Dross said. [Onward, to Underlord!]

Lindon reached into the void space, seizing the bundle of natural treasures he'd arranged for his advancement, spilling them out onto the ground. Hastily, he sat down, calming his spirit and reaching out.

The unity of aura came easily now. He felt connected to the displays around him, like deep pools out of reach, and the soulfire inside him trembled. He spent a moment breathing, cycling, steadying the connection.

From his soulspace, he pulled the Archstone, placing it on the ground in front of him. His Remnant arm dangled from his elbow, twitching occasionally, growing weaker by the second. He had to grab it with his left hand, placing the right palm on top of the Archstone.

The arm’s binding was unstable. He could use it maybe one more time, and the longer he waited, the less likely he would be to succeed.

The time had come.

“I follow my Path,” Lindon said, “so I won't be worthless anymore.”

For an instant, his perception expanded, so that he touched all the aura in the vault. Just for a moment.

The transformation began.

Soulfire flooded out of him, passing through his clothes and armor without harming them, consuming the natural treasures piled around him. The gray fire swelled until he blazed with it. Then it focused in on him.

Everywhere the soulfire passed, he was reborn. Remade. His madra channels were rebuilt even as they burned away, his bones strengthened and reinforced, impurities in his spirit cleansed. It wasn't painful; it felt like being scrubbed clean for the first time in his life.

He couldn't move his body well, but he could still control his spirit.

He triggered the hunger binding in his arm, then thanked the heavens when it worked.

The power in the Archstone churned like water swirling down an unplugged drain, funneling down into his arm. The limb flooded with power, far more than it could normally hold, but Lindon kept the binding going. Only an instant later, the stone cracked, shattering into pieces.

And Lindon took control.

He had practiced this next part with Dross. He touched the fragments with his pure madra, binding them to his Remnant arm. He focused his will on Forging them together, holding the image of his new arm in his mind. The power of ghostwater made it easy to keep the images in his mind, and the simulated practice gave him perfect timing.

Shredded pieces of white madra melded together, fusing to the limb and repairing it, chunks of madra filling in as he watched. The jagged edges of the skeletal Remnant arm smoothed out according to his mental vision, forming into a rough model of a human hand.

The true transformation began as the soulfire passed through the arm. It burned away the weakest elements in the madra, strengthening what remained, restructuring it to better conduct power. If he hadn't reinforced it with Lord-level madra, the limb wouldn't have had enough material left to stay intact, and would have fallen apart. Now, when the soulfire passed, he was left with a perfect human arm, a match for his left, only pure white.

At least he didn't have a monstrous arm anymore.

The soulfire passed over Dross...and left him untouched.

[Ah. That's disappointing. I was hoping to get double-soulfired. That's not how it works, I know, you don't have to say anything.] A moment later, he added, [Have you, perhaps…checked on Yerin recently?]

Now that Dross mentioned it, Lindon could feel an overwhelming sensation of life madra coming from near Yerin. He practically couldn’t feel her at all.

Alarm shot through the pleasure of advancement, and Lindon urged the soulfire to hurry, but he could no more speed up the transformation than he could speed up the tides. He cycled his madra, bolstering his spirit, but there was little he could do.

Life madra raged, and Yerin was certainly fighting for her life. And here he was, with no option but to wait.

Though the change was not physically painful, every wasted second was agony. The soulfire gradually continued its transformation, changing him from the soles of his feet to the tips of his hair. Slowly, the soulfire died out, and his eyes opened.

With no time to waste, Lindon expanded his spiritual sense. It unfolded stronger than ever before. He could feel everyone so much more clearly. Mercy seemed...better than ever, actually.

Then he found Yerin.

Ignoring Kiro, Lindon ran back to the crossroads.

Kiro finally staggered out of the dream display behind him, and Lindon could feel the prince’s spirit. It was unsteady, but getting steadier. He had to save Yerin before Kiro caught up.