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.
“Weaken,” the Sage commanded.
Commanding another’s body directly was his specialty, but when dealing with an opponent of this much power, it was easier to interfere with the aura and madra of techniques.
His attack was a perfectly coordinated combination that should have caused even a Monarch trouble.
As one, the dozens of controlled Redmoon Hall members turned to him and pushed against his command. His willpower should have shattered theirs, even combined, but the influence of the Silent King bolstered them.
His command broke. Even some of his birds in the air lost their animation, blasting off into the distance as raw packets of energy. His daggers dipped and lost force.
It was still a deadly barrage, but not enough. When the Herald released a sphere of madra, power drawn from both the Silent King and the Bleeding Phoenix, it was enough to tear the Sage’s attacks to pieces.
But Red Faith had cards left to play.
First, he summoned another dream construct from his void key. It detonated, sending waves of dream aura across the entire ship.
Several devices malfunctioned and some dream tablets might have been wiped, but most importantly the Ruler technique interfered with the Silent King’s control. The thralls had their concentration interrupted, and a few even shook off the crowns entirely.
Red Faith could continue to clash against Redmoon in their specialty, but no one was more aware of the strengths and weaknesses of blood madra than he was. Therefore, he had planned ahead.
A cauldron leaped out of his void key and hovered next to him. It was large enough that he could have curled up inside, and it was carved with disturbing images of spiders, centipedes, snakes, and other crawling creatures. It had been carved from ancient natural treasures soaked in the aura of death and venom.
And he had turned it into a launcher construct.
The cauldron tipped onto its side and opened its lid, releasing a blast of green-edged darkness that had gathered inside it for years.
There was a sound theoretical reason why most sacred artists used weapons instead of relying on constructs for everything: a construct’s output was largely static, while one could add their own power to the binding in a weapon. Such permanent sacred instruments were also better conductors for willpower, though most were ignorant of that principle.
The Blood Sage likewise understood that it was better to lean on one’s own power in battle…but this cauldron had its advantages. He had fed it power until it was a weapon beyond what even he could conjure himself.
The stream of green and black madra, the lethal aspects of venom and death braided together, struck like a Monarch.
It washed over Redmoon and blasted for miles in the distance. Forests died where the technique passed. The red light suffusing the air was briefly supplanted by an otherworldly green.
Yes, it was a strike worthy of him. And sufficient to defeat even his longtime rival, backed by the will of two Dreadgods.