“I’m glad you found what you were looking for,” Cassias said.
Eithan seemed to know what he meant, because he nodded. “Everything’s finally—”
With a slap to his own mouth, Eithan cut himself off. The slap made such a loud explosion that Cassias shot up, cycling his madra against an attack.
Eithan gave a heavy breath of relief. “I almost said ‘Everything’s finally perfect.’ Can you imagine what a mistake that would have been? I can’t afford to tempt fate like that.”
Cassias was happy for him, he really was, but he still kicked Eithan off the tower.
It felt just as good as the Emperor had promised.
Reigan Shen coughed up blood, which wasn’t as bad a sign as it seemed.
Nine flying tridents wove around him each glowing with the soft green flame of death madra. He directed the Nightstone Spear Formation according to a method passed down for generations on the Iceflower continent.
They swept through in a complex pattern, butchering the army of blood spirits that filled this massive chamber. He had to fuel their flight by scattering his own natural treasures, given the lack of wind aura here, but their performance was worth it.
The Blood Core’s prison looked identical to the one that had held the Storm Core, except instead of being covered in flowing blue crystals, this one was filled with semi-liquid beings that hungered to consume flesh. The second Reigan Shen had blasted his way in here, he’d been flooded by a tide of blood spirits.
The rich blood aura was too much for his weakened body, especially combined with the half-formed Ruler techniques of this host. Blood oozed from his eyes, from the smallest of scratches, and pooled in his chest.
Perhaps a human would have died. Reigan Shen didn’t know. He wore his human form like a cloak.
And lions were not so fragile. He maintained his concentration, focusing his will on the nine tridents as they wove a complex web of green death throughout the room.
In seconds, there was silence except for the red liquid spattering to the stone floor.
The pressure on Shen’s veins eased up, and he wiped off his lips with the back of one hand. The Blood Core sent a crimson pillar of light up to the ceiling. If not for the suppression field, its power would have blasted through the entire mountain and pierced the sky.
Then again, if it weren’t for the suppression field, the Blood Core would have no reason to be here.
Shen readied the second of the four silver containers he had prepared. He’d chosen the order of this operation very carefully.
If he had removed the Titan Core to the west, the golden beam currently streaming into the sky would have been interrupted. Everyone in a hundred miles would notice.
Likewise with the east. When he removed the Silent Core from beneath Mount Samara, its ring would begin to fade within a day.
He had spent almost a year living here, in his own personal Netherworld of private torment, taking his time at every turn. He had mapped and cleared the routes between all four peaks, disabled countless scripts, and even tampered with the great script-circle that maintained the suppression field. All to allow this.
When the locals noticed, it would only be a matter of time before the other Monarchs did as well.
This was the last step he could perform slowly. Soon, the race would begin.
Reigan Shen seized the Blood Core, as large around as his own midsection, and shoved it toward the opening of a silver, rectangular case small enough to fit in one hand.
Space distorted as the Core was slurped inside, like water draining.
He could rest now, catch his breath, take his time. Only when the next step began would he have to rush.
For now, he simply had to take the Blood Core to the south and return it. To where it had always belonged.
Lindon strode through the school building that the city had given him, watching the rows of students wearing burnt orange and pale blue.
There were about forty of them, all younger than Lindon himself, most Copper or Iron. They had gone through the training to cleanse their madra, returning it to a pure state—if they had been too advanced, it wouldn’t have worked.
Now they had their eyes closed, cycling clumsily according to a spiritual Enforcer technique that Lindon had taught them.
The Heart of Twin Stars.
Lindon had to point out mistakes here and there, but for the most part, their madra control was more than good enough for the technique. And they weren’t splitting their cores today; this was only a cycling technique to prepare them.
Under Lindon’s supervision, they should have an easier time than he himself had. But his stomach rolled as he sensed them.