Orthos scurried up to the skeleton, pulling out a scrap of paper that had been tucked away in the would-be tomb robber’s clothes.
Lindon focused his perception on the rest of the body, trying to sense anything with even a trace of power, but either the years or other explorers had taken everything of value.
Meanwhile, Orthos was reading the paper.
“He was writing a warning to a team coming after him,” Orthos rumbled. “He warns against a guardian. He says it has powers beyond his understanding, and calls it…a baby Dreadgod. The Tomb Hydra.”
Unwilling to rely solely on his spiritual sense, Lindon had been flipping through the dead man’s pockets with his hand. After he flipped open the front of the man’s robes, his fingers stopped.
The skeleton was wearing a badge. A white badge.
Unlike Lindon’s, this one was carved with the symbol of a cloud, but quick inspection revealed this to be wintersteel-plated bronze. If Lindon understood Eithan’s history lesson correctly, that meant this man had been a Sage.
Orthos snorted smoke over the document. “His power was weighed down by the field. We won’t be as weak as he was.”
Lindon hesitated, halfway between pocketing this badge. Had Orthos not seen it? Did he not realize how advanced this sacred artist had been?
“Orthos…”
“I saw it,” the turtle said.
Lindon nodded and slipped the badge into his pocket. There was no need to ask if Eithan had seen it; indeed, the Archlord was already calling out to the rest of the room.
“It seems we’re about to reach a guardian known as the Tomb Hydra, powerful enough to cause a Sage to tremble in fear, and likened to a Dreadgod. Probably not without cause, given that somewhere in here is the birthplace of the Dreadgods. Who’s frightened?”
Lindon wished he had his right arm at full capacity, but he wasn’t frightened.
Mercy shrugged.
Yerin brightened, her crimson eyes sparkling. “You’re thinking we get a real fight?”
“The suppression field worked on everything,” Ziel pointed out. “It shouldn’t be able to take us at full power unless it’s a real Dreadgod. Then we’re dead.”
Dross materialized in front of Lindon again, his color still too pale and washed-out. [It is good to be optimistic. You will perform better if your spirits are up. But defeat here is not the greatest risk. We should consider the fact that any madra or soulfire we expend in this battle will be difficult, if not impossible, to replace. Our power is finite.]
Everyone grew more grim, except Eithan, who beamed at Dross. “Thank you for reintroducing some tension to the situation, Dross!”
[You’re welcome. Ha ha.]
The fake laugh told Lindon that Dross thought he’d told a joke, but Lindon wasn’t sure which part the joke was supposed to be.
Space shifted again, and suddenly there was an opening in front of Yerin. She shot to her feet as deadly green-black aura blew out of the tunnel like a toxic wind.
It battered at her lifeline, but Lindon wasn’t concerned about her. She was a Herald now; aura of this level wouldn’t be able to touch her unless she lived in it for years. He was more concerned for Mercy, and he moved to stand in front of her. He reinforced his protection of Orthos and Little Blue as he did so.
Mercy gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks! I can handle it for a while, but I’d rather be in combat shape.”
Lindon nodded back and headed into a tunnel marked with a pair of crossed swords. And toward the monster that waited there.
“Good thing it hasn’t attacked us yet!” Eithan shouted.
It immediately attacked.
11
From deep in the tunnel that crawled with death aura, a beam of pale, sickly green light blasted toward Lindon and the others. It tore through the air, filled with malevolent willpower, pressing heavy against Lindon’s Sage senses like one of the Wandering Titan’s casual attacks.
Everyone had techniques ready to defend themselves, but Yerin met the attack first. She stood in front, her scarlet sword-arms extended, the black sword Netherclaw in both hands. It shone with a silver-red light as she used the weapon Enforcer technique of her Path: the Flowing Sword.
The beam of condensed death madra crashed into the tip of her sword and splintered, smaller beams breaking off and scouring the walls. Any living thing would be annihilated by that Striker technique, but the stones were not only enforced with authority, but they were also stones. The death madra was harmless.
Yerin’s lock of red hair whipped in the wind caused by the clash between their techniques, but she didn’t take a step backwards. She pushed forward a step, shoving against the enemy technique.