He seized it with the goldsteel tongs, pointing out to Yerin where he needed incisions, but his instincts said the binding was somewhat strange. It looked more like an Enforcer binding, though the dreadbeast’s breath must have been a Striker technique. Striker techniques were usually elongated, with a clear input and output. Striker bindings this round were rare.
Still, he withdrew it and quickly placed it into a script-sealed box. Valuable materials were not to be wasted.
“Any more bindings, Dross?”
[None.]
That was also odd. Sometimes bindings didn’t survive the transformation into a Remnant, so you couldn’t always recover every technique the sacred artist had engraved into their spirit in life, but the dreadbeast’s spirit hadn’t become a Remnant. Surely it had more than one technique.
Lindon peeled away some veins of death madra as well—he wasn’t about to pass up free dead matter—but that wasn’t nearly as valuable as the binding. He only spent a few minutes stripping those lines out and coiling them into the box with the binding before he slammed it shut and slid it back into his void key.
“That’s an advanced binding,” Ziel observed. “What are you going to make with it?”
“I’ll have to see what it does first,” Lindon responded, but it was always going to become some kind of weapon. There weren’t too many other uses for death madra.
He supposed it should have a hunger aspect, too. He hadn’t sensed it, but then again, he hadn’t activated the binding. And sensing hunger madra here was like trying to sense water aura in the depths of the ocean.
Now that he’d gotten what he was going to get out of the dreadbeast’s corpse, it was safe to use the hand again.
He struggled with the awareness of the labyrinth the hand’s authority granted him, trying to unravel it into a map in his mind as the hand itself struggled against him. It shook his concentration and fought against him physically, practically dragging him down a tunnel before he figured out where they needed to go.
And then he wrestled it to a stop, because the hand was trying to pull him in two directions at once. It sprang to his left, but when he approached the tunnel on his left, it would suddenly lunge to the opening on his right.
It repeated that several times until some hungry ghouls clawed their way through the stone, and the others eradicated them. He had to tuck the hand away so it didn’t keep calling hostile attention.
“It looks like we have a choice,” Lindon said.
On the left, the tunnel was marked with a hammer. The Forger symbol from the Sacred Valley badges. On the right, it bore the scythe symbol. The crest of the Arelius founder. Of Ozriel.
The map had given him the layout, and a sense into the structure and pattern of the labyrinth itself, but very little into what the rooms contained. That was what the symbols were for, and given the choice between an ordinary Soulsmith room and one left behind by Ozriel, the conclusion was clear.
“Easy decision,” Lindon said as he led the way into the tunnel. Eithan followed him immediately, but Yerin was stopped by a thrown hand from Ziel.
“Hang on,” he said. “The script is diff—”
The tunnel entrance vanished.
Leaving Lindon and Eithan locked inside.
The scripted lights on the ceiling still cast dim illumination over them, but Lindon added to it with his black dragon’s breath. It did absolutely nothing, which he had expected.
He could sense the authority hanging over this whole place. It was inviolable.
Lindon drew up his will and prepared to challenge that.
Eithan rested a hand on his shoulder, but he wasn’t watching Lindon. He was looking up and around him, tracing his bloodline power. “I can’t see through the walls here,” he said, “but there’s a way around. They’ll stay in place. We can loop around and find them.”
“Hurry,” Lindon said, setting off down the tunnel. “I don’t like our odds in here with just us.”
Little Blue burbled a reminder in his ear.
“I was counting you,” he protested.
[You weren’t counting me,] Dross said.
That was true.
“Ah, four and four!” Eithan said. “We’ve been divided in half. What a…fortuitous coincidence.”
Lindon thought about the living techniques that had tracked them. He looked to the walls, with the authority on them, which required living intention to maintain.
Someone was controlling this place. Subject One.
The Soul Cloak sprung up around him. “Keep up,” he said shortly.