Chapter Text
Lindon rolled the warm marble in his fingers the way he did after every death, contemplating the failure that had brought him back to this anchor in fate. He did not listen while the Patriarch spoke, he had every word memorized.
“Young Lindon, there is no dishonor if you remove yourself from the stage. Rather, we would respect your wisdom in deferring to your betters.”
Once he would have burned under the burden of shame Wei Jin Sairus was attempting to place on him. Once he would have refused the offer and cheated his way to victory just to prove himself. Once he would have used this as an opportunity to negotiate for something he wanted.
Now though he walked a different path.
“Honored Elder, this one thanks you for the chance to show wisdom as well as courage and withdraws from the match.”
Wei Jin Amon could never be a problem for him to face. He had fought him so many times it was as if Dross had modeled his every possible move; Lindon could humiliate him a hundred ways without ever touching the buried remnants. There was nothing to be gained from the fight anymore though, so he bowed to the Patriarch and the Elder’s of the Four Schools and exited the stage.
He had to move fast now; timing was essential at this point. The exhibition match was the final match of the first day of the Seven Year Festival and soon thousands of sacred artists would flow out of the stands and back to their lodging. Working quickly, he pulled his wooden badge from around his neck and a small knife from his pack, which he had picked up as he walked. Sure hands carved an intricate script into the back of the badge, as detailed as possible in the limited space. He finished the script at the same time as he reached the last animated statue of Elder Whisper and slipped the shadesilk over his head. A brief pulse of madra into an unobtrusive panel on the statue pillar opened a small chamber where sat a crystal vial filled with White Fox madra.
The statue grew still as he removed the vial, the white fox’s eyes frozen accusingly upon Lindon. He ignored it. With a flex of madra, he powered the script using the vial and vanished from view, the aura of dreams and illusion hiding him from natural sight. He used to veil his spirit at this point as well, but no one had ever noticed his miniscule spirit. He picked up his pace and headed for the Li encampment.
Every clan rewarded those who acquitted themselves well at the Seven Year Festival with resources and elixirs, the Li were the only ones ostentatious enough to plan on presenting extravagant prizes to their victors in front of the other clans. It was a decent plan in the case that their artist put forward a particularly good showing. Rewarding a Li victor with fantastic treasures would display not only their martial strength, but also their wealth. Unfortunately for them, Lindon knew where those treasures were kept.
His brisk walk had brought him deep into the nearly abandoned Li camp. Occasional clansmen that hadn’t been able to attend the festival dotted the encampment, but it was the two alert Iron’s guarding a specific tent that Lindon cared about. When he was about 100 feet away from them he paused for a brief moment to twist the fitting of an iron lamp before continuing his relentless pace. Right as he reached the guards, the wind picked up and the lamp fell, drawing their attention and breaking their form. Lindon slipped between them without breaking his stride.
Inside the tent was a chest, surrounded by protective scripts of the highest quality —for Sacred Valley that is. Lindon broke them with two silent bursts of pure madra and opened his prize, a dozen elixirs from the Fallen Leaf School, designed to help Irons advance to Jade; they were more than enough for an Unsouled. He took only a single green pill and closed the chest. The Void inside him wept to leave behind even such a paltry treasure by the standards of anyone in the real world, but the benefit from having those elixirs was not worth the chaos the Valley was thrown into in times where he took them all. With only one missing, the Li would look at themselves and the guards rather than the other clans.
He swallowed the elixir and began cycling in a pattern he had developed many lifetimes ago, designed purely to accelerate the processing of sacred fruits and elixirs —or power gained through the Consume technique.
He hit Copper before he left the camp, his feet pointed straight for Mount Samara.