that had once been the peak of Mount Samara, silently counting his broken bones. He had blocked the madra with his own, then cushioned the impact of his fall with aura while strengthening his Archlord body with soulfire.
Even so, he hadn’t fully recovered his power since spending so long in Sacred Valley, and here he was back in it again. Not to mention that he had taken a blow from the Titan head-on.
There were parts of the world where “hitting like a Dreadgod” was a common saying. It did not do the experience justice.
He realized immediately when Dross contacted him and accelerated his perception of time. It happened when he was in the middle of tenderly extending one thread of madra to activate his void key, hoping to pull out some more of his medical supplies. He’d drunk more medicine than water, these past few days; clearly he was off his game.
“How many ways have you split yourself, Dross?” Eithan asked, before the spirit had fully manifested to him.
[Six,] Dross panted. [It’s…a lot, but I’m fine. Maybe. I’m probably fine.]
“Well, don’t waste your valuable time on me,” he said. “Just tell me my role.” He admired how sprightly his voice still sounded, despite the state of his ribs. And every other part of his body.
[Perfect! The Titan is going to throw a Striker technique at Lindon, and I need you to stop it from hitting him.]
“Where? I’m not quite as ambulatory as usual.”
[We’ll get you down, don’t worry. Just worry about stopping the technique. Please do worry about that.]
Eithan tried to make a gesture of agreement, but his hand was trapped beneath his body. And it pulsed with pain, except for his fingertips, which were completely numb.
That could be a problem, he thought.
“No problem!” he said.
Dross made a relieved sound and vanished, leaving Eithan alone to think. That was good, because he needed the time.
How was he supposed to block a Dreadgod’s technique in this condition?
When time froze, the pressure on Yerin didn’t let up. From her perspective, the sky was covered by the Wandering Titan’s foot, and while it hadn’t plunged down on her yet, it couldn’t be far off.
The pressure she felt was from the Titan’s spirit, pressing down on her almost as heavily as if the Dreadgod was already standing on her. She held her two swords above her, crossed white and black, and she had already begun filling them with madra and soulfire.
She didn’t know how many of those stomps she could take, but she wouldn’t be able to escape fast enough with its will weighing her down anyway. So she would weather the first one, then hope somebody else pulled the Titan off her before she was smeared to paste.
Yerin had prepared herself, so when Dross showed up, he was more of a distraction than anything.
“Spit it out,” Yerin growled. She was still under the Dreadgod’s spiritual pressure, and time not passing was only extending that agony.
Dross breathed harshly as he spoke. [Sorry…I’m…doing a lot…right now.]
Even in her situation, Yerin felt concern worry its way into her heart. She couldn’t exactly move her eyes, but she focused on Dross. “You solid, Dross?”
He fixed her with a stare, pulling himself together. [Yeah, no problem, nothing to worry about. Listen, we need something from you, but it’s going to be…it won’t be much fun for you, I’ll say that.]
“You see where I’m standing right now, true? Would you contend I’m on a holiday?”
[We need you to hold the Titan in place so Lindon can hit it. You’ll need to use your sword.]
She shifted her attention to her master’s blade. For the most part, she had avoided using its binding since advancing during the Uncrowned King tournament. “Madra’s not like it used to be. Could use Netherclaw, if that’ll work.”
[It, uh, it won’t.]
A queasy sense of nausea passed through her. “Sword will make it through, though, right?”
Dross hesitated.
“Dross?”
[I think this is one of those times where I’m supposed to lie, but I don’t have a whole lot of time. You’ll have to overload the sword. No way around it, unless you’re ready to advance to Archlord. That would solve a lot of my problems today, actually.]
Even if she were, she couldn’t do it here in Sacred Valley, and Dross knew that.
“Winter Sage. She can fix it, though, true?”
Dross bobbed upward in the air as he brightened. [Could be! That’s certainly a real possibility!]
No sense hesitating. She had agreed to risk her life here, for people that Lindon didn’t