The second Lindon returned his attention to the Wei citizens in front of him, he and Dross realized the same thing at the same moment.
The drivers in their carriages, and the riders on the backs of their saddled Remnants, weren’t casting nervous glances at Heaven’s Glory.
They were looking fearfully at Lindon.
He had been betrayed.
Again.
A deep anger came up from where he’d buried it. He’d managed to fight it back ever since he’d arrived here, but now it bubbled up.
Into the Path of Black Flame.
His Blackflame madra was no better than a Jade’s, but what more did he need? Threats would be worth more than truth, now, and intimidation better than actual power.
So Lindon drew inspiration from the person he knew who could best act like he was in charge even when surrounded by enemies, and he said what he thought Eithan would say.
“Gentlemen,” Lindon said, “this is a mistake.”
Each of the Wei clan surrounding them pumped madra into lengths of cloth they revealed from their backpacks, saddlebags, from the sides of their carriages. Each was woven with scripts.
Boundary flags.
The boundary formation snapped into position immediately, locking the aura surrounding Lindon and Yerin and suppressing their power. Aura of light and dreams was agitated, casting phantom images and sounds all around them.
To Lindon, they were just noise and nonsense, but he put a hand on Yerin’s shoulder. He needn’t have bothered; she looked around with completely clear eyes and sneered.
“Heaven’s truth, I was going to let them live,” she muttered.
Dross, where are the Golds?
[Not too many around, and they can’t see us. I can contact them, I think, but…] He hesitated. [Do we need them?]
Yerin might.
Dross sent out a call for help.
The Wei Patriarch arrived outside the circle, the First Elder at his side. “Stage two!” he shouted.
Wei clansmen ran forward, carrying a massive chain of scripted goldsteel and looping it around the outside of the boundary field.
Lindon’s wariness spiked. A script in goldsteel would be significantly sturdier than boundary flags, so whatever it did, it might actually affect them.
If this went any further, he was going to have to burn his way out.
So he wouldn’t let it go further.
He ignited the Burning Cloak and dashed in the direction of the Wei clan elders, who stood on a hill overlooking the road. He crashed into the side of a carriage, smashing the outside to splinters and sending it careening onto its side. The illusion field shattered.
Yerin followed up a second later, tapping one foot onto the upturned cart and leaping for the elders. Constructs erupted from the crowd all around.
Dozens.
Striker, Ruler, and Forger techniques shoved Yerin back with force, with wind, with water, with dreams, even with clouds.
She broke them all with a sweep of her sword, but they did push her back. Even Lindon felt like he had crashed into a soft cushion for a moment.
It was the clearest indication of how much advancement they’d lost. He should have waded through those techniques as though through still water.
In that second of distraction, the goldsteel chain finished wrapping around. The script-circle completed.
Instantly, bands wrapped around Lindon’s spirit. It was nothing to him, only mildly unpleasant, but he recognized the feeling of the same script that had bound him at the entrance to the Wei clan.
He shot out to steady Yerin, who was having trouble even breathing and staying upright. Sweat began to bead on her forehead already, and her Goldsigns hung heavy.
Blackflame kindled in Lindon’s outstretched hand. “Stop!” he demanded.
If he released, he was going to kill someone.
He turned to Heaven’s Glory. “Help us!”
The Grand Elder folded her hands in front of her, staring blithely over his head. Lindon turned back to the Wei clan, and the Patriarch met his eyes with cold disdain. “Stage three!”
Fizzing bottles flew through the air and landed beside them. Some were refiner’s work, elixirs that dispersed to gas immediately, but others were venom Ruler techniques. The air filled up with half a dozen types of poisonous gas.
Yerin flashed into white light. The Moonlight Bridge.
She reappeared two feet away, staggering and coughing.
She couldn’t cross the goldsteel script.
The poison seeped into Lindon’s lungs and crumbled before the might of his Bloodforged Iron body. His breathing would be more troubled by sitting too close to a campfire.
Dragon’s breath blasted the goldsteel chain.
It grew red-hot, but that was all. The substance was naturally resistant to all kinds of madra, and the script weakened his techniques even further.