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Alone in the new preparation room beside the warcamp dueling arena, Adolin kneels with his unnamed Shardblade sunk a few inches into the stone, watching his own reflection in the metal, and talks to it. He won it years ago from a man called Tinalar who proposed a duel meant only to embarrass his father — Tinalar, who underestimated the fop with the nice clothing, and lost his Blade. The Plate Adolin wears with it came down through his mother's side. He has never named the Blade — some Shardbearers do, some do not — because the Radiant who first wore it surely had a name for it and to call it anything else would presume too much. He tells the Blade that today is a real duel for real stakes, the first since his father held him back from full bouts to keep the Alethi Codes. He believes in his father, he tells it, and this fight is his way of making the unified Alethkar Dalinar sees real.

A narrow corridor cut into the rock leads from the preparation room past stone reliefs of the ten basic stances — Windstance, Stonestance, Flamestance, on through one for each Essence — into the staging room where his armorers wait with the pieces of his Plate. His hands are sweating; he has never been this nervous riding into a real battle. Aunt Navani finishes a *safety and glory* glyphward in red on white cloth, makes him guess at it — he gets *victory*, which annoys her — folds it and burns it in the brazier. Adolin bows his head while it burns, then asks about the Wind's Pleasure, now a full week overdue at the Shallow Crypts. Navani waves it off; Jasnah is up to something. He worries silently anyway, partly for Jasnah and partly for the girl Shallan he might never meet because of the lateness — letting his aunt and his cousin pick a wife for him has, after the way Danlan cursed him out at the end of their affair, an unexpected appeal.

The armor closes onto him in the way of Plate, like a skyeel folding around its prey. Renarin takes the last piece, the helm, and runs them both through the pre-duel checklist they share. Chicken for breakfast? Yes. Talked to the sword? Entire conversation. Mother's chain in the pocket? Three times checked. Navani rolls her eyes at the superstition — trust the Almighty and the Heralds, not the breakfast — and both brothers protest in chorus that it is not superstition. Renarin reports that the new guards are unhappy at having to protect Adolin while someone else is swinging a Shardblade at him, and asks straight out why Adolin so dislikes their captain. Adolin admits, finally, that the man just unsettles him — there is something off about him, something he cannot place. He slams down his faceplate and steps out onto the sand.

His opponent today is Salinor Eved, one of Highprince Thanadal's Shardbearers — a Blade holder only, who has borrowed a set of the King's Plate to be eligible for a full bout. The insult is sharp: to get Salinor to agree at all, Adolin has had to wager both his own Plate and Blade against Salinor's single Blade, as if he were not worth the time. The arena is overflowing; even the king is watching. Sadeas has not come — just as well, Adolin thinks, since the last duels he remembers with Sadeas in the audience were the ones with Sadeas and his father sitting side by side as old friends, before the Tower. The highjudge Brightlady Istow gives the call. Ten heartbeats later both Blades fall. Adolin opens in Windstance — flowing, majestic, the posture his career has been built on. Salinor takes Flamestance, one-handed and quick.

Windstance does not feel right today. They are at war, Adolin tells himself, and every lighteyes in the army is a raw recruit who needs to be reminded what a Shardbearer fight actually is. It is not time for a show. It is time for a beating. As Salinor closes for a feeler strike, Adolin switches into Ironstance — two-handed, blade up by the head — slaps the strike away, and chops down into Salinor's helm three times. Cracks crawl across the metal. Adolin accepts a careless hit to his own side to bring the Blade in two-handed across Salinor's breastplate, kicks him to the ground, dismisses the Blade altogether, and explodes Salinor's helm with his boot heel. The breastplate goes next. When Istow shouts him down — *this is a duel, not a wrestling match!* — he demands to know what rule he has broken. None, and the bout is to three broken pieces of Plate. He has only broken two. He kneels, rips a pauldron off, smashes it between his fists, and demands again. He pins the dazed Salinor down with a gauntleted hand at his throat, fearspren clawing up around them, until the man summons and surrenders his Blade. Istow grudgingly gives him judgment.

He takes the Blade, has Salinor touch the ruby at the pommel to break the bond, rips the ruby free in his gauntlet, and crushes it — needless, but a symbol. The crowd that came for a spectacle and got brutality erupts in chatter at his back as he walks off the sand. In the staging room he hands the won Blade to Renarin, completing the Shards his brother already carries Plate for. Renarin takes it reluctantly. Navani comes down from the seats with the verdict that matters most: what Adolin just did would not have worked on a more skillful opponent, but it was wise. His rivals will read pit-fighting and trickery rather than skill, and underestimate him; she can use that to find him more duels. Adolin lets her think he planned it that way.