The walk back through the city was long, and Sam kept stumbling into things. The lack of sleep and persistent blood loss resulted in a complete lack of coordination and spatial awareness. Barrels, walls, several goats. All were at the mercy of his pristine lack of balance. He got lost at least three times trying to find his way back to the warehouse, the narrow tangle of streets making navigation nearly impossible. Eventually, an elf took pity on him and gave him directions. The sun had nearly set—or rather, rotated around the Spire—by the time he eventually stumbled back.

  He found Arther and Eeno sitting at a small table playing cards. A half-empty bottle of liquor sat between them, and it appeared that Eeno was winning based on the large pile of chips beside him. They both looked up as he entered, and judging by their reaction, he looked as bad as he felt.

  “Welcome back,” Arther called, a pained expression on his face. “Are there others with you, or…” he let the question trail off, not needing to ask the rest.

  “Nah,” Sam replied. “Just me.”

  “Ah, well, it's only the first day. Most of the early parties don't last. There's plenty of hope for you yet, once they see what you can do.” He gestured to a chair and poured Sam a small glass of the dark, amber liquid.

  “What did you think of the Pantheon?” Eeno chimed in. “Pretty impressive, right? Got a sense of who you might want to worship?”

  “How would he have any clue at this stage?" Arther said, shaking his head. "He’ll need to determine his fighting style first, then see whose boons would best shore up his weaknesses. We don't even know who’s competing this cycle.” Clearly, it was a well-worn discussion.

  “I won't be worshipping anyone,” Sam said quietly.

  “I know some people have their qualms, but with that god out to get you—”

  “Zetos.”

  “Wait, what?” Arther exclaimed.

  Sam grabbed his glass off the table and took a sip, wincing as the liquor burned his throat. “The god is Zetos, Zeus, I’m guessing. As Herald of War, he decided to send the invites personally. That's when I pissed him off.”

  Eeno and Arther exchanged looks, and Eeno promptly refilled their glasses.

  Arther took a long draught, face grim despite his rosy cheeks. “Well then, maybe it's not a bad idea to start considering who to worship. He has a long list of enemies, but even more who capitulate to his every whim. You'll need to be smart and choose a god who isn't afraid to fight against him.”

  “No, I don’t think you get it,” Sam said, pulling up his tafla. “I won't be worshipping any of them. These beings call themselves ascended, yet they bring us here to kill each other for sport. Why would I ever worship something like that?”

  There was a long silence as the two locals read Sam’s newest title, the only sound coming from the horse loudly munching hay in the corner.

  “Gods, lad, what have you done?” Arther’s voice was barely a whisper, and Sam could see the colour drain from his face.

  “I don't normally give humans much credit when it comes to intelligence, but this?” Eeno downed his own drink, then immediately refilled it, pouring the dark liquid all the way to the brim.

  “It's not all downside,” Arther responded, chewing his lip as he re-read the text. “He has increased magic resistance, and it’s upgradable. If we can get him some decent armour and focus on building his constitution, he could be a formidable frontliner.”

  “Lie to yourself, Art, but don't lie to the boy,” Eeno spat, face scrunching with disgust. “Maybe, and I mean maybe, he could survive the first Ring. Perhaps the second, if he is blessed by the unseen god of luck. But beyond? He’ll be facing down enemies who can fly, throw fireballs, and manipulate time and space. He’ll have no movement skills, no healing beyond that of his own body.”

  Eeno stood from the table, gaze fixed on Sam, eyes bleary from drink. “You seem like a nice enough boy, but I'm sorry to say that you're fucked. It's a tough roll, kid. I feel bad for you, I really do. But you should leave Arther be. Go get yourself a room at the inn, find a nice human lady and enjoy your weeks in paradise.”

  “Enough, Eeno!” Arther's voice rang like a hammer, and Sam recoiled at the sudden swirling aura that radiated from him like tendrils of curling steam.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Eeno didn't even flinch. He simply burped and downed his glass in a single swig before stumbling off towards the back of the warehouse.

  Sam remained frozen as Arther eventually relaxed. The man’s normally calm demeanour had shifted in an instant, and even Sam’s limited senses could tell that he’d been an inch from violence. It seemed a total contrast to the simple man in the floppy hat and cowboy boots.

  “You're one of them, aren't you?” Sam said quietly, voice barely reaching the vaulted ceiling. “A past winner. That's why you're here.”

  Arther’s posture collapsed, the aura extinguished in an instant. “Aye, and so is that one, if you can believe it. I've known that bratty little imp for nearly seven hundred years, and he still has no idea how to be a good friend.”

  “Is that what he's trying to do? Be a good friend?”

  “Something like that.” Arther raised his glass to his lips, then seemed to think better of it. “We can talk more at the forge. The offer still stands if you want a bed. I'll understand if you decline; you can easily afford any inn in the city. I recommend The Lavender Mare up on the high street by the gatehouse. They don't use any animal you've ever heard of, but their meat pies are the best in the Ring.”

  Sam sat there for a long moment, weighing his options. This man clearly had a wealth of experience, but he also had some serious baggage.

  “Why help me? Eeno seems to think I'm doomed, so why bother?” Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table. He couldn't imagine the version of himself from even two days ago being so direct. A lot had changed since he’d woken up in the forest.

  Arther sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, jaw working as he searched for the words. “I was only a little older than you when the stone appeared in front of my cottage, tall as a tree and covered with runes. I knew it wasn't a druid trick. I thought God himself had come to claim me, as he’d done so many others. I suppose I was right, after a fashion.

  “But when I woke up here and stumbled onto that same road, lost and alone—it broke me. I had no one to guide me, to help me. I climbed the Rings hoping to find death, and somehow I found something worse.”

  He sighed, chin falling onto his chest. “Immortality isn't all they make it out to be. They say we’ll live forever, but I'm older now than I was then. I feel it in my bones. Whatever they do to us isn't perfect. Every cycle I feel a piece of myself peel away.

  “And so I did something about it. I became a Timeless Warden: a trainer, a guardian. Cycle after cycle, I guided young warriors, giving them the skills to ascend…and they did. I trained many champions, some of whom I still call friends to this day.”

  “So what happened?” Sam asked, though he thought he could already guess the answer.

  “They kept dying. For cycles on end. I mostly trained humans, though I didn't really discriminate. We lost the old ways on Earth. The other races know about the War. They train their young from the crib in case they get selected. We think it's a myth, if we think about it at all. The people who arrive here do so without even the basic skills to survive.”

  He paused, his face a splotchy, red mess. “You think it would get easier. I'm an immortal, a warrior who has slain thousands of monsters and hundreds of enemies. I've trained champions who shook the gates of the Halls of Eternity with their passing, and yet I still cry for the ones I couldn't save.”

  He pulled out a small handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “And so I stopped. The last woman I trained had come from a battlefield. She was hardened. Day after day, the men fought in the mud, and she nursed them as fire rained from the sky. She had kind eyes, and when she fell on the fourth Ring I swore I'd had enough.”

  He took a long breath and met Sam’s gaze, green eyes shining with an inner radiance. “When I saw you standing there in the road, bloody and battered, I knew something was different. The mark on you is more than the title on your tafla, Sam. It’s more than the gods who want you dead. It’s a power I haven’t felt in a long time. I know it's not rational, and you've gone and made the journey harder. But somehow I truly believe you can make it.”

  The words crashed over Sam like a wave, and a weight lifted off his shoulders that he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying. Every single person he'd interacted with in this world had looked at him like he was less than, but for some reason, this man believed in him. It wasn't a lot, but it was more than enough.

  “I'll take you up on that offer. A bed would be much appreciated.”

  Arther cracked a smile, shoving the handkerchief back in his pocket and gesturing towards the cart. “Hop in. A sack of potatoes doesn't make for the best pillow, but it beats the ground.”

  Sam limped over to the cart and gingerly crawled inside, wedging himself between the large crates of iron ore. He called out to Arther, who was hitching the horse, “You've been drinking, are you sure you're alright to drive?”

  Arther burst out laughing, a booming roar that echoed up into the rafters. “Isla knows the way, I'm just here for show. She’s gotten me home in far worse states than this.”

  It wasn't long before the cart was rolling through the streets, and Sam found himself even more jostled than in the front seat. Despite his best efforts, he let out a few choice groans.

  “Here, drink this, it'll help with the pain.” Arther summoned a small flask from his tafla and passed it back.

  The cordial was sweet, with a strong, bitter aftertaste. Almost immediately, Sam felt the pain from his injuries fade to a dull throb. “Are you allowed to give me this? I imagine there’s some rule about not helping warriors.”

  “Aye, there is, but it doesn't apply to Wardens and their apprentices.”

  Sam cocked an eyebrow, though the eyelid beneath was drooping. “Oh? So you've agreed to train me, then?”

  “Seems that way. If nothing else, I want to see the look on Eeno’s face when you make it to the summit.”

  Sam could hear the smile on the man’s face, and he rolled over, trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t long before the only sounds that came from the back of the wagon were those of gentle snoring, as the cart rattled on into the night.