The sun began to claw its way through the dense clouds, the outline of the Spire silhouetted against the foggy canvas. The scale of the monolith was beyond mortal comprehension, and Sam kept tripping over his feet as his attention wandered back to the monstrous structure.

  The journey through the city was breakneck, and he was elated by how easily his new body kept up. The contrast to his first mad dash through the back alleys of Homst could not be understated. His breath came in even pulls, and his muscles barely strained as he weaved his way through the early morning crowd.

  Arther’s distinctive hat was as effective as any waypoint, and the bobbing red plume cut its way through the throng like a shark through water.

  Sam checked the countdown for the first time that day, pleased by his newfound restraint.

  [Ring Purge Initiates in 47:03:06:57]

  The timer no longer elicited the same primal fear that it had in those first few days. Knowing that he was already ahead of most of the other warriors gave him a slight reprieve, but he knew the buffer was eroding with every passing minute.

  He dismissed the countdown as the pair burst out into the central market, the square looking very much the same as it had before the opening ceremony. Arther made a beeline toward the mesa, and the two arrived just in time to catch one of the city’s main elevators.

  The large platform was used to transport both goods and people, and Sam found himself unceremoniously crammed into a corner beside a flock of animals that were definitely not goats. Their dissonant bleating made the hair on his arms stand up, and he nearly lost another finger to their disconcertingly sharp teeth.

  The top of the mesa was more of what he’d expected when he’d first seen the city. Wide streets gave way to extravagant manor houses, and between them sat veritable castles, their graceful turrets made of the same stone as the butte, melding seamlessly into the landscape. Sprawling gardens covered much of the rise, and the streets were far less crowded. It was clear the city’s elite called this place home, and Sam felt out of place in his simple cloak and Warrior grays.

  After a few blocks, he realized his trepidation was misplaced. Arther exchanged nods with many of the locals, and Sam received a few waves of acknowledgement or words of encouragement as they passed.

  “Is everyone here a Champion?” Sam asked, eying a massive var that strolled past, carrying a barrel of ale on each shoulder.

  “Almost,” Arther confirmed, pausing to shake hands with an elderly sylvan who was seated at an outdoor cafe. “Some devotees work on the rise, but mostly it’s just Champions, whiling away the hours. Many have done the exact same walk you’re doing now, heading out into the wild, ready to begin the climb. They see a kindred spirit, if not a potential betting prospect.”

  “Betting prospect?”

  “Oh aye, betting on the outcome of the War is about the only thing that keeps these people sane. And the fact that I’ve come out of retirement to mentor you will certainly give you some interesting odds.”

  Sam stopped in the middle of the road, trying not to hyperventilate. “Arther, just how many targets do I have on me at this point?”

  Arther flashed a pained smile, “Best not to think about it, lad. Doesn’t change what needs doing. Once word gets around that you’re a potential favourite, it may actually play in your favour. Other warriors may be inclined to try and recruit you to their parties, and at the very least, they’ll think twice before looking to jump you in the wild.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Sam couldn't argue with his logic, and they continued along the wide boulevards, drawing steadily closer to the cliffs of the second Ring. The sun began beating down on them, and he removed his borrowed cloak, passing it back to Arther, who stored it with a nod of thanks.

  The day was bright and clear, and the smell of rain still lingered in the gardens as they passed. The flowers were vibrant and alien, giving the landscape a truly otherworldly appearance. There had been moments when he’d been able to forget he was no longer on Earth, but looking up at the colossal cliff face in front of him, it was impossible to deny where he was.

  His heart began to pound as the city thinned out; the forest rising to meet them as the drop to either side met the sloping hill. The mesa steadily flattened, with lush parks giving way to genuine wilderness.

  Despite spending all morning mentally preparing for this, he still found himself shaking. The stump of his pinky throbbed for the first time since he was healed, and he was assailed by the memory of dozens of sets of glowing eyes, peering back at him from the dark.

  Could he really do it? Was he really prepared to risk his life over and over again, for weeks and months, until this was over? Was he really prepared to kill hundreds, if not thousands, of living creatures? His feet began to drag, and it took all his force of will to keep himself moving. It would be so easy to just turn around and give up, to find a hole to curl up in and wait for it all to end. It would definitely be simpler, and almost certainly less painful.

  His mind flashed back to home, to his parents, wondering where he’d gone. He thought of the calls unanswered and the car found abandoned. Would they think he was kidnapped, or dead in a ditch somewhere? On paper, it probably looked like he ran away, shirked his responsibilities and fled. He knew his mother would never believe that, but his father…he was always more than willing to assume the worst. All those years spent working to give his son a better life—wasted. It would be the ultimate betrayal.

  The anger lit like a furnace, heat boiling up from the pit in his stomach. He could hear the laughter, the same laughter that had rang out as the pavement ripped open. The same laughter that had drifted through the forest as the rats threatened to overwhelm him. The same laughter that had echoed through the arena as Zetos stared down at him—lightning bolt in hand.

  No. He wouldn't give that smug bastard the satisfaction of seeing him quit, of watching him die a coward. The thought of revenge still clung to the edge of his mind, like a missing tooth that he just couldn't resist poking. He knew it was stupid to even consider, but nothing motivated quite like spite. He needed to get home, he needed to get his life back, and if he could mess up a god in the process, then all the better.

  His move with renewed vigour, his heart returning to a steady, pounding drum. Each step took him closer to getting home: he wouldn't falter again. No more overthinking, no more doubt. The security of his conviction slid over him like armour, almost like a physical barrier between him and the world. Without thinking, he equipped his gear, summoning his spear and shield. He saw Arther visibly flinch, eyes going wide before settling into a smug grin.

  “Here I was worried I’d need to give some kind of speech, but it seems you’re well past that.”

  “I mean, I'm not against a speech if you've got something prepared.”

  Arther pursed his lips, “Ach, forget it. You know what you need to do. You don't need me telling you what's at stake. Just be smart, don't let your heart run away with your head.” He turned, gesturing at the wall that had materialized among the trees.

  “This is the edge of the city; after this, you're out in the wild. Guards on the wall won't help if you come running back being chased by a horde of moonshrikes. Once you're through that gate, it's just you.”

  “Understood, I'll head south then circle back north and head straight to the forge.”

  Arther nodded, “Just stick to the plan. Monsters are most active at dawn and dusk. Rest when you can in between, and don't skimp on taking the time to prepare your camp. Make sure to eat well, and keep your canteen full.”

  Sam let out a short laugh, “You sound just like my Mom.”

  Arther’s face darkened for a moment before letting out a small chuckle. “Well, then she sounds like a smart woman. You can do this, Sam. I'll see you in five days.” He held out his arm, and Sam took it, hearing a soft chime on his tafla.

  Sam cocked his head and opened his notifications, seeing that he'd received a party invite. “What's this? I thought parties were only for Warriors.”

  “It's not uncommon for Wardens to join the party on the first Ring. It lets me keep an eye on you and includes some limited messaging features. We only get one conversation a day, so use it wisely.”

  “I will. Thanks, Arther.”

  “Thank me by staying alive. Now go, you're a ways out from the real monsters, and you need to set up camp before nightfall. Then, it's time to hunt.”

  “About that. How am I actually supposed to find these things? I don't know anything about hunting.”

  Arther raised an eyebrow, “Oh, don't worry about that. They’ll find you.”