“What kind of problem?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair.

  Arther gave a placating smile and sat down on a stool across from him. “Look, I understand that you’ve now fought together, and that means something. I get it, I really do. But you need to think about the long-term play.”

  “Go on,” Sam replied, raising an eyebrow.

  “I won't deny she's strong. Her skills are impressive, and it's clear she has the drive. She survived solo against that adder for a long time before you showed up. That takes guts.”

  “I'm sensing a ‘but’.”

  “But,” Arther said softly. “Guts alone don't win the War. You need synergy, and classes that complement one another. The goddess she worships is powerful, but she's gone and chosen the least efficient build path. Her title gives her affinities for nature spells, but Dianea’s best skill trees focus on hunting and supportive blessings. Add to that Beast Mastery…” he trailed off, a hint of scorn entering his voice as he continued.

  “She's thinking with her heart instead of her head. The same foolish notion that had her help you in the first place. She has personal reasons for making the choices she does. They aren't coming from a place of logic, and that's dangerous.”

  “Are you saying we’re supposed to be robots?” Sam replied, voice cold.

  “I'm saying you're supposed to live!” Arther exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Seven. Just seven souls. That's how many make it out of this. There are no do-overs, no second chances. The party you build is everything. The Warriors you choose to stand beside you will be the difference between life and death. I understand you feel you owe her a debt, and I understand that she probably feels the same. But one victory doesn't mean you'll win the War!”

  Sam pushed his chair away, taken aback by the Warden’s sudden ferocity. “How do you even know we’ll be a bad fit? I don't have a class, remember? Isn't the point that I can work with anyone?”

  Arther rubbed his brow, visibly trying to keep his temper in check. “It is, and you can. You won't know this, but there is a reason that Wardens almost never advocate that a Warrior take on a familiar.”

  “And why’s that?” Sam replied.

  “Because of the risk.” Arther pointed at the gem mounted on the mantle and brought up a series of videos. They showed Warriors battling on the slopes of Elysium, many of them utilizing animal companions.

  “In theory, having an extra body sounds like a great idea. They can offer significant utility, and of course, imbue their Warrior with a portion of their skills.”

  Sam cocked his head. “Is that how they were able to withstand the adder’s gaze? Because of Molly?”

  Arther nodded. “Aye, War Boars are stubborn beasts, and are highly resistant to most forms of mental manipulation.”

  “Okay, that sounds amazing. What's the risk?”

  “The risk,” Arther responded, gazing at the video, “is that.”

  Sam watched, unsure what he was looking for. After a few minutes, he saw the trend. Over and over, the fights concluded with the Warrior’s familiar dying. Often, they were left distraught but alive, crying over the corpse of their fallen companion.

  “The emotional impact?” Sam asked, voice unsure.

  “Bah,” Arther snorted, shaking his head. “No, not the emotional impact—the financial one. Every single spira invested in a familiar is lost when it dies. Potentially tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands by the end of the War. That's if they only take one. Some can form pacts with multiple beasts.”

  “Wait, so you're saying she has to make a choice of whether to buy skills for herself or her familiar?”

  “Exactly,” Arther replied, snapping his fingers. “And say you make it to the Third Ring, say you fight up against another Tier Boss, and Mjolna there unfortunately perishes. What happens then? Siel's forced to start over. She's crippled. And you'll feel too attached to her to cut her loose. She’ll be like an anchor around your neck.”

  Arther slumped in his seat, the fire gone from his eyes. “I understand you've formed a connection, but it's better to end it now before it goes any further. You have a shot at winning, Sam. Don't waste it.”

  Sam stood for a long time contemplating the Warden’s words. He couldn't deny there was logic in them, but the scientist in him weighed the math.

  “You're saying there's a risk, but is there not also a reward? Molly’s skills will be levelling right alongside ours. The longer the War goes on, the more powerful they’ll both be. If we can get her to the later Rings, she’ll be a powerhouse, right?” He stared Arther full in the face. “Right? Or am I missing something here?”

  Arther sighed, knuckles white as he kneaded his apron. “No. In theory, what you're saying is correct. If you can get an early familiar to the later Rings, it can be a mighty tool. But, it is a big if. And Sam, as I said, she's not going about this the right way. She could have worshipped a nature god and fully maximized her title. Anima Healers are highly valuable, and you'd still have all the same utility. Instead, she's gone for this strange hybrid build that does a little bit of everything. It's just not optimal.”

  Sam chewed on that for a while, replaying the fight with the adder in his head. While her skill set may have been varied, the combination of damage, utility, and distraction had been invaluable. He knew the way they worked together wasn't a fluke. The synergy was real.

  “Maybe it's not your perception of optimal, but does the person not also matter? We fought well together and did so instantly. Does that not have value?”

  “It does,” Arther agreed, holding up a placating hand. “And if this were the Fifth Ring, I'd probably be saying something different. I know you can't buy trust, and it’s clear you two have that. But this is the time to build the foundation of your party. You're already an anomaly, Sam. What are you going to be, a party of outliers? How does that work when every group you face is hyper-specialized? You'll be outclassed in every direction.”

  “Why should I even take your word on this?” Sam replied, voice rising. “You lied to me about the skill morph. How do I know you don't have some ulterior motive? You don't know what it's like! I was dead, Arther. That ogre was seconds away from killing me. You talk about her emotions like they're a weakness when they're literally the reason I'm alive! We wouldn't even be having this conversation if not for her.”

  Sam’s words hung in the air, and it was only as they faded that he realized he’d been yelling. Despite his improved stamina, his chest was heaving. The anger—which had been dampened during the conclusion of the Crypts—sprang to life. His [Enchanted Pugilist Bands] throbbed against his skin.

  “That's where you're wrong, boy,” Arther said softly, eyes hard as folded steel. “I know exactly what it's like. I know what it's like to listen to the heart, and I know what it means to pay for it. I'm telling you this because of the skill morphs. We agreed on full transparency. You’re a man, you can make your own decisions, and if you choose to make this one, I will still support you.”

  He leaned forward, an itchy, stifling heat washing off of his body. “But I have to say it now. I owe it to both of us. I've seen too many good Warriors betrayed by what beats inside their chests. The line between pragmatism and cruelty is so thin it might as well not exist. This is a War, Sam. Like it or not, you'll need to be cruel.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  With that, the cottage fell into an uncomfortable silence. Despite his personal feelings about the conversation, Sam couldn't begrudge Arther for his words. He knew he was acting irrationally, yet he also knew there were factors in play that he couldn't quite explain. Even if he tried to verbalize them, he knew Arther wouldn't understand.

  The party felt right, in the same way his gut had told him to pick up the spear in the Halls of the Ascendant Dusk. In the same way it had nudged him left instead of right when he dodged the Adder, or stabbed the Ghūl Patriarch.

  Without his gut, he would have been dead ten times over. It wasn't rational, but it was true. As much as he had to learn to trust his party members, he also had to learn to trust himself.

  The half-hearted confidence with which he'd lived his life up until the Spire just wouldn't cut it. If he were going to climb, if he were going to kill, he’d need to have total confidence in his abilities. This was the first step to truly realizing that.

  He walked to the doorway, decision made. He felt lighter than he had when the conversation began, some unseen baggage discarded in the process of articulating his position.

  “Assuming she wants to stay, she can stay,” he said, back to the room. “That's my final decision. If you truly want to support me, then support me. I'll understand if you don't want to.” There was a long pause, and he heard the stool squeak as Arther shifted his weight.

  “What did I say to you, the first day we met?”

  Sam turned and met the Warden’s rueful grin. “Which part? I wasn't exactly in my right mind.”

  Arther snorted. “No, you weren't. Yet, all the same, when I asked you to put down your knife, when I told you to yield, you said no. You fought with everything you had. I said it then, and I'll say it again.”

  He stood and held out his arm, and Sam took it after a moment’s hesitation. “I respect someone who stands by their convictions. You're not making your life easy, Sam, but I know that no matter what you choose—you’ll see it through. I can ask no more of you than that.”

  “Thank you, Arther.”

  “Pff, nothing to thank or to forgive. I'll make up the bed in here; she can take the cottage tonight. Go get some air and give me a chance to make dinner.”

  “I appreciate it. No matter how many blankets I buy, I can't quite get used to sleeping on the ground.”

  Arther let out a small chuckle. “Between you and me, Eeno used to steal a bed at an inn on every Ring. He’d plop the damn thing anywhere there was room. We’d be in the wilds, taking five minutes for food, and he’d be passed out under silk sheets. I've never seen anything like it.”

  Sam couldn't help but laugh. “So what you're saying is I should steal your bed?”

  Arther raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I think you'd find I'd need to charge for it, and I wouldn't be nearly so friendly with the discount.”

  The two of them left laughing as Sam pushed out the back door into the yard. The mid-afternoon sun was still high overhead, and he enjoyed the warmth on his face as he headed over towards the dock on the edge of the lake. A light breeze sent small waves crashing against the shore, and he sat for a while enjoying the calming rhythm.

  After a few minutes, he was joined by a much cleaner Molly, who settled in beside him. On a whim, he pulled out one of the many [Giant Redcap Mushroom] in his inventory and offered it to the boar. She eyed it warily for a moment before taking a small bite. Her eyes went wide at the taste before letting out a huge sneeze.

  Sam recoiled, eyes fixed on her jagged tusks. He moved to store the rest of the mushroom when she lunged forward and gobbled up the rest with a single bite. She sat there contentedly on the shore next to him, and he reached out a hand to gently scratch her behind the ear. She turned her head and leaned into it, and he soon found himself going to town on the rough mane of bristles that went down her back.

  He’d never had dogs growing up, but he imagined the reaction would be similar. It was bizarre to think that she’d started on the Spire as a monster. Despite weighing what likely were multiple tonnes, she was functionally an oversized puppy.

  He’d just pulled out his third mushroom when Siel appeared at the top of the hill. Her freshly washed hair lay limp around her shoulders, burning like molten copper in the sun.

  She walked down the hill towards them, and Sam couldn't help but notice that she looked tired. As tired as they both must have felt. She didn't have bags under her eyes like a human, but there was a weariness there that no amount of water could wash away.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, unsure what else to say.

  She didn't answer as she sat down next to Molly, putting the boar between them like a wall. There was a long pause before she responded.

  “I heard part of your conversation with the Warden,” she said, eyes forward. “He made his position very clear. I'll collect my things and depart at once.”

  Sam blinked in surprise as his stomach plummeted. “How did you hear it?”

  She glanced at him with a look of derision. “You weren't exactly quiet, and these ears aren't just for show.”

  “Did you hear the whole conversation?” he replied, trying to keep his voice even.

  “I heard enough. He is a credit to his experience. You are fortunate to have a mentor who truly cares about you.”

  “That I am, but he doesn't make every decision for me. If you'd listened to the whole thing, you would have known that I chose not to listen to him.”

  “A stupid decision,” she snorted, eyes once again fixed on the lake. “He is not wrong. I made my choices knowing that they weren't what others would have done, but I did them for me.”

  “Why did you?” Sam asked.

  The silence returned, and it seemed to stretch all the way out past the drop. Sam felt as if he lived an eternity in that silence, waiting for the sylvan to speak.

  “You do not know our world, our culture,” she said at last, voice heavy.

  “Nothing,” he confirmed.

  “Then you do not know what I am. My caste, Ot. We are the lowest of the low. We work the service floors on the deepest levels. A hundred generations of my family, and only a handful have ever seen the sun.”

  Sam turned, face aghast. “What?!” he exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

  “My planet, Skógurrun, is a world of great depths. Millenia ago, my people burrowed deep beneath the earth in search of wonders and power. We didn't find them. All we found was a cage. For while those bold spirits dug, on the surface, the power shifted. Five great families took control of the entire world. These royal houses declared that all those above ground were blessed by the gods, and all those beneath had been shunned.”

  She took a deep breath before continuing. “My ancestors were among the deepest explorers, and thus, deemed the furthest from the light of Heaven. We were banished to live our existence underground.

  “Over time, we adjusted, building cities of steel and stone. While above, those blessed lived as all Sylvanarae should, bathing in the light of our star, our moons.”

  She bit her lip as tears ran down her face. “It is not fair, Sam. That light is our birthright as much as theirs. It is not fair that only they have it, and it’s not fair how they keep it.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam replied.

  “All children on the surface are taught the ways of the War. When they are chosen, they are given access to a store of [Relic] weapons, increasing the likelihood that they will return and further strengthen their clan's power. Below, however, we are forbidden to train. They keep us weak, just smart enough to power the geothermal plants that keep their cities lit and their ships airborne. But no more. To them, we are little more than chattel.”

  Her gaze steadied as she fixed it on the horizon. “However, over the centuries, some of our caste have returned. With them come whispers of freedom, of revolt, of finally storming the tunnels and taking back what’s ours.” She let out a fierce laugh, hand outstretched as she held it up to the sun.

  “I told no one when I was chosen, not even my grandfather, who trained me in secret. I will return to them, Samuel, like Selene of old. She who came the closest to freeing my ancestors. It is because of her that I follow the path I do, even if, by today’s standards, it is not ‘optimal’. I grew up on stories of her adventures, of the foes slain by her bow. I would do so again.”

  She stood, summoning her bow and armour. “That is why I will do things my way, but that is also why you would not be wise to follow. Where I go, there are many who would cause me harm. Many of my countrymen would try to kill me on sight.”

  Sam couldn't help it; he laughed. A deep, rolling laugh that had him curled up on the grass. Siel stared, visible confusion plastered on her face.

  “Sorry, I'm sorry,” he said at last, when he finally got his breathing under control. “I’m not laughing at you. It's just, you're out here worried about a couple of elves. Siel, I'm marked by Zetos. He's sworn to kill me and has tried multiple times in the past few weeks. You think that ogre just wandered down out of Bronze on its own? C’mon, it was sent to kill me. It's you who needs to make a decision here, not me.

  “I don't care if your build isn't what others consider ideal. It works, and it worked for us. We killed a Tier Boss for fuck’s sake! Just the two of us. There's something there. If it worked for your hero, then it can work for you, too.”

  He stood and mimicked the gesture Arther had done earlier, arm outstretched. “We’re both not playing by their rules, and they'll try to kill us for it. I say we kill them right back. Arther’s on board if you are. I’ll understand if you're not, given I'm quite literally cursed. But, if you want to give this a go, I'm in.”

  Siel looked down at the boar, who shrugged and gave a loud snort.

  “You are a very strange person, Samuel Lin,” she said at last, clasping his arm. “But I would fight with you. Let us take our War all the way to the Halls of Eternity.”

  “Oh, there’ll be a War, alright,” he said, eyes narrowing.

  “And mortals won't be the only ones who bleed.”