The storage room is subdued as healers tend to everyone’s wounds. The same healers who were happy to stand by and watch as we slaughtered each other in the stadium. I guess it’s different when it’s your friends and family who are fighting for their lives.

Hypocrites.

“Sal?” Gugora asks again.

I look up. “Sorry. What?”

Gugora is sitting cross-legged on the floor, Iski standing on his knee to reach his shoulder, which she’s patching with strips of fabric. The healers are ignoring those with lighter wounds, currently only addressing those in critical condition.

“I asked if you were alright,” Gugora says. His brows are pinched in a concerned frown.

“Sure,” I say, distracted. Even though the gods are gone, even though the killing is over, my mind is still running a mile a minute. Will Shirasil and Widengra be coming back for me? Will Shirasil be able to find and track me through his ‘gift?’ Will Widengra be sending his newly ascended Champions to come torture the name of my Patron god out of me? Can I run from them? Do I even want to? “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Iski says sharply, her words cutting me out of my thoughts. “Talk to us. What happened here today?”

I open my mouth, and I shut it. I’m not even sure where to begin. I look at my maimed hand. The mark of Shirasil is like a shackle on my wrist. I think of Talia. Of all the blood. So much blood.

“Sal? You’re alive!” Cyros hurries over. “Gods, I can’t believe it. I saw you with Widengra and feared the worst.”

“I’m fine,” I say again, automatically. Given the hollow, numb sensation that seems to have replaced any capacity I once had for emotions, I might even believe it.

Gugora glances between us questioningly.

“A friend,” I say, too tired to explain.

“Well, a friend of Sal is a friend of ours,” Iski says. “I saw you out there helping the others. Thank you.”

Cyros appears dismayed. “You saw me?”

I smile weakly at his disappointment. Nieve would surely give him an earful later for doing something so visible.

Cyros’s gaze flicks over me, settling almost instantly on Shirasil’s mark. He puts a hand on my arm. “Oh, no. What’s this?”

I sigh, holding up my wrist. Honestly, he asks a good question.

Echo, Check.

[Mark of the gods,] Echo says. [This mark provides the user with the ability Noxious Gauntlet, which acts as an enhanced limb, and additionally allows the user’s Affinity to be channeled through the mist when activated.]

Will people be able to tell it’s from Shirasil by looking at it? I wonder.

[Negative.]

Will they know I am a Champion?

[While activated, the user will display physical traits consistent with that of a Champion.]

I grimace. Can I remove it?

[Negative.]

Probably should have seen that one coming.

“A god gave it to me,” I tell the others. “Apparently I’ve got some kind of toxic magic mist hand now.”

The others stare at me. Not with the obvious horror I was expecting, but rather with some kind of awe.

“You were given a blessing by the gods?” Cyros asks.

Iski seems similarly amazed. “Which one? Widengra?”

I sort of miss Lisari’s candid dismissal of reverence for the gods—of course, I have to remind myself, she was one.

“I have to leave,” I say, ignoring their questions. My gaze is unfocused. My head feels like it’s full of cotton. I’m so tired, yet a restless anxiety is clawing at me.

Gugora slowly nods. “We need to get out of here. You’ve done more than enough to help. We can still make it back to the Inn by nightfall.”

“Or you could stay with me if you need to rest,” Cyros offers. “It sounds like there’s a lot you need to—”

“No,” I say, forcefully focusing my vision. I look at Gugora and Iski. “I can’t stay with you two anymore. Widengra will find me there. Actually, I don’t think it’s safe for me to stay in this city.”

“Why?” Iski asks, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s coming for me,” I say. “Or at least his Champions will be.” I clench my jaw. “But not if I come for them first.”

Iski shakes her head. “Not this again. You can’t—”

“I don’t have a choice,” I say, raising my arm pointedly. “I can’t just choose to stay uninvolved. I don’t fully understand what the gods want with me, but I don’t have the luxury to sit back and pretend like they don’t exist. I can be their puppet, or I can grow strong enough to cut the strings.”

“Why you?” Cyros asks. “I know you seem to be tangled in their plans but… Why?”

I think back on everything the gods have said to me. Everything Maru and Shirasil and even Widengra intentionally or inadvertently revealed.

“I don’t think it’s just me,” I say. “I think there may be more out there like me who the gods are also looking for.” Whether to kill, collect, or manipulate, I’m unsure. And how many of them could be anyone’s guess. But if there are other people from Earth out there, they could use a helping hand—especially if the gods are after them. What other chance do we have if we don’t stick together?

“I have to leave,” I repeat, this time looking at Cyros. “To learn more. To get stronger. Can the Guild help me with that?”

“Guild?” Gugora asks, suspicious.

Cyros glances uncomfortably at Gugora and Iski, but nods. “There are branches in other cities. Nieve can find something for you.”

“Other cities?” Iski objects. “Now, hold on. We should think this through. You don’t have to make any rash decisions. You hardly know anything about this world, still.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“World?” Cyros asks.

I grimace. Another person put at risk of the gods’ wrath for having knowledge they shouldn’t. “I’ll explain later,” I tell him. “And we can talk about my future while we head back to the Inn,” I add to Iski and Gugora. “I’ll need to grab my things from there anyway.”

Neither of them look happy. Cyros looks concerned. I guess I’m a mix of both. More than anything, though, I just want to find a small, quiet corner somewhere out of the way where I can curl up and sleep.

#

When we finally make it back to the Starlight Inn, I do, eventually, get my sleep. It’s past sunset when we arrive, and I collapse into my bed without even kicking off my boots.

It’s dark when I wake up. Iski tells me I slept an entire day. I spend the evening chopping vegetables to fulfill my ever-persistent Role Requirement. Though we hardly exchange three words, I think Iski enjoys the company.

The mood is subdued at the Starlight Inn. Gugora and Iski return to their typical duties, though they seem to be hovering somewhere nearby every time I turn around. I spend several hours soaking in a hot tub of water Iski draws for me. I spend even longer trying to scrub the blood out of my clothes and hair. Then, I pack.

I lay everything out on the floor of my workroom. All my potions, empty bottles, ingredients, cauldrons, chalk, utensils, and tools. Then I get to work strapping them all together. I undo my two bandoliers and sew one to the other and add more strips of leather to create a checkerboard of belts pockmarked by dozens of straps, hooks and knots. One by one, I tightly secure each of my belongings to the leather mat.

If I am going to survive on my own, if I am going to be facing the gods themselves, I can’t afford to waste a single advantage, and my inventory will be the ticket to ensuring I am never parted from my weapons again. I’ll be losing the ability to keep a single knife or potion on hand for a quick surprise, but the tradeoff of being able to bring everything I own with me is more than worth it. Of course, I’ll need a large space to be able to withdraw this complex binding of supplies all at once. No matter. I’ll make myself new bandoliers. I’ll figure out a better system through trial and error. The most important thing is the freedom to pick up and move at a moment’s notice. I’ll never worry about leaving anything behind. I’ll never be tied down anywhere again.

A shadow falls over the doorframe. “I never taught you how to use that bow,” Gugora says.

I sit back from the supplies I was bent over, wiping the sweat from my brow. Knotting the twine is giving me trouble since I’m not used to doing so one-handed.

I haven’t turned the Noxious Gauntlet back on since the tournament.

“That’s okay,” I say, standing and stretching with a relieved sigh. “I don’t think I would have been very good at it. Knives seem to be my specialty now, anyway.”

Gugora hardly appears comforted by the explanation. “Speaking of which.” He draws a knife from his belt and turns it around, offering me the handle. “Your knife. You should take it with you.”

Gingerly, I take it. This knife and I have been through a lot the last month. Yet, it almost feels unnatural in my grip now. I Check it.

[Simple Hunting Knife,] Echo reports. [One-handed bladed weapon.]

Not a Chef knife, then. Not something my class would give me a bonus for using. I hand it back to Gugora.

“Thanks, but I think it’s better served in your hands,” I say. “However, if you’ve a set of kitchen knives to spare, I’d be grateful to borrow a few.”

Gugora takes the knife, smiling softly. “Iski would love that.”

I decide it’s best not to mention the cutlery are unlikely to be used for food.

I go back to tying down the last of my supplies, and Gugora wordlessly kneels down next to me to help.

“You don’t have to,” I object.

“I want to,” the orc grumbles.

I tighten down a strap. “I need the practice. Not used to working with my hand like this.”

Gugora puts a finger down on the twine as I pull it tight. There’s a span of silence as we work through the last three empty glass bottles, securing each one to my supply mat.

“I’m sorry about your fingers,” he finally says.

I shrug. “It’s inconvenient, but it’s fine. They’re not really me.”

“Who?” Gugora asks, confused.

“The fingers,” I say. “They were a part of my body, but they’re not me. No more than my body is me. Your body is just… something your mind is stuck in.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” His tone sounds sad.

I bristle. “It’s just facts.” I tighten the last knot, then brush Gugora’s hand away, going over every one of my belongings in turn, making sure each object is secured. Finally, when I’m satisfied, I add the whole contraption to my inventory. The entire display vanishes.

[Apothecary added to inventory.]

It worked. I allow myself a satisfied smile.

The two of us stand up, surveying the now empty room.

“I guess you’ll have your butcher shed back,” I say.

“I guess so.”

I ignore the sting of sadness that follows me as I turn my back on the room and leave it for the last time.

Iski cooks me a large lunch. She doesn’t call it a goodbye meal, but we all know it is. I eat every bite, even though I’m not hungry. When Gugora brings up my request for cooking knives, Iski happily obliges with what I strongly suspect is her best set. I add them to my Apothecary.

Nieve and Cyros appear not long after that.

I raise an eyebrow at Cyros. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“You’re new to the Guild,” Cyros says. “And even if you’re not my apprentice, I’m still responsible for you. Which means I’m coming with.”

“You are?” I ask, surprised. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know. I don’t want to be a burden for you.”

Cyros snorts. “You’re a lot things, but you’re not a burden.”

“But your home,” I object.

“It’s already decided,” he interrupts. Then he smiles. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

I still feel a little guilty. But somehow, I also feel relieved.

“Ready?” Nieve asks me as I linger outside the Starlight.

Even though I’ve only been on this planet for a few short months, this inn has started to feel like home. Probably for the best that I’m leaving, then.

“Yeah,” I say, turning to face Gugora and Iski.

Dark looks cloud the innkeeps’ faces.

“Thank you,” I tell them. “I’ve truly appreciated your hospitality. You treated me better than I deserved and I don’t know how I can—”

“Oh, come here,” Iski says, yanking my scarf down so she can wrap her arms around my neck in a hug. When she lets go, I only have enough time to straighten up before Gugora’s arms engulf me in a second one. A familial yearning wells up inside me. An overwhelming desire to stay here, where I’m accepted, where I have people who care about me.

But I think of the gods, and Talia, and my parents, and I know this is a door I have to shut.

“Sorry,” I say, blinking back tears.

“What have you got to apologize for?” Iski snaps.

I shake my head, unsure why I’d even said it.

“Be careful,” Gugora says, releasing me from his grasp. “Stay safe.”

“And don’t forget to sharpen those knives,” Iski adds. “Nothing more dangerous than a dull knife.”

“I will,” I promise her.

“And oil!” she adds. “Don’t let them rust!”

This time I chuckle. “I won’t.”

Gugora squeezes my shoulder one last time. “Come back some day.” He smiles lopsidedly. “Just so we know you’re alive.”

I return the smile. “Okay,” I promise.

He drops his hand from my shoulder and doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Finally, reluctantly, I turn away. I join Nieve and Cyros on the road, and we begin to make for Fairwood. From there we will take a telepad to another city, and then travel on foot to a different town that doesn’t have a telepad. Apparently, there’s a branch of the Blackcloaks that’s active there, where I should be able to find work easily enough.

“You’re leaving behind quite a bounty,” Nieve remarks. “Most would not find it so easy to turn away from such a life.”

“It’s not easy,” I say, though the irony isn’t lost on me. I’d wanted to join an adventuring guild, learn weapons and magic, and go off traveling the world since the first moment I arrived here. Now I’m getting all that, and I wish I didn’t have to.

What would have happened if I’d just accepted the role I’d been given? If I never tried to force a magical Affinity? If I’d never gone to Fairwood, or joined the Blackcloaks, or sought revenge? Would I be happier, or filled with resentment?

Even now I don’t know.

“But I know what I have to do,” I say. “I need to learn more about the gods. I need to get stronger. Develop my magic and fighting abilities.” Investigate the hints that there’s others out there like me.

If I’m going to storm the heavens, if I want to seek justice for the wrongs the gods have inflicted on us—if I want to kill a god—I’ll need all the help I can get.

Determination simmers in my gut. Just reminding myself of why I’m leaving boils away the last lingering feelings of regret. The injustices that still need to be answered for. The indignation that the gods think they can play with my life like I’m a mere toy. I let my resolve fan the warm anger that’s spreading through me.

“The Guild is a good place to start,” Nieve says, pulling me from my thoughts. “You will find many resources at your disposal there. If it’s power you seek, climbing the Guild’s ranks will open the most doors for you.”

“Good,” I say shortly. “What’s the highest rank you can achieve?”

“S class missions,” Nieve says.

“How long does it take to get there?” I ask.

“What?” Cyros says. “Sal, don’t even think about it.”

“It varies greatly by individual,” Nieve replies anyway. “Some are content only to pursue low rank jobs their entire lives. Others are eager to gamble on the more lucrative and dangerous tasks. I unlocked S rank missions after working for the Guild for three years.”

Three years is too long. I need to get stronger faster. And with Echo and the System on my side, I should be able to do just that. “I’ll do it in half that time.”

Cyros groans, but Nieve smiles approvingly. “I look forward to witnessing your progress.”

I squeeze my hand into a fist.

So do I.