The clearing erupted as both sides unleashed a barrage of [Divine Skills]. All of Sam’s magical defences sprang to life as his titles, skills, and armour activated against the onslaught. He wielded [Apostate] like a weapon, channelling it into his shield to knock aside an incoming sphere of water and shatter a hailstorm of jagged stones.

  Everything around him felt slower. Or maybe he was simply faster. He merely had to begin considering a motion, and his body responded, moving with a speed and fluidity he wouldn't have thought possible. The contrast to Iron Rank could not have been more pronounced as he easily dodged a knife thrown by the leather-clad tzen.

  Behind him, Siel began unleashing a flurry of enchanted arrows. They’d discovered that she could imbue the shafts with [Creeping Arrow] in advance, and they'd retain the mana in her inventory. She’d spent many hours around the campfire in the evenings, working through a massive stack of projectiles.

  The result was a piercing scream from the heavily armoured dalith on the left flank, who suddenly found themselves fighting off barbed vines burrowing between their armour plates. A moment later, they were forced to defend the charge from a rampaging boar that sent them flying into a nearby tree.

  Satisfied that the tank was occupied, Sam made a beeline for Atlan. While the tracker and water mage would be annoying to deal with, it was clear that he was the true threat. The elf ripped off his cloak to reveal a set of gleaming golden armour. Sam wondered how much he’d spent on it.

  The sylvan produced a spear from his own inventory, and like the armour, it was embellished to the point of impracticality. Flaming sun motifs shone on the glaive-like blade, a total contrast to Sam’s unmarked black iron.

  The two weapons met with a flash of sparks and a clang that echoed all the way to the treetops. As if in response, the heavens roared with the crash of thunder. Rain began to pour down in sheets, quickly turning the churned earth to mud.

  Sam flared [Arcane Eyes], watching for the scant traces of mana that would indicate a new attack. The scout paired their relentless salvo of throwing knives with strategic usage of [Earth] magic. The battlefield itself became a weapon as Sam found himself thrown off balance more than once as the mud beneath his boots solidified.

  The rain also became a tool of the enemy. The water mage used light touches of mana to send droplets flying at Sam’s eyes and ears. Even if he dispelled the magic with [Apostate], he couldn't negate their momentum. He had to leap backwards more than once, suddenly blinded by a torrent of stinging rain.

  The environment could not have been better for the other party, so much so that Sam wondered if the Arbiter had planned it. Without the advantage of the terrain, he felt confident that he could have blown straight through their defences. Had the gods conspired to level the playing field? It was hard to believe the storm was a coincidence.

  Atlan used every one of the openings created by his teammates. Sam took slashes to the knee and elbow, blood freely mixing with the rain. The sylvan's form was better than one relying solely on basic proficiency skills. His movements had the surety and confidence of someone who had practiced them for decades. Only Sam’s significantly increased strength and coordination kept the fight even.

  The wild, hotheaded Warrior that Sam had fought in the training ring was gone. Clearly, that early loss had tempered him. The anger was there, alright, simmering just beneath the surface. Sam could see it in the ferocity of each swing. He needed to find a way to leverage it.

  “I have to say, elf, I'm disappointed,” Sam shouted over the downpour. “I thought you were some great Warrior, but this will be twice you've lost against me, three on one. What will your family think when they find out? They’ll probably be jumping for joy that you never made it home.”

  While Sam was a little rusty with the trash talk, his words had the desired effect. Atlan’s [Mana Network] surged, and Sam barely had a chance to get his shield up before he was blasted by a beam of concentrated sunlight.

  The laser deflected off the mirror finish of his shield, digging a wide furrow in the ground and slicing clean through the base of one of the large pines. The tree groaned and hissed as the sap evaporated, and Sam had to leap backwards as the tree crashed down in the center of the clearing. He took advantage of the momentary chaos to check in with Siel.

  “You almost done? I could use some help over here.”

  “I’ll assist how I can. This Dalith is tougher than I anticipated. They have a skill that negates movement impairments, so I am having to do this as the ancestors did.”

  Sam caught a glimpse of her dashing between the trees, dagger flashing as she parried a fierce overhead axe swing. Molly charged in from the side and managed to gore the tank with one of her tusks.

  Sam felt a moment of elation before refocusing his attention on his own fight. He just had to keep the three of them occupied long enough for Siel to deal with her counterpart.

  It was time to go on the offensive.

  The ground tore beneath his boots as he charged around the fallen pine, using the thick boughs to obscure his movements. While killing Atlan remained the priority, he needed to regain his advantage. If he could take out even one of the supports, it should be enough to turn the tide.

  He caught a glimpse of dusty brown mana skirting the edge of the clearing and made a beeline towards it. The tzen remained unfazed as Sam burst through the gloom and leapt towards her. The goblin gave a fierce grin as she disappeared from view, slipping down into the mud.

  In the same instant, the sylvan water mage dropped a net of solidified water from overhead, tightening the liquid strands like a noose. The net had been expertly concealed within the rain, and Sam didn't see it until it was almost too late.

  Three things happened at once.

  The first was that Sam activated [Tempest Shield], the slick coating of wind covering him at the speed of thought.

  The second was that he stored his items and summoned his hammer in two hands, activating [Platebreaker].

  The third was a sudden gust of wind, bringing with it a flurry of leaves. Their shape reminded Sam of a maple leaf; one side deep crimson, the other lustrous silver. They filled the clearing with supernatural speed, obscuring Sam as he flew through the air.

  He caught a glimpse of Atlan through the gale, the elf’s radiant blast missing by a hair as Sam’s shield buffeted the leaves around him. Both sylvan were knocked off balance by the force, their spells wavering.

  Neither was able to stop what happened next.

  Sam slammed into the earth like a meteor, his hammer impacting mud, earth and stone. As with many [Elemental] magic users, the tzen had chosen to utilize existing materials, imbuing them with threads of mana to bend them to their will. However, in doing so, those materials became categorized as magical constructs, making them particularly vulnerable to the divine disruption of Sam’s skill.

  The effect was both spectacular and devastating.

  The earth exploded, creating a ring of shrapnel. Atlan managed to summon a shield in time to block the worst of it, but the water mage wasn’t so fortunate. The thin elf took a chunk of jagged rock to the shoulder, sending up a violent spray of blood to match the scarlet leaves.

  To the mage’s credit, he didn't lose control of the net. What had likely been meant as a fight-ending move broke on Sam’s shield like waves on a beach. He didn't even register the spell as it tore itself to pieces on the pauldron’s defensive enchantment.

  The tzen had gotten the worst of Sam’s attack. She was tossed aside like a ragdoll, one of her legs ending in a ragged stump. Her green skin paled as a shocking amount of blood pooled beneath her in the mud.

  “Thanks for the help,” Sam projected to Siel, marvelling at the hundreds of leaves that flowed through the air. They didn't seem to obey the normal laws of physics and were completely impervious to the rain.

  Atlan’s face was a mask of shock as he surveyed the scene. With a single move, Sam had injured one Warrior and maimed another. The sylvan’s eyes glowed gold, and Sam felt an invasive itch on the back of his neck that told him he was being inspected.

  He intentionally lowered [Mental Fortress] and let the skill through, allowing the elf to see his overview. The look on his face was more than worth it.

  “B-bronze?! How?! You dropped from the Honorum and threw in your lot with the dirty Ot wench. How were you able to ascend so quickly?”

  Sam’s face darkened, and he levelled his hammer at the sylvan. “By doing what needed to be done. You made a mistake when you chose to come after me. You think you would have realized that the first time. What happened to those var by the way? They ditched your ass, didn't they?”

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  Once again, a vein pulsed in the sylvan’s forehead, and Sam knew he was beginning to make a dent in the Warrior’s newfound restraint.

  “They were weak, unable to follow basic instructions. It was due to their incompetence that we were defeated. If I had been alone, things would have been different. You would have been begging for me to kill you by the end.”

  Sam turned, gesturing around him. “Well, it looks like you’re alone now. There’s no one left to blame when you lose.”

  Atlan’s composure broke, and he lifted his glaive overhead with a snarl. A beam of sunlight broke through the clouds and illuminated him like some kind of living statue.

  Sam had to admit, he cut quite the figure in his golden armour, but the gear lacked the wear of a Warrior who’d really been grinding. His own kit was covered in dents and scratches—a testament to every battle won. The sylvan's was too perfect, too pristine. Sam took pleasure in knowing it wouldn't stay that way for long.

  Sam couldn't determine the exact nature of the skill, but the sunbeam seemed to be bypassing Atlan’s Heart Chakra completely and pouring mana directly into his body. Sam immediately got flashbacks to his vision of Zetos reaching down to aid his chosen Warrior directly.

  The spark of anger in his chest ignited, and he rushed forward, not wanting to give the elf a chance to power up. He closed the distance in a few steps, swapping back to the spear to increase his range.

  Atlan was forced to drop the skill, and the light flickered and went out. While his aura had increased, the buff hadn't done more than raise him to the top of Iron. His form still crumpled as Sam hit him. Hard.

  Weeks of fighting against beasts had not improved his form, but it had made him stronger. He happily took a stab to the shoulder if it meant landing a slash to his opponent’s thigh. A cut to the wrist was traded for a punch to the face. Even if he took three blows, it was more than made up for by landing one of his own.

  He knew Arther would be laughing if he could see it. This was the exact situation they'd trained for, the culmination of every skill purchase, upgrade, and evolution. Sam was relentless, his toughened body and increased healing nearly keeping pace with the damage as it came in.

  It still hurt, but the hurt was worth it. Atlan didn't appear to have any significant regeneration skills, and for once, Sam was the one dictating the pace of the fight. He took a second to glance over his shoulder and saw the water mage trying and failing to repair the tzen’s injured leg.

  The mage was using some kind of ice-based [Divine Skill] to staunch the bleeding, but it clearly wasn't working. Sam got flashbacks to the [Ghūl Matriarch], unable to regenerate after being hit with [Longinus Strike]. Clearly, [Platebreaker] carried the same long-term disruptive effects.

  “Leave her!” Atlan’s voice rang out over the storm. “She's useless to us now. Help me, you idiot!”

  The mage hesitated, then stood, summoning a slim, curved sword. The tzen clawed at him desperately, begging him not to leave her, but the sylvan brushed her off, curling their lip in disgust.

  The two set upon him with renewed vigour, and Sam was forced back on the defensive. The mage’s form wasn’t as good as Atlan’s, but he was still a competent fighter. He utilized a whip of barbed ice alongside his sword, and Sam had to keep a constant flow of mana to [Apostate] to ensure it didn't tangle up his legs.

  Back and forth they brawled, with neither side giving ground. Sam managed to score a few decent hits, but he was finally starting to feel the effects of the blood loss. His movements were only marginally less coordinated, but that tiny amount was enough.

  Atlan blasted him with a laser at the exact moment the mage sent the whip lashing across his face. He took the full force of both skills and was sent tumbling back across the glade, burning and bleeding in equal measure.

  His left eye was destroyed, and there was a fist-sized hole punched straight through his bicep. Blood streamed down his face, and he could taste the copper on his tongue.

  The anger in his chest pounded like a drum. He’d been too conservative with his skills, foolishly thinking he could save some cooldowns for later fights. His scorn for Atlan had clouded his judgment. While the elf was a pompous idiot, he was still dangerous.

  Sam shook his head and got to his feet, storing his helmet so the elves could see the full impact of what came next. [Battle Healing] had been working from the second he hit the ground, and his vision sprang back into focus as his eye was restored.

  He heard an audible gasp from the mage who was desperately trying to heal his own injuries. Beside him, Atlan’s jaw went slack, unable to process the speed at which Sam’s wounds knit themselves back together.

  As if reading his mind, the elf let out a strangled yell. “It matters not! We will simply chop you up until there is nothing left to heal. You're alone. It is still two against one. You cannot endure forever.”

  Sam shook his head, trying to hold back a laugh as the leaves twirled and danced. “You really can't count, can you? Or have you forgotten so quickly?” The twang of a bowstring was lost over the sound of thunder.

  “I'm not alone.”

  Atlan recoiled as an arrow sprouted from his neck, jutting from a gap in his armour. He let out a bloodcurdling shriek, frantically pawing at the shaft.

  Siel flew by in a rush, feet barely touching the ground. There was blood splattered across her face, but none of it appeared to be her own.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder to see the dalith tank trying and failing to wrestle Molly with her bare hands. The stubborn dwarf was slowly but surely getting ground into the mud, unable to overcome the boar's oppressive strength.

  Siel slammed into Atlan, sending the two tumbling off between the trees. “This one's mine,” came her voice in his head. He could feel her rage like a palpable heat through the mental connection.

  That left Sam staring down the water mage. The robed Sylvan looked shocked by the proceedings, but still had the wherewithal to get their sword up in time to block Sam’s thrust.

  From the first strike, Sam knew the fight was over. The elf simply didn't have the strength to contend with him. Sam knew that feeling, that helplessness. He knew what it was like to throw everything you had behind your weapon and not have your opponent budge. He’d felt it when he’d battled the ogre, trying in vain to overcome its monstrous strength.

  This time, he was the monster.

  He had become an inexorable beast that battered aside attacks with ease and walked through [Divine Skills] as if they weren't even there. He was a force of nature, as much an instrument of vengeance as the storm that raged overhead.

  He barely registered the swing that ended it. He casually knocked aside the elf’s sword and countered with a horizontal slash. The blade cut through armour and flesh as if it were butter, only facing mild resistance when it impacted the spine. It hadn't been a conscious decision; it was just the next obvious attack.

  The sylvan’s eyes went wide, and he dropped his sword, legs buckling as he collapsed in the mud. Blood spurted from his mouth, panic etched on his angular features.

  Sam took a step back, shocked that the fight was actually over. His enemy lay at his feet, utterly broken. Blinking, Sam inspected him.

  [Alren Te’Kona - Sylvan - Iron - Acolyte of Mazu]

  Sam burned the name into his memory. As much as this man was an enemy, he was also a victim. He hadn’t chosen to come here any more than Sam had.

  “So you can gloat?” the elf wheezed.

  “So I can remember,” Sam replied, driving the spear through his heart.

  A chime sounded in his ear, and he knew that it was over. Notifications flashed on his HUD, but he ignored them, turning to search for Siel through the torrential rain. He looked at his display, utilizing [Lunar Canopy] as a reference point. The skill allowed him to locate her quickly, and he sprinted forward, honing in on her position.

  The two sylvan were circling one another warily, occasionally sending out testing blows. Siel was holding her side where she’d taken a hit from Atlan’s laser. In contrast, he had a deep gash straight through the front of his armour, and was still bleeding from the arrow in his neck.

  Sam knew it was only a matter of time before the elf bled to death. He could let it drag out, but he was hurt, tired, and ready for the fight to be over. He walked past Siel without a word, spear held loosely at his side.

  Atlan’s face went slack as he witnessed confirmation of what his HUD had already told him. His alliance had collapsed, and his party member had been slain. He was completely alone and entirely outmatched.

  Sam expected to feel some sense of joy at seeing the arrogant elf put in his place, but instead, he just felt empty. He’d been forced to kill another person. In this battle, the gods had won. They’d made him a murderer, and he hated them all the more for it.

  For Atlan, he felt nothing at all.

  “Get back, back you foul blasphemer!” Atlan nearly tripped over a tree root as he stumbled away, face a mask of terror. “I am a Scion of Helios, my god protects me! His brilliant rays will burn away your heresy. Even in absolute darkness, the sun still shines!” His voice rose to a hysterical wail as he brought down his glaive in a last, desperate slash.

  Sam dismissed his gauntlet and caught the blade with his bare hand. He looked the elf dead in the eye.

  “That makes no fucking sense.”

  The metal shrieked as it fought against [Iron Skin], but Sam gripped tighter and yanked the weapon out of his enemy’s hand. The sylvan gasped as Sam slammed the butt of the glaive into his stomach. He collapsed in a heap, struggling to draw breath.

  “He’s all yours,” Sam said, turning to Siel. She nodded and stepped forward, blade glowing with the light of the new moon.

  She ended him with a single strike.

  The two walked back to the clearing, Sam supporting Siel as her regeneration worked on the burn. Just as they reached it, another chime sounded, and he could hear Molly let out a trumpeting squeal.

  Sam couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm. The outburst broke the tension, and Siel soon joined in, wincing as she fought through the pain in her side.

  Molly trotted over to join them in the clearing, dragging the broken corpse of the dalith behind her. She looked immensely proud of herself, and Sam took a good minute doling out a liberal helping of ear scratches.

  Siel began healing Molly’s injuries. She slowly worked her way around the boar, mending minor scrapes and bruises.

  She had just completed a full rotation when Sam felt the hairs in the back of his neck stand up. His stomach went cold, and he spun, searching for the source of his anxiety.

  It took him a moment to see the wounded tzen propped up against the base of a tree. Her aura was almost gone, life flickering like a candle in the wind. It had been so faint that he’d missed it. She had a wicked grin on her face, arm outstretched. She locked eyes with him for a moment before they went blank, and she slumped back, life extinguished.

  A fourth chime sounded in his ear, and he turned back to ask Siel if she’d seen anything suspicious. He rounded the boar to see her standing still as a statue, eyes shut. He went to ask her what was wrong when he froze, heart pounding.

  Her face was contorted in pain, shoulders hunched. Her dagger had fallen in the mud beside her.

  Sam’s eyes were drawn to it, wondering why she’d let the ancient relic fall. His gaze lifted to find out why, focusing on her hands, hands that were wrapped around the throwing knife buried squarely in her chest.