Turn 4 of 13

Claim you're walking into the Third Warren anyway and see if he stops you

You step toward the marker, placing your foot deliberately on the carved line that separates forest from whatever lies beyond. The gesture costs nothing—your Charisma is already bottomed out, your bluff exhausted on the goblin—but the Spite stat gathers behind your sternum like breath held underwater, waiting to be spent.

"I'm going in," you say. "The goblins fear it. You watch it. And someone with my exact numbers survived long enough to stand here annoying you. So either the Third Warren explains why R. wanted me weak, or it kills me and your professional curiosity finally gets answered."

Ordwin's bow doesn't rise, but his knuckles whiten on the grip.

"You're not bluffing," he says, and it sounds like discovery, not compliment. "Luck zero, Wisdom three, and you're walking toward a death pit because you think someone planned it that way."

"I think someone planned everything that way." You turn your back to him, a luxury only the truly desperate can afford, and take another step past the marker. The forest changes immediately—the air stiller, the green light thinner, mushrooms thicker and stranger.

"The sabotaged stats. The spoon. The goblin who knew R.'s name. Either the world wants me to solve this puzzle, or R. wants me to die trying. Same result."

A hand closes on your shoulder, rough and urgent. Ordwin's grip is stronger than his age suggests, and his voice comes low, almost angry.

"I've watched forty-seven Allocation failures die at that border," he says. "Forty-seven, and I learned nothing. You're the first who looked at the numbers and decided to weaponize them." He releases you, but stays close, bow finally slung across his back.

"I'm coming with you. Not to save you—to see what happens when Spite 99 meets what the goblins woke."

Your status window flickers, and for the first time, the Spite stat pulses in rhythm with your heartbeat.