Anser looked at everything before him, his gaze distant. Even though he had temporarily escaped the crisis of life and death, he did not feel particularly excited or happy.
I felt compassion.
I stood by and did nothing.
I empathized.
And I was powerless…
He suddenly felt that the concept of alignment was truly something quite remarkable.
If he had crossed over here during his youth, he would most likely have been Lawful Good, making the same choice as the old cleric.
But after experiencing the tempering of society, suffering countless losses and receiving innumerable lessons, he came to realize that much of people's misfortune is caused by their own personalities and choices. Momentary help cannot change their fate.
Moreover, not everyone is worth helping.
When one's own life is already a tangled mess, getting involved in too many troubles only wastes time, energy, and money. By comparison, one's family needs them more.
"It's time to go!"
Rivington did not give him a good impression. Along the way, he could constantly sense ill-intentioned gazes. Tens of thousands of refugees were packed together, negative emotions continuously accumulating, and it felt like things would eventually explode.
And staying in the church would inevitably mean facing all kinds of moral dilemmas. If something really happened, one would be caught in an impossible position. It was better to be out of sight and out of mind.
After a while, Rand and Zahir hurried back.
Those ill-intentioned gazes hidden in the shadows gradually disappeared. They dared to bully the priests of Lathander, but they did not necessarily dare to provoke the followers of Tyr.
Anser gave Bratt and the others a meaningful look, and several of them gathered together.
"Leaving?" Bratt seemed to have guessed something.
"Mm." Anser nodded. "We'll go say our goodbyes, then find a place to stay, purchase some supplies, and leave early tomorrow morning."
"Where to?" Bratt's expression was complicated.
Last year, he had hastily ended an unpleasant adventuring career and chosen Baldur's Gate as a place to settle down. Just as everything had begun to get on track, it came to an abrupt end again.
"To the north are all duergar, to the south are wilderness and forests, and farther south is Candlekeep…" Anser considered his words. "Let's head east. We'll follow the River Chionthar, and think about what comes next afterward."
He wanted to go to Waterdeep, but heading straight north was definitely not an option.
"I don't have any family. I can go anywhere." Finn looked completely indifferent.
"I have no objections. For lodging and supplies, I suggest the Adventurers' Guild. In times like these, it's relatively safer there." Bratt proposed.
"You're a veteran adventurer. We'll follow your lead." Anser grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder.
They did not disturb Rand. The three of them went together to find the old cleric Berg, said a brief farewell, and then left the church.
The old cleric tried several times to speak and persuade them to stay, but in the end he said nothing, only watching them depart.
Just after leaving the church area, Anser noticed one unclear gaze after another shooting toward them from the surroundings, constantly roaming over their backpacks and packs.
Professionals were indeed powerful, but low-level professionals could not withstand being swarmed. Professionals beaten to death under pitchforks were by no means just one or two.
Anser was not overly worried. High-level professionals would not look down on the little they had. As for same-level professionals or ordinary people looking for trouble, that would be courting death. He was not an ordinary spellcaster.
Walking along the street, an indescribable stench filled the air. Disaster victims crowded both sides of the road, many of them lying out in the open on a single tattered blanket. If not for the faint rise and fall of their chests, one might have thought they were corpses.
The deeper they went into the city, the worse it became. This was no longer the Rivington of the original owner's memories.
Bratt led the way at the front. A skinny youth stumbled over, quietly slipping his hand into the pack on Bratt's back.
Just as a trace of delight appeared on the boy's face, a large hand reached out and clamped down on his slender wrist.
"Dare to steal from me?" Bratt turned his head, looking amused. But when he saw the boy's sallow, emaciated, sickly appearance, the strength in his hand loosened somewhat.
The boy seized the opportunity to break free, squatting down on the ground with an extremely frightened look, scrambling backward with both hands and feet.
"Ah, help! Someone's trafficking people—"
Bratt's expression immediately turned cold, but he did not loudly argue back. That was not his style.
The people around them fled in panic as if they had seen a plague. Even the refugees lying like corpses rolled farther away, wrapped in their blankets.
At the same time, more than a dozen young and middle-aged men closed in from all directions. The man at the front was powerfully built, bald and beardless, wearing scale armor on his upper body with a surcoat over it.
When Anser saw the man in front, how could he not understand what was going on. His eyes narrowed slightly as he quickly mobilized his own magic power.
The bald man let out a cold chuckle, his gaze sweeping over the staff in Anser's hand before finally settling on Bratt. "Outsider, do you know—"
"Sorcery Burst - Thunder"
A short, clipped draconic utterance sounded in everyone's ears. A flash of light streaked past and struck the bald man's large face, and thunder roared as it exploded.
Anser did not pause. Within two seconds, he hurled three more Sorcery Bursts toward the densest part of the crowd.
Boom! Boom! Boom—
When the dust cleared, people were sprawled all over the ground. Not many were injured; most were simply terrified.
The bald man had just managed to get back on his feet. His ears were ringing, his face was covered in blood, and the flesh of his right arm was mangled. If he had not raised his arm to block at the last moment, his face likely would not have been spared.
In front of him, Bratt had taken up an attacking stance, while Finn had already leapt onto a nearby rooftop, arrow nocked and ready.
Anser made a hand signal to the two of them, indicating that they should not attack.
"Baldy Bill, has your Iron Anchor Brotherhood changed its line of work?"
He knew the other party. The Iron Anchor Brotherhood was a local gang that had long operated around the docks of Brampton, bullying the weak and fearing the strong.
That was why he had chosen to strike first, focusing on intimidation. He did not believe that this kind of trash, which lived by oppressing the bottom rung, would fight him to the death when it knew it was outmatched.
"Huh?" Baldy Bill stiffened. The longsword he had just raised was lowered in frustration. He grabbed the corner of his surcoat and wiped the blood from his eyes, then looked Anser up and down with a confused expression. "And you are…?"
"Does it matter who I am?" Anser deliberately let his face turn cold as he threatened him. "If you don't give me an explanation today, I'll sell all of you to Thay."
In Baldur's Gate, if you accidentally provoked someone you should not have, there were only two outcomes: either fight desperately to the death, or pay money to settle the trouble.
At this moment, the dice popped up with the other party's information: [Baldy Bill, Human, Level 1 Fighter].
"Misunderstanding, misunderstanding, this… sir—Mage." Baldy Bill waved his hands and took two steps back. "The lads below didn't explain things clearly. I just came over to ask…"
"Go on, keep making it up." Anser crossed his arms, wearing an expression that showed he had him completely figured out.
"Uh," Baldy Bill forced a smile. "Sir, we came out in too much of a hurry and didn't bring anything with us—not even food—so we took the risk to do this. You know, our brotherhood never robs anyone…"
Anser raised a hand to cut off his complaints and pointed at the scale armor on his body. "Nice scale armor. And the coin pouch, the gemstones—hand them over yourself. I'm giving you a chance. Don't think I'm easy to talk to."
Baldy Bill was a professional, and the others were armed as well. If they fought, they could win, but it would certainly consume the already limited magic power and stamina they had.
The situation here was far too chaotic. Being in poor condition made it easy for others to take advantage. If intimidation would suffice, there was no need to resort to fighting.
Intimidation was not just verbal presence. With the support of skills and the Charisma attribute, it exerted powerful influence on a mental level—especially under conditions of martial deterrence.
"Well…" Baldy Bill's expression shifted repeatedly. Gritting his teeth, he began to take off his equipment.
The other side had not asked for weapons or food, landing precisely on his psychological bottom line.
Today was truly unlucky. Hadn't it been said that mages could no longer cast spells? How was it that the moment they met, spells were already being thrown in his face? He had seen plenty of cantrips before, but he had never encountered anyone who cast spells this fast.
Seeing their boss give in, the others could only take out all the money they had on them. Before long, a small pile had formed.
Anser did not bother to check whether they had hidden anything and quietly signaled to Bratt.
Bratt wrapped everything up with the scale-armored surcoat, bundling it into a single package and lifting it in his hand, silently giving Anser a thumbs-up in his heart.
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