A dark-skinned, short-haired young man, afraid of making the boss feel awkward, hurriedly tried to smooth things over. "Mainly, there are just too few wild beasts around here, haha…"
His name was Alva, a warrior who had just crossed the professional threshold. His main profession was stonemason, and he also served as Emon's assistant.
"It's fine. I'll treat you two to some crab meat. In this heat, if we can't finish it, it'll just spoil." Anser did not expose them. Instead, he gestured to Finn, signaling him to go roast some crab meat.
Finn paused, his beard trembling a few times. He was a little reluctant, but still carried the crab shells over to the campfire.
"This…" When Emon saw the white frost on the crab meat, how could he not realize that Anser was deliberately helping him?
They had fled in haste and had not brought much food at all. Rations were strictly limited each day, and for the past two days everyone had gone without eating their fill.
Bratt patted him on the shoulder and deliberately boasted, "You didn't see it—the riverbank was covered everywhere with monster corpses. Giant crabs like these were plentiful. Just pick up two at random and you can eat well for several days."
"Haha, I really wanted to see that for myself. What a pity…" Emon stopped being coy as well, his laughter open and hearty.
Finn sat quietly by the campfire, using a crab shell as a cutting board. He diced the crab meat and tossed two or three pounds into the soup pot, adding some dried vegetables along the way.
There were too many people; letting the others have a taste would be enough. He was also planning to save some for Nornoth.
After that, he began to prepare Anser's dinner.
First, he set up a small pot, added a spoonful of white rice and oats, then cut in the diced crab meat, sprinkled in dried vegetables and a few grains of sea salt, and let it simmer slowly over low heat.
Taking advantage of this time, he took out the remaining pieces of brown-sugar walnut bread, sliced them, spread on buttermilk and a bit of molasses, toasted them until warm and melted, and finally sprinkled on a little fine salt and chopped parsley. He tucked in a slice of roasted crab meat to make sandwiches.
The aroma slowly spread, and many people were secretly swallowing their saliva.
Finn then cracked open the shells from the crab legs. With a bit of simple trimming, they became utensils. He arranged the food, and it looked extremely appetizing.
He divided the crab porridge into five bowls. The large bowl went to Anser, while he, Bratt, Emon, and Alva each received a small bowl.
As for the brown sugar walnut bread sandwiches, those were reserved exclusively for Anser.
Bratt looked at the dinner, which had an appealing presentation and aroma, and said with some surprise, "I didn't expect your cooking to be this good."
"It's passable." Finn looked completely unconcerned as he spoke, calmly soaking his bread in the porridge.
Bratt was left speechless. This taciturn fellow had really learned some bad habits.
Anser picked up a sandwich and took a bite. It was soft, tender, and sweet, with a rich mouthfeel and clear layers, not greasy at all—perfectly suited to his taste.
"Excellent!" He did not hold back his praise.
"Mm." Finn narrowed his eyes, looking to be in a very good mood.
Catching Bratt's little look out of the corner of his eye, Anser took a knife and cut the sandwich, sharing a small piece with each of them.
Seeing that the portions were not large, Emon and the others did not refuse. After just a few bites, their faces were full of admiration.
Alva brought over the grilled fish, one for each person. It did not have much flavor, but it made up for that with its freshness.
The five of them sat together. On the table there was meat, fish, and porridge, with plenty of bread—far better than the thin porridge and bread the others had.
No one felt there was a problem, nor would anyone have the slightest complaint.
In Faerûn, fairness and justice were not mainstream values; only a small number of organizations and individuals promoted them.
In most people's thinking, the strong should eat well, live well, and dress well, so everyone strives to become strong.
Respecting the elderly and caring for the young depends on the circumstances. Adults like those of the Stonemasons' Guild naturally eat better and eat more than the old, the weak, women, and children. If you don't do it this way, when real danger comes, who do you expect to rely on?
If you keep preaching fairness and justice but cannot actually achieve them, you only make the people who are full of hope even more miserable and resentful.
...
After dinner, Anser took Finn and Nornoth back to the tent.
Bratt and Emon, reunited after a long separation, had much to talk about. Finn did not enjoy liveliness and preferred to stay with Nornoth.
There was now an additional simple saddle on Nornoth's back, a gift from Emon.
It had been temporarily modified out of leather by craftsmen of the Stonemasons' Guild, including a leather seat cushion, girth, stirrups, and stirrup leathers. There was no rigid saddle—makeshift but practical.
If nothing else, the stirrups alone made riding much easier.
He had not expected that although Emon was tall and sturdy, he was actually very attentive. No wonder he could serve as a team leader.
After a simple wash, he slipped into the tent.
Picking up the staff, he focused his mind and activated Goodberry within the Goodberry staff.
Now he only had one bottle of healing potion left. At a critical moment, he could only rely on the magic berries to tide him over. If the extra charges were not used, that would be a waste.
The gray-green staff suddenly turned green. The patterns on the shaft curled and spread, rapidly sprouting ten tiny branches, and then… they withered one after another.
He had expected this. He continued casting, and only succeeded on the fifth attempt.
"The Weave… it seems even more chaotic." He put away the magic berries, feeling some sympathy for those Wizards.
The Weave had not improved—on the contrary, it was getting worse and worse. It was very likely to trigger an even more terrifying disaster and chain reactions.
But up to now, no deity of any church had issued an instruction, and no one knew what had happened.
No wonder the Order of Blue Fire disliked him. If it were him, he would feel the same imbalance—jealousy and resentment were only normal.
Anser sighed. First, he charged the Ring of Spell Storing, then secured the tent and entered a meditative state.
...
Late at night, the moon was bright and the stars were few, and mist filled the air.
A civilian house in the ruins of the Giant Red Deer Village.
"Captain, is it necessary to be this cautious?" The black dragonborn bared his teeth. His yellow eyes showed no wisdom, only cunning and cruelty.
A middle-aged man sat by the window, quietly watching the night outside, saying nothing.
He wore a black cloak patterned with silver lines. Under it was a conspicuous silver-scale breastplate, with sword and shield resting at his side. Judging from his attire, he had not been among the daytime crowd.
"Shut up." A lean, dark-skinned ranger with a bow on his back snapped. "The captain has his own arrangements. Who are you to talk?"
"Hmph." The black dragonborn snorted coldly, but did not dare speak again.
The middle-aged captain stood up and paced back and forth, the worry in his eyes almost overflowing.
"Something is definitely not right!" He suddenly stopped and looked at the ranger. "You've checked outside? Anything unusual?"
"I've patrolled twice, Captain." The lean ranger's expression was solemn. "There's nothing unusual in the surroundings."
The middle-aged captain tightened his grip on his longsword, frowning hard.
He did not know why, but today he kept feeling "uncomfortable," unable to sit still. He believed this was an omen for the action to come.
This strange, ominous feeling made him afraid to act rashly, and the operation was postponed again and again.
"Operation canceled!" His face was cold. "We stop here. We withdraw at first light tomorrow."
All the team members' expressions changed. The operation had only just begun; leaving now would mean losses impossible to calculate, something no one could accept.
"Why?" The lean ranger's face darkened. "Captain, this is a once-in-a-century opportunity. Every day, large numbers of refugees come here. All we have to do is wait for them to deliver themselves to our door."
"Even without counting personal belongings, one person can be sold for at least several dozen gold coins. These past few days, we've been raking in several thousand gold coins just by sitting around—it's like picking up money. And now you're telling us to leave?!"
"Even if we want to leave, Lord Nashival probably won't agree," the black dragonborn said in a low, eerie tone.
The atmosphere in the room instantly froze.
After a long silence, the lean ranger spoke again, his tone easing. "Lord Nashival's fleet is anchored at Silver Scale Bay. He won't leave until his holds are full. That transport team in Cloakwood Forest is like a blade hanging at our throats. Whether we go or stay isn't something we get to decide."
The middle-aged captain naturally understood this. He had only been unsettled by his unease just now. He explained, "I may not have made myself clear. What I meant was… changing locations. Mm… heading north. This place is a bit too remote."
The excuse was clumsy, because this was precisely the location they had deliberately chosen—neither too close nor too far. Many refugees carrying old maps would automatically find their way here.
The black dragonborn's eyes rolled. "The captain's intuition can't be ignored either. How about we finish this job first, then report to Lord Nashival tomorrow and let him decide."
"There was a torrential rain last night, so we rested for a day. Today, a spellcaster showed up at that camp again—perfect timing to wipe them out in one go. That mutant horse alone should be worth at least a thousand gold coins."
He spoke with confidence, not believing that a few extra people could pose any real obstacle. Judging by the looks on the others' faces, they clearly thought the same.
The middle-aged captain took in everyone's expressions, tugged at the corner of his mouth, and hardened his heart.
"Move out. Commence the operation."
"Yes…" Everyone broke into smiles.
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