'I've become stronger again.'
Anser brought up his character sheet, and the data on it had already changed drastically.
His Hit Point had reached 44, Magic Power 43, and sorcery points 10—everything had risen across the board.
However, Magic Power might look abundant, but it was not very economical to use. A single 3rd-level spell consumed 5 points of Magic Power, meaning that at most he could only cast eight spells.
'Combat should still focus on 1st- and 2nd-level spells and cantrips!' He did not take it too seriously—after all, not every enemy was worthy of his Fireball.
Reaching 5th level also brought a major boost: the spell effects of cantrips increased dramatically!
Cantrips were different from conventional spells. They might look simple, and they could not be upcast, but they had their own exclusive avenues of enhancement.
As a spellcaster's various abilities continued to improve, reaching 5th level marked a qualitative transformation—Magic Power control, spell comprehension, spellcasting proficiency, the development of class features, and more. They gained complete mastery over cantrips, allowing them to unleash far more powerful spell effects.
For example, the base damage of Sorcery Burst and Ray of Frost both increased from 1d8 to 2d8, surpassing even the damage of Magic Missile.
This was also why only at 5th level did a spellcaster begin to qualify as a spell turret.
Anser stretched lazily in satisfaction, pushed open the door, and stepped onto the deck.
The ship was spotless. Bloodstains and corpses had already been cleaned up, though a faint smell of blood still lingered.
At the bow, Salian turned his head to look at Anser on the deck, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. That man seemed a little different now.
When the others saw Anser, the tension on their faces eased noticeably. In this unknown environment where danger lurked everywhere, only the two men—one old, one young—could give them even a trace of reassurance.
Anser walked to the bow and looked ahead. Before him stood towering ancient trees, one after another, dark and profound, as if stretching on without end.
It gave him the feeling of exploring an otherworldly jungle, and it did not feel bad at all.
Salian lifted his head to look at the steel-colored sky, his expression filled with melancholy. "We haven't already left Faerûn, have we?"
"Perhaps it's planar fusion combined with regional displacement. Situations like this seemed to last for decades during the Spellplague era. If we can get out in time, it shouldn't be a major problem," Anser said thoughtfully.
"Hopefully." Salian sighed. "Still, there are a lot of animals here, and they're edible. At least we won't have to worry about food for a while."
"I like hunting." Anser laughed. Most dinosaurs lacked spell-like abilities, so they were not particularly difficult to deal with.
"You should go eat first. Everyone else has already eaten," Salian urged. He had long noticed that whenever Anser entered combat, he became unusually excited, almost as if he were addicted to it.
"Okay." Anser was hungry as well.
He strolled into the dining hall. Pretty much everyone was there, looking like they had just finished eating; many utensils still had not been cleared away.
In the forest there was no wind and no waves, and the water's surface was calm, so there was no need to worry about the utensils being blown all over the place.
When little Claira saw Anser, she quickly slipped down from her stool, ran a few steps, and hugged his leg, pouting as she muttered, "Anser, Darla won't let me go play on the deck."
"You've even learned how to tattle." Darla walked over and deliberately put on a stern face. "So I'm the bad one now? What, do I seem old and strict to you?"
"You're old." Claira hid behind Anser, her expression earnest. "You're more than ten years older than Anser. In more than ten years, you can already have a baby."
Darla's expression stiffened, her lips twisting as she reached out to grab Claira, her tone turning sour. "Who told you that? You can't calculate an elf's age like that."
"Ah, Anser, protect me!" Claira clung to Anser, burying her head in his clothes and shrinking back.
Anser smiled helplessly, bent down, and picked Claira up. His gaze shifted to Darla, only to see her quickly avert her eyes.
"It's dangerous outside. There are lots of monsters that will snatch up children. You absolutely must not sneak off to the deck by yourself, understand?"
He was not trying to scare her. Hunting the young of animals was an instinct for many predators, because the risk was very small.
"Got it~" Claira nodded up and down, looking very well-behaved.
Darla was furious. Why did the exact same words have such different effects depending on who said them?
At that moment, the halfling chef came over carrying a deep wooden platter. He gently set it on the tabletop. "Mr. Anser, time to eat. This is a yakitori meal specially prepared for you."
"Huh, this doesn't seem to be a bird?" Anser noticed the yakitori on the platter had two pairs of wings.
The halfling chef shrugged. "I don't know either. Mr. Finn's Grey Eagle caught it and brought it back."
Anser focused his gaze on the yakitori, and the dice quickly appraised its information: a Microraptor!
A tiny, four-winged dinosaur that lived in groups among the trees, with gorgeous iridescent feathers.
'Can this thing be used as a familiar?' His eyes lit up.
But then he thought it over and decided not to eat it. He only had Friends, and the effect was not strong—what if the Microraptor could smell the scent of its own kind on him?
"I don't like eating this. Give it to the injured crewmen. Just bring me some bread and a vegetable stew," he said, making up an excuse.
"Oh, all right." The halfling chef carried the platter away, looking puzzled.
Bratt said this one liked meat—did he change his taste?
"Bring me a clean jar, one that can hold at least a gallon," Anser suddenly called out.
"Okay," the chef replied.
Anser set Claira down in the seat across from him and asked with a smile, "Have you eaten yet?"
"I ate already—meat pies and barbecue, all meat. I don't like it." Claira pouted.
"Haha…" Anser chuckled.
At present, the situation was unclear, and the ship had already begun rationing food. This was the correct approach, and there was nothing more to say about it.
A few minutes later, the chef brought over a wooden jar and a hearty breakfast: bread, meat pies, vegetable stew, grilled meat, as well as a small dish of honey and a block of cheese.
Anser picked up the jar and sniffed it. There was no strange smell. Then he took out the Alchemy Jug at his waist, opened it, and poured its contents inside. Deep amber, viscous honey flowed slowly into the jar, its sweet fragrance spreading freely through the air.
"Wow—" Claira kept twitching her nose. "So much, it smells so good."
One gallon was 3.79 liters—a very large amount. Even if everyone on the ship ate a few spoonfuls per meal, it would still be enough.
Anser had already analyzed it: producing honey had an extremely high cost-performance ratio. It not only provided calories and vitamins, but its sweet flavor could also improve the eater's mood.
Soon, all of the excellent-quality honey had been poured out. The inside of the Alchemy Jug was completely clean, without a single drop left behind—very unique.
He put the Alchemy Jug away, scooped out a spoonful, spread it thickly over a slice of bread, and handed it to Claira. "Eat."
"Thank you, Anser." Claira smiled so brightly that her eyes curved into crescents.
No child could refuse sweets—hm, and neither could elves.
Seeing that Anser showed no sign of giving her any, Darla stopped pretending to be reserved and simply helped herself.
"You can keep a little. Take the rest to the chef for me," Anser said with a beaming smile, pointing at the honey jar.
Darla clearly had no idea what politeness was. She pulled a small jar out of the kitchen and secretly filled it with honey.
Before the jar reached the kitchen, it was still Anser's private property. How could that count as stealing?
After eating a simple meal, Anser went to the aft deck.
The Grey Eagle was perched at the top, dozing. The feathers on its back were torn, and its wounds still bore traces of blood. It must have been injured not long ago.
Bratt and Finn were sitting back-to-back together. When they saw Anser arrive, they hurriedly stood up.
"Was this done by a Microraptor? Are those things really that vicious?" Anser asked in confusion.
"Microraptor?" Finn looked blank.
"The kind of four-winged flying bird the Grey Eagle brought back."
"Yes—fast, and very vengeful." Finn scratched his messy beard, looking somewhat helpless.
Anser looked up at the strange sky, activated the Royal Butterfly Cloak, and flapped its butterfly wings as he flew upward.
Fly was fast, but each use consumed 5 points of Magic Power. Unless it was necessary, it was better to save it.
After ascending nearly a hundred meters, his view suddenly opened up. Beneath his feet was lush greenery, and in the distance stretched an endless forest.
Flying a bit higher, the edge of the forest revealed a vast plain, along with a lake as smooth as a mirror. However, the distance was too great to make out whether there were any signs of habitation.
Just as he wanted to fly higher, a black speck suddenly appeared on the distant horizon and shot toward his direction at extreme speed.
'What is that?' He quickly descended, hiding among the dense branches.
A few minutes later, a massive silhouette swept across the sky. Dark green scales reflected the sunlight—dragon head, long tail, bat-like wings…
A green dragon!
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