Anser rubbed his temples, unsure whether the other party was pretending to be foolish or genuinely did not know.
Seeing his expression, Giant Tail quickly reacted. "This is the Emerald Kingdom in the southern part of the Larakonde Continent. It is the territory of the Green Dragon Queen, Viritela. She is a benevolent lady who has allocated a piece of habitat to every race…"
The Emerald Kingdom was a common name. Its official abbreviation was the Darlaszarizaka Kingdom. As for its full name, very few people could remember it.
The Green Dragon Queen, Viritela, rarely appeared in person. When matters arose, her two adult offspring usually acted on her behalf. Most of the time, the territory existed in a state of ethnic autonomy; as long as tribute in the form of prey or gemstones was paid regularly, it was sufficient.
"Benevolent?"
Anser glanced toward the dinosaur forest. The fact that the Green Dragon Queen had not turned this place into a poisonous mist forest was indeed rather magnanimous.
"Where did you come from? Can you tell me what happened?" Giant Tail pointed toward the coast to the east where it met the plains, a hint of anticipation visible on his lizard-like face.
Anser pondered for a moment, then still shook his head. "We came from Silver Scale Bay. As for what exactly happened, I'm not very clear either. Perhaps it was some kind of extremely dangerous supernatural phenomenon. So we want to leave this place. Do you know how to get out?"
One could never be too cautious. If the lizardman knew they came from Faerûn, his attitude and behavior would be very hard to predict.
"Leave?" Giant Tail looked blank. "I've never left here. I've heard that if you follow this river all the way south, you'll reach the sea. But now… I don't know."
"If we follow the river south, what tribes will we encounter? Is it safe?" Anser pressed.
Giant Tail tilted his head and looked at Anser and Nornoth in a strange way. "If you two keep yourselves restrained, those tribes should be safe."
You two spells wiped out the great burden that had weighed on the lizardmen for ten years. Whether it's safe or not isn't really for others to decide.
Anser's expression stiffened slightly. This lizardman did not seem particularly intelligent. He emphasized, "I mean, are there any dangerous groups like the Dasso barbarians?"
"There are quite a lot of those. Over by the lake there's a fish-men tribe. They don't get along with us and won't let us go there to fish, saying that all the catch is for Her Majesty the Queen. But in fact, the Queen doesn't like eating fish at all.
"Further south there's a dragonborn town. They hate fish-men and aren't very friendly toward humans either…" Giant Tail went on and on without stopping.
Anser stroked his chin, finding it all quite interesting.
That Green Dragon Queen really was "benevolent," deliberately moving hostile races together so it would be convenient for them to take revenge on each other. With hatred piling up deeper and deeper, how would they have any energy left for anything else?
"What language do you mainly use to communicate?"
"Common, Draconic, Primordial…" Giant Tail answered everything he knew, looking completely forthcoming.
Anser had Giant Tail speak a few sentences in Common and discovered that this so-called "Common" was not common at all—he could not understand it in the slightest.
He had a thought in a flash, and looked at Giant Tail with a smiling face. "You were able to wipe out your enemies—wasn't that thanks to me?"
"Yes, yes." Giant Tail agreed. "Do you want the spoils of war? I can let you pick first, but not the dinosaurs. Once their masters die, they'll run back into the forest."
Anser glanced at the filthy, primitive tribe and really couldn't imagine there being anything good in it.
"Just give me whatever." He waved a hand, his voice turning a bit gentler. "You've been holed up here for so long—do you have any clansmen who want to go outside and take a look? We still have space on our ship. We can take one or two people.
"Preferably someone proficient in Common and Draconic. If they know other languages too, even better. Food and lodging included. I'll also do my best to ensure their safety."
Giant Tail's eyes widened. He finally understood what the other party meant—this mage… was recruiting a guide.
"Look around you. The world is undergoing earthshaking changes. Only by embracing change can there be a future. Going out might open up another way forward." Anser guided him step by step.
"Uh… I need to go back and ask the shaman," Giant Tail said vaguely.
"Then it's settled. I'll wait for you at the edge of the swamp." Anser chuckled and rode off.
Watching the departing back, Giant Tail took a long time to come back to his senses. Thinking of his clansmen who were still fighting, he struck his shield and charged toward the battlefield.
...
The Quesser was sailing slowly along the river channel.
From far away, when he saw Anser's figure, Salian finally felt relieved.
This battle had been easier than expected. The cannons were a secondary factor—the key was that Anser's two Fireballs decided the outcome.
If that group of strange people had really rushed onto the ship, the result probably wouldn't have been very good.
Nornoth let out an excited hiss, lightly leaping onto the deck. He shook his head and strutted about, looking very proud.
He was liking battle more and more now. Of course, the main reason was that he and his master kept winning.
"Those were lizardmen?" Salian strode over.
"Yes. They have a grudge with those beast-men…" Anser swung down from his horse and briefly explained what had just happened.
"Emerald Kingdom…" Salian's expression changed slightly. "If—I mean if—the Weave recovers, will we be stuck on Abeir forever?"
"I don't know." Anser shook his head slightly. He hadn't experienced it, so he couldn't predict what would happen then.
He felt that it wouldn't be bad to believe in the Goddess of Magic right now. Maybe when the time came, the goddess would take a liking to him and casually fish him out.
"You're looking for a guide—do you want to keep going south?" Kaleno asked, looking a bit tense.
"It's not that I want to go south. It's that this ship can only go south." Anser pointed east. "Over there is a vast wilderness. Along the coastal road, going north leads to Baldur's Gate, and going south leads to Beregost and Candlekeep."
"That way isn't any safer than here right now. Monsters are running rampant. Without a ship, how far could these crewmen go, and where could they even reach?"
The Quesser was essentially a mobile home—sheltered from wind and rain, equipped with cannons, living quarters, and sufficient supplies. Sailing was relatively comfortable.
But on land? How far could you go on just two feet? In three days a person would be worn to collapse. With no shelter, constantly on edge, short on food and water—the living conditions were self-evident.
"What if Candlekeep isn't there?" Kaleno's voice was low.
"You said it yourself—what if." Anser patted his arm in reassurance.
Outside Candlekeep there were islands and bays. There would certainly be many people from Faerûn there. Only by concentrating forces could they resist racial incursions from Abeir—such as green dragons.
"A few kilometers ahead there's a large lake. To the west is a stretch of swamp. Where should we wait?" Salian lowered his spyglass and looked back at Anser.
"We won't enter the lake. We'll rest outside. I hear there are fish-men in the lake—better understand the situation first." Anser considered.
A guide's main role wasn't simply pointing the way or handling negotiations, but figuring out the surrounding powers in advance and avoiding those that couldn't be provoked.
"All right, we'll do as you say." Salian waved a hand. "Go get some rest."
"Mm. I'll treat everyone to ice-cold beer—everyone, come on—" Anser waved.
He returned to the dining hall, had Bratt ask the chef for an empty barrel, and poured 4 gallons of beer from the Alchemy Jug, equivalent to thirty bottles.
He controlled the power of Ray of Frost to chill the beer. Everyone got a small cup—no more than that.
As for himself, he gulped down a large mug in one go, then let out a burp and breathed out comfortably.
The forest had been fine, but once out here it felt unbearably hot—run a few steps and you'd be sweating. After a big fight, if you didn't cool down with some beer, it always felt like something was missing.
Bratt took a huge gulp of beer, a look of relief spreading across his face. "When did you advance to elite spellcaster?"
"Just these past couple of days. You know—I'm a Sorcerer."
"I've never seen a more outrageous genius than you." Bratt laughed heartily, as if he were the one who had advanced.
The crew drank and chatted, the atmosphere much more relaxed than before.
More than an hour later, the Quesser dropped anchor at the river mouth.
That lizardman hadn't lied. From time to time, fish-men surfaced in the lake, quietly monitoring this side.
Salian was tense, afraid that fish-men might sneak over to sabotage the hull.
Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened through the afternoon. Fish-men were an intelligent race; they should have seen what happened to the Dasso tribe, which likely served as some deterrent.
As evening approached, two lizardmen came running from afar. The one in front was none other than the lizardman chief, Giant Tail.
He was fully armed, carrying a pack, his expression somewhat excited.
The other lizardman was rather old, holding a long staff, wearing robes, his face full of grievance.
Wasn't this supposed to be a negotiation? How did the tribal chief himself get talked into leaving?
---
I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> patreon.com/TitoVillar
---