White Stone Island, White Stone Castle.
In the conference room, Federal Prime Minister Quentin was holding a meeting to discuss the possibility of forming a commercial fleet.
After the Holrewen Federation was established, White Stone Island's geographical location had been made public, and quite a few merchant ships had recently begun appearing in the surrounding waters.
White Stone Island had established preliminary contact with the surrounding regions.
The pirates who had been keeping watch on the island had also disappeared.
The atmosphere in the conference room was particularly lively, because Quentin had just told everyone what had happened in Cormyr.
Many people were so excited they could barely speak coherently, forcing the meeting to grind to a halt.
Quentin kept a constant eye on news from the Spirit Net. When he saw the contents of Anser's Sending, he softly read them aloud: "Keep a low profile, and go about your business steadily..."
The moment the words left his mouth, he couldn't help laughing.
Coming from their boss, those words sounded about as awkward as they possibly could. Just who was the one who couldn't keep a low profile here?
He desperately wanted to throw those words right back at his boss, but he didn't dare, and holding it in was proving difficult.
Still, he knew Anser's concerns were not unfounded.
As Anser's reputation skyrocketed, the Holrewen Federation would inevitably attract countless people looking to join it, along with a great deal of attention.
Most officials lacked the temperament to handle that properly. If they became too full of themselves, or were manipulated or deceived by people with ulterior motives, they could easily end up doing something rotten and then find themselves publicly torn apart on the Spirit Net.
That would damage not only the Holrewen Federation's image, but Anser's reputation as well.
Strengthening oversight really was necessary!
...
Paros.
"An extraordinary young man." A graying, middle-aged man set down his teacup and gazed wistfully out the window.
Diagonally across from him, a freckled young man curled his lip and said dismissively, "Just a bard exaggerating things. It's probably not very credible."
"It's true. There are pictures."
Beside him stood a tall young man with curly hair. His expression was certain, and there was a hint of displeasure in the way he looked at the freckled youth.
"Have you been brainwashed by that Spirit Net or whatever? You never stop talking about it. Careful, or one day it'll eat your brain too." The freckled youth grinned, mockery glinting in his eyes.
The curly-haired young man's breathing grew a little heavier. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said nothing.
Seeing this, the freckled youth became even more smug. He was about to say something else when he turned and saw the middle-aged man staring coldly at him. Frightened, he immediately shut his mouth.
"Get out."
The middle-aged man's voice was soft, yet it struck the freckled youth's ears like thunder, making him shudder.
The freckled youth stood, bowed in an awkward approximation of proper etiquette, and walked out of the room with uneven steps.
The curly-haired young man also made to leave, but the middle-aged man called him back and raised a hand, gesturing for him to sit.
The curly-haired young man looked somewhat uneasy. He placed both hands on his knees and sat with his back perfectly straight.
"Martin, what do you think of Bolivik?" the middle-aged man asked, his gaze intense.
"Grand Duke, he... isn't worthy of the Portyr name." Martin lowered his gaze.
"Indeed." The middle-aged man sighed, his face filled with melancholy.
"You and he are both illegitimate sons, but you grew up at Duke Stelmane's side and received a nobleman's education."
"Bolivik is different from you. He grew up in the slums of the Outer City and has little in the way of manners or upbringing, but he is, after all, the last remaining blood of Duke Portyr..." The middle-aged man's brow furrowed deeply.
Something stirred in Martin's expression, but he said nothing.
"I'll have Bolivik properly settled. I'll arrange for him to marry and have children, and he'll live the rest of his life without worry. He won't appear at gatherings like this again," the middle-aged man continued.
Martin's body jolted. He knew exactly what that meant.
The Council of Three, once renowned throughout Faerûn, would become a thing of the past. The Portyr family of Baldur's Gate would be completely removed from the board, leaving behind nothing but a noble title.
"Don't be afraid. House Stelmane's foundations are still intact. I believe you can shoulder this responsibility and restore House Stelmane to its former glory," the middle-aged man reassured him.
"I'll do my best, Grand Duke Ravengard." Martin nodded, though there was inevitably a trace of panic in his eyes.
"Are there any hidden requirements for becoming a Spirit Net member?" Grand Duke Ravengard abruptly changed the subject.
"Uh, I don't think so. As long as you can sense it, you can submit an application, but whether it gets approved requires a bit of luck."
"Then it seems my luck isn't very good."
"What do you think of Anser Holrewen?" The Grand Duke reached for his empty teacup twice. When Martin failed to take the hint, he had no choice but to pour the tea himself.
"He's a genius—the kind that only comes along once every few centuries." Martin scratched his curly hair, his eyes practically shining.
"He also comes from Baldur's Gate, and I know his mentor." The Grand Duke narrowed his eyes. "Why do you think he hasn't answered my letter?"
"Maybe... he's busy?" Martin said hesitantly.
"Cormyr is so far away, yet he was willing to go there. Why isn't he willing to come to Paros? Baldur's Gate is his hometown too." Confusion showed in the Grand Duke's eyes.
No one believed that meteor shower had been an impulsive decision, nor did anyone think casting a 9th-level spell came without any cost.
If that was the case, why had Anser gone so far out of his way to help Cormyr fight an orc coalition that had nothing to do with him?
He should hate the subterranean creatures occupying Baldur's Gate even more!
"I saw people saying on the Spirit Net that Cormyr's Obarskyr royal family intends to arrange a marriage with him. Supposedly, they're already preparing gifts," Martin recalled.
"The reigning Obarskyr king isn't particularly capable, but he certainly knows how to have children." The Grand Duke took a sip of tea, his gaze distant. "But my granddaughter is still too young."
"That might not be the reason. Those are all just rumors. Anser himself keeps a low profile and rarely appears in public, nor does he attend noble banquets."
"You learned all that from the Spirit Net too?"
"Yes. You can find all kinds of information on the Spirit Net."
"Ah—" The Grand Duke rose and slowly walked to the window. "As things stand, the few of us don't have the strength to retake Baldur's Gate. I've prepared two plans."
"The first is to reorganize the council, invite Anser to join, and govern Baldur's Gate together."
"The second is to incorporate Baldur's Gate into the Holrewen Federation, Waterdeep, or the Silver Marches and rely on outside strength. Which do you think is better?"
"I... I don't know." Martin forced out a strained smile.
He had merely inherited the Stelmane family name. He had neither troops nor money in his hands, so what right did he have to discuss matters like these?
"You actually do know. You just don't dare say it. Right now, aside from Holrewen, no one would be willing to help me." The Grand Duke sighed softly.
Martin remained silent.
"Right now, I need you to help me contact Anser through the Spirit Net. I want to make a deal with him—one involving a city, an Artifact, and a secret to becoming a god." The Grand Duke suddenly turned to look at him.
"What?" Martin was shaken to his core, his eyes widening. "I... might not be able to reach him."
"Give it a try. I won't blame you if you can't. Remember, don't let anyone else learn the contents of the deal."
"Yes. I'll do my best." Martin's fingers trembled, forcing him to clench his fists.
The room fell silent once more.
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