Everyone's Worries

The rusty bolt screeched as it was pulled back, and the firmly locked door was pushed open. The dust-covered Flaming Fist squad had finally returned to their long-absent base.

The familiar training grounds were as they remembered, though now covered in fallen leaves. A few uninvited crows strutted about the yard in a figure-eight pattern, as if they owned the place, letting out occasional, somewhat noisy caws that brought a touch of life to the desolate courtyard.

With everyone's return, the once silent base seemed to come alive. The sounds of past laughter, scuffles, curses, footsteps, clinking glasses, and celebratory toasts finally echoed through the area once more.

Sadly, amidst this joyful melody, a crucial note was missing.

As everyone gathered to celebrate the end of their mission and to reward themselves for their arduous journey with good food and fine wine, Skar, the captain of the Flaming Fist, stood before Grand Duke Iltan.

"These are the facts as we know them. Both we and Nashkel were deceived by the other side. This force possesses its own armed contingent, and the bandits who plundered the mining convoys were likely under their control. Their objective is probably the entire iron mining industry."

Skar reported the full details of the mission to the Grand Duke, concluding, "I am certain that the true mastermind is the Iron Throne. Only they possess the ambition and capability to do such a thing."

"I believe your assessment, but speculation is not evidence, at least not enough to convict these maggots," the Grand Duke narrowed his eyes slightly. Compared to his usual demeanor, there was less majesty and more gravity in his expression.

"The bandits' base is in Sharp Tooth Forest. We can directly sweep them out and then search for evidence of their collusion," Skar said, his voice rising by two octaves in his excitement.

"Skar, the Flaming Fist is indeed powerful, but its strength is not infinite. We are responsible for the order and safety of all of Baldur's Gate, and even the Sword Coast. For that very reason, we must use our strength with caution," Grand Duke Iltan looked at his stubborn subordinate with a hint of helplessness, but continued in a gentle yet unmistakable tone:

"Have you considered this: if we commit our already limited forces to the vast expanse of Sharp Tooth Forest just to search for a group of elusive bandits, regardless of the outcome, what about our other areas? What about Baldur's Gate itself?"

"We don't need to search the entire forest. Once we have their exact location, we can organize an elite unit and neutralize the targets before the situation escalates," Skar's cheeks flushed, the blue veins on his forehead faintly bulging, making them even more prominent against his reddened skin.

Grand Duke Iltan clenched his fist and pressed it firmly onto the tabletop, almost leaving an indentation. He had to admit that Skar's suggestion had some merit. If they could truly pinpoint those raiders, it would indeed be a good opportunity to teach the Iron Throne a lesson.

"I want to know how you plan to flush these rats out of Sharp Tooth Forest."

Skar, sensing that the Grand Duke was beginning to be swayed, felt a surge of excitement. Perhaps this time he could convince the Grand Duke to agree to his plan.

"Sharp Tooth Forest is vast, but it cannot block the power of magic. With the help of Divination magic, it won't be difficult to determine their location."

"This is your so-called method?" Grand Duke Iltan nearly burst out laughing. "I've been the Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate for so many years, how come I never knew our city had a master of divination?"

Skar suddenly felt a bit awkward, his momentum waning. "This was the opinion of our squad's mage. He is quite confident that the target is a true diviner."

"Based on the words of your mage, relying on the tricks of some unknown diviner, you have the audacity to lead your Flaming Fist comrades into that godforsaken place, Sharp Tooth Forest, for an adventure?" Grand Duke Iltan's face showed no more expectation, only disappointment. He wasn't just displeased with Skar's proposal, but felt he might have expected too much.

"This young man doesn't seem to truly consider himself a leader yet," Grand Duke Iltan sighed inwardly, then said aloud:

"Let's go. We need to have a good talk with Grand Duke Belth as well."

When Skar returned from headquarters, the gathering at the squad's base was drawing to a close. Skar's return naturally ignited the final climax of the party.

However, gradually, everyone noticed something was off with Skar. Their captain seemed distracted from the joyous celebration.

Sory, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice; he continued to eat and drink as usual. Steve, however, was getting restless. Skar's demeanor after returning from the Grand Duke could only mean one thing.

"Was our proposal rejected by the Grand Duke?" Steve, unable to hold back, directly approached Skar.

Skar shook his head. "It's not exactly a rejection, but we couldn't provide evidence convincing enough for the Grand Duke, and he doesn't believe a diviner can locate a bandit camp."

"Everything is still uncertain. Things will become clearer tomorrow when Charnem meets the diviner. Besides, it's a fact that the iron ore transport is blocked. If the bandits aren't dealt with, how will these industries continue to operate?"

"The Grand Duke mentioned to me that future ore transports will be escorted by merchant guild guards and us, the Flaming Fist," Skar said with resignation.

"But doesn't that mean our forces will be spread even thinner?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"Yes, but this is Grand Duke Belth's opinion. He believes it's the most stable approach for now, at least more stable than blindly searching for the bandit lair in Sharp Tooth Forest."

The banquet, which began with revelry, ended in an odd atmosphere. However, Zhang Yuan didn't dwell on it. After cleaning himself up, he lay down on his bed. Finally relaxed in his own space, he found himself with the mood to reflect on his long journey.

What was etched into his memory were the battles along the way: the various monsters, the fierce and cunning enemies, and the dazzling spells, all flashing before his eyes.

The sound of steel cutting through flesh as he swung his sword, the roars during charges, the suppressed groans of the wounded, and the despairing cries of the dying also lingered in his ears, like a curse or a whisper.

He remembered the first time he encountered a monster: that big, green bug. Facing such a creature in his first battle had completely terrified him. Fortunately, the big guy, Minsc, had charged forward. Thinking about his own helplessness at the time made him laugh, but who hasn't had their clumsy, greenhorn days?

He then recalled the pathetic goblins and kobolds. They weren't without a chance, having the advantage of numbers or terrain, but they ran into a special summon like Tiny, and their strength was never unleashed, leading to a frustrating death.

The corners of his mouth curved upwards involuntarily, filled with the pride of a "cheat" mage.

Next, he remembered that bloody massacre, the brutal scene of the bandits' slaughter. His brows furrowed into a straight line. These were the opponents the Flaming Fist had to deal with, and the targets he was currently meticulously planning against. Though not fearful, his chest felt heavy, and his breathing briefly paused.

As his thoughts drifted, he remembered those damn, disgusting, hideous, and foul-smelling gnolls! His hand instinctively moved to the wound on his back, rubbing it through the bandage. The still-healing wound throbbed with a dull ache.