Church of the Final Hope

"Sorry," Land sighed. "It's a mess, and we can't handle everything. The bodies were buried in the backyard. You can go back and check on them once things have settled down."

There had been too many dead. Burying the bodies where they lay wasn't an act of humanity so much as a precaution against the heat causing an epidemic.

Anse shook his head slightly and murmured, "It wasn't your fault. They were stubborn. They never listened..."

As he spoke, hazy memories kept rising in his mind.

His original body's parents hadn't had the best tempers, but they'd valued him more than their own lives. It was no surprise they hadn't wanted to leave after the disaster.

"Do you know who did it?" Anse asked gravely.

"I'm not sure. The villains were roaming around, attacking wherever they could. Maybe I killed them, maybe they escaped..." Land didn't hide anything. "There's hardly anyone left in Pig's Trotter District. Those who didn't flee will probably end up as slaves to the Gray Dwarves."

The Gray Dwarves wielded Psionics and were skilled at enslaving other races.

Brat couldn't help asking, "What about the Flaming Fist? Are they just letting Underdark Creatures run rampant?"

"Yeah. How come we haven't seen any Flaming Fist soldiers on the way here?" Anse frowned, inexplicably feeling a trace of resentment and hostility toward the Flaming Fist.

Flame Fist Fortress stood on Flying Dragon Bridge, barely a mile or two away, yet they had done nothing.

Land sighed. "Yesterday, the Flaming Fist were ordered to reinforce the Collapse Zone. Almost their entire force went out, and in the end... they were soundly defeated. The losses are impossible to estimate. The survivors have withdrawn to Upper City.

"The fortress can't fight anymore. They've received new orders to call for outside help and hold Flying Dragon Bridge..."

"I see." Anse was secretly alarmed. The Flaming Fist had more than three thousand soldiers, yet they'd been defeated so quickly.

After a moment's thought, he asked, "Was it because of the Weave? The Gray Dwarves wield Psionics. Is that why they're so powerful?"

"Exactly. Something terrible has happened to the Weave. That's the source of all this chaos!" Land nodded, looking at Anse with curiosity. "You don't seem to have been affected much."

"I use Mana Casting," Anse replied.

"That explains it." Land understood. "Sorcerers have an innate grasp of primal magic, which gives them a natural advantage. But you must have a remarkable talent to master Mana Casting so quickly."

"I saw you use Divine Smite, too. Does the Weave's instability affect Paladins much?" Anse asked.

"I'm level six, but I can only cast spells below the second circle. Casting is difficult, and they're prone to failing..." Land said with a bitter smile.

The Weave didn't just affect spellcasting. It was also an important channel through which Clerics and worshippers connected with the Gods. With the Weave in disarray, the connection between Clerics and their Gods had almost been severed. That was serious.

But he didn't dare tell ordinary people. It would only cause more panic.

Just then, Zahir hurried over. "We should get moving. First, let's take the wounded back, then we can figure out how to build a defensive line."

"You go ahead. I'll hold this position." Land waved them on, telling Zahir to take the wounded and leave.

He patted Anse's arm reassuringly. "Anse, you and your friends should head back to the church with the group. It's safe there."

"Okay." Anse didn't refuse.

With both his parents dead, he had nothing holding him back. He was completely without a sense of security and just wanted to level up as quickly as possible. Staying with Land was a perfect way to gain some experience.

The two of them retrieved their packs and bags, then quietly followed behind the crowd. Brat grimaced with every step, but couldn't bring himself to drink even one Healing Potion.

Anse was speechless. He hadn't expected his companion to be such a miser.

"Wait a moment."

He called Brat over, planted his staff on the ground, and connected his mind to it, activating the Godberry Spell.

The gray-green staff abruptly turned green. Patterns curled and spread across its shaft, and ten tiny branches quickly sprouted. Then... one after another, they withered!

"What happened?" Brat asked, bewildered.

"Uh, there might've been a little accident," Anse said with an awkward laugh.

He examined the staff. It had indeed lost one charge. He guessed that both casting the Godberry Spell and restoring its charge depended on the Weave, causing the spell to fail.

He tried again, but didn't succeed until his third attempt.

The Godberry Staff was covered with ten plump, glowing little berries. They were red, about the size of his thumb, and looked like some kind of raspberry.

Anse plucked them one by one. Then all the branches withered away, and the staff returned to normal.

"Here, try some." He held out three raspberries to Brat on his palm.

Brat took them, looking astonished. "Sweet Berries? A Druid's Godberry Spell?"

"You know quite a bit." Anse smiled. It was his first time seeing this spell, and he found it pretty fascinating.

A Magic Berry restored one hit point and could provide a day's worth of nourishment. They were quite valuable.

Brat popped one into his mouth. After chewing twice, he swallowed it and smacked his lips appreciatively. "Refreshing, sweet and tart, with a strong fruit flavor. Delicious."

As he spoke, he tossed the other two into his mouth and swallowed them. His minor injuries visibly healed. A few minutes later, the small wounds had scabbed over, and the wound on his neck had completely closed, leaving only a faint red line.

Seeing that Brat was fine, Anse ate one himself. It really did taste great.

He put the remaining six in his bag for later, though the berries couldn't be kept for long. If they weren't eaten within a day, they would disappear.

"Spellcasters have it good. They can just conjure whatever they need," Brat said wistfully.

"Heh. The Mages probably don't feel that way right now," Anse teased.

The two chatted as they walked.

Near the church, a tall figure with a bow and arrows on his back stood by the road, his gaze fixed on Anse.

Anse recognized him. He was the archer who had supported him from the hillside earlier.

"Hi. You helped me out back there. Were you waiting for me?" Anse greeted him first.

Without that archer, he might have had to waste a Shield Spell. The Bugbear Officer's Javelin hadn't been easy to dodge.

"Yes. I'm Finn, a Beastmaster. There's something I wanted to ask you." Finn grinned, though his expression looked a little stiff.

"I'm Anse, and this is Brat. What did you want to ask?" Anse studied him discreetly.

[Finn, Half-elf, level 3 Ranger (Beastmaster)]

Finn was even taller than Anse, around six foot three by the look of him. He was tall and lanky, with a long face. His eyebrows and beard looked as though they'd just been through a typhoon. He was uniquely ugly, and his appearance did little credit to his Elven blood.

"Um... are you a Mage? Why weren't you affected when you cast spells?" Finn's voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.

"I'm a Sorcerer." Anse touched his face. Wasn't that obvious? "I gave up the Weave and Spell Slots and cast with innate magic. I was definitely affected, but it wasn't a big problem."

"Oh." Finn sighed, sounding a little disappointed.

Sorcerers relied on talent and instinct to cast. Even if they wanted to teach someone else, the other person couldn't learn it.

"You'd be better off specializing in Archery and putting spells aside for now," Anse advised.

Most Ranger subclasses didn't rely on spells, and Hunter's Mark didn't depend on Spell Slots either. They were much luckier than spellcasters.

"Mm." Finn nodded and fell silent.

Anse was helpless. The Ranger was so withdrawn that a few words were enough to kill the conversation.

Since there was nothing left to say, the group went into the church together.

Zahir was busy, so an old Cleric with white hair and beard named Berg showed Anse and the others around. He explained the situation to Anse.

The Church of the Final Hope worshipped Tyr, the God of Justice. It had many followers and occupied a large area, but it had now become a refugee camp. The courtyard and hall were packed with residents seeking shelter, at least several hundred of them.

Most were elderly, frail, or unable to get around easily. The Clerics had persuaded the younger people to leave and fend for themselves.

More than half of Twin Song District had emptied out, but since there were no Gray Dwarves there, at least a thousand people still hadn't left. That was why Land had been forced to hold the road junction earlier.

It would have made more sense to set up the defensive line at Flying Dragon Bridge. It was easy to defend and had the support of the Flaming Fist and Livington District.

Unfortunately, many people wouldn't believe it until they saw the coffin. They simply refused to follow orders.

Most of the church's Clerics were ordinary people, and Professional adventurers were rare wherever one went. They had thrown themselves into this work without hesitation. Their faith and sense of duty were beyond question.

Anse was secretly relieved that he hadn't chosen the Paladin class back then. If he had, then even if he wanted to run from a disaster like this, his class oath wouldn't have allowed it.

Breaking an oath was a real hassle.