Church of the Final Hope

"I am sorry," Land sighed. "It is too chaotic, and we cannot manage it all. The bodies are buried in the backyard; wait until things settle down before you go back to look."

So many had died that burying them on the spot was not a matter of humanitarianism, but rather a precaution against the plague that might arise in the heat.

Anse shook his head slightly and muttered, "It has nothing to do with you. They were very stubborn and never listened to reason..."

As he spoke, blurred memories kept surfacing in his mind.

The original owner's parents had short tempers, but they valued the original owner more than their own lives; it was no surprise they refused to leave when the incident occurred.

"Do you know who did this?" Anse asked in a low voice.

"It is unclear. The villains were roaming and committing crimes. Perhaps I killed them, or perhaps they escaped..." Land did not hide the truth. "The Pig's Trotter District is basically empty now. Those who haven't fled will likely end up as slaves to the Gray Dwarves."

Gray Dwarves mastered psionics and were adept at enslaving other races.

Brat couldn't help but ask, "What about the Flaming Fist? Are they just going to let the Underdark Creatures run wild?"

"Yes, we haven't seen a single person from the Flaming Fist since we arrived," Anse frowned, a sense of dissatisfaction and hostility toward the Flaming Fist rising within him for no reason.

The Flame Fist Fortress was right on the Flying Dragon Bridge, only a kilometer or two away, yet they had done nothing.

Land sighed. "Yesterday, the Flaming Fist was ordered to support the Collapse Zone. They deployed almost their entire force, and in the end... they suffered a crushing defeat. The losses are immeasurable, and the survivors have retreated into the Upper City.

The Flame Fist Fortress is no longer capable of fighting; their new orders are to call for reinforcements and hold the Flying Dragon Bridge..."

"I see." Anse was secretly shocked. The Flaming Fist had over three thousand men; he hadn't expected them to be defeated so quickly.

He pondered for a moment. "Is it due to the influence of the Weave? The Gray Dwarves master psionics, is that why they appear so strong?"

"Correct. Something major has happened to the Weave; that is the source of the chaos!" Land nodded, looking at Anse with curiosity. "You don't seem to have been affected much?"

"I use Mana Casting," Anse replied.

"No wonder." Land realized. "Sorcerers are born with mastery over primal mana, which gives them a unique advantage in this regard. However, for you to master Mana Casting so quickly, your talent is extraordinary."

"I see you can still cast Divine Smite. Does the disruption of the Weave affect Paladins significantly?" Anse inquired.

"I am level 6, yet I can only cast divine spells below the 2nd circle. Not only is casting difficult, but it is also prone to failure..." Land said with a bitter smile.

Beyond affecting spellcasting, the Weave was also an important channel for Clerics and believers to connect with their Gods. The disruption of the Weave meant the connection between Clerics and their deities was almost severed, which was fatal.

However, he dared not tell ordinary people, as it would cause even greater panic.

At this moment, Zahir walked over quickly. "We should go. Let's get the wounded back first, then consider how to build a defensive line."

"You go; I will stand guard here," Land waved his hand, signaling him to take the wounded away first.

He patted Anse on the arm and comforted him, "Anse, you and your group should return to the church with the others; it is safe there."

"Alright." Anse did not refuse.

With both parents dead, he was completely unburdened. Now, suffering from a severe lack of security, he only wanted to level up quickly, and following Land was a perfect way to leech some experience.

The two retrieved their bundles and backpacks, silently following behind the crowd. Brat winced in pain, yet he was reluctant to drink a single drop of healing potion.

Anse was speechless; he hadn't expected this teammate to be such a miser.

"Wait a moment."

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

The gray-green staff suddenly turned green, and patterns curled and spread across its surface. Ten small branches quickly grew out, and then... they withered one after another!

"What's wrong?" Brat was confused.

"Uh, perhaps a small accident occurred," Anse said with a dry laugh.

He checked the staff; it had indeed lost a charge. He deduced that both the casting and charging of the Godberry Spell relied on the Weave, which had caused the spell to fail.

He tried again, and it wasn't until the third attempt that he succeeded.

The Godberry Staff was covered in plump, glowing small berries—ten in total. They were red and the size of a thumb; they appeared to be some kind of raspberry.

Anse plucked them one by one, after which all the branches withered and vanished, and the staff returned to its original state.

"Here, have a taste." He held three raspberries in his palm and offered them to Brat.

Brat reached out and took them, looking amazed. "Sweet berries, the Druid's Godberry Spell?"

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

A single Magic Berry restored 1 point of health and could satisfy a day's nutritional needs; it was highly valuable.

Brat popped one into his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed. He smacked his lips, savoring the taste. "Refreshing, sweet and sour, with a rich fruity aroma. Delicious."

As he spoke, he swallowed the remaining two in one gulp. The minor wounds on his body healed at a speed visible to the naked eye. A few minutes later, the small cuts had all scabbed over, and the wound on his neck had completely healed, leaving only a faint red line.

Seeing that he was fine, Anse ate one himself; the texture was indeed excellent.

He packed the remaining six into his backpack for later use, though he knew these berries could not be stored; if not eaten within a day, they would disappear.

"Being a spellcaster is great; you have whatever you need," Brat remarked with emotion.

"Heh, those mages probably don't think so right now," Anse teased.

The two chatted as they walked.

Approaching the Church of the Final Hope, a tall figure stood by the roadside with a bow and arrows on his back, his gaze fixed firmly on Anse.

Anse recognized him; he was the archer who had provided cover from the hillside earlier.

"Hello. Thanks to you for earlier—are you waiting for me?" he asked, taking the initiative to greet him.

If not for this archer, he might have had to waste a Shield Spell; the Bugbear Officer's javelins were not easy to dodge.

"Yes. My name is Finn, a Beastmaster. I have something I want to ask you." Finn grinned, though his expression looked somewhat stiff.

"I'm Anse, and this is Brat. What is it?" Anse observed him quietly.

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

Finn was a head taller than Anse, standing at an estimated 1.9 meters. He was tall and thin with a long face, and his eyebrows and beard looked as if they had just been through a typhoon; he was ugly in a very distinct way, which felt like something of an insult to his elven bloodline.

"Hmm... are you a wizard? Why wasn't your Mana Casting affected?" Finn's voice was dry, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.

"I'm a Sorcerer." Anse touched his own face; weren't his features obvious enough? "I forgo the Weave and Spell Slots to cast spells using innate mana. There's definitely an impact, but it's not a major issue."

"Oh." Finn sighed, his tone tinged with disappointment.

Sorcerers cast spells through talent and instinct; even if they wanted to teach others, it couldn't be learned.

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

Most Ranger subclasses did not rely on spells, and even Hunter's Mark did not depend on Spell Slots; they were far luckier than spellcasters.

"Hmm." Finn nodded, saying nothing more.

Anse felt helpless; this Ranger was too introverted, killing the conversation after only a few sentences.

Since there was nothing left to say, the group simply entered the church together.

Zahir was busy, so the one who received Anse and his companions was an old cleric with white hair and beard named Berg, who briefed Anse on the current situation.

The Church of the Final Hope was dedicated to the God of Justice, Tyr. It had many followers and occupied a vast area, but it had now turned into a refugee camp. Both the courtyard and the main hall were packed with residents seeking shelter—at least several hundred people.

These people were mostly the elderly and infirm who had difficulty moving; the young had basically been persuaded by the clerics to leave and fend for themselves.

More than half of the Twin Song District was empty, but since there were no Gray Dwarves, at least a thousand people had not moved away, which forced Land to station himself at the intersection earlier.

In truth, it would have been more appropriate to set the defensive line at the Flying Dragon Bridge; it was easy to defend and hard to attack, with support from the Flaming Fist and the Livington District.

Unfortunately, many people refused to shed tears until they saw their own coffins, and they simply would not listen to orders.

Most of the clerics in the church were ordinary people, as professionals were rare everywhere. That they were doing this without hesitation spoke volumes for their faith and moral character.

Anse secretly felt fortunate that he hadn't chosen the Paladin class back then. Otherwise, in the face of such a disaster, even if he wanted to run, his class oath would not have allowed it.

Breaking an oath was a very troublesome affair.