Intimidation

Anse watched everything before him with a hollow gaze. Despite having temporarily escaped a life-or-death crisis, he felt neither excitement nor joy.

I am the one who felt pity, I am the one who stood by, I am the one who empathized, and I am the one who was powerless...

He suddenly found the concept of alignment truly fascinating.

If he had transmigrated here during his youth, he would likely have been Lawful Good, making the same choices as the Old Cleric.

Yet, after being tempered by society and suffering countless setbacks and lessons, he realized that many people's misfortunes were the result of their own character and choices; momentary help could not change their fate.

Moreover, not everyone was worth helping.

His own life was already a mess, and getting entangled in too many troubles would only waste his time, energy, and money. By comparison, his own kin needed him more.

"Time to go!"

Rivington did not give him a good feeling. Along the way, he had constantly sensed malicious gazes. With tens of thousands of refugees crowded together, negative emotions were accumulating, and he felt it would explode sooner or later.

Furthermore, staying at the church meant constantly encountering moral dilemmas. If something truly went wrong, he would be caught in a bind; it was better to be out of sight, out of mind.

A while later, Zahir and Land returned in a hurry.

The malicious gazes in the shadows gradually vanished. While they dared to bully a cleric of Lothander, they were not necessarily willing to provoke a follower of Tyr.

Anse gave Brat and the other a look, and the group huddled together.

"Leaving?" Brat seemed to have guessed as much.

"Yes," Anse nodded. "We'll say our goodbyes, find a place to stay, purchase some supplies, and leave tomorrow morning."

"Where to?" Brat's expression was complex.

Last year, he had hastily ended his rather unpleasant adventuring career and chosen Rivington as his place of settlement. Just as everything was getting on track, it had all ended abruptly.

"To the north are nothing but Gray Dwarves, to the south are wilderness and forests, and further south is Candlekeep..." Anse deliberated. "Let's head east, follow the Chongsa River, and we can consider our next steps later."

He wanted to go to Waterdeep, but heading directly north was certainly not an option.

"I have no family, so anywhere is fine," Finn said with an indifferent expression.

"I have no objections. For lodging and supplies, I suggest the Adventurers Guild. In these extraordinary times, that's the only place that's relatively safe," Brat proposed.

"You're the veteran adventurer; I'll listen to you." Anse grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder.

They did not disturb Land; the three of them found the Old Cleric, Berg, and after a brief farewell, they left the church.

The Old Cleric tried to speak up to keep them several times, but in the end, he said nothing, watching them depart.

As soon as they left the church grounds, Anse sensed gazes of unknown intent shooting toward them from all sides, constantly sweeping over their packs and bags.

Professionals were indeed powerful, but low-level ones could not withstand a swarm; more than one or two had died under the pitchforks of a mob.

Anse, however, was not overly worried. High-level professionals wouldn't care for their meager belongings, and same-level professionals or commoners would be courting death if they picked a fight—he was no ordinary spellcaster.

Walking down the street, the air was filled with an indescribable stench. The sides of the road were packed with disaster victims, many lying in the open on tattered blankets; if not for their chests rising and falling, one might have mistaken them for corpses.

The deeper they went into the city, the worse it became. This was no longer the Rivington from the original owner's memories.

Brat led the way at the front when a frail youth stumbled toward him, stealthily reaching a hand into the pack on his back.

Just as a hint of joy appeared on the youth's face, a large hand reached out and gripped his slender wrist.

"Daring to steal from me!" Brat turned his head with a mocking expression, but upon seeing the youth's sallow, sickly appearance, his grip loosened slightly.

The youth seized the chance to break free and crouched on the ground, looking terrified, scrambling backward with hands and feet.

"Ah, help! Someone's kidnapping people—"

Brat's expression turned cold immediately, but he did not argue loudly; that was not his style.

The surrounding people acted as if they had seen the plague, fleeing frantically; even the refugees lying like corpses rolled away in their blankets.

At the same time, over a dozen young, able-bodied men surrounded them from all directions. The man in the lead was sturdy, bald, and beardless, wearing scale armor over his tunic.

Seeing the man in the lead, Anse understood exactly what was happening. He closed his eyes slightly and quickly channeled his magic.

The bald man sneered, his gaze sweeping over the staff in Anse's hand before finally landing on Brat. "Outsider, do you know..."

"Sorcerous Burst—Thunderclap!"

A short, sharp phrase in the Draconic language rang in everyone's ears. A flash of light streaked out, landing on the bald man's face, and a thunderous boom erupted.

Anse did not pause, throwing three more Sorcerous Bursts into the dense crowd within two seconds.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

As the smoke cleared, the surrounding area was littered with people. Few were truly injured, but most were terrified.

The bald man had just scrambled to his feet, his eardrums ringing and his face covered in blood. His right arm was a mangled mess; had he not blocked with his arm, he likely would have lost his face.

In front of him, Brat had assumed an offensive stance, and Finn had already leaped onto a nearby roof, arrow nocked.

Anse gestured to the two of them, signaling them not to attack.

"Bald Bill, has your Anchor Brotherhood changed its line of business?"

He recognized the man. The Anchor Brotherhood was a local gang that had long haunted the docks of Brampton, bullying the weak and fearing the strong.

That was why he had chosen to strike first, aiming to intimidate. He didn't believe that trash who made a living by oppressing the bottom-dwellers would risk their lives against him once they knew they were outmatched.

"Huh?" Bald Bill's body stiffened, and he reluctantly lowered the longsword he had just raised. He grabbed a corner of his tabard to wipe the blood from his eyes, looked Anse up and down, and asked with a blank expression, "Who are you?"

"Does it matter who I am?" Anse deliberately hardened his face to intimidate him. "If you don't give me an explanation today, I'll sell the lot of you to Thay."

In Baldur's Gate, if you accidentally provoked someone you shouldn't have, you either fought to the death or paid to make the trouble go away.

At this moment, a die popped up with the opponent's information: [Bald Bill, Human, Level 1 Warrior]

"A misunderstanding, a misunderstanding, this... Mr. Mage." Bald Bill waved his hands and took two steps back. "The lads below didn't make things clear; I just came over to ask..."

"Keep spinning your yarn!" Anse crossed his arms, looking as if he had him cornered.

"Uh," Bald Bill squeezed out a smile. "Sir, we came out in such a hurry that we didn't bring anything, not even food, which is why we had to risk doing this. You know, our brotherhood never robs..."

Anse raised a hand to cut off his sob story and pointed at the scale mail on his body. "Nice scale mail, and you have a money pouch and gems. Hand them over voluntarily; I'm giving you a chance, so don't think I'm a pushover."

Bald Bill was a professional, and the others were armed; they could win if they fought, but it would certainly consume the magic and stamina they were already short on.

The situation here was too chaotic, and being in poor condition made one an easy target for others to pick off. There was no need to resort to violence if he could use intimidation.

Intimidation was more than just verbal charm; bolstered by skills and Charisma attributes, it exerted a powerful influence on a mental level, especially when backed by a show of force.

"This..." Bald Bill's expression shifted uncertainly, but he gritted his teeth and began to take off his armor.

The other party hadn't demanded his weapons or food, which hit exactly on his psychological bottom line.

What rotten luck today. Wasn't it said that mages couldn't cast spells? Why did he get hit in the face with magic the moment they met? He had seen plenty of cantrips, but he had never encountered one with such a fast casting speed.

Seeing their boss cave in, the others had no choice but to take out all the money they had on them, and before long, a small pile had formed.

Anse didn't care if they were holding anything back and quietly gave Brat a wink.

Brat used the scale mail tabard to scoop everything up into a bundle, hoisted it in his hand, and silently gave Anse a thumbs-up in his heart.