Compulsory Conscription Order

Anse opened his eyes, meeting the old Cleric's cloudy gaze. He nodded in acknowledgment, then pointed toward Zahir and asked, "Do you still have Spell Slots?"

"I do." The old Cleric snapped back to reality and immediately cast a Healing Spell on Zahir.

Anse took the opportunity to stand up and turn away, the surrounding crowd quickly parting to clear a path for him.

"That was incredible! You're practically capable of anything—I'm going to call you the Child of Miracles!" Brat chased after him, jumping onto Anse's back and showering him with frantic flattery.

He was so excited that his usual composure had completely vanished.

"Get down, get down. Do you have any idea how much you weigh?" Anse pushed him away, annoyed.

He hadn't expected that he could act as a Weave Stabilizer himself. If those mages found out, they would surely drag him back and bind him to their service.

Then again, those "magic masters" didn't seem capable of catching him anymore.

Finn ran over, his dull eyes showing a hint of anticipation: "Is he alive?"

"He's alive."

"Mm."

"This... can it be eaten?" Finn asked, holding up a massive crab leg.

"Uh..." Anse couldn't quite grasp his train of thought.

Brat looked at him with exasperation: "Why would you want that? Cut off ears, find the loot! Come on, let's go!"

He dragged Finn away, and Finn casually tossed the crab leg to Anse.

Anse scanned the battlefield. The fighting had mostly ended, and everyone was busy clearing the field and tending to the wounded.

The human combat group now consisted of several hundred, perhaps a thousand people—a motley mix of Flaming Fist Soldiers, Clerics, Adventurers, municipal staff, and civilians.

He spotted quite a few familiar faces among them.

At this moment, many were busy hacking off the heads and ears of the monsters, even breaking into arguments and shoving matches over them. The scene had become somewhat surreal.

The battle had been so chaotic that a single Goblin might have been pierced by a dozen arrows and suffered multiple sword wounds; it was impossible to tell whose strike had been fatal.

Whoever grabbed it first, kept it!

While the life-or-death struggle for their race had united them, the promise of profit had made everyone selfish.

Seeing this, Anse hurriedly retrieved the three backpacks, grabbed Finn's crab leg, and climbed onto a towering, jagged rock. Fearing the two wouldn't see him, he cast a Light Spell on his Staff once more.

The horizon was turning pale. The air was thick with a foul, nauseating stench that stung his nostrils, and the ground was slick with filth and corpses, resembling a hellish slaughterhouse.

He looked out at the scene, still... unable to adapt.

It wasn't fear, but a clash of ideologies and values.

Here, Adventurers seemed accustomed to the fragility and brevity of life, like a flickering candle. Even Brat, who belonged to a good alignment, was obsessed with loot, showing no sign that the massive loss of life was a shocking or horrific event.

Everyone was fighting desperately to survive, but for some, that "desperation" was all too literal.

Heavy footsteps approached. A stout, red-bearded Dwarf stopped beneath the rock and looked up with a grin: "Hey, rookie."

"Who are you calling a rookie?"

"I'm calling you a rookie."

"Haha..." Anse laughed twice, stood up, and jumped off the rock. "What does the rookie want with me?"

Soradin finally realized what had happened, his face darkening: "I came over out of kindness to guide you, and instead, I get teased. You have no respect for your elders."

"Respect is kept in the heart." Seeing the wounds covering him, Anse softened his tone. "Are you hurt?"

"How could I not be hurt in a fight like this? As long as I'm not dead, it's fine." Soradin looked Anse over, noting his clean cloak and the lack of blood on his face, and realized his own words were perhaps inaccurate.

"Being hurt means you could die." Anse pulled a sheathed Xenodagger from his pack. He drew it, revealing a short, dark-blue blade with a strange, sharp curve. "Take a look at this."

"Good stuff." Soradin gave it a high appraisal at a single glance. He carefully pinched the hilt and sniffed it, his expression shifting slightly.

After observing it for a moment, Soradin returned the dagger: "Don't touch the blade. It's highly toxic, and not just coated. It's a fine piece, though the hardness is lacking, but the poison alone is worth a thousand gold coins..."

Anse understood. This was an assassin's tool, not meant for a head-on fight. It might not even penetrate the armor of an Armored Monster, making its utility quite limited.

No one in his group liked using daggers, and he wasn't sure whether to keep it or sell it.

"Keep it for now. If this thing gets out, it'll be bad for you." Soradin hinted.

"Is something wrong?" Anse caught the subtext. Had his recent performance been too eye-catching, making him a target?

"Do you know about the Blue Flame Cult?" Soradin asked, his expression grave.

"The evil organization from the time of the Arcane Blight?" Anse asked, puzzled.

"Their origins are unclear, but there really is such an organization in the city. Many mages and Apprentices have joined them. They preach that you stole the power of some Holy Lord and have branded you a heretic." Soradin warned.

Anse was speechless. A cult labeling him? That was absolutely absurd.

"Don't take it lightly; those people are fanatics." Soradin scanned the area and stepped closer. "Also, the Council of Dukes has issued a mandatory conscription order to form a battle group, led by the surviving Flaming Fist. The goal is to retake Baldur's Gate, and they will likely need to provide support to the Upper City..."

"Mandatory conscription, signing a Magic Contract?" Anse frowned slightly. The fact that Soradin had come specifically to tell him this meant he was already being watched.

"Yes. The pay is generous, but you cannot refuse," Soradin emphasized. "The Lords' Alliance has been slow to send reinforcements, and the Dukes need to save themselves. They can't afford to be picky anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Leave immediately. You have no foundation, and you're a spellcaster; they won't have any scruples about using you. It wouldn't be strange if you ended up in a situation even more dangerous than Zahir's..."

"And what about you?"

"I have the Iron Mountain Clan backing me; they wouldn't dare force me." Soradin was very confident. He didn't earn money just for himself.

"Thank you." Anse was completely sincere. Their relationship couldn't be called close, but Soradin had done everything he could, which was impeccable.

He looked at the chaotic battlefield. "But what about my spoils of war?"

"Are you stupid? Entrust them to Land," Soradin said with dissatisfaction. "Followers of Tyr won't let you suffer even the slightest loss. Others don't even have that kind of friendship. Don't delay. Go to the West Coast; there are many fishing villages and towns there. The Kuo-Toa can block the Chongsa River at most, but they don't have the guts to go to the Sword Sea."

After saying this, Soradin waved his hand and turned to leave.

The sky was beginning to brighten, and people were already starting to notice them.

Anse's thoughts were complex, but he dared not hesitate. He tapped his Staff lightly, dispelling the Light Spell to avoid being too conspicuous.

He then jumped down from the broken stone and found Brat and the other person, who were currently arguing with others over spoils.

"Let's go!"

"What's wrong?"

"I'll explain on the way."

Brat and his companion were confused, but they could sense that something was wrong with Anse's mood, so they had no choice but to shoulder their backpacks, grab the crab meat, and follow behind him.

Anse found Land and tossed the large bag of tattered equipment and monster ears to him, asking him to help organize and dispose of the spoils that should have belonged to him.

Land agreed readily. He was very busy, but he would not refuse any reasonable request made by Anse.

Without Anse, he didn't know how many more people would have died today, not to mention that he had also saved Zahir's life.

Land didn't ask where Anse was going; he simply gave him a big hug and pressed a platinum badge into his hand. It was a palm-sized, shield-shaped badge with a blue background, bearing the Holy Symbol of the God of Justice, Tyr: a balanced scale over a warhammer.

Anse did not refuse. After a brief farewell, the three of them left the chaotic battlefield.

They did not walk along the coast, but instead returned to the city area, weaving through various streets and alleys, heading west until they entered the open wilderness.

The sky was fully bright, and the wilderness was covered with tent after tent, everywhere, of all shapes and colors, like mushrooms sprouting after the rain.

There were also many people in groups of three or five sleeping in the open; these were the refugees who had fled the city during the rainy night.