Your Identity is What You Make It When You're Away

"Why is there a camp here?" Brat asked, looking surprised. "They aren't planning to settle down, are they? They certainly moved fast."

The camp didn't look like it had just been set up, which meant these people had fled the city the moment trouble broke out in Baldur's Gate.

Anse looked at the pattern on the tents, feeling a vague sense of familiarity.

He waved his hand. "Let's go around. Don't cause any misunderstandings."

"Right..."

At that moment, the people in the camp noticed them. Several young, able-bodied men holding weapons hurried over and blocked the path in front of the camp.

Anse was just about to speak when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Brat was staring at the crowd, his expression one of astonishment.

"Emon—!" Brat grabbed his longsword and waved it vigorously above his head, looking excited.

A tough man emerged from the camp, wearing half plate and carrying a black battle axe on his back. He looked at Brat on the slope, his expression one of disbelief. "Brat?!"

"It's me, it's me!" Brat beamed. He turned to look at Anse. "His name is Emon. He was the captain of my old adventuring party. He's with the Stonemason Guild now. He's reliable."

Anse suddenly understood. No wonder the emblem on the lantern looked so familiar; it was the Stone Face Emblem of the Stonemason Guild.

"Let's head over."

The group walked down the grassy slope. Brat ran ahead a few steps and embraced the man coming toward him, their backs resounding with the force of their pats.

"I thought you were dead." Emon's eyes were slightly red, his deep voice tinged with hoarseness. "The entire Lingang Hospital is gone, just a giant crater left..."

"I'm lucky to be alive. The Captain saved me," Brat said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Captain? Didn't we agree to stop adventuring?" Emon's expression shifted slightly.

"Strictly speaking, this isn't adventuring—it's fleeing for our lives," Brat said with a self-deprecating laugh. "You know the situation in Baldur's Gate. There are monsters everywhere."

"Yeah." Emon's eyes dimmed. How could he not know?

Anse watched the man beside Brat and silently marveled, He's built like a tank!

The man named Emon was at least two meters tall, with arms thicker than Anse's thighs, yet he moved with a lightness that made him seem anything but clumsy.

At that moment, the dice popped up with the man's information:

[Emon, Human, Level 4 Barbarian (Berserker)]

"Not bad strength."

Looking at his physique, Anse figured his talent must be quite impressive as well.

After all, bigger is better!

Brat pulled Emon in front of Anse and introduced them with a smile. "Anse, this is my old captain, Emon..."

"Hello, Emon." A strange smile tugged at the corner of Anse's mouth.

A Berserker as a captain? He felt like he had heard that somewhere before.

Emon looked at the magnificent Noronos with surprise, then back at Anse, immediately feeling that the man and the horse were a perfect match. A person like that deserved to ride such a mount.

"Haha, hello current Captain. I'm the former captain, Emon..." He felt a natural affinity for Anse and couldn't help but make a small joke.

After a brief introduction, Emon introduced Anse and his group to his companions.

Since everyone had come from Baldur's Gate and there were mutual acquaintances, the atmosphere remained harmonious.

However, Noronos stood by Anse's side the entire time, and the others didn't dare get too close to him.

Emon was the leader here, and it was clear that the others held him in high regard.

He invited everyone to the camp's "reception room," which was actually just a pile of wooden stumps arranged around a rough wooden board. The tents were too small, barely enough to house the people.

"How is the situation in the city now?" Emon asked urgently.

"Sigh, it's not good. A lot of people have died..." Brat glanced at Anse and began to recount the recent events one by one.

He had a natural talent for storytelling, weaving a tale full of twists and turns that kept the surrounding crowd gasping in shock.

In his version, Anse became the protagonist, appearing at every critical moment to slaughter countless enemies and becoming the hero who turned the tide when all seemed lost.

He successfully garnered a crowd of reverent gazes, and even Emon's expression changed.

Sure enough, when you're out in the world, you define your own status!

What were actually desperate escapes or forced choices had been transformed into an epic of a hero who disregarded his own safety to save humanity.

Anse kept a straight face, playing the part of the expert, while internally he was cringing so hard his toes were curling. He kept shooting glances at Brat, but Brat just thought he wasn't being "detailed" enough and grew even more enthusiastic.

This "mouthpiece" was more trouble than he was worth.

He simply used the excuse of needing to use the latrine to leave the open-air reception area, taking the opportunity to quietly observe the surroundings.

The camp was well-positioned: high ground, firm soil, no snakes or insects, and easy access to water. The forest was nearby on the opposite bank, and beasts generally wouldn't wander in recklessly.

The surrounding land was fertile, showing signs of cultivation, with withered rice or vegetables mixed in among the weeds.

There were about forty people in the camp, half of them elderly, weak, women, or children. Bringing families along meant Emon had truly accomplished something difficult by getting them out safely.

By the time he wandered back, everyone was waiting for him. Seeing him approach, they all stood up.

"Emon, do you intend to settle here?" Anse asked.

"Just a temporary stop. We followed the map and found this place abandoned for some unknown reason. We were worried about running out of supplies, and since the season is right, we thought we'd plant some vegetables..." Emon's voice was deep and his speech well-organized.

The Giant Red Deer is a large celestial creature, rarely seen in Faerûn.

"Hmm, why didn't you stay in the village? Do you know the group of people there?" Anse pressed.

"Many of the houses in the village are dilapidated and can't withstand the wind and rain. The well has also run dry, making it inconvenient to get water. I don't know the people you mentioned, but they were already in the village before we arrived yesterday," Emon said with a serious expression.

Anse lowered his gaze. Surely some of those Amnians belonged to an evil alignment. He worried they harbored ill intentions, but since they had arrived so long ago, it was impossible they were specifically lying in wait for them.

After all, he hadn't even known he would be coming here today.

"Do the numbers match the footprints?" Anse looked at Finn.

Finn shook his head. "It's hard to say. Many of the tracks were destroyed by the heavy rain."

"Could they be smugglers?" Brat guessed.

Smuggling was rampant in the Cloakwood Forest and near Scornubel by the river mouth; it had been going on for who knows how many years and was practically an open secret.

"It's possible," Emon said, his face solemn. "As long as they don't provoke us, we'll pretend we didn't see them."

He had to be responsible for his brothers in the Stonemason Guild and didn't want to stir up trouble.

Anse smiled, though he didn't agree in his heart, he didn't say much else.

Faerûn had never been peaceful. Theocracy, faith, politics, magic, race, survival, planes, desire, money... the contradictions and oppositions were incredibly intense.

Harmony was temporary; conflict was the true keynote.

The Goddess of Magic was both "well-behaved" and a "homebody," yet disasters and conspiracies never spared her!

Even if you didn't look for trouble, others would come for you. People might hack at you just because they didn't like the look of you, let alone if you had inadvertently stood in someone's way.

As evening approached and everyone grew tired, Anse and his companions decided to stay and rest for the night.

They chose an open space on the west side of the camp to pitch their tents, and Emon sent men to help.

By the time they finished, two campfires had been set up in the camp. On one, a large iron pot was perched, bubbling with rice porridge, though it looked a bit thin.

On the other fire, a dozen foot-long strange fish were being roasted side-by-side, surrounded by a few baguettes.

Emon invited them to a crude wooden table, looking somewhat embarrassed. "None of us have much experience with wilderness survival, so we only managed to catch a few fish."

Anse caught a glimpse of the holes in the fish and couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

These were clearly speared; the empty-handed anglers were just trying to save face.