Nahival

A young man with dark skin and short hair, fearing his leader might feel awkward, quickly added, "It's mostly because there are too few beasts around here, haha..."

He was Alva, a Warrior who had just crossed the threshold of his profession; his primary trade was as a stonemason, and he also served as Emon's assistant.

"It's fine. I'll treat you both to some crab meat. It'll spoil if we don't finish it in this heat." Anse didn't call them out, instead signaling for Finn to go over and roast some of the meat.

Finn paused, his beard twitching slightly. He was a bit reluctant, but he still carried the crab shell over to the campfire.

"This..." When Emon saw the white frost on the crab meat, he knew Anse was intentionally helping him.

They had fled in such a rush that they hadn't brought much food, and with daily rations strictly limited, no one had been full for the past two days.

Brat patted him on the shoulder, bragging intentionally, "You didn't see it—the riverbank was covered in monster corpses. There were plenty of Giant Crabs like this one; you could pick up a couple and eat for days."

"Haha, I really would have liked to see that. What a pity..." Emon stopped being bashful and laughed heartily.

Finn sat quietly by the fire, using the crab shell as a cutting board to dice the meat. He tossed two or three pounds into the soup pot and added a handful of dried vegetables.

There were too many people, so the others would just have to settle for a taste; he still needed to save some for Noronos.

After that, he began preparing Anse's dinner.

He set up a small pot, added a spoonful of white rice and oats, then stirred in the diced crab meat, dried vegetables, and a few grains of sea salt, letting it simmer over a low flame.

While that cooked, he took the remaining Brown Sugar Walnut Bread, sliced it, spread it with buttermilk and a touch of molasses, and toasted it until it melted. Finally, he sprinkled on a pinch of fine salt and chopped parsley, tucked in a slice of roasted crab meat, and turned it into a sandwich.

The aroma slowly drifted out, and many people were secretly swallowing their saliva.

Finn cracked open the shells of the crab legs, trimming them slightly to serve as utensils, and plated the food. It looked incredibly appetizing.

He divided the crab porridge into five bowls—a large one for Anse, and a small one each for himself, Brat, Emon, and Alva.

As for the Brown Sugar Walnut Bread sandwich, that was exclusively for Anse.

Brat looked at the dinner, which smelled and looked excellent, and remarked with surprise, "I didn't know you were such a good cook."

"It's passable," Finn replied with a nonchalant air, casually dipping his bread into his porridge.

Brat was speechless; this quiet man was starting to pick up bad habits.

Anse picked up the sandwich and took a bite. It was soft, tender, and sweet, with a rich, layered texture that wasn't the least bit greasy. It suited his palate perfectly.

"Excellent!" he praised without hesitation.

"Mm," Finn narrowed his eyes, looking quite pleased.

Anse caught Brat's longing glance, took a knife, and cut the sandwich into small pieces to share with them.

Seeing the portions weren't large, Emon and the others didn't refuse. They ate them in a few bites, faces full of admiration.

Alva brought over the roasted fish, one for each person. It didn't have much flavor, but it was fresh.

The five of them sat together with meat, fish, porridge, and plenty of bread—far better than the thin gruel and bread the others were having.

No one felt there was a problem, nor did anyone have the slightest objection.

In Faerun, fairness and justice were not mainstream values; only a few organizations and individuals promoted them.

In the minds of most, the strong deserved to eat well, live well, and dress well, which was why everyone strove to be strong.

Respecting the elderly and caring for the young depended on the environment. The adults in the Stonemason Guild simply ate better and more than the old, weak, and young. If they didn't do that, who could you rely on when real danger struck?

If you constantly preached fairness and justice but couldn't deliver, it would only cause the expectant masses more pain and resentment.

After dinner, Anse took Finn and Noronos back to the tent.

Brat and Emon had much to discuss after their long separation. Finn didn't care for the bustle and preferred to stay with Noronos.

A simple saddle had been added to Noronos's back, a gift from Emon.

It had been improvised from leather by the craftsmen of the Stonemason Guild, complete with a leather pad, girth, stirrups, and leathers. There was no rigid tree, making it makeshift but practical.

If nothing else, the stirrups made riding feel much easier.

He hadn't expected Emon, who was so large and imposing, to be so thoughtful. No wonder he was a Captain.

After a quick wash, he crawled into the tent.

He picked up his staff, focused his mind, and activated the Godberry Spell within the Godberry Staff.

He only had one Healing Potion left, and in a critical moment, he would have to rely on Magic Berries; wasting the extra charges would be foolish.

The gray-green staff turned vibrant green. Patterns curled and spread across the wood, quickly sprouting ten tiny branches, which then... withered one after another.

He had expected this, so he continued casting until the fifth attempt succeeded.

"The Weave... it seems even more chaotic." He put away the Magic Berries, feeling a twinge of sympathy for those mages.

The Weave hadn't improved; it was only getting worse, likely triggering even more terrifying disasters and chain reactions.

But so far, no deity from any church had sent down instructions. No one knew what was happening.

It was no wonder the Blue Flame Cult didn't like him. If he were in their shoes, he would feel the same imbalance; jealousy and resentment were only natural.

Anse sighed, first recharging his Spell Storing Ring, then closing the tent and entering a state of meditation.

Deep in the night, the moon was bright, the stars were sparse, and a thick fog blanketed the land.

Inside a ruined house in Giant Red Deer Village.

"Captain, is there really a need to be this cautious?" The Dragonborn grinned, his yellow eyes devoid of wisdom, showing only cunning and cruelty.

A middle-aged man sat by the window, silently watching the night veil outside, saying nothing.

He wore a black robe with silver patterns over an eye-catching Silver Scale Breastplate, his Sword and Shield resting by his side. Judging by his attire, he had not been among the crowd during the day.

"Shut your mouth." A dark, thin Ranger with a bow slung over his back snapped, "The Captain has his own arrangements; it's not your place to speak."

"Hmph." The Dragonborn let out a cold snort but dared not speak again.

The middle-aged Captain stood up and paced back and forth, the anxiety in his eyes nearly overflowing.

"Something is definitely not right!" He suddenly stopped and looked at the Ranger, "Have you checked outside? Was there anything unusual?"

"I've patrolled twice, Captain." The dark, thin Ranger looked solemn, "There is nothing unusual in the surrounding area."

The middle-aged Captain gripped his Longsword, his brow furrowed tightly.

For some reason, he felt "uncomfortable" today, unable to sit or stand at ease, and he believed this was a warning sign for the upcoming operation.

This eerie feeling made him afraid to act rashly, causing the operation to be postponed again and again.

"The operation is canceled!" He said with a cold face, "We're calling it quits here; we pull out first thing tomorrow morning."

The expressions of all the team members changed. The operation had only just begun, and leaving now would result in immeasurable losses that no one could accept.

"Why?" The dark, thin Ranger's face darkened, "Captain, this is a once-in-a-century opportunity. A large number of refugees arrive here every day; we just need to wait for them to deliver themselves to us.

Excluding their personal belongings, a single person can sell for at least dozens of gold coins. We've been sitting here for a few days and have already made thousands of gold coins—it's like picking up money. And now you want us to leave?!"

"Even if we wanted to leave, I'm afraid Lord Nahival wouldn't agree." The Dragonborn's expression was dark.

The atmosphere in the room instantly stagnated.

The dark, thin Ranger was silent for a long moment before his tone softened, "Lord Nahival's fleet is at Silver Scale Bay; he won't leave until his ships are full. That transport team in Cloakwood Forest is a sword hanging over our necks—the decision to stay or go isn't ours to make."

The middle-aged Captain certainly knew this; he had just been unsettled by his own unease. He explained, "Perhaps I didn't express myself clearly. I meant... let's move to a different spot, hmm... further north. This place is a bit too remote."

The excuse was clumsy, as they had chosen this location deliberately—it was neither too far nor too close, and many refugees carrying old maps would naturally find their way here.

The Dragonborn rolled his eyes, "We can't ignore the Captain's intuition, but why not finish this one job first? We can report it to Lord Nahival tomorrow and let him decide.

Because of the heavy rain last night, we rested for a day. A spellcaster arrived at that camp today, so we can wipe them all out in one go. That Strange Horse alone is worth at least a thousand gold coins."

His tone was confident; he didn't believe that a few extra people could pose any obstacle to them. Judging by the expressions of the other members, everyone clearly agreed.

The middle-aged Captain took in the expressions of the others, pulled at the corner of his mouth, and steeled his heart:

"Let's go. Move out."

"Yes..." Everyone beamed with joy.