Nahival

A dark-skinned young man with short hair hurriedly tried to smooth things over, afraid his leader might feel awkward. "It's mainly because there are so few beasts around here, haha..."

His name was Alva, a Warrior who had just crossed the threshold into the profession. His main trade was stonemasonry, and he also served as Emon's assistant.

"It's fine. I'll treat you two to some crab meat. It'll spoil if we can't finish it in this heat." Anse didn't call them out. Instead, he gestured for Finn to go grill some crab meat.

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

"This..." Emon saw the frost on the crab meat and immediately understood that Anse was deliberately helping him.

They had fled in such a hurry that they hadn't brought much food. Rations were limited each day, and none of them had eaten their fill these past two days.

Brat patted his shoulder and boasted on purpose. "You should've seen it. The riverbank was covered in monster corpses. There were loads of giant crabs like this one. You could pick up a couple and eat for days."

"Haha, I really wish I could've seen it. What a shame..." Emon stopped holding back and laughed heartily.

Finn sat quietly by the campfire, using the crab shell as a cutting board. He diced the crab meat and tossed two or three pounds into the soup pot, adding some dried vegetables as well.

There were too many people, so the others would have to settle for a taste. He still planned to save some for Noronos.

After that, he started preparing Anse's dinner.

First, he set a small pot over the fire and added a spoonful of white rice and oats. Then he cut in the diced crab meat, sprinkled in some dried vegetables and a few grains of sea salt, and let it simmer over low heat.

While it cooked, he took out the remaining pieces of Brown Sugar Walnut Bread and sliced them. He spread them with buttermilk and a little molasses, then toasted them until warm and melted. Finally, he sprinkled on a little fine salt and chopped parsley, added a slice of grilled crab meat, and made a sandwich.

The aroma slowly spread, and many people secretly swallowed.

Finn cracked open the shells of the crab legs and tidied them up a little to make simple serving dishes. He arranged the food on them, and it looked delicious.

He divided the crab porridge into five bowls. Anse got a large bowl, while he, Brat, Emon, and Alva each got a small one.

As for the Brown Sugar Walnut Bread sandwiches, those were reserved exclusively for Anse.

Brat looked at the appealing dinner, its aroma just as enticing, and sounded surprised. "I didn't know you were such a good cook."

"Nothing special." Finn acted as if it were no big deal and dipped his bread into the porridge.

Brat looked speechless. This taciturn fellow had learned to be cheeky.

Anse picked up a sandwich and took a bite. It was soft, tender, and sweet, with a rich, layered texture that wasn't greasy at all. It suited his taste perfectly.

"Excellent!" he praised without reservation.

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

Anse caught Brat's little glance, so he cut the sandwich with a knife and gave each of them a small piece.

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

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

The five of them gathered around the table. There was meat, fish, and porridge, and plenty of bread. It was far better than the thin porridge and bread everyone else had.

No one thought there was anything wrong with that, and no one had the slightest objection.

In Faerun, fairness and equality weren't mainstream values. Only a few organizations and individuals promoted them.

In most people's eyes, the strong deserved to eat well, live well, and dress well. That was why everyone strove to become stronger.

Respecting the old and caring for the young depended on the circumstances. Adults like those in the Stonemason Guild ate better and more than the old, the weak, and children. If they didn't, who could you count on when danger came?

If you kept preaching fairness and equality but couldn't deliver, you'd only make the people who had hoped for them feel even more miserable and resentful.

After dinner, Anse returned to the tent with Finn and Noronos.

Brat and Emon had been apart for a long time and had plenty to talk about. Finn didn't like crowds and preferred to stay with Noronos.

Noronos now had a simple saddle on his back, a gift from Emon.

It had been hastily fashioned from leather by craftsmen from the Stonemason Guild. It came with a leather seat, girth, stirrups, and straps. It had no rigid frame, but it was a practical bargain.

If nothing else, the stirrups made riding much easier for him.

He hadn't expected Emon, a big man, to be so thoughtful. No wonder he was a Captain.

After a quick wash, he ducked into the tent.

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

He had only one Healing Potion left. In a pinch, he would have to rely on Magic Berries, so it would be a waste not to use the staff's remaining charges.

The gray-green staff suddenly turned green. Patterns curled and spread along its shaft as ten tiny branches rapidly sprouted, then... withered one after another.

He had expected that. He kept casting, and didn't succeed until the fifth try.

The Weave... It seems even more chaotic. He put away the Magic Berries, feeling some sympathy for those mages.

The Weave hadn't improved; it was getting worse. It might even trigger an even more terrifying disaster and a chain reaction.

But so far, not a single deity from any church had sent down instructions. No one knew what was happening.

It was no wonder the Blue Flame Cult disliked him. If he were in their shoes, he'd feel resentful too. Jealousy and bitterness were only natural.

Anse sighed, first charging the Spell Storing Ring, then closing the tent and entering a meditative state.

Late at night, the moon shone brightly through the mist.

A house in the ruins of Giant Red Deer Village.

"Captain, is it really necessary to be this cautious?" The Dragonborn grinned. His yellow eyes showed no intelligence, only cunning and cruelty.

A middle-aged man sat by the window, silently watching the night outside.

He wore a black robe with silver patterns, and the Silver Scale Breastplate beneath it was striking. Sword and Shield rested beside him. Judging by his attire, he hadn't been among the daytime crowd.

"Shut up," snapped a lean, dark-skinned Ranger with a bow on his back. "The Captain has his own plans. Who are you to speak up?"

"Hmph." The Dragonborn snorted, but didn't dare say anything more.

The middle-aged Captain stood and paced back and forth. Worry practically spilled from his eyes.

"Something's definitely wrong!" He suddenly stopped and looked at the Ranger. "Have you checked outside? Anything unusual?"

"We've made two rounds, Captain." The lean Ranger's expression was serious. "There's nothing unusual in the area."

The middle-aged Captain tightened his grip on his longsword, his brows furrowing.

For some reason, he'd felt "uncomfortable" all day, unable to sit still. He believed it was a warning about the operation ahead.

The eerie feeling had made him afraid to act rashly, and he'd postponed the operation again and again.

"Cancel the operation!" he said coldly. "We're stopping here. We leave first thing tomorrow morning."

Every member of the team looked stricken. The operation had only just begun, and leaving now would mean incalculable losses. None of them could accept it.

"Why?" The lean Ranger's expression darkened. "Captain, this is a once-in-a-century opportunity. Refugees are arriving here in droves every day. All we have to do is wait for them to come to us.

"Not counting their belongings, each person can fetch at least dozens of Gold Coins. We've made thousands of Gold Coins just sitting here these past few days. It's like picking money up off the ground. And now you're telling us to leave?!"

"Even if we wanted to leave, I doubt Lord Nahival would agree." The Dragonborn's expression was unreadable.

The atmosphere in the room froze.

The lean Ranger was silent for a long moment before speaking in a softer tone. "Lord Nahival's ships are at Silver Scale Bay. He won't leave until they're full. That transport caravan in Cloakwood Forest is a sword at our throats. Staying or leaving isn't up to us."

The middle-aged Captain knew that, of course. His unease had just clouded his judgment. He explained, "I may not have made myself clear. I meant... we should move somewhere else. Um... north. This place is a little too remote."

It was a poor excuse, since they had deliberately chosen this spot. It was far enough away but not too far, and plenty of refugees with old maps would find their way here on their own.

The Dragonborn's eyes darted. "We can't ignore the Captain's instincts. Why don't we finish this job first, then report to Lord Nahival tomorrow morning and let him decide?

"The storm last night kept us idle for a day, and today a Spellcaster arrived at that camp. We can take them all in one go. That Strange Horse alone should be worth at least a thousand Gold Coins."

He sounded confident and didn't think a few more people could pose any obstacle. Judging by the team's expressions, the others clearly agreed.

The middle-aged Captain took in the expressions around him, curled his lips, and steeled himself.

"Move out. We're doing it."

"Yes..." Everyone grinned.