The sun outside began to set, and its rays were no longer scorching. The streets gradually grew more crowded.
Anse had just emerged from meditation. His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he was full of energy, his magic replenished.
Many people did not understand that a Sorcerer's meditation was fundamentally different from a wizard's.
A wizard's meditation was a daily necessity that demanded intense concentration. Its main purpose was to review and comprehend spell models through the Weave and a Spellbook, preparing spells at great mental cost.
Sorcerers relied on innate magic and did not need to prepare spells. They could recover Spell Slots or magic power simply by sleeping; so-called meditation merely sped up the process and was effortless.
The curtains were drawn, leaving the room dim. Neither Brat nor the other was present. A row of muskets stood in the corner, polished clean, while a faint scent of gunpowder lingered in the air.
Anse picked up a musket. It had a wooden stock and a long barrel, along with a ramrod for tamping down shot or cleaning the barrel. The bullets were made of lead and looked rather irregular.
He was no antique firearms enthusiast, but he vaguely remembered that later lead ammunition had included conical bullets and paper cartridges.
"If there aren't enough of these, they're not much of a threat."
The greatest danger was the unpredictability of the bullets, because even the shooter had no idea where a shot would land.
Anse had little interest in the muskets. He casually set one down, rose to his feet, and knocked on the door across the hall.
The door opened. The moment Finn saw him, he flashed a broad grin, revealing a set of rather uneven teeth. "You're awake."
"What's going on with the [Conch]? And the guards?"