When the hands of the pocket watch pointed to seven o'clock, Anser and the other two bid farewell to Emon and set off on their journey.
They truly did not want to camp in the wilderness again. Baldur's Gate had suddenly been struck by disaster, and all kinds of unsavory figures had come out, making everything chaotic.
At their pace, if they set out early, they would be able to reach the west coast before sunset.
Anser had the gray hawk scout ahead in advance. With it along, no matter how far off the path they went, they would not stray too badly.
As noon approached, they finally found a "road"—a winding little path, with ruts on the ground and footprints of people and livestock, clearly one that was often traveled.
After passing through a stretch of woodland, what lay before them was a cornfield stretching as far as the eye could see, half a person tall, a lush green expanse full of vitality.
At the edge of the fields, young and middle-aged men patrolled with dogs. The corn was still far from maturity, and the main concern was preventing damage by wild beasts.
The arrival of the three made the farmers highly wary, but once Anser removed his cloak, most of their hostility immediately dissipated, and they answered almost any question.
This village was called Oxhorn Village. With only a few dozen households, it was private property of the Stelmane family of Baldur's Gate.
Following this road westward for more than ten kilometers would lead to Silver Scale Bay, whose silver-scale trout were renowned far and wide.
Anser and the others simply did not rest, ate something casually, and continued on their way.
Though the path was small, it was far easier to travel than the wilderness. After a little over three hours, a large cluster of low buildings appeared ahead, crowded together in disorder and filling the field of view, permeated with the signs of civilization and everyday life.
Farther away was endless blue, sea and sky merging into one. With just a single glance, it felt as though the whole world had been taken into the heart, and all gloom was swept away.
Strands of sea breeze brushed across their faces, gentle like Chauntea's hands, making the spirit feel refreshed and relaxed.
"Wooo—!"
Bratt shouted loudly, spreading his arms as he ran toward the front, as if he wanted to embrace the entire Sea of Swords.
Anser laughed heartily, gave the horse's back a light pat, and Nornoth broke into a cheerful run.
"Hey—" Finn said with a wry face, striding out with long legs as he chased after them.
As the road stretched onward, the full view of Silver Scale Bay gradually came into sight.
This was a fishing town, with relatively low terrain, spread around an irregular crescent-shaped bay, very long and narrow.
If Silver Scale Bay were an eye, then the fishing town would be a hastily drawn eyebrow—thick and curved.
The town had no city walls, and there were many roads and entrances, but at every major junction there were at least two guards, watching the people coming and going with vigilance.
Anser was not surprised. With such a major incident having happened in Baldur's Gate, it would be far too useless if there were not at least some vigilance.
"Look over there, that looks like a refugee camp," Bratt said, pointing at clusters of tents on both sides of the road.
"Mm."
Anser removed his cloak, revealing his face to avoid misunderstandings.
The two guards glanced at him, their eyes lingering on Nornoth for a moment, and then they cleared the road from afar.
Their main duty was to guard against large groups of refugees and subterranean creatures, not to go looking for trouble.
The town was crowded with people, bustling and nonstop, lively to the point that it hardly seemed like a town.
"Why are there so many people?" Bratt asked in surprise.
Anser raised his staff and pointed toward the bay already blocked by buildings. "With Baldur's Gate in trouble, the mouth of the River Chionthar is bound to be clogged with many merchant ships. The surrounding ports or anchorages are probably packed as well. With so many people, this is only normal…"
"Even with so many people, I don't see anyone going to help," Bratt said, pursing his lips.
Anser chuckled softly. "Didn't we run out here as well?"
"Uh, we're not the same," Bratt froze for a moment, clearly unconvinced.
He had just started to organize his words to argue back when a disturbance broke out in the crowd ahead, and many people surged toward the western harbor.
Anser seemed to hear the word fishman and could not help but frown.
"Follow them."
"Alright."
The town had many boats, many nets, and many fish, but relatively few horses and livestock. Nornoth was unusually tall and oddly shaped, and wherever he passed, the crowd parted to make way.
Seeing this, Bratt and the other person simply followed close behind Nornoth, and it was indeed much easier.
The three followed the flow all the way to the dock district, which was exceptionally noisy, with crowds packed tightly in multiple layers.
Standing higher up with a clear view, Anser saw at a glance that the docks were covered with corpses. There were several human ones, and the rest were all Kuo-toa, at least a dozen of them.
That ugly appearance and dark purple skin made it hard to mistake it.
Moored at the berth was a wooden sailing ship about thirty meters long. The hull was covered in scars, with numerous repair marks, and patches of bloodstains had seeped into the wood.
"What kind of monster is this?"
"The Dragonlake Fleet took a hit…"
"Is the River Chionthar really blocked?"
"It's over…"
"…"
Listening to the noisy voices around him, Anser felt the tension in his heart ease instead.
All of this was within expectations. Because of information gaps, many people still had not realized how serious the situation was.
In fact, breaking through the blockade was not difficult—gathering a few more armed ships would suffice. The real difficulty was driving the fishfolk completely back underground; otherwise, the River Chionthar would never be peaceful.
He signaled to Bratt and the other person with his eyes, and the group withdrew from the crowd, returning to streets that were much quieter.
"Nornoth is too eye-catching."
The holy symbol on his chest grew scorching hot, but with so many mixed gazes around, he found it hard to determine the source.
He turned into a small alley. Taking advantage of the absence of others, he unloaded everything and then activated the holy symbol.
Nornoth looked at him with reluctance. He had just stepped forward when he suddenly stopped, lowered his head to tug open the pack, clamped the remaining few pounds of frozen crab meat in his mouth, then leapt and vanished into the air.
"Uh, hard to hold it together," Anser twitched the corner of his mouth, seriously doubting Nornoth's motive for entering into a contract with him.
He slung the pack onto his back and waved his hand. "Let's go. Find an inn."
"Where did Nornoth go? Will it come back?" Bratt asked, puzzled.
"The Feywild. It's fey, so it probably returned to its kin. It can come back at any time—don't worry."
The premise was that the holy symbol would not be lost. Because neither Anser nor Nornoth had the ability to open a fey passage, the contractual bond still remained, but they could no longer meet.
"That really is too convenient."
"Is there a branch of the Watchers' Guild here?"
"There should be."
Anser made use of his Charisma advantage and quickly learned the general situation of the town from a female clerk at a general store, successfully locating the Watchers' Guild branch.
Unfortunately, the guild was very small and had long since reached full capacity.
The three had no choice but to head to the largest inn in the north of town: Moonshadow Quelin. The name had a distinctly elven style, and even the décor inside and out of the inn was strikingly different.
Two six-story wooden buildings stood within a large garden. One looked like a multicolored mushroom, while the other resembled a treehouse, covered in various plants, with lush flowers and grasses all around, as though one had stepped into a fairy tale.
The three stood there like country bumpkins entering the city for the first time, staring blankly for quite a while at the courtyard gate in its primitive style.
"This isn't a private estate, is it?" Bratt asked, his face full of astonishment.
Anser lifted his head to glance at the wooden sign above and the two human guards at the entrance, then took the lead in pushing the gate open and walking into the garden.
The place itself was probably fine. What worried him was his wallet.
Sometimes having too much Charisma was not necessarily a good thing. Perhaps that female clerk genuinely believed that someone like him—a "tall, rich, and handsome" type—ought to stay in a place like this.
"Are the three of you here to stay the night, or for a meal?" The guards did not move. Instead, a waiter wearing a color-blocked vest emerged from behind the greenery and took a few steps to stand before them.
"To stay," Anser said as he removed his hood, muttering inwardly, uncertain whether this face of his would actually help.
"Gentlemen, please follow me." The waiter led the way at the side, bringing the three to the counter in the mushroom-shaped building, then departed straight away.
Behind the counter sat a silver-haired female elf. Her beautiful blue eyes continuously appraised Anser.
"You arrived at just the right time. There are still two rooms available. One room can accommodate up to two people," she said softly, a hint of a smile at the corner of her eyes.
Anser did not look at her. Instead, through the glass window, he fixed his gaze on a familiar figure in the garden.
'Gais!'
The first assistant instructor—the one who had ruined the original owner, and made off with Mentor Fabian's personal belongings.
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