The magical power of a Level 4 Paladin hadn't changed from before, but the number of prepared spells had increased to five.
The pool of Lay on Hands energy had reached 20 points—still only good for emergencies.
For the time being, he had no intention of raising his Paladin or Wizard levels any further. Level 5 required 7,600 experience points, and with double experience requirements plus multiclassing, it was simply too heavy a burden.
Focusing entirely on advancing to a high-tier class was the optimal choice!
Back in the cockpit, Lin Qiancheng was concentrating on piloting the ship.
Bratt and the others were gathered by the compound eyes, eagerly looking down at the lands of Faerûn below—such a view was not something one saw often.
When Anser came out, Bratt borrowed the "Extended Vision Scope," and the group pointed downward, discussing the customs and scenery of the regions below.
Time passed quietly.
As the sun dipped westward, golden light spread across the Sea of Fallen Stars, filling one's heart with a sense of warmth and abundance.
Suddenly, Salian pointed downward, his face full of shock.
"What is that?"
"A sinkhole?" Bratt shifted his gaze, his expression changing drastically.
Anser stood up and followed their line of sight.
On the distant land, a massive black void had appeared. Its edges were jagged and uneven, its interior pitch-black—like a stretch of pure nothingness. Under the glow of the setting sun, it stood out starkly.
He took the scope from Bratt and examined it carefully several times, confirming that it was indeed a sinkhole—far larger than the one near Baldur's Gate.
"Where is that place?"
"Sembia—the merchant nation," Lin Qiancheng replied, also able to see the situation below. He had some knowledge of the forces around the Sea of Fallen Stars.
"Has that sinkhole always been there?" Anser asked, startled.
"I've never heard of it," Lin Qiancheng said gravely.
Since the Weave had malfunctioned, trade across regions had declined sharply, and information flow had slowed. He had no idea what had happened.
Anser steadied the scope before his eyes and swept his vision across the area, only to find that there was not a single figure around the massive sinkhole—no people, no monsters, no surface creatures. It was utterly desolate.
'Fallen into Avernus…'
He suddenly recalled the disaster from over two hundred years ago.
The holy city of Elturel had fallen, dragged into the Nine Hells and forced into the Blood War.
"What used to be there?" he asked Lin Qiancheng.
"Not sure. It doesn't look too far from the capital, Ordulin," Lin Qiancheng shook his head slightly.
He had spent most of his time along the eastern coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars and wasn't very familiar with Sembia's inland cities.
"Give it a wider berth. Don't get too close," Anser instructed.
"Got it."
The dragonfly ship adjusted its course slightly, moving away from the northern shore of the Sea of Fallen Stars while climbing to a higher altitude.
At nearly ten thousand meters, even birds were nowhere to be seen, and few magical creatures flew at such heights. There was no prey, the air was thin, and the environment was harsh.
Until the afternoon of the second day, the ship encountered no attacks—only occasional turbulence and swaying.
Bratt and the others had already returned to Holrewen, while Salian and Finn stayed behind to help with night watch and chat with Anser.
Early in the morning, Anser had taken over piloting duties from Lin Qiancheng, who had gone half a day and a full night without rest and was completely exhausted. Anser wasn't some capitalist—how could he exploit people like that?
Piloting a magic ship was entirely different from driving in his previous life. It relied on mental guidance and magical power. Even if one's focus slipped occasionally, it didn't matter—the vessel moved with the mind, with minimal delay.
This also depended directly on the pilot's strength and control over magic. Under Anser's control, the dragonfly ship was more agile and stable than when Lin Qiancheng piloted it, and its speed was slightly faster as well.
...
"Down there—that should be the Dragon Lake, right?" Salian lowered the telescope and turned to ask.
"Should be." Anser was in a very good mood.
They were already more than halfway through their journey. From Dragon Lake to Durlag's Tower was only about a thousand kilometers. If nothing unexpected happened, they should reach their destination before noon tomorrow.
"Then the north shore of Dragon Lake should be Cormyr, and to the northwest are the Storm Horn Mountains…" Salian analyzed the terrain step by step, his tone growing heavy.
Anser immediately noticed something off in his voice and asked, "What's wrong?"
"At the border between the Storm Horn Mountains and Cormyr, a war is underway. One side is flying Cormyr's banner, and the other consists of orcs, goblins, and gnolls. Each side has deployed several thousand troops—the fighting is extremely intense…" Salian described.
The sky was cloudless today. The "Extended Vision Scope" could see over fifty kilometers during the day, and even at several thousand meters of altitude, its effectiveness was unaffected. The two armies looked as if they were right in front of them—one could even clearly see the gnolls' fangs and drool.
Cormyr's main force was the famous Purple Dragon Legion, renowned for its strength. It was said that the warrior subclass, the Purple Dragon Knight, originally came from Cormyr.
Anser listened carefully, remaining silent for a long time.
Along the way, there had hardly been a single region at peace. Battles of all scales could be seen everywhere—some internal conflicts, but more often racial wars.
After all kinds of unexpected disasters, there was no such thing as "facing hardship together." The primary way people resolved internal tensions and resource conflicts was still to launch wars against others.
"The situation is worse than expected. I wonder how those old comrades are doing." Salian withdrew his gaze and stared blankly toward the northwest—that was the direction of Paros.
It was said that Baldur's Gate had already been overrun by Underdark creatures. If those creatures continued expanding, then Paros in the north would definitely be the first to bear the brunt.
"Don't be so pessimistic. The Underdark creatures are far fewer in number than surface dwellers. Taking Baldur's Gate is already a huge achievement for them," Anser reassured him.
He believed the three dukes wouldn't die so easily. They were probably in some city right now, recruiting forces or seeking reinforcements, preparing to retake Baldur's Gate.
"I hope you're right." Salian sighed.
....
The next morning, a vast expanse of dense primeval forest came into view.
Lin Qiancheng controlled the dragonfly ship to descend, maintaining an altitude of around three thousand meters to better observe the situation below.
"That should be the Wood of Sharp Teeth, right?" he guessed.
"Yeah." Anser set up the telescope and immediately spotted that vividly colored hill, covered in fruit trees and flowers, with a castle sitting atop it.
The castle walls were painted in bright, multicolored patterns, giving off a somewhat cheerful and lively impression.
'It's been a few days. I wonder if Iris has missed me? She probably has.' A faint, warm smile unconsciously spread across his lips.
To be honest, the feeling of being missed by someone wasn't bad—it gave him a long-lost sense of belonging.
At that moment, Lin Qiancheng pointed above the dragonfly ship and said urgently, "Something's wrong—what's that up there?"
Anser looked up. Above the Wood of Sharp Teeth, more than a dozen black dots were circling at high speed.
He raised the telescope and saw several wyverns. On their backs sat half-dragon creatures, their green scales reflecting a cold, metallic sheen.
At the same time, the wyverns also noticed the dragonfly ship. After a brief hesitation, the dozen or so creatures collectively changed direction and charged toward them in a loose formation.
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