Chapter 35: Nahshival
A dark-skinned short-haired young man, afraid the boss would feel awkward, quickly added, “It’s mainly because there are too few beasts around here, haha…”
He was called Alva, a warrior who had just crossed the threshold of his class, whose main job was stonemason, and who also served as Emon’s assistant.
“No problem, I’ll treat you two to some crab meat. It’s hot and won’t keep if we don’t eat it.” Anse didn’t call them out, but signaled to Finn to have him grill some crab meat.
Finn paused, his mustache twitching a few times, somewhat reluctant, but still carried the crab shell to the campfire.
“This…” Emon saw the white frost on the crab meat and immediately knew Anse was deliberately helping him.
They had fled in a hurry and hadn’t brought much grain. Supplies were rationed each day, and no one had eaten their fill for the past two days.
Brat patted his shoulder and deliberately boasted, “You didn’t see it, but that riverbank was covered in monster corpses. There were plenty of giant crabs like this one. Picking up just two would feed us for days.”
“Haha, I really wanted to see it. What a shame…” Emon stopped being coy, his laughter hearty.
Finn quietly sat by the campfire, using the crab shell as a cutting board. He diced the crab meat, threw two or three pounds into the soup pot, and added some dried vegetables.
There were too many people; others could just taste it. He still planned to save some for Nolnos.
Afterward, he began preparing Anse’s dinner.
He set up a small pot first, added a spoonful of white rice and oats, then diced crab meat, sprinkled in dried vegetables and a few grains of sea salt, and simmered it over low heat.
In the meantime, he took out the remaining pieces of brown sugar walnut bread, sliced them, spread on buttermilk and a bit of honey, grilled them until hot and melted, then sprinkled on some fine salt grains and parsley flakes, added a piece of grilled crab meat, and made sandwiches.
The aroma slowly spread, and many people secretly swallowed their saliva.
Finn cracked open the shells from the crab legs, did some simple trimming to make cutlery, arranged the food on them, making it look very appetizing.
He divided the crab porridge into five bowls—a large one for Anse, and small ones each for himself, Brat, Emon, and Alva.
As for the brown sugar walnut bread sandwiches, those were exclusively for Anse.
Brat looked at the dinner, which looked and smelled great, and said in some surprise, “I didn’t expect you to be such a good cook.”
“It’s passable.” Finn acted as if it were nothing special and soaked his bread in the porridge.
Brat was speechless; this quiet guy had learned to show off.
Anse took a bite of the sandwich. It was soft, tender, fragrant, and sweet, with rich texture and distinct layers, not greasy at all—perfectly to his taste.
“Excellent!” He didn’t stint on praise.
“Mm.” Finn narrowed his eyes, looking in a great mood.
Anse caught Brat’s little glance and cut the sandwich with a knife, giving each of them a small piece.
Emon and the others saw the portions were small and didn’t refuse. After a few bites, their faces were full of admiration.
Alva brought over the grilled fish, one strip each. It didn’t taste like much, but it was fresh.
The five sat together. The table had meat, fish, porridge, and plenty of bread—far better than the thin porridge and bread the others had.
No one saw a problem with it, nor had any objections.
In Faerun, fairness and justice were not mainstream values; only a few organizations and individuals promoted them.
In most people’s view, the strong should eat well, live well, and dress well, so everyone strove to be strong.
Respecting the elderly and caring for the young depended on the situation. Adults in the Stonemason Guild ate better and more than the old and weak women and children. If they didn’t, who could you count on in real danger?
If you kept preaching fairness and justice but couldn’t deliver, it would only make the hopeful masses more pained and resentful.
——
After dinner, Anse took Finn and Nolnos back to the tent.
Brat and Emon, reunited after a long time, had much to talk about. Finn didn’t like crowds and preferred to stay with Nolnos.
Nolnos now had a simple saddle on his back, a gift from Emon.
It was temporarily made by artisans from the Stonemason Guild using leather, including a leather seat cushion, girth, stirrups, stirrup straps, and such—no hard saddle, crude but practical.
If nothing else, the stirrups alone made riding much easier for him.
He hadn’t expected Emon, who was tall and burly, to be so thoughtful. No wonder he was the captain.
After a simple wash-up, he crawled into the tent.
He picked up the staff, focused his mind, and activated the Goodberry on the Goodberry Staff.
He now had only one healing potion left; at critical moments, he could only rely on magic berries. Any extra charges would be wasted if not used.
The gray-green staff suddenly turned green, with curling patterns spreading along it. It quickly grew ten small twigs, which then… withered one after another.
He had anticipated this and cast again, succeeding only on the fifth try.
‘Magic Net, it seems even more chaotic.’ He put away the magic berries, feeling some sympathy for those mages.
The Magic Net hadn’t improved; it was getting worse and might trigger even more terrible disasters and chain reactions.
But so far, no church’s deity had issued any guidance, and no one knew what was happening.
No wonder the Blue Flame Cult looked on him unfavorably. If he were them, he’d feel the same imbalance—jealousy and resentment would be normal.
Anse sighed, first charged the Spell Storing Ring, then secured the tent and entered a meditation state.
——
Late at night, the moon and stars were sparse, mist thick.
Giant Red Deer Village ruins, civilian houses.
“Captain, is this level of caution really necessary?” The Black Dragonborn grinned, his yellow eyes showing no wisdom, only cunning and cruelty.
A middle-aged man sat by the window, quietly gazing at the night outside, saying nothing.
He wore a black-based silver-patterned robe, with eye-catching silver scale breastplate underneath, and sword and shield at his side. From his gear, he hadn’t been among the daytime crowd.
“Shut up.” The thin black ranger with the bow snapped, “The captain has his plans. It’s not your place to speak.”
“Hmph.” The Black Dragonborn snorted coldly but didn’t dare say more.
The middle-aged captain stood and paced back and forth, worry nearly spilling from his eyes.
“Something’s definitely off!” He suddenly stopped and looked at the ranger. “Have we checked outside? Any anomalies?”
“Patrolled twice, captain.” The thin black ranger was serious. “Nothing unusual around.”
The middle-aged captain gripped his longsword tightly, brows furrowed.
For some reason, he felt “uncomfortable” all day, restless. He saw it as a warning for the upcoming action.
This eerie feeling made him afraid to act rashly, delaying the operation repeatedly.
“Operation canceled!” His face was cold. “We’re done here. We withdraw at first light tomorrow.”
All team members’ faces changed. The operation had just started; leaving now meant incalculable losses. No one could accept it.
“Why?” The thin black ranger’s face darkened. “Captain, this is a once-in-a-century opportunity. Refugees pour in daily. We just wait for them to come to us.
Excluding personal belongings, one person fetches at least dozens of gold coins. We’ve made thousands just sitting here these past days—it’s like picking up money. And now you want us to leave?!”
“Even if we wanted to leave, Your Excellency Nahshival probably wouldn’t agree.” The Black Dragonborn’s expression was grim.
The room’s atmosphere instantly froze.
The thin black ranger was silent for a moment, then softened his tone: “Your Excellency Nahshival’s fleet is at Silver Scale Bay. He won’t leave until it’s full. That transport team in Cloak Forest is a sword over our necks. We don’t get to decide.”
The middle-aged captain knew this well; he’d just been rattled by unease. He explained, “I may not have made myself clear. I mean… change places. Um… head north. This spot’s a bit too remote.”
The excuse was lame, since they’d chosen this place deliberately—not too far, not too near, so many refugees with old maps would come automatically.
The Black Dragonborn’s eyes darted: “We can’t ignore the captain’s intuition. How about we finish this job first, report to Your Excellency Nahshival tomorrow, and let him decide?
Last night’s storm, rested a day, and today that camp got a spellcaster. Perfect to take them all out. That strange horse alone is worth at least a thousand gold coins.”
He spoke confidently, not thinking a few more people would hinder them. From the team members’ expressions, they agreed.
The middle-aged captain took in everyone’s faces, tugged at his mouth, and steeled himself inwardly:
“Let’s go. Action.”
“Yes…” Everyone grinned broadly.
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