Chapter 30: Conscription Order
Anse opened his eyes and met the old priest’s cloudy gaze. He nodded in greeting, then pointed at Zahir and asked, “Do you have any spell slots left?”
“I do.” The old priest came back to his senses and immediately cast Cure Wounds on Zahir.
Anse took the chance to stand up and turn to leave. The people around quickly cleared a path.
“Amazing, you’re practically omnipotent. I dub you the child of miracles!” Brat chased after him, jumped onto Anse’s back, and wildly flattered him.
He was extremely excited, with none of his usual steadiness.
“Get down, get down. Don’t you know how heavy you are?” Anse pushed him away irritably.
He hadn’t expected himself to be able to act as a Magic Net stabilizer. If those mages found out, they would definitely grab him and tie him to themselves.
Actually, no—those mages didn’t seem capable of grabbing him now.
Finn ran over, his wooden gaze showing a bit of expectation: “Saved?”
“Saved.”
“Mm.”
“This… can we eat it?” With that, Finn lifted the huge crab leg in his hand.
“Uh…” Anse was a bit confused by his thought process.
Brat was exasperated: “What do you want that for? Cut off ears, loot! Come on, come on.”
He dragged Finn away running. Finn casually tossed the crab leg to Anse.
Anse scanned the battlefield. The battle was basically over, and everyone was cleaning up the battlefield and treating the wounded.
The human battle group now probably had several hundred or even a thousand people, all sorts: Flame Fist soldiers, priests, adventurers, city personnel, commoners… all sorts.
He saw quite a few familiar faces among them.
At this moment, many people were cutting off monster heads and ears, even starting to curse and shove each other over it. The scene suddenly became a bit absurd.
The battle earlier had been too chaotic. A goblin might have a dozen arrows stuck in it, several sword wounds—who’s killing blow was it, anyway?
Whoever grabs it gets it!
The life-or-death racial battle united everyone, but interests made everyone selfish.
Anse hurriedly found the three’s backpacks, picked up Finn’s crab, and climbed onto a tall piece of broken stone. Afraid the two wouldn’t see him, he cast Light on the staff again.
The sky was turning white at the edges. The air was foul and stinking, constantly irritating the nose. The ground was sticky and filthy, corpses everywhere, like a hellish slaughterhouse.
Looking at this scene before him, he still… wasn’t used to it.
Not afraid, but a shock to his thoughts and values.
Here, adventurers seemed accustomed to life’s fragility and brevity like a candle flame. Even Brat, of good alignment, was all about loot and didn’t find so many deaths shocking or terrifying at all.
Everyone was desperately living, but some people’s “desperate” was literal.
Heavy footsteps approached. A stocky red-bearded dwarf stopped under the broken stone and looked up with a grin: “Hey, rookie.”
“Who’s the rookie?”
“The rookie’s you.”
“Haha…” Anse laughed twice, stood up, and jumped down from the broken stone. “What does the rookie want?”
Soradin finally reacted, his face darkening: “I came over out of kindness to console you, and you tease me instead. You don’t respect your elders at all.”
“Respect is in the heart.” Anse saw he was covered in wounds and sobered his smile. “You’re hurt?”
“How could you not get hurt in a battle like this? Not dying is fine.” Soradin sized up Anse, seeing his cloak clean and his face without a speck of blood, and felt his words weren’t quite accurate.
“Getting hurt can mean dying.” Anse took an exotic dagger with sheath from the bundle, drew it to reveal a section of eerie blue short blade, curved strangely and sharply. “Look at this.”
“Good stuff.” Soradin gave it high praise at a glance. He carefully pinched the hilt and sniffed lightly, his expression changing slightly.
After observing for a moment, Soradin returned the dagger: “Don’t touch the blade—highly toxic, not poisoned on. Nice thing, fine quality, just not hard enough, but that poison alone is worth a thousand gold coins…”
Anse understood: this was an assassination weapon, but not for frontal fights. It might not even pierce an armored monster—pretty narrow use.
No one in the team liked using daggers, so he wasn’t sure whether to keep it or sell it.
“Keep it for now. It flowing out would be bad for you.” Soradin implied something.
“Something up?” Anse heard the subtext. Had his recent performance been too eye-catching, drawing attention?
“Know the Blue Flame Cult?” Soradin’s expression was grave.
“Evil organization from the Arcane Cataclysm?” Anse asked doubtfully.
“Origins unclear, but there’s really such an organization in the city. Many mages or apprentices have joined them. They preach that you stole some holy lord’s power and brand you a heretic.” Soradin warned.
Anse was speechless. An evil cult putting a hat on him—fucking ridiculous.
“Don’t take it lightly. That bunch is crazy.” Soradin glanced around and leaned in closer. “Also, the duke council issued a conscription order, forming battle groups led by surviving Flame Fists, to retake Baldur’s Gate. High probability of supporting the Upper City too…”
“Conscription, signing a magic contract?” Anse frowned slightly. Soradin coming specifically to tell him meant he’d been targeted.
“Yes, good pay, but can’t refuse.” Soradin stressed. “The Lord’s Alliance hasn’t sent rescue forces. The dukes need to save themselves and can’t afford to care about much else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Leave now. You have no backing, and you’re a spellcaster—they’ll use you without hesitation. Ending up in worse straits than Zahir wouldn’t be surprising…”
“What about you?”
“I have the Iron Mountain Clan behind me—they won’t force me.” Soradin was confident. He wasn’t earning money just for himself.
“Thanks.” Anse meant it sincerely. Their relationship wasn’t that close, but Soradin going this far was impeccable.
He looked at the chaotic battlefield, a bit reluctant to leave the loot.
“Fool. Entrust the rest to Land.” Soradin saw through his thoughts. “Tyr’s followers won’t let you lose out. Others don’t have that connection.
Don’t delay. Go to the West Coast—lots of fishing villages and towns there. Kuo-Toa at most blockade the Chongsa River, no guts for the Sword Sea.”
With that, Soradin waved and turned to leave.
The sky was brightening, and people were starting to notice here.
Anse’s mind was complicated, but he didn’t dare hesitate. He lightly tapped the staff to dispel Light, not wanting to stand out.
Then he jumped down from the broken stone and found Brat and the other arguing with others over loot.
“Let’s go!”
“What’s up?”
“On the road.”
Brat and the other were puzzled but sensed Anse’s mood was off, so they shouldered their backpacks, hugged the crab meat, and followed him.
Anse found Land, dumped the big bundle of junk equipment and monster ears on him, asked him to handle the loot that might belong to him, and dispose of it.
Land agreed readily. He was busy but wouldn’t refuse any reasonable request from Anse.
Without Anse, who knows how many more would have died today—not to mention he saved Zahir’s life.
Land didn’t ask where Anse was going. He just gave him a big hug and slipped him a platinum badge—blue-backed shield shape, palm-sized, with the God of Justice Tyr’s holy symbol: balanced scales on a warhammer.
Anse didn’t refuse. After a simple goodbye, the three left the chaotic battlefield.
They didn’t follow the coast but returned to the City District first, weaving through streets, heading west into the open wilderness.
The sky was fully light. The wilderness was filled with tents everywhere, all shapes and colors, like mushrooms sprouting after rain.
There were also many people sleeping in the open in small groups—these were refugees who fled the city in the rainy night.
Thanks to Maozao, Renshengbuyu, and Book Friend 20220602025759276 for the reward.
Thanks to all reader lords for your support and suggestions!
