The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

Berg said that those who had assisted Rand in guarding the checkpoint were all believers, or adventurers and residents with a strong sense of justice, and none of them had received any compensation.

Anser was not surprised. The church’s ability to rally people had always been strong.

Tyr, the God of Justice, belonged to the War domain. His followers were famously good fighters, even if they were not professional combatants.

Berg spoke in a roundabout way, asking about the group’s plans for staying or leaving.

After Anser discussed it with Bratt, they decided to stay for the time being. Finn also said he was in no hurry to leave.

This was a good opportunity to farm experience points. With a paladin providing backup, safety was still assured. In any case, Wyrm’s Crossing was right behind them, so they could withdraw at any time. The Flaming Fist would not be so deranged as to block the gate, right?

The old priest was very pleased. He immediately arranged accommodations for the three of them on the second floor of the church and provided food and drinking water free of charge.

Three people shared one room. Judging by the layout, it was probably clergy lodging—very plain, but clean.

The food consisted of dry, hard whole-wheat bread and smoked pork strips. It was nothing special, but the portions were generous—more than the three of them could finish in a day.

It seemed that when evacuating the crowd yesterday, the church had also gathered or confiscated quite a bit of food. Paladins had principles and bottom lines, but they were by no means rigid to a fault.

Thud, thud, thud…

Berg had just left when there was another knock at the door.

Bratt stepped forward to open it. Standing there was Zahir, his body covered in bloodstains. It looked like he had not yet had time to wash up.

”Sorry, I just finished dealing with things. Thank you for your help. These are all your spoils.”

Zahir set down the two bundles in his hands. The burlap came loose, revealing a pile of miscellaneous items still stained with blood. The most eye-catching among them was a black warhammer.

”Many thanks.” Anser smiled and did not refuse.

In this world, adventure and combat were very common, and many tacit rules had formed because of that—among them, the distribution of spoils.

For example, if a paladin killed Duergar, he could return the wealth the Duergar had looted to its original owner or that person’s relatives, but they had no right to dispose of the personal belongings of monsters that had died at Anser’s hands.

Unless everyone was part of the same team, or there had been an agreement beforehand.

Earlier, Bratt had been injured, Finn was absent, and Anser had been immersed in the ”grief over his parents’ death,” so the task of collecting the spoils could only be handled by Zahir’s team.

They were followers of the God of Justice, so the likelihood of private hoarding was very small.

”If you need any help, just come to me directly. I’m usually on the third floor or in the main hall.” Zahir wore a small mustache; his voice was warm and unhurried, like a gentleman.

”Uncle Zahir, do you have any diamonds? I can trade for them with the spoils,” Anser said without ceremony. He was in urgent need of spellcasting materials.

Zahir pondered for a moment. ”There should be some. I’ll have someone look in a bit. Anything else?”

”No.” Anser looked at Bratt and Finn. The two shook their heads at the same time.

”Then get some good rest. Underground creatures dislike light, so they probably won’t come again during the day.” With that, Zahir hurried off; he had far too many things to attend to.

Anser and the others exchanged glances, pulled the bundles over, and eagerly began taking stock of the spoils.

Anser’s and Bratt’s spoils were mixed together. It looked like there were quite a few items, but none were worth much. That made sense—those they had killed were all slaves, and any good items would certainly have been confiscated already.

Several crude scimitars, morningstars, and iron-rimmed round shields; foul-smelling fur bracers, leather boots, and belts; unknown food and miscellaneous items… all of it could only be sold as scrap.

There were quite a few coin purses, but most were tattered, containing some worthless glass, copper coins, and a small amount of silver.

The best item was an elven-style gold-thread coin pouch holding several pieces of blue copper ore, eye agate, more than a dozen gold coins, and a bottle of healing potion.

”This should have been on that Hobgoblin, along with this,” Bratt said, pointing at the half-plate armor on the ground.

Three javelins went to Finn. The greatsword had likely been kept by Rand. The coin pouch and the most valuable half-plate were given to Anser—by any measure, he had gotten the better deal.

The half-plate was incomplete, consisting only of a helmet and a breastplate, but its condition was still fairly good.

”You can take the half-plate for now. Adjusting the buckles should make it wearable.” Anser was a spellcaster and had no relevant training; wearing armor would interfere with his casting.

”Alright.” Bratt nodded. In extraordinary circumstances, there was no need to be overly fastidious.

Anser then put all the gold and silver coins and gemstones into the elven coin pouch and tucked it into his clothes, while the heavy copper coins were left for Bratt to carry.

That black warhammer came from the Duergar warlord. It was a magic weapon, but no one could use it, so they would have to look for an opportunity to deal with it later.

”Throw away the junk. There’s no buyer to be found at a time like this, and it would only affect our movement,” Anser said with a smile.

”I understand.” Bratt fiddled with the half-plate, smiling without the slightest restraint.

At this moment, there was a knock at the door. A young cleric brought Anser a small box. Inside was a silver necklace adorned with a diamond pendant. The diamond showed no signs of being finely cut, and its diameter was about the size of his index fingernail.

After confirming it could be used, the young cleric turned and left, tossing out a single line: ”This is a gift from Captain Rand.”

In today’s battle, Anser had undoubtedly played a key role—something everyone had seen. The church likely wanted to use a piece of art to express its gratitude.

Anser fell silent for a moment, then still put the necklace on.

”It’s worth at least two hundred gold coins,” Bratt assessed. ”Keep it. Only in your hands can this thing have value.”

”Mm. Let’s rest for a bit.” Anser waved a hand. Since he had decided to accept it, there was no need to dwell on it.

He chose the bed in the farthest corner, took off his backpack, and lay down, relaxing completely. Even his tightly wound nerves eased a little.

Since being transported here, this was the first time he had felt a sense of safety.

Bratt was the same. Three berries were not enough to fully heal his injuries, and rest was the best method.

Finn looked at the two of them, then silently sat at the dining table and ate bread in small bites.

With his eyes closed, Anser let his mind sink inward. A silver twenty-sided die was slowly rotating.

To his delight, the second symbol on it had already lit up completely!

”As expected!”

He lightly tapped the die, and fragments of memory surfaced in his mind one after another: camping, leveling up, battle, spellcasting, using magic items…

”Adventure experience, major events, or achievements?” He could not tell, but at least he had a general direction.

It seemed he could not keep staying holed up and doing nothing. Experiencing more things could never be wrong.

A moment later, the symbol turned into a small tree, floating above the die and swaying gently.

Ding—

[You have obtained an adventure trait: Extraordinary Talent.]

Extraordinary Talent: You possess a learning ability and talent far beyond ordinary people. You gain one additional Feat every 2 levels, with no restrictions on source or type.

Anser froze for a moment. ”Directly adjusting class rules?”

In DND class rules, you gain an Ability Score Improvement feat or other qualifying Feat every 4 levels, and each time has a major impact on your overall strength.

He clicked the small tree, and a Feat selection interface popped up. There were many categories, but most were grayed out.

Feats were divided into four types: origin Feats, general Feats, fighting style Feats, and legendary Feats.

Origin Feats were related to background and race—for example, a farmer’s Tough—and had no threshold.

All other Feats had prerequisites. Only by meeting the prerequisites could you gain the corresponding Feat. For example, legendary Feats required level 19, and fighting style Feats required having the relevant class features.

Although ”Extraordinary Talent” did not say he had to meet prerequisites, legendary Feats and fighting style Feats were still not selectable.

After looking through the list, Anser fixed his gaze on three Feats: War Caster, Spell Sniper, and Gift of the Metallic Dragon.

War Caster would make his spellcasting steadier and faster, Spell Sniper would extend his spell range and improve accuracy, and Gift of the Metallic Dragon would improve his ability to stay alive.

Of course, he could also choose two points of ability scores, but the increase was not as large as a Feat.

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