The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

”Would it be convenient for you to explain?” Ragnar gestured toward the sailboat drifting along with the current.

”Of course…”

Anser concealed his relationship with Claira. His explanation was that he had discovered slave traders, first rescued the elf, and planned to send her to Moonshadow Quelin before figuring out how to rescue the others.

In truth, he only wanted to spread the news and prepare to fish in troubled waters.

The matter was not complicated; he explained it clearly in just a few sentences.

When Ragnar heard about the elf and Moonshadow Quelin, her expression changed slightly. Then, with a solemn look, she said, ”Mr. Anser, leave the next part to us. Silver Scale Bay will investigate this to the end.”

”Oh.” Anser smiled faintly, showing no intention of leaving. ”May I ask how Magistrate Ragnar plans to handle it?”

With the authorities stepping in, everything was proper and justified. He had no reason to refuse. But since he had already offended someone, of course he intended to wipe them out completely—he did not want to be remembered by others.

A trace of displeasure flashed through Ragnar’s eyes. She had been directly appointed by Baldur’s Gate’s ”Noble Council,” a core member among the core, and very few people dared to deny her authority, let alone openly show distrust toward her.

However, she did not dare to truly lose her temper. The other party was very strong, acted without scruples, and was also a follower of Tyr. If she provoked a few paladins, the trouble would only grow worse.

”The guard has several small boats. I will immediately organize men to board the ship—they won’t be able to escape.”

”Small boats?” Anser curled the corner of his mouth, unsure whether this barbarian was truly foolish or thought a Sorcerer easy to deceive. ”Do you have cannons? How many people would have to die just to board the ship?”

The Conch had cannons. If this were not a town, the other side would have already torn off the gun covers and opened fire on him.

A sailing ship requires many crew to operate. The Conch had a large crew; even if a batch were killed, there would still be at least thirty or more left—among them musketeers, gunners, and sailors. How could it be so easy to take it by assault?

Ragnar’s expression stiffened, her face turning cold. ”May I ask what solution Mr. Anser has in mind? If we trade cannon fire, I’m afraid not a single civilian would survive.”

”Spread this news to the entire town and invite everyone to help. Have professionals encircle them from all sides and board the ship to fight. Even without cannons, we can easily wipe them out,” Anser said flatly.

There were drawbacks to doing so as well. Those professionals would be taking enormous risks, and it would be reasonable for them to take a share of the spoils.

”I’ll consider it.” Ragnar turned and left at once, leaving Anser standing there.

It was very much a case of if you won’t go, I will—anything to keep you from interfering.

Anser smiled faintly, not angered. He wanted to see what this magistrate was planning to do.

However, the most urgent matter now was to find Claira first; if she were targeted again, it would be troublesome.

Nornoth jogged along the way. Just after leaving the dock, he ran straight into a slender figure on horseback.

Moon-white robes, a hood over the head, the face impossible to make out—but from the figure alone, Anser could already guess who it was.

He focused his gaze on the horse. It gave off an unreal feeling—its steps were agile, its landing light.

’This should be the third-level spell Phantom Steed.’

Both the horse and the saddle were lifelike simulacra. Its speed far exceeded that of an ordinary horse, but once attacked, it would vanish.

’She can actually still cast third-level spells?’

It was not that he looked down on others. Sorcerers were also arcane spellcasters and were likewise affected by the Weave. Even with innate magic, switching over to casting via Magic Power required enduring a difficult transition.

Wasn’t that exactly why people from the Order of Blue Fire dared to hunt Sorcerers—because the Sorcerer community was currently at a low ebb?

Of course, it was also possible that ”Phantom Steed” could be cast as a ritual, consuming no spell slot.

At this moment, Gwyneth was also looking Anser up and down, her gaze full of scrutiny. ”You really do know how to cause trouble.”

The Moonshadow Quelin stood at a higher elevation. From a window, she had seen a figure in a black cloak astride a black horse going on a rampage through the town—riding the black horse as it leapt and bounded, and in the end even burning someone else’s ship.

Still, that person’s strength was truly extraordinary. Spells were cast fast, accurate, and far-reaching. She had been greatly astonished; he indeed had the capital to be arrogant.

”I was merely making a passive counterattack. Living in Faerûn, one cannot always act freely,” Anser sighed with a deliberately world-weary tone.

Before transmigrating, he had bent himself to circumstances, hesitating at every step, swallowing anger from coworkers and bosses every day. If after transmigrating he still had to swallow his anger, wouldn’t that make the whole transmigration pointless?

”That saying of yours is quite interesting,” Gwyneth said as she rode her horse closer, her expression shadowy. ”So going out in the middle of the night to kill people was also a passive counterattack?”

”Mm… that’s called eradicating evil to the last,” Anser explained calmly.

”Is that saying also one of your own inventions?” Gwyneth did not know how to refute him for a moment.

”I heard it somewhere.”

”Things have been very chaotic lately… try to keep a low profile.” There was something inexplicable in Gwyneth’s gaze, her words carrying an implied meaning.

After saying that, she rode past Anser, heading straight for the docks.

Does she know about the Order of Blue Fire? Anser watched her retreating figure, not quite understanding what she meant.

People died in Silver Scale Bay every day. It really was chaotic, but for professionals it could not be considered especially dangerous.

He did not dwell on it. Bratt and Claira were still waiting for him.

Nornoth jogged lightly along the street, with Grey Eagle guiding from above. At last, they found the two adults and one child at a roadside tavern.

The situation was chaotic. Bratt was worried the slave traders might have accomplices, so he did not dare wander around. Holding Claira, he blended into the crowd, hid in the tavern, and pretended to watch the commotion.

Anser lifted the bewildered Claira onto the horse’s back, and the group returned together to Moonshadow Quelin.

Seeing that both rider and horse were unharmed, Bratt did not ask many questions. The street was not a place for conversation.

Partway along, they met up with Finn. There was quite a lot of loot, more than he could carry alone.

”Some was lost.”

”Doesn’t matter.”

Anser had expected as much. Faerûn’s folkways were ”simple”—quietly taking a few things from the dead was perfectly normal.

They hurried all the way back to Moonshadow Quelin, and only then did most of the gazes lingering on Anser finally disperse.

During the day, the garden was freely accessible. The guards did not stop them, merely reminding them not to let the horse trample the plants in the garden.

Anser gave Nornoth a few instructions, telling it to roam freely in the garden.

However, just as they entered the mushroom house, Darla suddenly darted out, spreading her arms and blocking Anser.

She stared wide-eyed at Claira, her expression wary. ”You… where did you go? Where did this child come from?”

It was no wonder she was tense. Elf slaves were always hot commodities on the black market, and Moonshadow Quelin could never ignore such a case whenever it encountered one.

Moreover, an elf child this young could not possibly have left her parents to live with humans. Darla was very willing to trust Anser, but reason would not allow her to let the matter pass without asking.

From Darla’s demeanor, Anser could tell she had not gone out to watch the commotion; Moonshadow Quelin’s location was indeed rather secluded.

He shifted aside, revealing Kafka behind him. ”They were together. I saw slave traders deceiving people into boarding a ship at the docks, so I called them out.”

”That’s right—we just came over from Baldur’s Gate’s Seatower district,” Kafka explained.

But he was human as well, and such an explanation was extremely weak, completely failing to convince Darla.

Darla’s eyes flickered as she turned her gaze to Claira. ”Come, let Auntie hold you.”

Claira tilted her head to look at Anser, then shook it very firmly. ”No.”

Though she was small, she was very clever. Everything that had just happened made her realize who her true support was.

Darla choked with frustration. By rights, they were of the same race and should have been naturally close.

Her eyes shifted, and she came up with another idea. ”Each room can only house two people. The mushroom house has no empty rooms. Come with me—we’ll go to the Cloud Tree House.”

”Either is fine,” Anser said noncommittally.

However, as far as he knew, aside from the first-floor dining hall, that tree house was not open to outsiders; the upper levels were all occupied by moon elves and attendants.

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