Anser watched the scene before him with a distant look. Although he had escaped mortal danger for the moment, he felt neither excitement nor joy.

‘I am the one who feels pity, and I am the one who stands by. I empathize, yet I am also powerless...’

He suddenly found the concept of alignment truly fascinating.

Had he transmigrated here as a teenager, he most likely would have been Lawful Good and made the same choice as the old priest.

But after years in society, suffering countless losses and learning countless lessons, he had realized that many people’s misfortunes arose from their own personalities and choices. Helping them once could not change their fate.

Besides, not everyone deserved help.

His own life was already a mess. Getting dragged into too many problems would only waste his time, energy, and money. His family needed him more.

‘Time to leave!’

Rivington gave him a bad feeling. All along the way, he had sensed hostile gazes. Tens of thousands of refugees were crammed together, their anger and despair steadily mounting. Sooner or later, the whole place would explode.

Staying at the church would also force him to face one moral dilemma after another. If something truly happened, either choice would leave him in a bind. It was better to leave and spare himself the sight of it.

After a while, Rand and Zahir hurried back.

The malicious gazes lurking in the shadows disappeared one after another. Those people dared bully Lathander’s clerics, but they might not dare provoke Tyr’s faithful.

Anser signaled Bratt and Finn with his eyes, and the three gathered together.

“We’re leaving?” Bratt seemed to have guessed his intentions.

“Yes.” Anser nodded. “We’ll say goodbye, find somewhere to stay, and purchase supplies. Then we leave tomorrow morning.”

“Where are we going?” Bratt’s expression was complicated.

Last year, he had hurriedly ended his rather unpleasant adventuring career and chosen Baldur’s Gate as a place to settle. Just as everything had begun to fall into place, it had all abruptly ended again.

“The north is full of duergar, while the south is wilderness and forest. Farther south lies Candlekeep...” Anser considered his options. “We’ll head east and follow the River Chionthar. We can decide what comes next later.”

He wanted to go to Waterdeep, but heading directly north was clearly impossible.

“I have no family. Anywhere is fine with me.” Finn looked indifferent.

“No objections here. For lodging and supplies, I suggest the Adventurers’ Guild. At a time like this, it’s one of the few relatively safe places,” Bratt said.

“You’re the veteran adventurer. We’ll follow your lead.” Anser picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder.

They did not disturb Rand. The three of them found old Berg together and, after a brief farewell, left the church.

The old priest opened his mouth several times, wanting to ask them to stay, but ultimately said nothing and watched them leave.

The moment they left the church grounds, Anser sensed watchful gazes turning toward them from all directions and sweeping over their packs and luggage.

Classed individuals were powerful, but low-level classed individuals could not withstand being mobbed. More than a few had died beneath farmers’ pitchforks.

Anser was not particularly worried. High-level classed individuals would have no interest in their meager belongings, while classed individuals of their level and ordinary people would be courting death if they tried anything. He was no ordinary spellcaster.

An indescribable stench hung in the air as they walked. Disaster victims crowded both sides of the street. Many lay beneath the open sky on tattered blankets, and if not for the faint rise and fall of their chests, they could have been mistaken for corpses.

The deeper they went into the district, the worse it became. This was no longer the Rivington from the original Anser’s memories.

Bratt led the way. A scrawny boy stumbled toward him and quietly slipped a hand into the pack on his back.

The instant delight appeared on the boy’s face, a large hand closed around his thin wrist.

“You dare steal from me?” Bratt turned with an amused expression. But when he saw how sickly, sallow, and emaciated the boy was, his grip loosened despite himself.

The boy seized the chance to break free. He dropped to the ground, looking utterly terrified, and scrambled backward on all fours.

“Ah! Help! Someone’s trying to kidnap me—”

Bratt’s expression immediately turned cold, but he did not loudly defend himself. That was not his style.

The surrounding people fled as if they had seen a plague. Even the refugees who had been lying like corpses rolled farther away in their blankets.

At the same time, more than a dozen young and able-bodied men surrounded them from every direction. Their leader was a powerfully built, bald, clean-shaven man wearing scale mail beneath a surcoat.

The moment Anser saw him, he understood what was happening. He half-closed his eyes and rapidly mobilized his mana.

The bald man chuckled coldly. His gaze swept over the staff in Anser’s hand before finally settling on Bratt. “Outsider, do you know—”

“Sorcerous Burst—Thunder!” Anser barked in Draconic.

The brief Draconic phrase rang in everyone’s ears. A streak of light flashed across the gap and struck the bald man’s broad face, erupting with a thunderous boom.

Anser did not pause. In less than two seconds, he hurled three more Sorcerous Bursts into the densest parts of the crowd.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

When the dust cleared, people lay sprawled everywhere. Few had been injured; most had simply fallen in terror.

The bald man had only just climbed back to his feet. His ears rang, his face was covered in blood, and his right arm was a mangled mess. Had he not raised it to block the blast, the spell might have taken his face off.

Bratt stood before him in an attacking stance, while Finn had already leaped onto a nearby roof with an arrow nocked.

Anser signaled them not to attack.

“Bald Bill, has the Iron Anchor Brotherhood changed its line of work?”

He knew the man. The Iron Anchor Brotherhood was a local gang that had operated around Brampton’s docks for years. They bullied the weak and feared the strong.

That was why Anser had struck first, focusing on intimidation. He did not believe scum who made their living oppressing those at the bottom would fight him to the death when they knew they could not win.

“Huh?” Bald Bill stiffened. The longsword he had just raised dropped sheepishly. He grabbed a corner of his surcoat and wiped the blood from his eyes, then looked Anser up and down in confusion. “And you are...?”

“Does it matter who I am?” Anser deliberately hardened his expression to frighten him. “If you don’t give me a satisfactory answer today, I’ll sell every one of you to Thay.”

In Baldur’s Gate, if someone accidentally offended a person they should not have, they had two choices: fight to the death or pay to settle the matter.

At that moment, the die displayed the man’s information: [Bald Bill, Human, Level 1 Fighter]

“It’s a misunderstanding, Mr.... Mage.” Bald Bill waved his hands and retreated two steps. “The lads below me didn’t explain things properly. I only came over to ask...”

“Keep making things up!” Anser crossed his arms, looking as though he had the man entirely at his mercy.

“Uh...” Bald Bill forced out a smile. “Sir, we left in such a hurry that we brought nothing with us, not even food. That’s why we took the risk of doing this. You know our brotherhood has never robbed anyone...”

Anser raised a hand to cut off his complaints and pointed at the man’s armor. “Nice scale mail. You also have a coin pouch and gems. Hand them over voluntarily and I’ll give you a chance. Don’t mistake me for someone easy to deal with.”

Bald Bill was a classed individual, and the others carried weapons. Anser’s group could win a fight, but it would consume their already limited mana and stamina.

The district was too chaotic. If they exhausted themselves, someone else might take advantage of them. Since intimidation could solve the problem, there was no need to fight.

Intimidation was more than verbal force. Supported by the skill and his Charisma attribute, it exerted a powerful mental influence—especially when backed by a display of violence.

“This...” Bald Bill’s face went through several changes. Gritting his teeth, he began removing his armor.

Anser had not demanded their weapons or food, stopping just short of what the man could not afford to surrender.

‘What terrible luck. Weren’t mages supposed to be unable to cast spells? How did I take a spell to the face the instant we met? I’ve seen plenty of cantrips, but never anyone who could cast them so quickly.’

When the others saw their boss submit, they could only take out all the money they carried. Before long, it formed a small pile.

Anser did not bother checking whether they had hidden anything. He discreetly signaled Bratt.

Bratt rolled everything up in the scale-mail surcoat and tied it into a bundle. As he lifted it in one hand, he privately applauded Anser’s performance.

Thanks to all the honored readers for your support and suggestions!

(End of Chapter)