A dark-skinned young man with short hair hurried to rescue his leader from further embarrassment. "There just aren't many wild beasts around here. Ha..."

His name was Alva. He was a Fighter who had only recently crossed the threshold into a class, though his main trade was stonemasonry, and he also served as Aemon's assistant.

"It's fine. I'll treat you both to some crabmeat. In this heat, whatever we don't eat will spoil." Anser did not expose them. Instead, he signaled Finn to roast some crabmeat.

Finn paused, his beard twitching. Reluctant though he was to part with the meat, he still carried a crab shell over to the campfire.

"This..." One look at the white frost coating the crabmeat told Aemon that Anser was deliberately helping him.

They had fled in such haste that they had brought little food. Rations were strictly limited each day, and no one had eaten their fill for the past two days.

Bratt patted him on the shoulder and deliberately boasted, "You should've seen the riverbank. Monster corpses were everywhere. There were more giant crabs like this than you could count. Pick up any two, and you'd have enough to eat for days."

"Ha! I truly wish I could've seen it. What a shame..." Aemon stopped protesting and laughed heartily.

Finn sat beside the campfire and used a crab shell as a cutting board. He diced the meat, threw two or three pounds into the soup pot, and added some dried vegetables.

There were too many people to feed everyone properly; the others would have to settle for a taste. He still planned to save some for Nornoth.

Then he began preparing Anser's dinner.

First, he set up a small pot and added a scoop each of white rice and oats. He diced some crabmeat into it, sprinkled in dried vegetables and several grains of sea salt, then left it to simmer over low heat.

While it cooked, he took out the remaining pieces of brown-sugar walnut bread and sliced them. He spread buttermilk and a little molasses over the slices and toasted them until warm and soft. Finally, he sprinkled them with fine salt and chopped parsley, added a slice of roasted crabmeat, and made sandwiches.

The aroma drifted through the camp, and more than a few people swallowed hard.

Finn cracked open the crab's leg shells and trimmed them into simple tableware. Once he arranged the food on them, the meal looked remarkably appetizing.

He divided the crab congee among five bowls. The large bowl went to Anser, while Finn, Bratt, Aemon, and Alva each received a small one.

As for the brown-sugar walnut-bread sandwich, that was reserved exclusively for Anser.

Bratt stared at the dinner, impressed by both its appearance and aroma. "I never expected you to be such a good cook."

"Passable." Finn made nothing of it and dipped his bread into his congee.

Bratt was speechless. The taciturn fellow was learning some bad habits.

Anser took a bite of the sandwich. It was tender and sweet, with a rich, layered texture that never became cloying. It suited his taste perfectly.

"Excellent!" he praised without reservation.

"Mm." Finn's eyes narrowed with pleasure.

Noticing the look Bratt was giving him, Anser cut the sandwich apart and shared a small piece with each of them.

Aemon and the others saw that the portions were small and did not refuse. They finished their shares in a few bites, their faces full of admiration.

Alva brought over the roasted fish, one for each person. The fish were bland but at least fresh.

The five sat together with meat, fish, congee, and all the bread they wanted. Their meal was far better than the thin gruel and bread everyone else had.

No one thought anything was wrong with that, nor did anyone voice the slightest objection.

In Faerûn, fairness and equality were not mainstream values. Only a handful of organizations and individuals promoted them.

Most people believed the strong deserved better food, shelter, and clothing. That was why everyone strove to become stronger.

Respecting the old and caring for the young depended on the circumstances. The adults of the Masons' Guild ate more and better food than the elderly, infirm, women, and children. If they did not, whom could anyone rely on when danger came?

If you constantly preached fairness and equality but failed to provide them, you would only make the hopeful masses suffer more and grow more resentful.

—

After dinner, Anser returned to the tent with Finn and Nornoth.

Bratt and Aemon had much to discuss after their long separation. Finn disliked crowds and preferred staying with Nornoth.

Nornoth now wore a simple saddle, a gift from Aemon.

Craftsmen from the Masons' Guild had improvised it from leather. It included a padded seat, girth, stirrups, and stirrup leathers, but no rigid saddle tree. It was crude, but practical.

If nothing else, the stirrups alone made riding far easier for Anser.

Anser had not expected such an enormous man to be so attentive. No wonder Aemon had been a captain.

After washing briefly, Anser entered the tent.

He picked up the staff, focused his mind, and activated the Goodberry spell within the Staff of Goodberries.

He had only one Potion of Healing left. At a critical moment, he would have to rely on the magical berries, and leaving the extra charges unused would only waste them.

The gray-green staff turned verdant. Patterns curled and spread across its shaft as ten tiny branches sprouted in quick succession, then... withered one after another.

He had expected as much and kept casting. The spell did not succeed until his fifth attempt.

'The Weave seems even more chaotic.' He put away the magical berries and felt a measure of sympathy for those mighty wizards.

The Weave had not improved. Instead, it was growing steadily worse and might well trigger even more terrible disasters and chain reactions.

Yet so far, no deity had sent guidance to any church. No one knew what had happened.

It was no wonder the Order of Blue Fire disliked him. In their position, he too would have felt aggrieved. Jealousy and resentment were perfectly natural.

Anser sighed, charged his Ring of Spell Storing, secured the tent, and entered meditation.

—

Late that night, the moon shone brightly among sparse stars, and mist filled the air.

Inside a house among the ruins of Giant Elk Village.

"Captain, do we really need to be this cautious?" The black dragonborn bared his teeth in a grin. His yellow eyes showed no wisdom, only cunning and cruelty.

A middle-aged man sat beside the window, watching the night outside in silence. He did not answer.

He wore a black surcoat embroidered in silver over an eye-catching silver-scaled breastplate, with sword and shield resting beside him. Judging by his attire, he had not been among the group they saw during the day.

"Shut your mouth," snapped a lean, dark-skinned Ranger carrying a bow. "The captain has his own plans. It isn't your place to speak."

"Hmph." The black dragonborn snorted but did not dare say another word.

The middle-aged captain rose and paced back and forth, his anxiety almost spilling from his eyes.

"Something is definitely wrong!" He stopped short and looked at the Ranger. "Did you check everything outside? Was there anything unusual?"

"We made two patrols, Captain." The lean Ranger's expression was grave. "There is nothing unusual in the surrounding area."

The middle-aged captain gripped his longsword tightly and furrowed his brow.

For some reason, he had felt "uncomfortable" all day. He could neither sit nor stand at ease and regarded the feeling as a warning about the operation ahead.

That uncanny sensation kept him from acting rashly, and he had postponed the operation again and again.

"The operation is canceled!" he declared coldly. "We're stopping here and withdrawing first thing tomorrow morning."

Every member of the team paled. The operation had only just begun, and leaving now would cause incalculable losses. None of them could accept it.

"Why?" The lean Ranger's expression turned cold. "Captain, this is an opportunity that comes once in a century. Huge numbers of refugees arrive here every day. All we need to do is wait for them to walk into our hands.

"Even without their belongings, each person can sell for at least several dozen gold pieces. We've earned thousands of gold pieces in only a few days without lifting a finger. It's like picking money off the ground, and now you want us to leave?!"

"Even if we wanted to go, Lord Nashivaar probably wouldn't agree," the black dragonborn said ominously.

The atmosphere in the room instantly froze.

The lean Ranger remained silent for a long moment before softening his tone. "Lord Nashivaar's fleet is waiting in Silver Scale Bay. He won't leave until every ship is full. That transport team in Cloakwood is a sword at our throats. Staying or leaving was never our decision."

The middle-aged captain knew that perfectly well. His unease had merely disturbed his judgment. He explained, "Perhaps I wasn't clear. I meant... we should move elsewhere. North, perhaps. This place is somewhat remote."

It was a poor excuse. They had deliberately chosen this location because it was neither too near nor too far away, and many refugees carrying old maps would find their way here on their own.

The black dragonborn's eyes shifted. "We can't simply ignore the captain's instincts. Why don't we finish this job first, report to Lord Nashivaar tomorrow, and let him decide?

"The rainstorm forced us to rest all day yesterday, and a spellcaster arrived at that camp today. We can take them all in one sweep. That unusual horse alone must be worth at least a thousand gold pieces."

His tone was confident. He did not believe a few additional people could present any obstacle, and judging from the others' expressions, they clearly agreed.

The middle-aged captain studied every face. His mouth twisted, and he made his decision.

"Move out. The operation begins."

"Yes..." Everyone broke into delighted smiles.

Thank you to all my dear readers for your support and suggestions!

(End of Chapter)