When the hands of the pocket watch reached seven, Anser, Bratt, and Finn said goodbye to Aemon and resumed their journey.

They truly did not want to camp in the wilderness again. Disaster had struck Baldur's Gate without warning, drawing every hidden monster and villain into the open and plunging the region into chaos.

At their current speed, leaving early should allow them to reach the western coast before sunset.

Anser sent the gray eagle ahead to scout. With it guiding them, they could not stray too far off course.

Near noon, they finally found a "road"—a winding trail marked by wagon ruts and the footprints of people and livestock. It was clearly used often.

Beyond a patch of woodland stretched endless fields of corn, waist-high and brilliantly green with life.

Able-bodied villagers patrolled the fields with dogs. The corn was nowhere near ripe; their main concern was damage from wild beasts.

The farmers regarded the three travelers warily, but most of their hostility vanished when Anser removed his cloak. They answered nearly every question he asked.

The settlement was called Bullhorn Village. It held only several dozen households and was private property of Baldur's Gate's Stelmane family.

Silver Scale Bay lay roughly sixteen kilometers—about ten miles—farther west along the road and was famous throughout the surrounding region for its silver-scaled trout.

Anser's group decided not to rest. They ate something simple and continued onward.

Even a narrow trail was far easier to travel than open wilderness. A little over three hours later, a vast sprawl of low buildings appeared ahead, chaotically crowding their view and carrying the smoke and bustle of civilization.

Beyond them lay endless blue, sea and sky joined as one. With a single glance, it felt as though the entire world had entered their hearts, sweeping away every shadow.

The sea breeze brushed their faces, gentle as Chauntea's hands, refreshing their spirits and causing them to relax.

"Woo-hoo!"

Bratt shouted, spread his arms, and ran forward as if intending to embrace the entire Sea of Swords.

Anser laughed and patted Nornoth's back. The steed broke into a joyful run.

"Hey!" Finn grimaced and chased them on his long legs.

Farther along the road, the full extent of Silver Scale Bay came into view.

It was a fishing town built on low ground around an irregular crescent-shaped bay, making the settlement exceptionally long and narrow.

If Silver Scale Bay was an eye, the town was a carelessly drawn eyebrow—thick and curved.

The town had no walls and possessed many roads and entrances, but at least two guards watched every major intersection and scrutinized everyone passing through.

Anser was not surprised. After something as serious as the disaster in Baldur's Gate, failing to show even this much vigilance would have been pathetic.

"Look over there. That seems to be a refugee camp." Bratt pointed at the tents lining both sides of the road.

"Mm."

Anser removed his cloak and exposed his face to avoid misunderstandings.

Two guards glanced at him, studied Nornoth for a moment, and cleared the road well before they arrived.

Their main duty was guarding against large groups of refugees and Underdark creatures, not seeking trouble for themselves.

The town was packed with people. Crowds streamed endlessly through the streets, making it far livelier than an ordinary town.

"Why are there so many people?" Bratt asked in surprise.

Anser pointed his staff toward the bay now hidden by buildings. "With Baldur's Gate in trouble, the mouth of the River Chionthar must be clogged with merchant ships. Every nearby harbor and anchorage is probably overflowing. A crowd is exactly what we should expect..."

"Yet none of them seem interested in helping," Bratt complained.

Anser chuckled. "Didn't we run away too?"

"Uh, we're different." Bratt froze, unconvinced.

He had barely begun organizing a rebuttal when a commotion broke out ahead. Many people surged toward the western harbor.

Anser caught someone mentioning fishfolk and frowned.

"Follow them."

"All right."

The town had many boats, nets, and fish but few horses or livestock. Nornoth was also extraordinarily tall and unusual-looking, so the crowd parted wherever he went.

Seeing this, Bratt and Finn simply followed behind Nornoth and found the going much easier.

They followed the crowd to the docks, where the noise was deafening and people stood packed several rows deep.

From his elevated position, Anser immediately saw corpses covering the dock. Several were human, while the rest were kuo-toa—at least a dozen of them.

Their hideous features and dark-purple skin were impossible to mistake.

A wooden sailing ship roughly 30 meters—a hundred feet—long occupied a berth. Its hull was scarred and heavily patched, and broad bloodstains had soaked into the timber.

"What kind of monsters are those?"

"The Lake of Dragons Fleet took a beating..."

"Is the River Chionthar truly blocked?"

"We're finished..."

"..."

Listening to the surrounding clamor actually eased Anser's concern.

Everything remained within his expectations. Because information traveled slowly, many people had not yet realized the disaster's severity.

Breaking through the blockade would not be difficult. Several factions merely needed to combine their armed ships. The hard part was driving the fishfolk back underground for good; otherwise, the River Chionthar would know no peace.

He signaled Bratt and Finn. The three withdrew from the crowd and returned to a much quieter street.

"Nornoth attracts too much attention."

The holy symbol on his chest was burning hot, but gazes came from every direction, making the source difficult to identify.

He turned into an alley, unloaded everything while no one was nearby, and activated the Concordant Holy Symbol.

Nornoth looked at him reluctantly. He had just begun to step forward when he abruptly stopped, lowered his head, pulled open a backpack, and seized the remaining several pounds of frozen crabmeat in his teeth. Then he leaped and vanished into thin air.

"Uh..." Anser's mouth twitched. There was no defending that. He seriously questioned Nornoth's motives for accepting their bond.

He shouldered his pack and waved. "Let's find an inn."

"Where did Nornoth go? Will he come back?" Bratt asked.

"The Feywild. He's a Fey, so he probably returned to his own kind. He can come back whenever I call. Don't worry."

That assumed the holy symbol was not lost. Neither Anser nor Nornoth could open a fey crossing on their own. Their bond would remain, but they would be unable to meet again.

"That's incredibly convenient."

"Does the Watchers' Guild have a branch here?"

"It should."

Anser put his Charisma to use and soon learned the town's general layout from a young woman working in a general store. He successfully found the Watchers' Guild branch.

Unfortunately, the guildhall was tiny and already overflowing.

The three had no choice but to visit the largest inn in the northern part of town: the Moonshadow Quelin. Its name was distinctly elven, and even its interior and exterior design stood apart.

Two six-story wooden buildings stood in a vast garden. One resembled a multicolored mushroom, while the other looked like a treehouse overgrown with vegetation. Flowers and grasses flourished around them, creating the impression of a fairy-tale world.

The three stood before the rustic garden gate like country bumpkins visiting a great city, staring blankly for a long moment.

"Are we sure this isn't a private estate?" Bratt asked in amazement.

Anser looked up at the wooden sign and the two human guards by the entrance, then pushed through the gate first.

The place was probably legitimate. He was merely worried about his wallet.

Sometimes high Charisma was not entirely beneficial. Perhaps the shop assistant had genuinely believed that a handsome, wealthy-looking man like him should stay somewhere like this.

"Will the three gentlemen be lodging or dining?" The guards did not move. A server in a two-tone vest emerged from behind the greenery and approached them in several quick steps.

"Lodging." Anser lowered his hood, privately wondering whether his face would be useful here.

"Follow me, gentlemen." The server led them to the counter inside the mushroom-shaped building, then immediately departed.

An elf woman with long silver hair sat behind the counter. Her beautiful blue eyes kept studying Anser.

"Your timing is excellent. We have two rooms left, and each can accommodate no more than two guests," she said softly, amusement touching the corners of her eyes.

Anser did not look at her. Through the glass window, he stared fixedly at a familiar figure in the garden.

'Gass!'

Fabian's first assistant—the man who had caused the original Anser's death and stolen their mentor's personal effects.

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

(End of Chapter)