When the first ray of sunlight spilled into the hollow, Anser sensed it and abruptly rolled over and sat up.

He had not slept well. After completing his attunement to the staff, he had lain awake for a long time as memories of his former life and the previous day's battles churned through his mind, leaving him overwhelmed.

With crises pressing in from every side, he had possessed no time to think. The moment he stopped, his imagination ran wild. How could anyone adapt to transmigration in a single day?

Still, his former life had been that of an exhausted wage slave trapped in dull routine, while he was now a classed individual who wielded wondrous magic. Compared to the old world, this one was more interesting.

"You're awake." Bratt's voice reached him.

Anser followed the sound and spotted him in a nearby tree.

Bratt crouched on a branch, cradling his sword as he surveyed the distance. He appeared to have been there for some time.

"Up this early?"

"I've slept enough. I sleep very well. Besides, if I'd stayed down much longer, the mosquitoes would have drained me dry." Bratt flipped down from the branch.

"There are mosquitoes?" Anser asked in confusion.

"You have a draconic bloodline. What mosquito would dare approach you?" Bratt gave him a sidelong glance.

"So that's why." Anser chuckled. He had not expected his draconic bloodline to have that effect.

"We should set out early. Dusthawk Hill isn't large, but the terrain is difficult." Bratt took food from the bundle and divided it with Anser, then held out the mostly depleted cloth sack. "Put this in your backpack. If we get separated, at least you won't go hungry."

He had long since realized that Anser had little wilderness experience, and that worried him.

"What about you?" Anser did not take it.

"Please don't question the survival skills of a veteran adventurer," Bratt emphasized deliberately.

"You keep it. I still have food in my backpack." Anser shook his head slightly.

He lacked experience, not intelligence. All the best supplies were already in the backpack he kept with him.

"All right." Bratt glanced at the backpack and warned him again. "When you're fleeing disaster, food matters more than anything. Sometimes even a dragon won't buy bread."

"Thank you for the reminder." Anser nodded.

The dragon was a common gold coin in Faerûn, worth 10 silver pieces or 100 copper pieces—the latter being alloy coins. One copper piece could buy roughly a pound of wheat.

Breakfast consisted of cold water, bread, Gaud cheese, and strips of smoked turkey. The two ate their fill; fighting and fleeing both required strength.

By the time they finished, daylight had fully arrived. They packed their belongings, immediately descended the hill, and continued east along the River Chionthar.

Dusthawk Hill measured only two or three kilometers across and rose several hundred meters. It had no dangerous beasts, and many residents regularly crossed it as a shortcut, leaving numerous trails through the hills.

The two proceeded cautiously, alert throughout, but saw neither subterranean creatures nor a single human.

Only a few stinking corpses warned them that this place was not safe.

It was Flamerule—the seventh month—and the weather was hot. Corpses began to stink quickly.

"At least a day old. Humans did this," Bratt said, apparently unsurprised.

Subterranean creatures did not know the terrain and could not possibly find such a concealed place so quickly.

Anser pressed his lips together without speaking. After a day of adjustment, he could now examine corpses without changing expression, but the fermented stench of decay was unbearable.

More than half an hour later, the terrain began to level out.

They crossed a bare hillock, and the view suddenly opened before them. A dense cluster of buildings lay ahead, mostly low wooden houses. Everything was gray, disorderly, crowded, and poorly planned.

Several hundred meters away, a high bridge crossed the River Chionthar. Buildings packed its length so densely that it resembled less a bridge than a commercial street raised over Wyrm's Rock in the riverbed.

This was the famous Wyrm's Crossing, and the imposing fortified structure at its center was Wyrm's Rock Fortress, controlled by the Flaming Fist.

It was an important transportation hub. Rivington lay on the far side, Twin Songs on this side, and Sow's Foot north of Twin Songs.

Anser had inherited the original owner's memories and knew all of this, so he was not especially surprised.

Using the advantage of elevation, he swept his gaze across Twin Songs. He saw no sign of subterranean creatures, though many humans remained in the district.

"Looks like the subterranean creatures haven't reached this place yet." Bratt turned toward Anser, a silent question in his eyes.

"Let's go." Anser did not hesitate and headed down first.

The two hurried northeast along the edge of Dusthawk Hill without entering the district proper or making contact with anyone hiding inside the buildings.

A long, narrow road connected Twin Songs and Sow's Foot, with low slopes rising on both sides.

After they rounded the foot of the hill, a well-paved road appeared ahead, curving away to the left before vanishing behind the terrain.

At the same time, a cacophony struck Anser's ears—whooshing, screams, roars, and clashing weapons...

"Something's happened!" Bratt stopped and gently drew his longsword.

"Duergar." Anser's heart sank. He could hear Undercommon and Goblin.

The two lightened their steps and crept closer. The noise grew louder, and when the road turned, a chaotic battlefield appeared before them.

More than a dozen humans were fighting over thirty slaves under duergar command. The battle was deadlocked, and corpses and blood covered the ground.

Anser narrowed his eyes. This was the first time he had witnessed such a brutal battle. Nervousness mingled with a flicker of excitement.

"The duergar have already fought their way here." Bratt's expression was grave.

Anser realized the same thing. Going to Sow's Foot was probably no longer possible.

"The leaders are paladins of the God of Justice. They're... in trouble." Bratt rapidly surveyed the battlefield.

Anser examined it carefully and saw that the human side also included halflings and dwarves. Their clothing was not uniform, suggesting that the group had been assembled in haste.

Two human paladins held the front. Holy light shone from their swords and shields as they withstood attacks from several times their number, barely keeping the battle line stable.

The duergar side consisted mainly of goblins, along with towering bugbears and hobgoblins and around a dozen orcs. Four or five duergar stood in the rear without directly joining the battle.

"I know them. Rand and Zahir from the Church of Last Hope in Twin Songs," Anser said gravely.

The original Anser had grown up in the Outer City and knew the Church of Last Hope well. He had often played nearby as a child.

"Do we help?" Bratt looked to Anser, waiting for him to decide.

Rationally, they should intervene. If the duergar won, they would inevitably occupy Wyrm's Crossing, and then no one would be able to leave.

But everyone valued their life. If escape was possible, why place themselves in danger?

"Wait." Anser focused on the duergar in the rear.

[Duergar Warlord, Dwarf, Challenge Rating 6]

[Hobgoblin Captain, Goblinoid, Challenge Rating 3]

Anser's eyelid twitched. The urge to retreat welled up inside him.

Level 5 was a major dividing line. A wizard, for example, could master the 3rd-level spell Fireball and undergo an enormous increase in strength.

Classed individuals between levels 5 and 10 formed the backbone of major organizations. Even a city guard commander was usually only this strong. Such people were known as elite classed individuals.

Challenge Rating differed from class level. A standard party of four adventurers was required to defeat a monster with the same Challenge Rating.

Even a young black dragon possessed a Challenge Rating of only 7.

Anser restrained his emotions and turned his attention back to the human side.

[Rand, Human, Level 6 Paladin (Oath of Devotion)]

[Zahir, Human, Level 5 Paladin (Oath of Devotion)]

"We can win this fight!" After several seconds of thought, Anser decided to help.

Duergar suffered from Sunlight Sensitivity and were weaker during the day. More importantly, paladins would not betray their comrades. Even in defeat, they would hold the enemy's main force in place to the death.

Anser pulled Bratt closer, pointed out each of the stronger enemies, and signaled for him to be especially careful around them.

"We're going in."

"Stay behind me." Bratt bared his teeth in a cold grin, gripped his sword in both hands, and charged first.

Setting Notes:

1. Miles and feet: Faerûn uses imperial measurements. 1 mile equals 1.6 kilometers, and 1 foot equals 0.3 meters.

Every measurement called a "foot" in this story refers to the imperial foot, though I will provide a conversion to meters in parentheses.

For ease of reading, I will use kilometers whenever possible. If miles appear, I will convert those as well, so there is no need to worry.

2. For the sake of narrative flow, combat logs will not appear too frequently.

3. Paladin subclasses require different oaths.

Three common subclasses are:

Oath of Devotion: Keep your word, aid those in danger, and lead by example. Commonly called a white knight.

Oath of Vengeance: Fight evil without mercy, confront injustice, and make amends for past failures. Commonly called a black knight.

Oath of the Ancients: Kindle hope, shelter life, and delight in the joy of others. Commonly called a green knight.

4. Local classifications for the strength of classed individuals:

Unofficial classed individuals: Apprentices

Levels 1–4: Full classed individuals; junior rank

Levels 5–10: Elite classed individuals; intermediate rank

Levels 11–16: Advanced classed individuals

Levels 17–20: Peak mortal classed individuals; heroic exemplars; quasi-legends

Level 21 and above: Legends

(End of Chapter)