"Let's go." Anser patted Bratt.
If he were strong enough, he would of course intervene—regardless of good or evil—because those slave traders were all walking experience points.
But when the risk and the reward were not proportional, it was necessary to weigh things carefully.
Just as he took a step forward, a faint ripple of magic power came from his backpack, growing stronger and stronger.
'Huh? What's that?'
The backpack was light and did not contain many items; everything of little value had been left in the inn room.
He set the backpack down and opened it. The moment he looked inside, he froze—it was the magical contract Dorothea had given him.
Dorothea was the old mage who had sold him the Ring of Spell Storing and the Cloak of Protection on credit.
When he unfolded the magical contract, the contents on the front had not changed, but on the back a thin strand of magical light had appeared, pointing straight toward… his left.
"Claira, come quickly—there's a boat here!"
A shout reached his ears. His expression changed, and he immediately flipped the magical contract over. The rescue target listed on it was unmistakably Claira!
'The magical contract even has this kind of effect?'
He raised his eyes and looked ahead. A red-haired young man was holding a small girl by the hand, hurrying toward them.
The little girl was truly very small. She wore a red short cloak, carried a blue backpack, had a fair, delicate face, pointed ears, and large eyes—at most four or five years old.
The most striking feature was her eyes: one blue and one violet, like two dazzling gemstones.
'This… I almost got screwed over.'
The magical contract clearly stated that Claira was a professional, but it did not mention her age.
He focused his attention on the girl, and the dice quickly produced her information.
[Claira, Elf, Level 1 Sorcerer]
'She really is a professional?!'
A professional at such a young age was far too abnormal—at least, it was something Anser could not understand at all.
At that moment, the red-haired young man squeezed his way over, scanned the surroundings, and, upon seeing the crowd packed across the deck, frowned slightly.
The bearded man's eyes lit up the moment he saw the little girl. He leapt down from the ship's rail and, in a few strides, came to the two of them.
"Heading to Palos? There are still a few spots. We're about to set sail—get aboard first."
A crewman jumped down and roughly shoved the crowd aside, helping him seize a rope ladder. He motioned for the red-haired young man to climb up, and at the same time reached out to pick up the little girl.
"No!" The red-haired young man's face turned cold as he protected the little girl behind him.
The crewman paused and looked toward the bearded man.
"He just wants to help you." The bearded man waved his hand, his expression bold and hearty. "We've been running this route for years. The conditions are a bit harsh, but it's absolutely safe."
"If you're willing to add a little money, I can help you switch cabins so you can stay a bit more comfortably."
The red-haired young man's expression eased. Seeing how sincerely the bearded man spoke, he was quite tempted.
Anser could tell at a glance that this was going to go wrong. The red-haired young man had arrived late, and there were many situations and details he did not understand.
He touched the Cloak of Protection that had helped him block a blade, and Dorothea's aged face involuntarily surfaced in his mind.
"Claira!" He strode over quickly, while giving Bratt and the other person a look.
The red-haired young man and the bearded man were both startled. Turning their heads, they saw Anser dressed like a spellcaster, and their expressions differed.
"Who are you? How do you know Claira's name?" The little girl's voice still carried a hint of babyish softness.
Anser walked to her side and crouched down. "Dorothea sent me."
"Ah—was it Auntie?" Claira looked delighted.
"Mm." How would Anser know what their relationship was? He only needed to call her away. "I booked a room at Moonshadow Quelin. Come with me."
"Okay!"
"Wait." The red-haired young man immediately stepped in front of Claira, looking wary. "We don't know you."
"You're so stupid, Kafka." Claira shoved the young man hard. When she could not push him, she huffed angrily and ran to Anser's side, pouting. "How can you not tell good people from bad people? He's a good person. They're the bad ones."
The red-haired young man's expression changed drastically. With a sharp clang, he drew the short sword at his waist and turned to face the bearded man, his expression grave.
He knew that Claira had possessed the ability to distinguish between good and evil alignments since childhood. When she said "bad people," she was referring to humans of an evil alignment.
The atmosphere at the scene immediately became subtle.
Those who were still boarding the ship halted and scattered, leaving a large empty space by the rail.
Those who had already boarded also looked uneasy—some utterly confused, others only belatedly realizing what was happening.
Anser was utterly speechless. This red-haired young man's reaction was far too intense; they could have just left directly.
The bearded man's expression stiffened. He felt deeply unwilling—this little girl was worth more than everyone on the ship combined, and he was very confident in his own judgment.
But he did not dare to tear things open on the spot. Not out of fear, but because he was worried the other side might directly expose their identities. Once word spread, regardless of winning or losing, they would never be able to come a second time.
If the money trail were cut off, the boss would tear him apart.
"Haha… kids really are adorable." He laughed loudly, looking completely unconcerned. "Uncle may look a bit fierce, but I'm a good person."
"If you're not going, then forget it." He waved his hand. "Pull up the ladders. We've got enough people…"
The bearded man and the crew returned to the deck and began pulling up the rope ladders one after another, looking as though they were about to set sail immediately.
Seeing this, the people around them relaxed. Quite a few began to complain again or let out sighs.
"Come with me." Anser shot the red-haired young man a glance.
"Uh…" Kafka moved closer and lowered his voice. "Are they slave traders? Being this blatant in broad daylight—does no one do anything about it?"
"If you want to play the hero, go by yourself." Anser picked Claira up and walked away.
For them to dare act so openly, they must have something to rely on. They might even have ties of interest with the authorities of Silver Scale Bay.
Even if you wanted to interfere, you could not charge in alone. They had dozens of crewmen— even paladins knew to call for backup.
Kafka hurried after them. He still did not fully trust Anser and wanted to take Claira back.
Just as Kafka was about to speak, Anser shoved the magical contract in front of his eyes. Dorothea Tsaitkin's signature was clearly visible.
Kafka wanted to take a closer look, but Anser pulled it back again.
"What smells so good?" Claira lay on Anser's shoulder, her nose twitching repeatedly.
"Did you not eat?"
Kafka gave an awkward laugh. "No."
Anser took out the remaining three oat sweet biscuits from his backpack, handed one to Claira and two to Kafka.
Claira ate while humming softly, looking quite satisfied with the taste of the oat sweet biscuit.
"How did you escape?" Anser did not slow his pace, heading straight for Moonshadow Quelin.
"By ship. Seatower and Manorborn haven't fallen yet, so merchant ships can still dock…" Kafka said as he ate.
The merchant ships he mentioned were armed trading vessels from Cormyr, the Moonsea, and Waterdeep. These ships did not pass Wyrm's Crossing. They sailed to Seatower, unloaded their goods, took on passengers, and then returned.
Naturally, all the cargo was bought up by the Grand Duke. Carrying people was just extra—each person cost at least a hundred gold coins, and they were only delivered to Silver Scale Bay or Stallionfish Village, earning enormous profits.
So it turned out that, aside from Baldur's Gate being beaten up, everyone else was making a fortune.
"Why is it just the two of you? Claira… where are her parents?" Anser quietly observed the girl's expression and found no sign of sadness or anything unusual.
"I've never met Claira's parents. She's always lived with my mentor," Kafka explained. "My mentor sent a message to dissolve the mage tower and told me to find a chance to quietly bring her to Silver Scale Bay."
Anser stopped and looked straight at Kafka.
[Kafka, Human, Level 3 Wizard (Divination), Level 1 Rogue]
"What is it?" Kafka asked, not understanding.
"Nothing." Anser had not expected that this young man, who seemed rather lacking in emotional intelligence, was actually a Level 3 Wizard.
He turned the word divination over in his mind again and again, suddenly feeling that this encounter might not be a coincidence.
But he was not a Wizard and knew none of the divination spells, so he could not analyze or understand the mysteries within.
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