Bratt and Finn had never seen a green dragon, but from the kobolds' reactions they could tell something was different.
"This is… a dragon's tail?" Bratt asked in astonishment.
Giant Tail did not speak. He stepped forward slowly, gently placing his palm against the dragon scales, rubbing them back and forth. His mouth opened wider and wider, and drool slipped out without him even noticing.
Finn shot him a strange glance, stepped up, and tapped the dragon scales with the hilt of his sword. A metallic clang rang out. "Can we eat it?"
"You only ever think about eating." Bratt shoved him aside. "Don't knock it around and break it. Hurry and get the tools—dragon blood is very valuable."
Though the dragon's tail had soaked in water for nearly half a day and no fresh blood remained at the severed end, the latter half of the tail was uninjured. If cut open, it should still yield some blood.
Giant Tail still did not fully understand the Common tongue of Faerûn, but he caught the word "eat" and hurriedly waved his hands. "Can't eat it. Green dragon meat can't be eaten raw."
Bratt understood the gesture, nodded, and raised both hands, making a chopping motion toward the dragon tail. "I know. So how should we handle it?"
Finn turned his head to look, one eyebrow raised. "Chop it into mince?"
Bratt's mouth twitched. He let out a heavy sigh. "Let's wait for the captain."
Impossible—truly impossible. He desperately needed some helpers who could actually understand human speech. Otherwise, this job was simply too exhausting.
...
The flying carpet sped through the sky several hundred meters above the ground.
The scenery and the crowds below gradually receded. A faint, unknown fragrance lingered at the tip of his nose. The wind roared past his ears, whipping his hair into wild flight.
In this moment, Anser felt boundless freedom, and he could not help but want to leap down and fly on his own.
He turned his head to look at Iris. Her expression was as calm as ever. Her large eyes were slightly narrowed, the corners of her eyes faintly lifted. Her gaze was vacant, as if she were thinking about something.
"Stoll… what is he to you?" He could sense her sorrow, yet it was not the kind of grief one feels for family.
Iris turned her head, tugging at her hood to keep it from being torn away by the fierce wind. "It seems you don't go out much. Stoll is Durlag's guardian deity."
"Durlag's Tower?" Anser asked, somewhat puzzled.
He had heard the name before. It was said to have been built by a dwarf warrior named Durlag. The tower was constructed from volcanic stone, its main structure standing atop pillars of volcanic rock, with multiple subterranean levels of magical labyrinths and treasure vaults hidden below.
In the game, it was an important dungeon instance. In reality, it should have long since been abandoned. The original host indeed had never heard anything about it.
"That was a very long time ago. Now Durlag is a small town." Iris turned her head back, her gaze roaming over Anser's face. "I still don't even know your name."
"My name is Anser. I'm from Baldur's Gate." Anser knew the effect of the disguise on him had already worn off, but he did not reapply it. Since he was not going to Beregost anymore, why waste Magic Power?
"Baldur's Gate… I heard that place has already been occupied by Underdark creatures?" Iris's voice was very soft, mixed into the gale, breaking on and off.
"Yes—Underdark creatures from Abeir," Anser emphasized.
That single sentence made him choke down two mouthfuls of cold wind. He felt that talking while flying was, frankly, a bit stupid.
Iris saw it too. She blinked, turned her head away, and stopped talking.
Durlag's Tower was much farther than Beregost. From Silver Scale Bay, a conservative estimate put it at one hundred and fifty kilometers.
Fortunately, straight-line flight was not affected by terrain, and the speed remained constant. As far as traveling went, it was even faster than Nornoth.
After more than two hours of continuous flight, the flying carpet passed over stretch after stretch of farmland and wasteland. At the far edge of their vision, a lush, verdant forest appeared.
Anser had looked at the map beforehand and knew that was the Wood of Sharp Teeth.
It was said that its original name was the Glimmerwood, named for the luminous mushrooms and clear streams from the elven era.
But as trolls, werewolves, and other creatures migrated in, and with the curse of the ancient lich Vihrelal, the forest gradually became a dangerous land, and people began calling it the Wood of Sharp Teeth.
Many kinds of creatures lived within it—werewolves, goblins, beasts, dragonkind, undead… extremely dangerous.
However, those were all rather old records and legends. Anser did not know what the situation was like now.
Sitting with his back turned, he gazed at the receding wilderness and towns, and could not help thinking of Salian and the others, wondering whether they had reached Beregost.
'Salian is experienced and rarely misjudges. Nothing should happen.' He shook his head and stopped thinking about that pointless stuff.
Just then, the flying carpet suddenly dropped in altitude, flying almost flush with the forest canopy.
"Isn't this easy to get attacked?" Anser warned.
"There are wyverns in the Wood of Sharp Teeth. If you fly too high, it might be seen as a provocation," Iris explained casually, but her expression was somewhat tense.
"A large group?"
"Even one is hard to deal with."
Anser's eyes flickered as if he understood something. "Wyverns aren't really a threat to you, are they?"
"Hm?" Iris turned her head, looking at him suspiciously. "You've heard of me?"
"No. Your looks and bearing tell me you're strong," Anser said with a perfectly straight face, spouting nonsense.
Iris rolled her eyes and focused on controlling the flying carpet. "That was before."
"Oh~" Anser straightened his back. He was suddenly not nervous anymore—so she was just a fake.
She had a mere professional level as high as 16, but because the Weave was unstable, she did not have matching spellcasting ability.
If even wyverns felt troublesome, it meant Iris's combat power was only a little stronger than his.
Her greatest reliance was probably the magic flying carpet. If she rode alone, wyverns truly would not be able to catch up.
'No wonder she was willing to use even such a precious magic telescope as payment.' Anser chuckled to himself.
Just now, he had used a die to appraise it. This telescope was called "Far-Reaching Horizon," of Rare quality. During the day, it could see over fifty kilometers; at night, nearly ten. Moreover, it functioned through passive observation, making it less likely to alert its target—extremely useful.
If it were him, he would never have taken out something like this as payment.
After a moment's thought, he pulled out the Elemental Orb from his chest, tossed it casually, and the orb circled lightly around him, leaving trails of four-colored rainbow light in the air.
Iris glanced sideways slightly. "Don't be nervous. This is the edge of the Wood of Sharp Teeth. Merchant caravans pass through often. The danger isn't great."
Anser gave a response. He was not afraid of wyverns or wild beasts; he was somewhat afraid of Iris instead.
Every time a Wild Magic Sorcerer cast a spell, it could trigger an uncontrolled surge of wild magic. Many magical effects were impossible to guard against—turning into a potted plant, summoning monsters, being teleported to the Astral Plane, or even casting Fireball centered on oneself.
High-level Wild Magic Sorcerers could tame chaotic surges. At lower levels, or when unable to bring out the defining traits of the class, one could only rely on luck.
Especially now, with the Weave in turmoil, raw Magic Power was even more uncontrollable.
Not being afraid was not an option!
Just as he was letting his thoughts wander, a dark shadow suddenly burst out from the treetops.
Anser was startled. Before he could even see the target clearly, he instinctively fired a Ray of Frost.
"ફ્રીઝરે"
A short Draconic syllable flashed past. The target's body stiffened, turned into a lump of ice, and fell into the dense canopy below.
It was an ordinary jay, just somewhat larger than usual, with an insect in its beak.
"Uh… caution is my motto," Anser said, pretending nothing had happened.
"Very… accurate!" Iris enunciated heavily, a hint of astonishment in her eyes.
From the jay's appearance to its death, less than a second had passed. Anser had raised his hand and fired; once fired, it hit. And it was a ray-type spell—the most difficult kind to control. Very few spellcasters could achieve that.
Skill is revealed in the details.
From a spellcaster's mastery of cantrips alone, one could judge whether they were weak or strong. Even at the same level, the gap between the two could be greater than that between a person and a dog.
After that farce, Anser stopped letting his mind wander.
Iris's judgment had been correct. Along the way, no further danger occurred.
In the afternoon, as the flying carpet approached the edge of the forest, a small town not far from the woods came into view.
Along with it came blazing flames across the sky and the sounds of shouting and killing.
"Something seems to have happened."
Anser turned to look at Iris, only to see her expression turn cold, fury surging in her eyes.
"Amn's scum!"
As soon as she finished speaking, several muffled thuds sounded from the forest below.
Three large nets, faintly gleaming with metallic light, shot out from different angles, spreading wider and wider at tremendous speed.
Iris hurriedly pulled upward, but the flying carpet required commands and reacted a fraction too late. The metallic nets covered the sky; their edges magnetized and tangled together, already sealing off every possible escape route.
"Got you, hahaha—"
On the forest floor, among the treetops and branches below, one blurred figure after another revealed themselves.
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