The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

Anser was startled. Only after looking up and clearly seeing who it was did he finally let out a breath of relief.

”Finn.”

”Hurry—” Finn ran over in a few quick steps and helped prop up Bratt from the other side.

”Wait…” Bratt raised a hand to stop them, took a deep breath, and forcibly activated Second Wind.

They heard several teeth-grinding sounds of bones colliding. His chest slowly returned to a normal shape, and his breathing became smoother. However, his entire head was drenched in sweat; veins bulged with pain, and his jaw muscles trembled.

Anser knew that Bratt was using Second Wind to set his bones. Unlike healing potions, if bones were not set or stitched in advance, they could heal improperly.

”Eat one.” He took out three magical berries and handed one to each of them.

Second Wind consumed one’s own stamina and vitality. Magical berries could supply a full day’s nutrition, and in some situations, they were more useful than healing potions.

”Go—”

They quickly left the building and reached the bridge. Rand and the others had already retreated to this point, only twenty to thirty meters away from them.

The rooftops were no longer passable; they were too easy to turn into targets. With Rand and the others providing cover on the bridge, it was relatively safer.

Seeing that they were unharmed, Rand’s expression eased slightly. He waved his hand to signal them to retreat quickly, while he himself led others to recklessly tear down buildings, constructing obstacles.

The retreat speed suddenly increased.

Healing potions truly lived up to their reputation as indispensable divine medicines for low-level professionals—their effects were astonishingly good.

After two people supported Bratt and ran for one or two hundred meters, his breathing had already stabilized. His limbs regained strength, and he could jog on his own.

By this time, they had basically shaken off their pursuers. Those Duergar slaves were crowded onto the narrow bridge deck—blocked in front, hesitant and shrinking back, unable to move forward; unable to pass from behind either. They cursed loudly in frustration but were helpless.

As they neared Wyrm’s Rock, Anser looked up at the towering Flaming Fist fortress. It was indeed magnificent. Every level of the city walls was equipped with ballistae, and several trebuchets were also positioned on the top.

There were many Flaming Fist soldiers visible on the walls, yet despite the blocking battle having gone on for so long, not a single person had come out to provide support. The gate had also never been raised, keeping the church caravan and the many refugees shut outside.

”A bunch of cowards!” Bratt cursed in a low voice, the usual restraint gone from his face.

Having narrowly escaped death, he found the Flaming Fist’s inaction even more unbearable.

A few minutes later, everyone reached the front of the fortress. The gate finally began to open slowly, and the refugees surged inside in a rush, with Anser and the others at the very end.

The gate stopped halfway open. After everyone had gone in, it immediately dropped back down, taking fear of death to an extreme.

The passage inside was unusually dark. None of the wall lamps were lit; the only illumination came from a faint glow spilling in from the other end of the corridor.

Anser cast a light spell on his staff. The staff turned into an ambient lamp, and bright white light instantly drove away the darkness, illuminating… a floor covered with refugees and the wounded.

The refugees could not run, the wounded could not move, and even Rand and Zahir were covered in injuries.

Berg arranged for the clerics to take out medical supplies and treat the injured, stitching wounds on the spot. The technique was rough but very practiced—it seemed the followers of Tyr were not only good at fighting.

Anser and the others sat against the wall, watching the chaotic scene. Each had thoughts of their own, and for a moment, no one spoke.

”How do you feel?” Anser turned to look at Bratt, a hint of emotion in his eyes.

He had saved Bratt back then, and Bratt had, in turn, saved him. The power of that javelin was formidable; his Shield might not necessarily have held.

”Hehe…” Bratt tilted his head and stared at the scale-like glow on Anser’s face. He said nothing, only chuckled softly.

Finn sat on Anser’s other side, his eyes flickering. ”Are you Lawful Good?”

”Me?” Anser turned his head and met his gaze. ”I’m True Neutral.”

The nine alignments were not labels devised by people, but fundamental laws of the multiverse, manifested in divine domains, magical effects, and the Outer Planes—such as Mount Celestia of Lawful Good and the Abyss of Chaotic Evil.

This was basic knowledge for professionals, especially for classes like paladins, druids, and clerics; it concerned their lives and their future.

”Huh?” Finn and Bratt exclaimed in surprise at the same time.

Finn sat up straight. ”But you’ve been saving people.”

”I saved Bratt because he helped me before. I wanted to save him, so I did,” Anser said with a smile. ”Setting aside the earlier fights, that last delaying action wasn’t about saving others—it was about saving ourselves.”

”Wouldn’t it have been enough to just run?” Finn asked, full of confusion.

”Run where?” Anser shot him a look, gaining a new understanding of how his mind worked. ”If Rand and the others hadn’t made it back, do you think we could have crossed that gate?”

The Flaming Fist might stop civilians or adventurers, but no matter how brainless they were, they could not possibly keep Rand and the others outside the gate.

”That wouldn’t go that far, right?” Bratt said hesitantly.

”Heh. Who knows?” Anser seriously suspected that if they hadn’t shaken off the pursuit, the Flaming Fist would have blocked them outside and watched helplessly as everyone was slaughtered.

The expressions of Finn and Bratt shifted uncertainly; inwardly, they believed it for the most part.

The Flaming Fist had a long history. Although there had been some incidents along the way, in most cases it fell directly under the Duke of Ravengard. It wasn’t fair, but it absolutely qualified as a competent policing organization.

Especially after the scheming Vanthampur family was purged, the Council of Four became a Council of Three, and stability actually increased. Moreover, successive heirs of the duke had all been decent—maybe not outstanding, but at least they didn’t do anything reckless.

A relatively stable environment kept the Flaming Fist away from turmoil. Its guiding principles had not deviated, and its reputation had never been particularly bad.

But judging a person or an organization cannot rely on their usual conduct to predict their behavior after disaster strikes.

Based solely on the Flaming Fist’s turtle-like behavior over the past two days, Anser concluded they were unreliable, so it was only natural for him to think more carefully when considering matters.

After a long silence, Finn spoke with some difficulty. ”I’m Lawful Neutral. We… don’t have an alignment conflict. How about… teaming up?”

Anser looked at Bratt. Bratt shrugged. ”It’s up to you.”

”Sure. I’ll be the leader,” Anser said without hesitation.

”Alright…” The two of them nodded readily.

Alignment itself does not actually affect party formation, but it does affect coordination and the level of trust.

All three of them were neutral-aligned. Bratt was Neutral Good, and Finn was Lawful Neutral.

Neutral Good beings will help others as much as possible, act within the limits of rules, but are not bound by rules.

Bratt indeed fit this trait well. He was usually quite easygoing, but when something happened, he truly stepped up.

Lawful Neutral follows a set of principles, which may come from law, tradition, or personal creed. They are not swayed by pleas from those in danger, nor by the temptations of evil.

Finn was clearly more withdrawn and somewhat self-centered. He only talked more when facing Anser—probably a looks-based preference.

After all, Anser was someone with charm that appealed to both men and women!

As they chatted and laughed, the topic naturally returned to this disaster.

”What do you think underground creatures came up here for? They’re afraid of light, yet they insist on coming up—really interesting,” Bratt complained.

”Maybe the collapse happened to be in a Duergar settlement,” Anser guessed casually. ”Underground resources are scarce. They might just be here to plunder, or they might want to settle. Right now the Weave is in turmoil, and the Duergar’s psionics aren’t affected, so the situation is very favorable for them.

”But there’s one thing you got wrong. Many underground creatures are sensitive to sunlight and dislike light, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they fear light.”

”You… know a lot?” Finn asked curiously.

”I read it in books. The Underdark, you know—I know a bit,” Anser replied offhandedly. In truth, the original owner of this body had never read such books.

But Anser himself was very familiar with DND—he could be considered half an expert. By contrast, locals like Bratt had limited ranges of activity and shallow exposure, knowing very little about matters beyond the human world.

While they were talking, a burst of chaotic footsteps came from the corridor.

More than a dozen warriors wearing uniform studded leather armor hurried into the passage, swords and shields in hand, and immediately began to rudely drive the crowd forward.

”Get up, get up…”

”From now on the fortress is sealed. No one is allowed to stay…”

”Move, don’t make me use force…”

”…”

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