The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

Anser turned to look around. The room was clean and tidy, and even the furniture layout had been rearranged, clearly having been carefully cleaned up.

By the long table sat a halfling, drinking on a chair obviously far too large for him. A few dishes were laid out on the table—not exactly lavish.

”Osborn, you stayed here waiting for me the whole time?” Anser asked in surprise.

”Not quite. I only came over after dark.” Osborn laughed heartily and gestured for him to sit down and talk.

A small flame flickered to life at Anser’s fingertips as he lit the oil lamp on the table. Then he pulled out several bottles of wine from his Avaricious Dragonhide Pouch and placed them on the table.

”Try some specialties from the western coast of Faerûn.” He uncorked one bottle and poured Osborn a glass.

Osborn lifted it, sniffed it, and his eyes immediately lit up. He took a sip, smacked his lips appreciatively, and his brows relaxed in satisfaction. ”Good wine, good wine…”

”Isn’t Rock of Bral supposed to be a major trade hub? Don’t they have good wine here?” Anser asked curiously.

The few bottles he had brought all came from the Alchemy Jug. Their quality was excellent, though not top-tier.

”That’s because you don’t know how things work here.” Osborn shook his head. ”The Bral royal family is greedy. If you want to trade here, you need to apply for a merchandise trade license. For each category of goods, they only issue three to five licenses at most, and they can’t be resold.”

”Different categories are taxed differently too—lowest is ten percent, highest is forty percent, and they adjust the rates all the time. It’s not just goods either. Even mercenaries and laborers get taxed…” Osborn complained, sounding rather dissatisfied.

Anser nodded slightly. Those merchandise trade licenses were basically import permits, while the taxes were effectively tariffs.

On top of that, merchants still had to pay additional commercial taxes afterward, essentially equivalent to consumption taxes, value-added taxes, surtaxes, and the like from his previous life.

”If I wanted to do business here, how would I obtain a merchandise trade license?” he asked.

Osborn froze for a moment, then grinned. ”That’s easy. If you want one, you could get full-category trade licenses as early as tomorrow.”

”Why?” Confusion filled Anser’s eyes. Sure, he had helped investigate the Intellect Devourer and Mind Flayer yesterday, but those contributions shouldn’t be enough to make the royal family willingly lose money.

”Because ever since something happened to the Weave, over half the trade routes have been cut off. As for the reason, I’m sure you can guess part of it yourself.” Osborn drained the wine in his cup in one gulp before pouring himself another.

”I actually do have that idea in mind.” Anser did not bother hiding his plans. ”How about we cooperate? I’ll share part of the profits with your people. That way everyone makes money.”

”You’re serious?” Osborn straightened in his chair, his expression turning solemn.

”Of course. You know the local environment, while I have a Teleportation Circle and a stable source of goods. A strong alliance like that—how could we fail to make money?” Anser said confidently.

Osborn fell silent for a moment, clearly tempted, though he also knew this was not the best timing. ”Fabian—the royal family wishes to see you. Why not meet them first before discussing anything else?”

”When? Is this because of what happened last night?”

”They came looking for you right after you left and invited you to tomorrow night’s celebration banquet. But personally, I don’t think they’re acting entirely out of goodwill.”

”How so?”

Osborn grinned mischievously. ”The royal family had a falling-out with the Githzerai. Those people worked nonstop for an entire day and night without even eating, only to be forcibly driven away afterward. The reason they’re looking for you is probably to warn you not to interfere in Bral’s internal affairs.”

”Huh. That’s strange. Someone helps them, and they still aren’t happy about it?” Anser shook his head slightly, unable to understand the thought process of the Bral royal family.

”You’re a Paladin, after all.” Osborn shook his head and continued drinking.

Anser immediately understood. It seemed the Bral royal family was not exactly clean either. After all, they had risen from pirates—there were probably plenty of shady dealings buried beneath the surface.

The royal family believed they already had the situation under control, but who knew what the reality actually looked like?

He had no desire to deal with a royal family like that, but refusing the invitation outright would be seen as disrespectful and would only offend them instead.

”Let’s just go handle the trade licenses directly. No matter how unwelcome I am, they can’t exactly forbid me from doing business, can they?” he mused.

”Then tomorrow I’ll ask around with some friends. If we can secure the licenses, we’ll become partners.” After speaking, Osborn cautiously probed further. ”So… how exactly would this partnership work?”

”I have an association, and I’m its president. You could join as a council member instead. Council members are allowed to use the Teleportation Circle, though they need to pay taxes. The rates aren’t high, but the specific rules haven’t been finalized yet…” Anser explained carefully.

Once Osborn and the halfling community joined, they could sell specialties from Rock of Bral or halfling goods to White Stone Island and Durlag’s Tower. At the same time, they could also act as local distributors for goods belonging to other council members.

Everyone would exchange what they had for what others needed. As long as proper rules were established and malicious internal competition was avoided, making money would not be difficult.

The more Osborn listened, the brighter his eyes became. It was not that he lusted after gold coins—in halfling culture, money had never been the highest priority.

What he saw instead was a massive interest group on the rise, led by a spellcaster and Paladin with limitless potential. A great tree provided good shade, and the halflings also needed support and a fallback path.

”I’m willing to join.” He did not hesitate and agreed decisively.

”That’s even better. I’ll head back and discuss it with the other members first, then find a chance to introduce all of you to each other.” Anser grinned.

He had the authority to decide who stayed or left as a council member, but the proper procedures still had to be followed. It was a matter of respecting the other council members and the rules themselves.

Still, he believed no one would reject the addition of a high-level adventurer.

High-level adventurers were extremely rare. Even in massive cities like Baldur’s Gate or Waterdeep, they held immense influence. Rumor had it that even the commander of the Flaming Fist was a high-level adventurer and answered only to Grand Duke Ravengard.

The two talked for a long time. After establishing a preliminary partnership, Anser told him even more information, including his real name and the general situations of Durlag and White Stone Island.

As the night deepened, the two returned to their respective homes.

Since the chaos in Bral had already been brought under control, and the royal family clearly did not welcome outsiders stirring up trouble here, there was no reason for Anser to keep meddling. He might as well get a good night’s sleep and deal with things tomorrow.

He teleported back to the Black Tower, only to suddenly remember that there was still a corpse of a priest of Myrkul stored in the Black Tower prison.

Taking a step forward, his figure appeared inside one of the blackstone prison cells, where a stiff corpse lay on the ground.

Since the high priest had died from lightning, both the body and most of his belongings remained relatively intact. At the very least, it was far more presentable than being burned to death—and far less foul-smelling.

After searching carefully, Anser recovered a damaged staff, a torn black cloak, a ring, a suit of armor, and a dimensional bag.

The staff was already ruined, while the cloak had suffered too much damage to be worth repairing.

The ring, however, was a rare-grade item called the ”Ring of Rapid Armor Switching.” Inside the ring was an extradimensional space capable of storing and binding a set of armor. With a simple command word, the wearer could instantly equip or remove the armor automatically, making it extremely convenient.

At first glance, the ability seemed rather gimmicky, but in reality it was highly practical.

Many heavy armors severely restricted movement, making it impossible to wear them all the time during daily activities. Yet without armor, sudden emergencies became extremely dangerous.

Normally, putting on a full suit of heavy armor took around ten minutes. In an actual emergency, who would have that kind of time?

And the armor bound to this priest of Myrkul was precisely the scale armor he had been wearing—a rare-quality set hidden beneath the black cloak.

Many people assumed clerics were frail spellcasters because they wore robes, spoke gently to believers, and generally appeared mild-tempered.

In truth, however, the exact opposite was the case.

A cleric’s standard equipment consisted of chain mail, a shield, a mace, and a holy symbol. Their close-combat capabilities were actually quite formidable.

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