On the other stone pillar—
The young man was leaning on his sword. His messy black hair hung in wet clumps over his cheeks and forehead, and the eyes half-hidden behind it stared straight at Ansel.
A spellcaster, huh. There's gotta be something he can do, right? A trace of hope flickered in his gaze.
But when he saw Ansel start looting instead of talking to him, he grew anxious.
"Hey, man, that was beautiful work—" His voice was clear and bright.
Ansel casually tossed the collected weapons, bags, and random junk into a pile on the ground, then walked over to the edge of the stone platform.
"Relax, I haven't forgotten you. The pillar's about to go. We need to get ourselves out of here, fast." He lifted a rope he'd just found in the goblin's pack as he spoke.
The two pillars were about twenty meters apart. The young man's pillar was a few meters lower and taking the brunt of the waterfall from above—it was in even more danger.
"I get it, I get it. Name's Bratt. Is your rope long enough?" Bratt grinned, showing a row of slightly yellowed teeth.
Ansel undid the rope and laid it out on the ground to measure it. It was maybe a bit over ten meters—nowhere near enough.
"Not even close."
Bratt's face fell. Helplessly, he asked, "You got any other ideas?"
"I'll go up first, then look for a rope to haul you up," Ansel said. He'd already been planning along those lines.
The spells he'd chosen were all highly functional, specifically aimed at solving this exact situation.
If he had no rope, he'd just use Mold Earth plus Jump, combined with his climbing ability, and go straight up.
With a rope, it was even easier.
"Ah? Okay… I'll wait for you, then." Bratt ducked his head slightly, the hope that had just flared up snuffed out in an instant.
With monsters rampaging above, once the guy climbed out, he'd probably run for his life right away. The chances he'd come back to rescue someone else were slim.
Ansel didn't explain further, because he wasn't sure himself whether he'd come back.
He couldn't even see the bodies of the apprentices who'd fallen with him—there was no way they were still alive. Life was fragile. Staying alive himself came first.
He bundled weapons, coin pouches, and any valuable gear into a pack and slung it over his back. Everything else he just kicked aside.
"જાદુગરનોહાથ."
With a low, weighty word in Draconic, a floating ghostly hand appeared on the rock wall diagonally above.
This was the cantrip Mage Hand—the spell the original Ansel had dreamed of for years and never managed to learn.
The spectral hand lasted one minute, could fly, and was as flexible as a real hand, but it could only lift up to ten pounds and couldn't move more than 30 feet (about 9 meters) away from him.
The feeling of suddenly having an extra hand was strange and exhilarating. A smile tugged at Ansel's lips as he guided it with his thoughts, letting the ghost hand drift around and probe for solid spots while avoiding cracks and loose soil.
Time was short. Once he'd quickly picked a first foothold, he traced out a rough climbing path along the cliff and cast another spell.
Cantrip: Mold Earth.
After a short, firm incantation, a section of rock higher up began to writhe like mud. In the blink of an eye, it reshaped itself into a small stone ledge with a fixed ring.
Nine meters up—that was the standard casting range for both Mage Hand and Mold Earth. He felt he could probably reach farther, but chose not to, for the sake of safety.
"Whoo—"
Ansel took a long breath, did a few quick stretches, and used the motion to steady his nerves.
Cantrips didn't cost his own mana; they pulled from ambient magic. But with the Weave unstable, casting was a lot harder and put a strain on his mind.
He flung the rope upward. The ghostly hand easily caught the end and tied it to the anchor ring.
The rope was rough hemp about a thumb thick. Ansel gave it a few hard tugs—solid enough. He didn't hesitate any longer, grabbed it, and climbed swiftly, using both hands and feet.
In just over ten seconds, he pulled himself onto the first stone ledge.
"Easier than I expected. Keep going."
He repeated the process—again and again—until, just as the effect of the second Mage Hand was ending, he hauled himself onto the fourth stone platform he'd created.
This platform sat a meter below the rim of the crater, a position he'd deliberately chosen.
He didn't climb over right away. Crouched on the ledge, he turned his head and listened.
It was near dusk now, the sky growing darker. Light and shadow flickered chaotically around the crater's edge. The rush of water was threaded through with disordered footsteps.
Someone's there.
He'd picked a climbing route close to the wizard tower. The ground here was more solid, with less risk of collapse.
The wizard tower stood in the southeastern part of the Brampton District, overlooking the mighty Chionthar River to the south. To the east, at the foot of Dusthawk Mountain, was the outer district known as the Tumblefall Ward. A city wall separated the two districts, linked by Cliffgate, a gate built into the cliff face.
The underground creatures' landing point is to the northwest. There are fewer monsters on this side. Refugees will probably try to get through Cliffgate and flee toward Dusthawk Mountain. With just a moment's thought, Ansel understood the refugees' motives.
He cautiously lifted his head for a quick peek. Scattered groups of people were running toward the southeast, footsteps stumbling, eyes darting around in panic like frightened birds.
Wrong way, isn't it? Ansel frowned inwardly, glancing at the breached Chionthar River. Don't tell me… Cliffgate's blocked?
Earlier he'd noticed several sections of the wall between the two districts had collapsed, opening gaps between them—but they were difficult to cross unless you were desperate.
He didn't know the exact situation, but at least there were no monsters in sight for the moment. Right now he had two options: run for it immediately, or figure out a way to rescue Bratt.
He looked down into the crater. A dark figure stood silently at the edge of the pillar, half his body being pounded by the waterfall. He didn't call out; his eyes were hidden in the twilight, and he stood as still as a statue.
That steadiness… not bad at all.
Ansel withdrew his gaze and decided to go back for him.
If Bratt had tried anything shady earlier—or been too slow-witted and tipped off the duergar—Ansel wouldn't have made it up so easily.
They'd built a basic level of trust. It was worth trying to escape together. Ansel needed a partner anyway—someone who could stand on the front line and take hits for him in a fight.
First, rope from the wizard tower.
Once he was sure no monsters were nearby, he climbed up onto solid ground, gripped the crystal in his left hand, and slunk toward the tilted wizard tower a few dozen meters away.
The sky was dark, and the entire city lay in gloom, with barely a few pinpricks of light.
Most creatures from the Underdark had darkvision; this level of visibility was basically broad daylight to them. The city's residents, on the other hand, were too busy running for their lives to even think about lighting lamps.
Ansel picked his way around the debris, ducking into shadows whenever he could, silently edging closer to the entrance.
The tower had six stories and stood nearly twenty meters tall. It had once been the tallest structure near Cliffgate. Now it was badly damaged, leaning at more than ten degrees, its walls riddled with massive cracks—a condemned building if there ever was one.
Please don't fall…
Then again, he thought, those underground creatures probably didn't want to hang around in a deathtrap either. Which meant, in theory, this place ought to be relatively safe.
Peering in through the shattered main door, he saw only a few human corpses. No monsters, no strange sounds.
He tiptoed inside, keeping his body close to the wall as he edged around the hall. Only after making a full circuit did he confirm the monsters had already left.
He bent down, picked up a short stick, and tore a strip of cloth from one of the corpses to wrap most of it.
"પ્રકાશકલા." (Light.)
Mana flowed, and the stick immediately began to glow, bright white light flooding most of the hall.
Ansel hurriedly covered it up, wrapping several more layers of cloth around it until only the very tip was exposed. The light dimmed to a much softer glow.
That should do it.
Light could make an object shine with bright light in a 20-foot (~6 m) radius, plus another 20 feet of dim light, lasting for an hour—very handy.
But being too bright wasn't necessarily a good thing.