"What do we do now?" Bratt took the initiative to ask. Since this was about the Weave, he instinctively felt the bookish wizard would know more.
"Your idea isn't wrong," Ansel said. "Most creatures from below hate the light. We'll go up Dusthawk Hill and lie low there for tonight—but we can't stay in Baldur's Gate for long.
"The Underdark is barren and brutal. Now that the duergar are up here, they won't want to leave easily. The Watch won't abandon the Upper City, and the Flaming Fist isn't exactly reliable. We have to get out of here—waiting around to be rescued could end even worse.
"Tomorrow we head for Wyrm's Crossing. There's a Flaming Fist fortress there. Once we cross the Chionthar, we'll be safe." Ansel laid out his thoughts.
"I'll go with that," Bratt nodded slightly. Leaving really was safer.
Wyrm's Crossing was southeast of Dusthawk Hill. For creatures from below to get there, they'd have to loop around the mountain from the north and pass through several outer districts. That wouldn't happen quickly.
"But," Ansel continued, his expression turning complicated, "before that, I have to try to save my parents. They're in the Sow's Foot District. You don't have to come. Tomorrow morning we can split up."
He didn't feel much emotional attachment to the original owner's parents. The memories in his head were like a slideshow, incomplete and distant—hard to really feel what the original Ansel had felt.
Even so, if there was a chance, he still wanted to at least try. If he didn't even bother, it would always sit like a knot in his chest.
That said, if things got dangerous, he'd put his own life first.
"I'll go with you," Bratt said without hesitation. "Sow's Foot is close to Wyrm's Crossing. They're probably fine."
"Let's hope. How are you holding up?" Ansel felt a faint urgency. The darker it got, the worse it would be for them.
"No problem. I can fight and run. Don't underestimate a warrior's recovery." Bratt tied his hair back with a strip of rag, looking sharper and more put-together.
"Let's move." Ansel got to his feet, grabbed his staff, and headed out.
Bratt automatically slung the bundle on his back, cinched it tight, then took a few long steps to pass Ansel and lead with his sword in hand.
Night fell. Cold moonlight spilled down, turning the Chionthar's surface to silver. Unfortunately, all around them were broken walls and ruins, corpses everywhere—it looked like a vision of hell.
"Don't take Cliffgate. We'll follow the Chionthar into Tumblefall," Ansel said quietly after they'd jogged a few dozen strides.
Bratt understood immediately and turned south at once.
Duergar were intelligent. They'd almost certainly seize key chokepoints and wait for humans to walk right into them.
Refugees usually brought valuables and food. That way, the invaders didn't even have to waste time looting.
After several hundred meters, the buildings thinned out and there was less cover. A half-collapsed stretch of wall loomed ahead, blocking their path.
At the largest gap, Bratt suddenly stopped. His nose twitched, and his eyes swept over the sticky, smeared dirt on the stones, full of wariness.
Ansel sensed something was off too. "Let's find another spot."
Bratt nodded slightly and backed away slowly with his sword ready. After retreating a dozen meters, they continued south along the wall.
Some curses drifted out of the darkness behind them, and both men picked up the pace. Right now, staying alive mattered more than getting into a fight.
In every natural disaster, there were always human predators. What could be worse than people?
With that lesson learned, Bratt deliberately picked a stretch of wall that was half-collapsed but still standing. Rubble covered the ground, uneven and hard to walk on—but at least it was safer.
Bratt really was a warrior. His athletic ability was far beyond Ansel's. With a heavy bundle on his back, he still scouted ahead, climbing and jumping, stopping often to check for danger—and to wait for Ansel to catch up.
Ansel could only laugh at himself. That bedraggled mess Bratt had been earlier had clearly fooled him.
In games, even trash stats could still get you into a class. In reality, it wasn't like that at all. Without some talent, you didn't make it. Nobles and major factions weren't about to waste resources on garbage.
Unless you were very, very lucky.
"Watch out!" Bratt's voice suddenly sharpened.
Ansel instinctively dove and rolled.
A dark blur whipped past over his head in the next instant, too fast to see clearly, leaving the faint scent of blood in the air.
[You are attacked by a Insect Bat. Miss…]
A combat log flickered at the edge of his awareness.
Ansel stiffened. Insect Bats were social creatures.
He gripped his staff and scanned the area, but saw no swarm—only faint wingbeats above them.
"What the hell was that?" Bratt had been attacked too, but his senses and reactions were sharper.
He dropped his bundle and moved in a few quick bounds to Ansel's side. They stood back-to-back, watching all directions.
"Insect Bats. Blood-sucking, social monsters," Ansel said, pulling the light-enchanted stick from his robe—but not yet pulling off the black cloth.
Bratt studied the sky for a moment and didn't spot any other threats. "Seems like just the two."
"Maybe they got separated from the swarm. Or they're just drunk on blood," Ansel guessed.
Insect Bats fed on the fresh blood of living things and had very little intelligence. After reaching the surface and discovering how easy humans were to bully, it wasn't surprising they were running wild.
"They're still up there."
"We move. You wait for your moment."
"Got it."
They started forward again, Bratt carrying the bundle behind Ansel, waiting for that "moment" to arrive.
Ansel stayed calm. Insect Bats were weak and not very lethal. He also had Shield—he could pop a force barrier the instant an attack actually hit.
As they were just about to enter the Dusthawk Hill area, the two Insect Bats finally couldn't hold back. They dove toward them almost in unison.
Bratt's steps faltered. "They're coming—"
Before he finished, Ansel yanked off the black cloth. Light flared, blasting away the darkness and revealing two bizarre creatures like a cross between a large bat and a giant mosquito.
Insect Bats feared light. The sudden brightness startled them. They jerked mid-flight, trying to veer away.
Swish—
A flash of steel, and one Insect Bat was split in half, spraying blood.
"ફ્રીઝરે!" (Ray of Frost!)
A white beam shot from Ansel's palm, striking the other Insect Bat in an instant.
The bat seized up, white frost clouding over its body. With a thud, it dropped to the ground, its wings twitching twice before going still.
[You cast Ray of Frost on a Insect Bat. The enemy is Frightened.
The Insect Bat is hit and takes 4 cold damage. Killing blow. Target dead. You gain 25 combat XP...]
Still uneasy, Bratt stepped forward and pinned it to the ground with a thrust of his sword.
"Ugly thing," he muttered, now able to see it clearly.
It was bat-shaped, but with a long, needle-like proboscis, its body a bloody red, black fuzz on its head and back, too many claws, and a long tail.
Ansel rewrapped the glowing stick tightly and tucked it back into his robes.
"Let's move." He picked up his staff and set off again.
Light was great for fighting—but it could also attract more trouble.
"Sigh…" Bratt glanced once at the Insect Bat's corpse and sighed, lifting his bundle to follow. "From my adventuring experience, Insect Bats are definitely prime magical components. It's a shame to leave them."
"Staying alive comes first." Ansel found it a bit odd. He hadn't expected the cautious, careful Bratt to be this greedy. Maybe that was just an adventurer thing.
"You don't get it. Without money, you don't get far," Bratt said, his heart twisting at the thought that everything he'd owned was now gone.
"We'll figure something out tomorrow."
"Yeah… I just hope we don't run into the Flaming Fist. They never listen to explanations…"
Beyond the fallen wall lay Dusthawk Hill. At the foot of the mountain was the outer district called Tumblefall. They'd seen no lights and no people on the entire way here.
After a full day of disaster, anyone who could still run had already run.
Ansel didn't go deep into the district. Instead, he followed the Chionthar east and finally spotted some refugees near the cliffside cemetery.
They didn't stop, just passed through and headed up into Dusthawk Hill. After crossing a ridge, they found a hidden hollow high on the mountainside and finally halted.
There was a small patch of trees there, and the mountain itself blocked the view, enough to keep them out of sight from most creatures.
Ansel used his staff like a walking stick, poking around the grass to make sure no poisonous snakes were hiding there. Then he dropped his pack and plopped down heavily, letting out a long breath.
"We should be safe here."
Bratt set the bundle beside him, then, sword in hand, cleared the immediate area and cut some branches to rig simple alarm traps.
Ansel had the Survival skill and knew a bit of wilderness lore, but he didn't move.
Right now, he only felt hungry, exhausted, and mentally drained. Even cantrips weren't free—casting had its price.